T.J.’s Experiment in Pink

by Anne O’Nonymous

 

PART SIX

 

After we finished the Chinese, the empty boxes were put in the trash, used utensils washed, dried and put away. The table was wiped clean of crumbs, and the family settled down to watch TV.

Since it was necessary to get up early, I decided to go to bed at eight, much sooner than my usual eleven p.m. bedtime. I did the necessity, took a quick wash, and was surprised by the pale lavender ultra feminine nightgown with matching sleeping bra and panties that awaited on my bed.

Mom stuck her head in the door and said, "Do you like them, dear. I got them some time ago for Sandra, but never got around to giving them to her."

In a way, I was thrilled that she accepted this so well, insofar as this gift of hers showed. "Yes, mom. They look so . . . so . . . lovely."

It was true; that seemed to be the only word that came to mind to describe them. The panties were satin, as was the nightgown and bra.

"Mom. Can you give me a hand with my bra?" Yes, I said my bra!

"Happy to!"

That night I slept under satin sheets, dreaming soft wonderful dreams of Nancy – just the two of us, walking and talking as we strolled along a beach at sunset.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

"Rise and shine, dear. You start working today," mom said, giving me a gentle shake.

With the early morning’s light shining through my window I yawned, twisted around, slipped on my mules, as mom brought over my blue chenille robe. After pulling the robe around me and tying the ties, I was ready for the breakfast I could smell Sandy making.

"Good morning, Sandra, on this great, grand, glorious Monday. I trust you slept well?" I greeted my beloved sibling.

"Good morning right back!"

Three ladies indulged themselves in a morning meal of link sausages, eggs scrambled with chopped onions and peppers, OJ, home fries, whole-wheat toast with strawberry jam, and coffee. I drank coffee, figuring it would help for the day. (In our house, all of us cook.)

Our morning conversation centered on the weather, local news, and what I would wear today.

"I was thinking of the gray skirt-suit and an ivory blouse; you know the one, with lace at the bodice and cuffs. A pearl necklace and silver bracelet, too."

"Terri, for your first day, a plainer blouse might be better. When you see what the other girls usually wear, you would have a better idea of office apparel."

"Okay, no lace. The jewelry okay?"

"Yes, only not too much. A necklace, earrings and watch will suffice."

"Gotcha!"

After the meal was over and dishes taken care of, I was allowed to be first in the bath. Since Sandra had other, previously made, working obligations for that week, she would be last. Of course, in making that concession, she negotiated pictures of mom and me together, in our gowns, then mom took one of the two of us.

A shower, using a beauty soap, was a real wake-up. (We could now get 3 bars of Dove, instead of 2 bars of Irish Spring, a bar of Dove, and Lava.) After using an after-bath body lotion, I wrapped a towel around me, properly chest-high, and proceeded back to my room to prepare for the day – my first working day.

After dusting myself with a lilac-scented powder, I set about selecting the clothes.

First on, a pair of black pantyhose: the gift of man to woman. Following a bit of a struggle, it was snugly in place. Maybe I should invest in control-top thigh-hi’s, as they might be less of a problem.

Next, I donned a pair of pale blue nylon panties with a pink-rose-and-green-leaf appliqué on the left. I thought about ‘pantyhose’ and adding panties, but better to be on the safe side.

Now, my nemesis: the bra. I could put the hook-and-eye fastener in the front, secure it, then twist the whole thing around; but I could get band burn. The solution: "Mom, I need help with my bra." After all, isn’t that what moms are for – helping boys with their first bra?

Mom entered the room in her bathrobe, grinned, and said, "I thought you’d need help." She fastened it, and I let the boobs fall into the lacy cups, the support gently caressing the soft life-like material. Pulling the straps in place on my shoulders, I was glad that they were padded.

"Thanks, mom," I said, as she went to do her own morning routine.

The virgin white square-necked camisole, with a lacy rose-patterned insert, was followed by a white half-slip with a rose appliqué and two rows of lace at the hemline. (Well, as a girl – even a boy -- I was a virgin.)

