Who Was I Fooling?

***

Author's Note

This is part seven of an eight-part story. You should read the parts in order, or the story won't make sense.

Part 1 is

here

.

Part 2 is

here

.

Part 3 is

here

.

Part 4 is

here

.

Part 5 is

here

.

Part 6 is

here

.

This story contains content which may not be suitable for everyone. Please read the author's note for details.

I'm not getting many comments or feedback for this story. If you liked it, I would appreciate it if you'd drop me an email. Thanks!

***

Copyright 2024

I am the copyright holder of this work.

You may not duplicate parts or all of this story, either in text, audio or images without my permission.

I generally permit derivative works that credit the original story and author, but you must ask first. You will not receive permission to distribute derivative works off of this site.

You may not use this story as screen-read audio on a YouTube video. If you do, I will file a copyright strike against you.

You may not use this story to train any AI or machine-learning construct.

==============================

Who Was I Fooling? - Part 7

The year was 2009

***

As I walked into the lobby of the school with Landry, there were maybe a hundred people standing around. Some were waiting on friends, some were chatting, and a number were taking pictures. The only thing all of these people had in common was that they all stopped to stare at us. I was highly conscious of the looks sent our way as we entered.

At an abstract level, I was aware that the subject of Landry's date was a topic that generated an inordinate amount of interest. I was also aware at some level that wearing a fairly revealing Cosette Escarrat Couture bespoke dress constructed to resemble clouds would also generate a fair amount of attention. I was, however, utterly unprepared for what the actual reaction would be.

As we moved across the lobby. There was a quick frisson and then the lobby went utterly silent. We were almost all the way across when Carol Watson, the all-county striker for our school's volleyball team, shouted out, "Oh my God! Look at that dress!"

I was aware that cell phones all over the lobby were pointed at us. Landry ignored them and walked with his head held high. I decided to do the same. I recalled the advice that Arden had given me right before the photo-shoot.

"I was the early twenties trophy wife of the most rich and powerful man in Eastern North Carolina. I was assumed to be eye candy of no consequence. The only way to be taken seriously was to act like I owned the room," Arden confessed. "I developed a persona which was based on a walk: erect posture, shoulders back, arched lower back, gliding the feet, landing on the heel, and putting one foot right in front of the other allowing the hips to twist as you shift your weight. Chin tilted up at least five degrees at all times."

She walked me through it as the photographer was setting up his equipment and he was entranced by the attitude I projected. During most of the shoot, he had me walking the exact way that Arden schooled me. I'd also practiced it all week in the practice heels that Cosette's team had given me. I'd also practiced a few dance moves in those shoes so I wouldn't trip.

Landry marched us right up to the reception table. There was a line of about six couples in front of us. It was awkward because they were all turned around to watch Landry and I come in. There were two underclassman volunteers checking people in under the watchful eye of Mrs. Williams, one of the school's English teachers. I knew who Mrs. Williams was, but I didn't know her personally because I'd never been a student of hers. She taught the non-honors and remedial sections of English for underclassmen.

The couple right in front of us in line was Donald Blount and Imani Bush. Imani was in my AP statistic course that year. She was very fashion conscious. She had been thrilled about my makeover earlier in the year, and she often made a point to talk fashion with me before and after class. Donald was a Senior and was on the basketball team with Landry, so they high fived each other and did an elaborate twelve-move hand shake greeting.

Imani, who had a stunning wide-hipped figure with a large rump, was wearing a very elegant black mermaid dress with a square neckline.

"Wow! Imani! I love your dress!" I enthused. "How do you keep from falling? I'd be scared to death I'd step on the dress and either tear it or trip myself."

She laughed. "There's actually a hoop sewn in the bottom that keeps the dress from ending up beneath your footfalls. Otherwise, I'd never trust myself to take the next step."

She took my hands in hers, pushed me back so she could get a better look, and then slowly spun me around while she appraised my dress. Her mouth was gaping open when she got me all the way around.

"Eloise, that dress is utterly amazing. God knows, you certainly have the figure for it," she gushed."It has Cosette Escarrat written all over it."

