Lindsay and I drank half a bottle of merlot while Masha and Jane futzed around, making things just so. Fifteen minutes later, the fire was blazing, candles were lighting the room, and my lily stood on the center of the coffee table.
We all sat and sipped our wine. I kicked off my shoes and sighed.
"It's supposed to snow tonight," I said.
Everyone laughed.
"What?" I said. "It is."
"You never talk about the weather," Lindsay said.
"Well, it is. It's starting. Look." I pointed out the window. We all looked.
I wanted to cuddle with Masha, but didn't want Jane and Lindsay to feel like third wheels. I fidgeted with my wine glass.
"Hey," I said to her, "how did your meeting with Josh go?"
"How did you know we were meeting? Spying on me already?" she teased.
"No," I told her. "I just figured. Since rehearsal was canceled."
She told us it had gone well. Robin had been there, so she hadn't been afraid he would jump her. He had admitted his feelings for her, and vowed to maintain a professional dignity in the future.
"See," I said. "Told ya he liked you."
She nodded.
"You're very perceptive, you know," she told me.
"That's right," I said.
Jane and Lindsay had started playing Scrabble. Feeling drunk and bold, I announced that I was going to bed, and that I would happily accept visitors. I went upstairs and let myself into Masha's bedroom. I shut the door behind me and began to strip. If no one was coming to visit me, I could get myself off, I decided stubbornly. I was peeling off my stockings when Masha came in.
"So, which do you want?" she said. "Me? Or all of us?"
"Surprise me?" I said.
"Okay," she smiled. "Can I just hold you?"
"Wow. That is a surprise."
"I missed you today," she said, pouting cutely.
I finished undressing and got a t-shirt from her dresser. After she undressed, we crawled under the covers together. I rolled away from her, and she pressed herself into me from behind, sliding her hand along my stomach. I was getting turned on, despite the t-shirt. I tried to hide it. If she wanted to hold me, I wanted to let her without getting all wet and needy.
We were both still for several minutes. I tried to wait it out. Surely, I could let her go one night without sex. Eventually she'd fall asleep, and then I'd have no choice. Perhaps I would go to Jane's room, I thought dirtily, getting even hotter.
I could smell Masha: some kind of sandal woody fragrance, the wine on her breath, the peppermint soap she used. I tried not to notice the pressure of her fingers on my stomach. I was starting to sweat. Finally, I felt her shift.
"Kelsey, I don't think I can do this," I heard her whisper. Then I felt her tongue on the back of my neck.
"Mmm," I said.
She started kissing the back of my neck and reached under the t-shirt to slide her hand slowly up my ribcage.
"I wanted to just hold you," she said. "To prove I wasn't after you for your body. But you're warm and so edible." Her hand came closer to my breast. "I just can't do it."
She cupped my breast, and my nipple grew hard in her palm. I tried to roll over and face her, but she wasn't letting me. She pressed herself into my back even harder, reaching under me with her right arm and pulling apart my legs. Her fingers trailed along my spread thighs as her other hand tweaked my nipple. I gasped as she nibbled my neck.
I tried again to face her.
"Stop," she commanded. "Just let me."
Her fingers reached my labia, and I gave up. She teased me, barely brushing my outer lips and then retreating to drag her hand up and down my thighs. I was so wet I knew she could feel it, even though she hadn't reached up that far. I moaned, and she made a beeline for my pussy. When she reached it, she bit into my neck and pushed her finger into my slit. I spread myself as open as I could for her, and pushed my cunt onto her hand. Her thumb found my clit and she rubbed it gently as her finger pulled out of me. I whimpered in protest, but she came back inside with two fingers this time, her thumb still stroking. She fucked me slowly, her thumb dancing on my clit until I came. After my orgasm, she let me roll over.
I kissed her into submission, and we made love all night. In the morning I didn't know what day it was.
Several weeks into rehearsals, the cast met with the costume designer. I was shocked to see I would be wearing a pink teddy for several scenes, though in all but one I would have a satin robe on over it. The teddy did a better job of accentuating what I had than of covering me. Also, I could see from the design of the robe that it would always be falling open.