Now the big selection: blouse and skirt.

Earlier, I decided on wearing the gray suit on my first day; the blouse was the problem! What would go best with gray – peach, yellow, blue, or white? At least, reds and greens were out. Finally, white for today, as I can experiment with other color combos through the week.

I selected a white semi-translucent nylon blouse with Peter Pan collar, lacy cuffs and pearl button front. I thought the pearl buttons would look nice with the pearl earrings and necklace.

The straight skirt was next: charcoal gray, coming about 3" below the knee.

I put on a pair of peds before the black pumps, with a 2" heel, thinking my foot would swell a bit before the end of the day.

With shoes in place, I checked my appearance in a full-length mirror. Not too shabby, if I do say so myself. At least, my slip wasn’t showing – this time.

As I was donning a plastic cover to put on makeup, I heard mom voice, "May I help you with that?" from the doorway.

"Please, if you would!"

"Terri, didn’t you get some nail extensions the other day? I can put them on you, if you’d like."

"That would be very nice. Thanks, mom." (My manner seemed to have changed – normally I would have said, "swell," instead of "very nice.")

The nails extended only one quarter of an inch beyond my fingers, so I should have no trouble in the office. I watched the application carefully, since I would probably be doing this myself in the future.

The nails had to be clean, so mom used some rubbing alcohol on them. Then, using an emery board, she roughened the surface area, applied adhesive, then nail extension. After doing this to each finger, a hair dryer was used to hasten drying. Cherry Red polish, a clear overcoat and a little buffing finished the job. I admired the radiantly beautiful nails I now had, as compared to the dull, somewhat lifeless nails of TJ.

As the nails dried, mom placed my pearl necklace on me, noting, "TJ, I think I’m twice blessed with you. I’ve seen you in your first pair of long pants, now I’ve seen you with your first business skirt."

Speechless? You bet! Just what could a boy, or man, say to that?

"Mom, I’m at a loss – I don’t know how to respond to a compliment like that."

"Don’t change!"

There are those
who throw out the flowers
and keep the thorns.

A wig of long, shoulder-length, wavy black tresses was fitted to my head and securely anchored. A little brushing proved it would hold quite well. Mom curled the front over just a bit short of my eyebrows to form bangs, and then suggested that my brows be plucked, but a return to school in the fall nixed that, for the time being. At the vanity mirror, I fell in love with the image: a reflection, possibly, of my inner self-beauty just aching to come out.

With the aid of a magnifying mirror on a stand, as mom watched and corrected when necessary, I carefully applied a foundation, blusher, lip liner, lipstick and gloss. Mom applied the mascara, and not having had experience with the other eye "stuff," I omitted it, figuring to learn about their proper application and when to use them in the evenings and on weekends. I was sure that Sandra or mom would be more than happy to show me the finer points.

After approving the face I showed to the world, mom left to finish her dressing. I slipped out the studs, and put on pearl earrings, the watch I "borrowed" from mom, and a silver Celtic-style bracelet.

I slipped a mint in my mouth, then applied a spritz of perfume to each wrist and behind each ear. The floral scent of most female perfumes was preferable to that of Old Spice, which seemed to be the only cologne commonly available for men.

Before going downstairs, a check of my appearance in a full-length hall mirror seemed appropriate. Strange, I seem to be doing that a lot lately -- guess women care more about their overall appearance, more so than men.

Sandra waited at the bottom of the stairs, and took a video of me descending and posing at the bottom of the staircase.

"My, Terri, don’t you look and smell nice," Sandra said, her eyes appreciatively dancing about my body.

"Thanks, sis. I’m glad you like it," I replied, spinning around to give her the full effect. (Unfortunately, business skirts don’t swirl like full skirts!)

A short wait later, mom descended the staircase wearing an outfit quite similar – we did, indeed, look like mother and daughter. Especially when she handed me a brown leather shoulder bag, just like hers.

