Chapter 1. Amelia Jane's Last Day on Planet Earth
It had been a weekend of parties and clubbing, but now my alarm clock was ringing, and I realised with a sigh that it was Monday morning. I turned over in bed and groaned.
I knew that this was a big day at work, we had important clients visiting, and I was going to have to help entertain them. Mr Smith, my boss, had taken me to one side on Friday afternoon, and had told me exactly what he wanted me to wear. I should explain that at that time I worked for a small, exclusive investment bank in the City of London. It was my first job out of college, and I had only been doing it for a month, but already I seemed to be favoured for such meetings by Mr Smith.
When I had left my minor Oxbridge college, I had feared the worst. I had an English Literature and Media Studies degree, not particularly helpful for paid employment, I had quickly discovered. I had performed poorly in my examinations, scraping a third class honours pass degree, and that only after a personal visit and appeal to the Head of Department, which had been an ordeal in itself.
I had done well in my pre-exam assessments, but I had to admit, I hadn't really studied for the main exams, and hadn't read the course books, spending my time partying and going out. I had not done much work for the assessments either, yet somehow had got good grades.
Most of my lecturers had been fairly elderly males, and it would probably be fair to say that I had 'dressed to impress'. I am a natural blonde, about five feet eight inches, blue eyed, and for my height, possess strikingly long legs, and an excitingly curved figure of 36-25-35.
In classes and seminars I had tended to wear short dresses and skirts, low-cut tops, and had sat at the very front, smiling a lot at the lecturers.This had certainly seemed to help with my assessment grades, but had done me little good in the examinations themselves, where, as I had found to my cost, the bulk of the marks were awarded.
Subsequently, the Head of Department, perhaps feeling sorry for me considering the lengths to which I had had to go to convince him to award me a passing grade, used his influence to get me an interview at a City Investment Bank, where he apparently had contacts. The vacancy was for a PR representative. Although I knew nothing about banking, nor PR for that matter, I had sailed through the interview, at which I had seemed to be the only candidate, and for which I had worn high heels and an exceptionally short little black number, with a hem just below my panties, and a cleavage just above my belly button. I started work there the following week.
The other employees did not seem to regard me very seriously as a PR representative, although I noticed a lot of the men ogling me, and they weren't very subtle about it. Although it was hard to get the other employees to open up much, I learnt that there had been a succession of pretty girls doing my job, although apparently none of them had lasted very long, and had always seemed to move on without keeping in touch. I determined to be different.
The job was fairly easy, and seemed to consist of making coffee, taking out clients to lunch, and attending meetings where I was not expected to speak.. For these tasks, which of course suited me down to the ground, I was handsomely rewarded, considering that I was a new employee. I even had a wardrobe allowance, which I gather is quite unusual in the world of investment banking, and which Mr Smith took it upon himself to supervise personally. His recommendations were surprisingly unconservative, and I found myself attending work in a succession revealing outfits, particularly when certain clients were visiting.
That day I was wearing a complicated updo and Mr Smith had selected a little red dress with a hemline that would be considered scandalously short for the other bank employees, yet for me was standard.
In terms of my decolletage it was one of my more spectacular outfits. It had a cowl cleavage, cut wide, and right down to below my navel. I had used two bits of tape to 'keep myself in place', but even with this safety net, little was left to the imagination, as of course I could not sensibly wear a brassiere with such a dress.
Mr Smith had specifically told me not to wear stockings so the ensemble was completed by high heels and a clutch bag, plus hooped earrings. There was one surprising omission from my outfit, and that was a pair of panties. In our discussion on the previous Friday, Mr Smith had almost casually asked me not to wear any. I had been shocked, but he had pointed out that, given the (relatively) demure length of the dress he had selected for me, there was no danger and a visible pantie line would ruin the lines of the dress, and hence the stunning effect of the whole outfit.
Although I had thought this perhaps 'a step too far' in his control over my wardrobe, I had swallowed my reservations, and obeyed his instructions. After all, it was an important meeting, I could take a taxi to and from work, and we would be taking lunch in the meeting. I am not a girl that particularly enjoys confrontation or standing up to authority.
This meeting seemed fairly typical, a lot of it conducted in a language that I didn't understand. The other attendees at the meeting were all male, and, to my surprise, uniformly rather virile and handsome. Although they all wore immaculate suits and ties, I could not help get the feeling that this wasn't their usual attire, by any means. In fact, most of them gave the impression that they were wearing such outfits almost in the way that one might don a fancy dress costume.
As usual, I was not required to speak, take notes, or do anything really, except occasionally fetch coffee, but the men seemed to spend a lot of the time looking in my direction, and once or twice I had a strange feeling that I was actually the subject of the discussion. My main task was to try not to look too bored, to smile a lot, and to make sure that I sat in a seat where my long legs and deep cleavage were on full show to all. I fulfilled all these criteria, despite the meeting going on seemingly for ever, well past official work hours.
At the end of the almost interminable conclave, and to my genuine surprise, Mr Smith announced that the clients had been so pleased with my contribution, that they had given me a small token of their gratitude. The present was strange, an unusual bracelet, a little large, and rather plain. I reflected that it might be something relevant to their culture.
"It is for your ankle," said one of the men as I tried to put it on my wrist, his accent awkward and heavy.
I was a little taken aback. I had assumed it to be a bracelet. How out of touch with fashion were these men? An anklet, indeed! What did they think I was? I smiled my best fake smile. "Thank you. You are too kind! It is lovely."
Mr Smith looked pleased.
"Put it on!" called one of the men..
"Yes, put it on!" cried another.
I looked at Mr Smith, unsure what I should do. He nodded to me. Obviously it would not do to disappoint these valuable foreign clients, despite the fact that they were taking rather a liberty, and it would be difficult to comply with their request modestly, given the extremely scanty geometries of my outfit.
Nevertheless, I lifted my right leg, as demurely as possible, ready to don the anklet.
"You will need to take your shoe off," pointed out Mr Smith.
I could not see how this was so, as the anklet could simply snap about my lower limb, but I supposed it should not do to argue with Mr Smith.
With difficulty, and endeavouring to keep my skimpy red dress in place as best I could, I undid the strap of my right Christian Louboutin high-heel, black, with its signature red soles. My right foot was now bare.
"It is for your left ankle!" called one of the men, laughing. I blushed a little. How could it matter which ankle I wore it on?
Several others took up the cry. I looked at Mr Smith once more, and he nodded to me again, fairly sternly. I felt that they were perhaps sporting with me a bit, but I supposed it was all good-humoured and not malicious. Besides, my heels were high and it might be best to have them both off, that I not trip.
I took off my other shoe, and then with difficulty, snapped the anklet in place on my left leg.