What concerned me most, however, was the scene in which I'd be without the robe. We hadn't rehearsed it yet. In it, I'd be alone on stage, waking up from a nightmare. From the script, I knew it would be difficult. There was virtually no dialogue, and the stage directions were vague. In about two minutes I had to go from a dead sleep to a crying hysterical mess. I knew that Josh wanted to give me time to figure it out before working on it with me, but I was terrified. I'd put off even looking at it because I didn't know where to start. Now that I saw I'd be almost naked, I was even more reluctant.
I tried to argue about the teddy, to no avail. Even Masha sided with the designer. Her name was Sydney, and she was a cute, butchy feminist. We had some friends in common, and she was the last person I'd expect to design a needlessly revealing costume.
"Look," Masha said, in Sydney's defense, "it was the 50s. This is what 20-something women slept in."
Still, I whined. I glared at Sydney across the table.
"Rose is young and vibrant," Josh piped in. "That's the whole point of her—that she escaped from the Holocaust seemingly unscathed. She's romantic. She wants to live. She wants a man. She wants to look like Marilyn Monroe."
I sighed and rolled my eyes. I looked at Masha, who was trying not to laugh.
"Can't she just wear a nice dress?" I said. "Something with a slit up the side?"
"To sleep in?" said Sydney. I looked at her. She gnawed on her pen.
"Well, what else did women wear to bed in the 50s?" I pleaded.
Sydney pulled her chair around to me and got several sketches out of her portfolio. She sat backwards on it and began to show them to me while the others talked about the rehearsal schedule over Thanksgiving. I realized I was monopolizing the designer, but since no one else had a problem with costumes, I figured it was okay.
"When researching the time period," she began patiently, "I found seven basic styles of sleepwear for women." She flipped through the drawings slowly. She was so close her knees were surrounding me.
I tried to look at her sketches but was noticing her mussed hair, which was black and short. Her eyes were gray, and she was wearing baggy, olive green cargo pants and a white t-shirt. Her forearms were tanned and muscular. I imagined them getting that way from her drawing for hours, propped on her elbows, outdoors somewhere. When she got to the last drawing, she leaned in, her eyes meeting mine.
"I think you'll agree," she said quietly, "that none of these other six is anything Rose would wear."
I looked at the pictures. I could hardly think, but knew she was right. All of the other styles were either too old or too masculine. It had to be a teddy. But pink?
"Most teddies were pink," Sydney answered before I asked. "White was also an option, but white works horribly on stage. It gets dirty too easily; it makes a glare with the lights; it tends to be transparent." She met my eyes with a lopsided grin. "Plus," she said, "Rose seemed pink to me."
I knew defeat when I saw it. I thanked Sydney, pushed her knee aside, and got up.
"Hey, Kelsey, we're not done yet," said Robin.
"I know," I told her. "I have to pee."
Out in the hallway, Sydney found me. I was leaning against the wall, my fingers slowly recovering from the feel of her knee.
"They decided to break for fifteen," she said. "Here, try it on." She handed me the teddy. "Sometimes that helps."
I looked at her doubtfully. She pushed me into the bathroom, followed me into a stall, and started helping me undress. It occurred to me that the situation was getting intense. Sydney, however, was all business, rushing to get me into the teddy, then tucking and pinning and measuring things. She was a whirr of activity, pinning the material at my bust and ass, making notes in her book, her gray eyes flicking here and there. I was impressed with her ability to put so many pins into the teddy without sticking me.
Two minutes later, she pulled me out of the stall and showed me. I had to admit, it was flattering. It was more comfortable than I'd expected, and it didn't reveal as much as I'd feared. I looked at Sydney behind me in the mirror and smiled.
"Sydney," I murmured, astounded, "this is really nice. It's not nearly as bad as I'd thought. In fact, it's kind of…classy."
"Good," she said, pulling me back into the stall, "glad you like it. Now we have eleven minutes."
She got me out of the teddy and was trying to get me dressed again. I felt suddenly grateful to her, for her design and her patience. Plus, of course, she was so hot and butch. I wanted to kiss her, but her mouth was full of pins. I reached up and pulled them out of her mouth, pushing them into the toilet paper roll, one by one.
"It's okay," she said, clearly misunderstanding, "I won't swallow them or anything. I do this all the time."