"There are tissues, lipstick, compact, fifty dollars in tens, two extra panties, two rolls of spearmint Lifesavers, spare house keys, hankies, perfume in a spritzer, and other things a girl needs," mom stated, putting the bag on my shoulder.

Shoulder bags in place, we put on our matching jackets, gave Sandra a "don’t-smear-the-makeup" hug, and, arm-in-arm, two working "comrades" made their way to the car.

Mom proceeded to get in on the driver’s side, unlocked my door, and fastened her seatbelt. I stuck my better half in, sat and twisted, adjusted the skirt, and was ready. Ooops, seatbelt! That secured, off we went.

This being a small-town area, there wasn’t too much in the way of traffic, only a few tractors, early-morning local delivery trucks, and through semis. Scenery was farms, diners, and the usual highway ads – a mall here and there, for added interest.

"Mom, can we have some music?" I tentatively inquired.

"Top right-hand button on the radio, it’s already preset," she stated.

I did so, expecting to get something loud with raucous off-key singing, and was surprised by an announcement that "next Orff’s Carmina Burana to be followed by Respighi’s Roman Festivals." The music began and I started to sing the opening, "O Fortuna, velut luna." Mom joined in, surprising me even more.

"Doesn’t that sound a lot like life, Terri," mom said, a thoughtful tone in her voice.

"You mean the ups and downs, like when you’re feeling really great and something happens – fate cuts the strings on the marionettes that we are, sending us plunging back from our highs? Yes, it does."

We passed a site where new homes were being constructed -- more land that will never again be used for agriculture. So, if we keep losing farmland will we need to import all our food? Kind of makes you wonder!

A left turn off the three-lane highway onto another, a railroad crossing, three miles to a light, left turn, two miles and I could see a building rising up from the surrounding flatlands. Actually, as mom described it, there are three buildings.

We passed through a guarded gate and up a two-way central road. The main building consisted of two-, three-, and two-story sections. In front of the building, to the left and right of the road, were parking spaces for the employees; to the right of the building was a visitor parking lot and entrance.

The front section had two floors containing offices, testing, developmental, and printing facilities, cafeteria, and executive offices; middle section was factory, medical facility for all employees, and storage; and the last section was receiving, shipping, raw material testing, railroad siding, and except for two female clerks it was also all male! There was even a separate entrance and parking facility.

Driving up to a distance of about twenty feet from the entrance mom turned into the first row, and four spaces down she pulled in. Halfway in, she pointed out the sign: "Ms. Nancy Matthews, Deputy Director of Marketing." Well, that told me what she did, and her position in the company.

We exited our vehicle, locked up and joined the first-shift technicians, clerks, and other workers headed to the building.

"Remember, shoulders back, head up, smile and be proud of who you are," mom admonished as we walked, her arm supporting me on these still unfamiliar heels.

Inside, mom and I hugged and separated, she to the left, saying, "I’ll meet you for lunch." I stood there, watching her gracefully ascend the stairs to her offices, and then mentally compared her to the mass of haggard-looking lineworkers, many in slacks or shorts lacking even minimal makeup, making their way to the various sections on the shop floor to start their first shift of the week. From the feel of the floor vibrating, I imagined engines driving various belts, gears turning, and all the other motions necessary to breathe life into a factory after its weekend hibernation. I guess work can be a job, career, avocation or drudgery; it’s really how you put you into it.

A tap on the back startled me, and turning I saw a large security-type smiling at me.

"Are you Miss Terri Matthews?"

"Yes, I am," I replied, unsure if I should’ve added, "Sir."

"Please, would you follow me, miss?"

"Lead on," I said, adding mentally, MacDuff, and woe be unto him who first cries hold. I followed my guide down a hall with cubicles of coffee-swigging clerks, soda-guzzling letter-openers and various other workers, to a stairway and up to a second-floor carpeted hallway, containing doors with names and titles.