I tried to keep my poker face, but somehow I betrayed my reaction. "Is it?" She asked excitedly. "Is that an authentic Cosette Escarrat?"

I looked around to make sure we weren't being overheard and leaned in conspiratorially. "It is. Please don't make a big deal about it. I'm self-conscious about how expensive it is."

"How much did it cost?' she immediately asked.

"Honestly, I'm not sure. The list price for the sitting was something like twenty-two thousand dollars, but we didn't pay anything for it. Cosette's team wanted the dress modeled, but the dress was custom made for me. They worked a deal with my stepmother where they gave it to me in exchange for modeling it."

"That's a bespoke Cosette Escarrat dress and you modeled it?"

I nodded.

"Where did you model it?' she asked.

"Photo shoot," I replied. "Some guy named Gabriel Halimi. He had an enormous studio loft in the garment district."

"You modeled that dress for Gabriel Halimi?" she asked. She was extremely excited. "He shot covers for Vogue, Harper's, and Elle last year. Oh my God!"

"Please, Imani, don't. I'm very self conscious about it. I don't want to come across to my classmates like I'm an arrogant douchebag plutocrat."

"Ha!" she laughed. "Have you seen who goes to this school? If you've got it, you might as well flaunt it. Honey, no one who goes to this school has a right to throw a stone in a glass house. Wearing a bespoke haute couture dress that you earned for free by modeling it makes you a complete fucking legend. Everyone should know that."

Donald leaned over, and without asking, kissed my cheeks. Thankfully, he did it by touching his cheek to mine and kissing the air as if he was a Parisian greeting me. "Ellie, you are looking scrumptious tonight! You and Imami are without a doubt the belles of the ball tonight."

Donald, as always, was too smooth for his own good. He had a scholarship to play basketball for Elon College.

When we got up to the head of the line, Reese Davis, the sophomore class president and one of the most ardent admirers of my brother at the school, said, "Ah, Landry, we've got you at table seven, and Eloise, you are with the stag table, which is table twenty seven. Landry, I take it that your date is planning to join later? Can I write her name down?"

"Ellie is my date," announced Landry.

Reese turned to me, looking confused. "You're Landry's date?" When she took in my dress for the first time, she instantly goggled.

"Actually, that isn't technically correct," I said. "I am the senior and he's a junior so he's

my

date, not the other way around."

Reese's mouth flapped open and closed a few times as she took in my dress and the news that my brother was my prom date. "Wow!" she finally spit out. "That is an amazing!"

That's all she said. She sat there apparently thinking she'd just told me a complete sentence which meant something. Whether she was talking about my date or my dress was not clear from the context. Landry stifled a laugh.

"Uhh....Thank you?" I replied.

"So, you won't be at the stag table?" asked Reese, her brain still trying to puzzle out the fact why I'd gone to prom with my brother.

"No," I insisted.

I suddenly realized that she was excited because my brother didn't actually bring what she thought of as a "for-real" date. This meant he was still notionally on the market. Little did she know that meant absolutely nothing for her or for anyone in the school. I looked at Landry, who was so amused, he was visibly trying not to laugh.

"No," I replied. "I will be at table seven."

Landry offered his arm and I took it.

Mrs. Williams suddenly cleared her throat, and said, "Miss Aldridge, you're with me."

She pulled me aside and very quietly said, "My job tonight is to police the dress code. Put your hands down at your sides."

She sighed. "I'm not sure if you are aware, but your dress, which is utterly magnificent by the way, doesn't meet our dress code standard. The hemline of your skirt is supposed to be no more than three inches above your knee, or for taller girls like you, it should be at least three inches below your fingertips. You are well outside of that mark."

I was instantly horrified. I was trying to rally to fight for myself when she unexpectedly continued.

"Frankly, though, I have neither the courage nor the heart to send you away, Eloise. You are not a trouble maker or a slut and your academic performance for your entire career at the school has been nothing short of remarkable. Your courage in coming out earlier this year was also an amazing positive example. I wouldn't rob you of this evening for all the money in the world."

With a smile, she said, "Truth be told, if I had that dress and if I looked as good as you do in it, I'd wear it every day to class. My students might actually pay attention for once." She laughed at herself for admitting this.

