Chapter 5
Dibs
After completing the daily tour of her clients' properties by mid-afternoon, Catrina discovered a stuffed green garbage bag on the porch of her rented semi-detached bungalow. She pulled a folded piece of computer paper from under the bag and opened it.
The note was brief:
Dinner will be at seven. As you will deduce from the costume, the time period is the 1870s. Please arrived dressed, without four-legged escort. Sorry, you can't read the script yet. You will have dialogue, mostly along the lines of "Yes, please". Chett
Smiling, Catrina unlocked the door, shed her parka, and filled Titan's bowls with kibble and fresh water while speculating about the bag's contents.
1870s, so a dance hall girl's saucy outfit? Maybe one of those exquisite low-cut off-the-shoulder gowns the women wore to balls? An image flashed of Chett kissing a bare shoulder in candlelight, then her neck, then her—
Restraining eagerness that curled her toes inside thermal socks, she nuked a cup of hot cocoa to warm chilled fingers and insides. Finally, she sat at the kitchen table, Titan flopped comfortably on the tile floor nearby, and pulled the green bag between her knees.
Catrina plunged a hand into the bag and drew out a floor-length midnight blue woolen skirt with a bustle sewn in, a matching jacket, and a high-necked white blouse with tiny white cloth buttons running down the front and lace at the sleeve cuffs.
Catrina nibbled her bottom lip, a tad disappointed. Hmmm. Not my idea of sexy.
She couldn't recall a role in Jenna's early movies that required the sex siren to cover her assets so completely. Maybe she'd worn it for a bit part. On the other hand, given the risqué movies in which Jenna had starred prior to making it big, she probably disrobed in a love scene. Or better yet, the hero undressed her.
Okay, she conceded. This outfit has seduction possibilities.
From deeper in the bag she retrieved a pair of soft white leather gloves, a round box containing a tiny felt hat with a feather plume and dangling ribbons to tie under the chin, and an uncomfortable-looking ivory corset with satin ribbons that laced up the back.
She held up the corset. "I'll never get this thing on by myself," she muttered to Titan. "I must call in reinforcements."
While waiting for Brigit to arrive, Catrina showered and struggled for half an hour to twist uncooperative hair into an updo. "No wonder they needed maids in those days," she grumbled to Titan. "It probably took hours to get a gentlewoman ready to step out of the bedroom."
Catrina had a glass of red wine poured and waiting when Brigit tapped on the front door after closing her tea shop at six.
"Come in," Catrina called from the bedroom door.
Her friend let herself into the house on a blast of frigid air, her pert nose cherry red and the only part of her face visible through a thick Hudson's Bay striped scarf wrapped around her head. "I had to walk. My car wouldn't start. Again."
She toed off winter boots, slung her parka over the back of an armchair, hung a shoulder bag on a hook out of Titan's reach, and unwound the scarf to expose a riot of blond curls framing her cherubic face. Ignoring the wine glass on a side table, Brigit made a beeline for the clothing Catrina had arranged on the couch.
"Oooh," cooed Brigit, holding up the floor-length, heavy skirt. "How fun. Too bad bustles aren't in fashion today. No one could tell how big my derrière is."
"Your butt is fine," Catrina commented acerbically through the open bedroom door, the corset clutched to her naked torso. "Brigit, can you please lace me up?"
Brigit set the felt hat on her curls and trotted into the bedroom to adjust the angle of the feather in the dresser mirror. To Catrina's reflection she observed, "You're so lucky to have slim hips. In those days I'd have needed two maids to squash me into a corset. On the other hand, I wouldn't have had to wear a bustle."
With the small hat perilously perched on her mass of curls, ribbons dangling, Brigit pressed her knee into Catrina's backside for leverage and grunted as she tugged the laces tight. "I sure wish I'd seen Chett first."
Catrina inhaled enough air into compressed lungs to allow her to speak.
"You have Brad."
"That guy." Brigit yanked especially hard on the laces.
"Ooof. Take it easy," Cat pleaded.
"All he cares about are his boat motors and winches and machine do-hickeys." Brigit snorted, seriously miffed. "If I were a broken engine I'd get more attention."
"I thought you enjoyed your sex life."
"Mechanical," she seethed between gritted teeth as she pulled. "As in piston. In, out. In, out. Eject. The thrill of the drill is gone."
"Oh my god! I thought you and Brad were getting along great. What happened?" Brigit's dissatisfaction was news to Cat. Brad had a lot going for him. He ran a successful business, had an easy-going personality and his swoon-worthy muscular body rated a ten. Therefore it was truly unfortunate he didn't turn Brigit's crank anymore. "Do you want to talk about it?"