"Wait here," he admonished as he made a call on his radio, before leaving to resume his post at the front entrance.

Three or four minutes passed, making me wonder who I was waiting for – Godot, maybe?

"Hi, are you Miss Terri Matthews?"

I turned at hearing the soft soprano, wondering if my voice was as good as hers. "Yes, ma’am," I replied to a lovely lady of about twenty-five or so with long blonde hair, done up in a high ponytail, and gorgeous blue eyes. I could tell, because she was my height. She wore a blue jumper with a yellow badge attached.

"My name is Sam, Samantha King, I’m in Human Relations. Ms. Mueller called and asked me to take care of you on your first day here. She dropped off Nancy, then had to make a trip to the airport to see someone off."

As we walked, I asked, "That would be her secretary, She’s the one I’m temporarily replacing."

Sam laughed lightly, then replied, "You’re replacing her Personal Assistant, PA for short. She wanted to give her some last minute instructions."

"So she’s making sure she catches her flight, huh?"

"Her PA is flying on the company jet, no chance of her missing a flight. It’s a private jet out, limousine service to and from destination, and private jet flight back."

Wow -- all that for a PA.

"It’s TJ, isn’t it," Sam asked, nearing the end of the hall.

"Yes," I replied, wondering if I did the right thing.

"Ahh, Terri Jane. Good, well here we are, your station for your duration."

There it was: a plain chestnut door with "Ms. Katherine Mueller," in gold letters, on the frosted glass insert. The lack of a title was surprising.

"Why no title, Sam," I inquired.

"Everyone knows she’s the boss – so she doesn’t need the advertise the fact."

Sam opened the door, and we walked into a large room with three computers, two printers and a scanner along the left wall, a desk sitting cattycorner on the right side, and several filing cabinets, with vases of multicolored artificial flowers on top, against the wall. I had to try the swivel chair behind the desk – it was actually comfortable.

"Hang up your jacket, put your bag in the lower right drawer – it locks – and I’ll take you on the grand introductory tour. Oh, check the cabinet for flats, we all wear them at work."

I did as she suggested, found a pair of moccasins that fit, grabbed a legal pad, a pen and I was ready.

"Why the pad?"

"I want to sketch each floor so I’m sure I know where the offices are, who’s who, where and their titles, so I don’t call a ‘Director’ a ‘Vice President.’ "

She laughed lightly, saying, "C’mon, let’s see Ms. Mueller’s private office."

"Lead the way," I replied, wondering what the joke was.

As Sam opened the door, I wondered how the private sanctum of a woman of her communal standing would look.

The light switch was flicked up, recessed fluorescent lighting in the ceiling flickered on, lighting up the room, and we entered. There was a refrigerator off to my far right, a coffee maker with paper cups in a niche a little closer, and on the left, filing cabinets. A somewhat battered large desk, its surface covered by bits and pieces of usual office necessities, with a swivel chair behind it, and a chair on each side, sat square to the door. An expensive-looking oriental rug topped the wall-to-wall tan carpeting. A monitor and computer sat to the rear of the desk. All in all, the office seemed to be rather Spartan.

"There you have it! Not too impressive, is it. She puts money into research and development, not her office. You might not have seen them," Sam started saying as she shut the door to the sanctum and we started the tour, "but Ms. Mueller has earned M.A. degrees in biochemistry, botany, biology, and a Ph.D. in chemistry."

Now THAT was impressive! As my tour progressed, I made notes on offices, people in them and their titles.

"Sam, everybody here seems to be a director or deputy director, why?"

"First off, these are the upper echelon offices, so the rank. A director can make decisions, and the deputy can do so in the event of the director’s absence. You know, on vacations, family problems, the monthlies, and things of that nature. Also, discussions are better when there are two heads."

Clever, I thought. "So, my mom is . . ."

"She has as much say in marketing decisions as her boss."