"Here's what I'm going to do." She reached into her blazer pocket and pulled out what looked like a gold sparkly pony tail holder with a tiny dime-sized medallion on it. She put it on my wrist.

"I'm guessing you never saw it, but we circulated a flyer giving girls the chance to get pre-approval for your dress. That's what that wrist band means. If anyone asks, tell them that I pre-approved your dress. If they try to give you guff about the length of your hemline, just tell them you passed a kneeling test for me: you knelt for me and the hemline length was acceptable. I'm the only one the school lawyer authorized to administer that test, so they have to take my word for it."

"Thank you, Mrs. Williams," I said.

"What was that about?" asked Landry afterwards.

"My dress is too short for the dress code. Mrs. Williams was covering for me," I replied.

We were led to a photographer, who was a stocky no-nonsense middle-aged woman with a man's haircut. Her presentation fairly screamed lesbian. She absolutely gushed over my dress, and repeatedly touched me on the small of my back in quite an unnecessary way. It got to be so bad, that Landry began to grow visibly uncomfortable.

The photographer and her assistant had created an elaborate set with a backdrop that depicted the cobblestone walk along the River Seine at night, with Notre Dame Cathedral in the background. This was perfect for the "Night in Paris" theme. She took pictures of us standing in about twelve different poses while the soft boxes and flashes popped off over and over as she took dozens of exposures.

After we were done, she had a large monitor which was showing a slide show of the pictures most recently taken. Landry and I were stunning as a couple. He was handsome and incredibly debonair in his dinner jacket. I could scarcely recognize myself. I looked like I was in my mid-twenties.

As we walked to the door of the gym, Dexter Monroe, the sophomore who was a star defensive lineman on the football team, greeted Landry. He was six foot four inches, weighed three hundred and fifty pounds, and had a voice deeper than Barry White. He was standing there in the biggest tuxedo I'd ever seen. It was yards of cloth.

Dexter gave my brother a half hug and half handshake. He reached over to shake my hand and instead of shaking, he kissed my knuckles, making a grunting "um, um, um" sound as if the very sight of me was too much for him. "Looking radiant tonight, Miss Aldrich," he said smoothly.

"I'm the majordomo tonight, so how should I announce you?" Dexter asked.

"Please announce us as Eloise Aldrich and her date Landry Aldrich," I replied.

To his credit, Dexter was not phased, "You got it!" he replied. He opened the door for us. "Paris awaits!" he said ushering us inside. "Please stand on the X until I'm finished."

Landry and I walked up to the X on the floor. Already, most of the eyes in the room were drawn to us. The room went silent. On the other side was a gong that had been borrowed from the school orchestra.

Dexter raised the fluffy mallet and hit the gong as hard as he could. We'd been hearing the gong while we were in line, and he had been tapping it. This hit was so loud, it rattled the ceiling of the gym. Everyone in the place was staring at us at this point.

"Allow me to introduce Eloise Aldrich and her date, Landry Aldrich!"

An excited frisson shot through the room. Using Arden's 'own the room' walk, I allowed Landry to escort me to the table.

When we arrived at the table, Landry pulled out my chair and bid me to sit down. As I sat, I realized that I was at a seat with a card in front of it that said, "Landry Aldrich's Guest".

I looked across the round table to see that there were place settings for four couples total. Only one other couple was at the table when we arrived. Directly in front of me was Roberto Garza. He was the catcher on Landry's baseball team and was one of Landry's lifelong best friends. He'd often been over at our house and I got along great with him. He looked really suave in a deep red tuxedo coat with black lapels. The red material had a textured floral print that was roses and thorns. Despite the floral print, the coat was surprisingly masculine and really emphasized his shoulders.

His date was a young Hispanic woman I'd never seen before. She was lovely, but she looked awful young. She wasn't a day over fourteen, if I had to guess. She had small rounded breasts held up by a halter top that exposed lovely shoulders and a lot of her upper back. Her hair was straight and was an amazing glossy black. She'd styled it asymmetrically with half of it falling forward into her décolletage. The other half was draping down her back, exposing a very cute perfect olive-skinned ear. In her hair above her exposed ear, she wore a rose which matched the color of Roberto's jacket perfectly. She was so nervous trying to puzzle out how to introduce herself to Landry and I that she looked like she was going to be sick.

