The blue sweater-and-skirt outfit moved towards me. It extended an empty sleeve towards me, and I felt a hand grasp mine and pull me towards the door to Steve’s office, as the outfit spoke, “I think maybe you need to see this, Bryan, even if you’d rather not.”
“Wait a minute,” the wig said. “Bryan? I remember hearing that name. You like this kind of stuff, don’t you?”
“What kind of stuff?” I asked.
“You’ll see,” was the only response I got, as the door to Steve’s office swung open. As it opened, I could hear loud groaning — Steve was plainly unhappy with whatever it was they were doing to him. But none of the outfits moved towards the door, because someone was coming out.
Steve floated into the room, surrounded by a flock of gloves, plus feathers, brushes, and other items. He was wearing only boxer shorts, with what appeared to be a silk or satin scarf sticking out of the waistband. He was gagged, with his wrists tied together in front of him, and his ankles tied also. He floated with his knees bent at a right angle, so his lower legs were parallel with the floor. The gloves were all busy squeezing, rubbing, kneading various parts of Steve’s body. Even the unseen end of the scarf was apparently staying busy inside Steve’s drawers. A large leather duffel bag floated along behind him.
As he passed, the mesh top said, “Steve here will never again touch the ground. Or know what it’s like to be left alone.” I thought that sounded odd. What’s such a big deal about never touching the ground?
Steve floated towards the staircase, the door opening of its own accord as he approached. He disappeared into the staircase, with the duffel bag and more items of clothing following.
“What do you say to seeing him off?” the blue outfit asked. I didn’t think it was really meant to be a question, since the outfit’s invisible hand had never let go of mine. Sandra’s generous figure had gotten many appreciative looks from me, and maybe a comment or two, but I hadn’t anticipated anything like this. It pulled me into the elevator, arriving on the ground floor just as Steve and his entourage emerged from the staircase.
The front door opened to let them all out, just as a big black GMC van pulled up. The side door slid open, revealing an apparently bald woman in gold face paint (”head” paint?) and a shimmering gold catsuit in the driver’s seat. Sandra had mentioned that her boss had seen a photo of her wearing “a gold outfit” that he’d tried to get her to wear to work on warm summer days, and this looked like that might have been it. There were no hands at the end of the woman’s sleeves. Was this Sandra?
“Hi, Bryan,” the driver said. I looked back blankly — I didn’t recognize her voice at all, and didn’t know where this woman knew me from. And because I didn’t see anything inside her mouth when she spoke.
She must have taken note of my expression, because she continued, “I know you don’t recognize the face. That’s just so people won’t freak out when they see a headless catsuit driving a van around. Soon as we get big bad Steve where we’re going, though, I’ll wipe the face off and pop these contacts out. You’ve seen me — the suit — before, though.” And I had — Sandra had done some modeling, some theater, you name it, and always found a reason to include this suit or one like it.
“Hey, Steve,” the gold outfit said, “remember you told Sandy that you wanted to see me? Well, you’ll get to see more of me that you ever dreamed.”
Steve squirmed and squealed, to no avail, as he floated up into the SUV. The duffel bag floated in behind him, along with various items of clothing and other things. The doors slid shut and the van pulled off.
“I really wanted to join that party,” the blue outfit said, turning towards me. It let my hand go and crossed its sleeves across its chest. “But I hadn’t counted on seeing you here today. So, what do we do now?”
“Huh?” I was getting a little nervous.
“You hadn’t even tried to pull free from my grip since I first took hold of your hand upstairs,” the outfit said. “That has to mean something.”
“I think it means he missed the bigger Sandy, or at least the bigger curves,” the wig replied. Up until now it had been floating next to the outfit, but as it spoke it drew near me, stopping maybe an arm’s length away.
I didn’t know just what to say to the curvy outfit. I had been really just going with the flow, trying to get a handle on what was going on. There was something I wanted to know, though…
“I have to ask,” I said, addressing the wig. “If you’re just a wig, and yet somehow you’re able to see, then what’s with the glasses?”
“I happen to like the look,” the wig said. “Don’t you like it?”
“You like the look of glasses, even though you don’t even have eyes?! How can you–”
The wig actually sighed. “Why do you keep asking why and how? If I can float and speak, then I should be able to see what I look like, right? Just like I can do this.” And without any warning sign, the wig darted closer to me as unseen lips pressed against mine.
“Umf?” I grunted, not expecting anything like that.
The wig pulled away. “Let’s try that again, shall we, this time without the resistance?” It approached again a bit more slowly, and I just went with the flow, responding when I felt the lips against mine. Instinctively my hands reached forward and felt around in the air for something to hold onto, but there was nothing there below the wig. My flailing around drew laughter from the blue outfit and some of the other items. Even the wig’s voice laughed, while the kissing continued uninterrupted.