We continued throughout the building, factory floor, and labs meeting directors, deputy directors, forewomen, line leaders, managers and so on. I had four pages of sketches and names, and a brief identification note: "Miss Gwen Jones, green eyes, red hair, foreperson of line three."

Winding our way through the building we stopped at Sam’s office where I posed for my employee photo identity badge. Sam pinned in on, saying, "Now, you are official!"

The badge I wore was yellow, easily spotted at a distance.

Sam explained: "You have an all-access badge. Each employee wears a badge restricting access in the building. Sensors can read the presence or absence of a badge and inform security if someone is where they shouldn’t be."

"So, I can go where I need to, right?"

"You have a thirty-day badge."

"Ohh."

Sam handed me a pile of forms to fill out; I wrote in the requested information, only my name was a problem – Terence isn’t too feminine.

"Use ‘Terri’ and middle initial; the department will make corrections, where necessary."

Well, papers filled out, Sam escorted me back to my office. She was very nice, I could get used to being around her.

A thought struck me as she was leaving: "Sam, what about keys?"

She smiled and replied, "There’s no lock on the outer door, and Ms. Mueller’s key is under the desk center drawer."

After giving her a friendly wave as she walked down the hall to her department, I put away the pad, the pen, and checked out the word processing software. They were all pretty good, I would have no trouble. I filled the printer’s paper hopper, cleaned the scanner’s plate, checked ink levels on the printers, and, in general, acclimated myself to the surroundings.

Bzzzzzzzzzzzz, bzzzzzzz. An intercom sounded, from the sanctum sanctorum.

"Yes, ma’am," I answered in as professional a manner as I could.

"It’s Kathy, dear. Are you ready for lunch?"

"Err, is it that late?"

"Five after twelve, time for good girls to grab a lunch – I’ll be out in a minute."

I got my purse, checked my face, and as soon as Kathy appeared, we went to lunch.

In the cafeteria, we – Nancy, my mom, Kathy and I – selected a reserved table and seated ourselves. I watched as a server wheeled a cart over loaded with selections, including salads, sandwiches, various juices and teas.

Nancy and mom selected the salad, Kathy took a Swiss-and-ham-on-rye, and I opted for a seafood salad, with shrimp and crab lumps, and Ranch dressing. We all had a tea. Earl Grey for me.

I looked at mom, wondering where we would pay.

"Terri, the lunch is subsidized by the company. That, a child-care center, and uniforms for line workers are provided as part of company benefits."

Well, I’ll say this: she sure took good care of her employees. The salad was excellent, tea great. A nice conversation ensued, and Nancy started smiling at me, rubbing her foot against my leg under the table. Nylons against nylons.

Kathy looked a bit hesitant about something, but finally asked, "TJ, on some weekends I have meetings at my home, executives from other companies usually attend. My daughter could use some help."

"Mom, don’t involve Terri, please," Nancy implored.

"If it’s okay with mom, I would be glad to help."

"TJ, I have a very good cook and assistant cook. My daughter acts as a maid, serving drinks, snacks and a dinner. You’ll get to wear a pretty black-and-white maid’s uniform with high heels and lacy petticoats."

Now this was a turn of events I didn’t expect. Still, I guess there’s a narcissistic (or is that masochistic?) element in me in that I wanted to see what I looked like.

"You’ll be working with Nancy."

"Mom," I implored.

"It’s entirely your decision, dear. Kathy and I both agree on that."

"Okay, I guess it’s a deal."

"Great! You’ll always get 48 hours notice, and pickup and return service."

We finished off the meal with a piece of apple pie for dessert. It was time to return to work. We adjourned to the ladies to fix makeup damage, each getting her chance at the mirror. Mom took out a comb and flipped my bangs a little, and I liked her attention. No one seemed to take any notice of the action.

Satisfied, we walked out of the cafeteria and back to our respective areas.

 

To Be Continued –

Annie O

 

 

 

*********************************************
© 2002 by Ann O'Nonymous. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, compilation design) may printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without express written consent of the copyright holder.