Brigandine

You do for family – it was our motto. Which is why, when my sister, Kenzie asked, I volunteered to fill in for her at her shop, a prospect which filled me with dread.

I barely had time to snuggle baby Georgia, before Kenzie grilled me on my ability to run her store.

“Mike, are you sure you can handle, Brigandine?”

“Kenzie,” I said, rolling my eyes, “what’s so hard about running a store?”

“Being a developer has little to do with being able to sell to my customers.”

“It’s just a bunch of girlie stuff – how hard can it be?”

“Girlie stuff?”

“Yeah, you know, like brrrfff and pan….” I mumbled incoherently, turning red.

Kenzie stared at me incredulously, “You can’t even say the words bras and panties. Brigandine is so much more than that. Do you even know what the word means? Maybe you should stay here with Georgia, and I should take care of the store.” 

I stilled her wringing hands. “I don’t know what Brigandine means, but I’ve got this. You take care of you and the most precious baby in the world and let me help.”

“Brigandine is body armor. When you run a lingerie store, you learn; bras, panties, negligees, corsets… the right one will give a woman confidence, make her feel beautiful and invincible. With the right one, she can be an empress in the boardroom or the bedroom.” Kenzie’s words were filled with passion.

I pointed at the bassinette where Georgia slept. “And that, dear sister, is all I need to hear about you and your bedroom.”  I put my hands over my ears and hummed. Makenzie laughed.  

     Opening the doors of “Brigandine” the next morning did little to calm my nerves. There were racks and displays of beautiful underwear, I assume. For the most part, I averted my eyes. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy lingerie on women, but selling it seemed intrusive. I told myself to buck up as I walked around the store, trying to familiarize myself with the layout. There were just two rooms, the second held an assortment of garments: ruffles to lace, satin to leather, sweet to sinful. I hoped to avoid that room.

     The morning passed by slowly. Kenzie’s regular customers wandered in, to purchase something, drop off a baby gift, or just to see how I was coping. As I sat at the register, I noticed a woman pass by outside. She walked back and forth several times, as if she were trying to decide whether she should come in, eventually opening the door. I didn’t mean to startle her, but it had been about an hour since my last interaction with humanity.

     “Hello?”

     “Eeeep,” she gasped. She had long brown curly hair and huge doe eyes hidden behind her red-framed glasses. If she topped 5’1” I would be surprised. I’m 6’5” and a former linebacker, she seemed diminutive to me.

     “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

     “Eeeep,” she squeaked again and composed herself. “Where’s Makenzie? I mean I know she’s not here, obviously, because here you are, and I don’t see her. I guess she must’ve had the baby. How is she? The baby I mean, well Makenzie too, I guess. Who are you? Gosh, you’re tall.” Her words spilled out rapidly.

     I held my hands up in defense. “Whoa, that’s a lot of questions at once. Makenzie and the baby are fine, Georgia was born a few days ago. She’s ridiculously cute and has a great set of lungs, mostly at night. I’m Mike, Kenzie’s brother.” I extended my hand.

     “Phoebe,” she said, sliding her tiny hand in mine. She stared, not blinking or breaking eye contact.

     “Are you okay?”

     “Yes, I just don’t think I have ever seen anyone so… tall and handsome before. Eeep – did I say that out loud? Oh God, how embarrassing. Words just fall out of my mouth sometimes. I’m here to return this.” She shoved the bag into my hands.

     “Okay,” I said walking back to the cash register. I smiled, Phoebe was the prettiest and most enchanting woman. “Is there something wrong with it?” I asked, as I took some leather contraption out of the bag. An immediate picture formed unbidden in my head. Fortunately, I was behind the counter, as I attempted to adjust myself as my body betrayed me.

     “Eeep! Yes, I mean no. Nothing was wrong with it; it just wasn’t right.”

     I wasn’t sure who the bastard was that thought it was wrong, but he needed some sense knocked into him.

     “Did you need it in a different size or…?”

     “No, no new size, just something different. It wasn’t right. Can you recommend something? I need something sexy but beautiful. Something a man would find… spellbinding. This last one wasn’t right. He barely noticed.”

     I gulped. Was the man blind or insane? I nodded to the back room. I dared not enter. “Poke around in there and I am sure you will find something to get his attention.” Phoebe turned to go.

     “Wait,” I yelled, startling myself and Phoebe jumped. “What’s wrong with him?”

     “Who?”

     “The guy who didn’t notice you.”

     Phoebe smiled. “There’s no guy. Well, there is, but not really. It’s not me he didn’t notice. She’s not… he’s not… they’re not real.”

     “Not real?”

     Phoebe reached into her bag and took out a sketchbook. “I’m a writer. I come here when I need inspiration. I bring a piece home and stare at it. My heroine… or villainess,” Phoebe wiggled her eyebrows, “uses it to lure the unsuspecting man to heaven or hell.”  Her sketches depicted scantily clad women and awestruck men.  “It’s a process,” she ended with a nervous laugh.

     I summoned my courage, “I would love to learn more about your process, over dinner maybe, in a less awkward setting?”

     “I would love that,” Phoebe said, ripping off a piece of paper and writing down her number.

     Brigandine… now I get it.