"Roberto, I love your jacket!" I gushed.

"You do?" he asked, both surprised and relieved. "My older brother gave me no end of shit for it."

I looked at his date, trying to draw her into the conversation and ease her nervousness. "I think it looks very handsome and very masculine, don't you?"

She looked delighted that I made this point. "I had to talk him into it!" she confessed. "He's very handsome but he doesn't do himself any favors with his fashion choices."

"He was wise to accept your advice," I replied. "I'm not sure we've met. I'm Eloise Aldrich. I'm Landry's sister."

"Hi, I'm Ximena Garza. Berto is my middle brother," she reported.

I remembered at that point that Roberto had a younger sister that followed him around like the proverbial little lamb. I'd met her several times when we'd gone swimming as a group. That was a few years ago and at the time, she was a tiny thing. She was still petite, but she wasn't a girl any longer.

"Mena?" I asked in surprise. "How embarrassing! You are going as Ximena rather than Mena now?" I asked.

"Yes, exactly!" she replied energetically.

"I'm so sorry I didn't recognize you, Ximena! In fairness, though, you've grown up quite a bit since we last spoke."

Ximena flushed in pleasure when I said this. "You have grown up too, Noise," she answered. "You look like a fashion model now. That dress is the most gorgeous thing I've ever seen! There will be a lot of women eating their hearts out tonight."

"Thank you!" I replied.

Roberto and Landry both stood up and asked us if we wanted punch. Ximena and I both accepted their offer and the men moved off.

***

Shortly after our first exchange, Ximena finally relaxed and began to talk. "I think I owe Landry a debt of gratitude for me being here tonight," Ximena said earnestly. "When Berto asked me to be his Prom date, you could have knocked me over with a feather. He's always been this larger-than-life figure to me and has been everything to me since I could walk. In the last few years, he was scarcely even aware of me. When Berto found out Landry and you were going together, he loved the idea and decided to ask me. I was so overwhelmed, I cried. Berto saw me crying and it made him cry. He is such a softie!

"Berto also had to work on my dad to let me come. My Quinceañera isn't for another month and my father didn't think it was appropriate for me to attend before I was properly 'out' socially. He is so traditional! Mom and Berto eventually won him over, though." If she was about to turn fifteen, that would make her a rising Sophomore. That would explain why I didn't recognize her.

I realized at that moment, that I really liked Ximena. Her energy and enthusiasm were infectious.

"Tell me about that dress!" she suddenly insisted.

I gave her a quick rundown on the style and the materials, but I conspicuously didn't say who it was designed by. I decided after my conversation with Imani that I didn't want to share that information with anyone.

As we were talking. two couples arrived at the table. John and Wendy Smith and Luca and Teresa Romero. It was clear that John Smith's date was Teresa and Luca Romero's date was Wendy. Luca and Teresa had been the children of one of mom's best friends and we'd grown up playing together all the time. We were still very friendly with each other and we frequently liked to reminisce about good times. Both John and Luca were teammates of Landry on both the basketball and baseball teams. Wendy Smith was in most of my honors classes for the last couple of years and was someone I always enjoyed talking to.

It seemed a statistical improbability that this exact group of people-- all of whom I liked and who all kept with the theme of 'sibling dates' was a random occurrence. Landry must have worked for a long time orchestrating this all to happen. I silently marveled at the consideration, brain power, and effort that my brother must of spent making sure I'd have a good time tonight. It made me want to cry.

As we were all greeting each other, Roberto and Landry returned. After all the greetings were concluded, Landry pulled me aside. "You need to come see this, Noise," he said.

He walked me over to the refreshments and desserts table. Behind the desserts table were Dora Valencia and Rochelle Washington. When my mom ran the bakery downtown, they were her lieutenants. That night, they were both wearing the lavender and periwinkle garments that the employees of Lahela's bakery wore. On the table before them was a mountain of my mother's finest French pastries and confectioneries. There was also a sign that said, "Lahela's ice cream" and listed out five of my mom's best flavors. One of her choices was "Eloise's favorite."