"This calls for wine." Brigit tied the laces in a bow and took a break, breathing hard from the exertion. She retrieved her wine glass and filled one for Catrina.
Back in the bedroom, both women sank into the fluffy down comforter on the queen-sized bed and took healthy sips.
"You told me last summer that Brad is baby daddy material," Catrina reminded Brigit gently. "Your biological clock is ticking, and you said you want kids."
Brigit cocked her head to one side. "Trade you Brad for Chett?"
Catrina didn't appreciate the predatory gleam in Brigit's round blue eyes. "Ha, ha. Seriously, what gives?"
Brigit drained her glass. "I'm bored," she admitted finally. "But here in Port Carson in the dead of winter, what choice do I have?"
Catrina had no answer to that one. The women's mutual problem, in a town with few eligible men in their age bracket, was finding a compatible local male partner. She had no interest in a long term relationship. Or to be honest, fear of subjecting a partner to the demons that bedeviled her kept her single. Therefore Cat intended to enjoy a brief affair with Chett for as long as it lasted, no ties, no need for him to ever know she woke screaming most nights. Not even Brigit, her closest friend in Port Carson, knew that secret.
Brigit set her empty glass on the dresser, heaved a big sigh, and rallied. "You must have ringlets," she proclaimed. "Young ladies in that era wore their hair in masses of ringlets."
"At my age a virgin was called a spinster, not a young lady," Catrina replied dryly.
"You're twenty in this fantasy, so shut up about your age. He's older than you anyway."
After buttoning Catrina into the various articles of clothing, Brigit plugged in the curling iron, then selected bottles and tubes from Catrina's small assortment of makeup in the adjoining bathroom.
"I'm going to transform you into the sexiest virgin ever. Where's your perfume? Never mind, I'll use mine." She retrieved a vial from the depths of her shoulder bag.
"It's French and oh so alluring." She squirted the rose scent with a musky note behind Cat's ears, on the inside of her wrists, and between breasts plumped and fit to burst out of the top of the corset. "I'm experiencing this evening vicariously through you so I want details. I insist that you tell me every... single... thing he does to you," she begged as she stood on her toes to roll a swath of Catrina's hair onto the curling iron. "Bring home the script. Promise!"
Catrina laughed, then coughed. How on earth had women worn these constricting garments all day? She drew a shallow breath. "Alright, I promise."
After wielding the curling iron like a pro for fifteen minutes, Brigit removed the hat from her own head, placed it on Catrina's and tied the ribbons in a huge bow. She stood back to admire her efforts. "You look beautiful. He's gonna cast you in one of his movies, you gorgeous lady."
"If he casts me into his bed, I'll be happy with that." At the vision of their bodies entwined under crisp white sheets, Cat's knees weakened. She grasped the edge of the dresser with gloved hands. Swayed a little. "Brigit, please loosen the corset laces. No wonder women swooned at the drop of a handkerchief in those days."
As Brigit complied she asked, "Where there any shoes in the bag?"
"No." Cat considered. "I have some black patent leather ballet flats. They'll have to do."
Brigit finished tucking the blouse and jacket back into place, arranged the profusion of ringlets, then dug through her purse for her cell phone. "Before you go, let me take a picture. While you frolic the night away, Titan and I will withdraw to my parlor to watch TV and eat leftover cupcakes from my shop."
At the sound of his name, Titan ambled over. Brigit stroked the soft fur under Titan's ears. "Sorry to get your hopes up, you big brute. No cupcakes for you."
Brigit zipped her parka while Catrina prepared to lock up. "Ask Chett if he's interested in writing a scene for three next time. And I don't mean Titan as the third in the ménage."
Catrina sucked in a shallow breath, clutched a gloved hand to her breast, and attempted to laugh off the outrageous request. "Since when did you become so adventurous?"
Share Chett's attentions? Every cell in Catrina's body repelled the idea. She was equally shocked at the fierce possessiveness triggered by Brigit's request. Where had that come from? Plenty of people enjoyed a fling without any emotional investment. Why not her?
While Cat flailed for a response that would preserve their friendship, Brigit gathered her bag and Titan's leash. "Brad and I are over, although he doesn't know it yet. We haven't spent the night together since the hockey season started." Brigit confronted her friend directly. "Why not let me in on the fun?"
Catrina knew it would be dangerous to fall for the creative and interesting man from Hollywood. A crack in the protective guard she'd erected around her heart and soul might release a flood of emotions she couldn't control. At the same time she wanted Chett—his attention, body and fantasy scripts—to be hers and hers alone for the duration of his stay.
"Brigit," she said finally, staking her territory in what she hoped was a light and casual manner. "You're a darling friend, and I understand where the suggestion is coming from, but Chett is all mine until he gets on a plane to California!"