A/N: To Mac, on her birthday. I hope this fulfills at least part of your fic wish!
I want a bra to change my life.
I watch those makeover shows religiously. I don't care about the clothes or the shoes. It's the women that walk into a department store hunched over and schlumpy, and leave with a waist, confidence, and undergarments that grown-ups should wear that make me jealous.
I sigh as I look at myself in the mirror. Supposedly, if you bend over and shake your chest violently you end up with fuller cups. I stand, after doing an upside-down limbo and stare at my overly hopeful face in the mirror.
In detached observance, I look like a mime who's box is strangling him, trying to alert the random passerby's to his dilemma.
I look longingly at the sports bra I dislodged myself from before trying on the bra I'm wearing now.
"At least this one makes me look like I have two boobs." I say to myself. "And I don't have to dislocate my shoulder to pull it off." My mouth lifts into a grin and I laugh at the mental image of me wrestling my arms out of that contraption just a few minutes ago.
Just as quickly, I shake my head and frown. "Stop talking to yourself, Jessica." Heaving my boobs up with my hands, I suck in my tummy as much as possible. It's better, but I can't breath.
I stomp toward my closet and pull out a sweat shirt. "Never mind!" I yell at my chest. "You're too difficult today to even wear real clothes."
I jab my finger into one of my boobs to make my point and yelp at the pain I've just caused myself.
"This is why we can't have nice things." I tell the voice in my head.
It's Monday. There's no such thing as a wonder bra. And now I have to go play assistant to Tanya Denali. Her boobs are always perfect, because they're not even real. Like I said, there's no such thing as a wonder bra.
I pin a giant broach to my sweat shirt and throw on a pair of warm leggings and ballet flats. The mirror laughs from behind my back but I don't listen. I twist my arm around my back and flip off my own backside before gathering my things and walking out the door.
I want to be a delicate flower.
I watch the new girl sweep through the office like a ballerina, her blond, bouncy hair the only clue that she's not on the stage wearing point shoes.
She is a rose, obviously, since her name is Rosalie.
I push my muffin top back into my skirt, cross my knobby knees, and straighten my glasses.
"Ow." I whimper. My skirt is giving me the Heimlich maneuver all by itself. I huff in frustration just as Rosalie walks to my cubicle.
"Good Morning, Jessica." She says, kindly. She's always so nice to me which makes me feel even more inferior. If she's a rose, I'm a tuber. I belong underground where my butt can expand to epic proportions and I can feed entire families with what I carry under my skin.
"Hi." I say, lamely.
She bends to set a stack of papers on my desk and just the slightest hint of lace peeks out from under her blouse. It's purple and feminine, and her ample bosom pillows softly over the edge before she stands back up. They're real.
"I want to be your bra." I sigh dreamily, without thinking about what my mouth just farted in this queenly being's general direction.
"What?" She laughs, a cough catching in her throat.
"Um, can we just pretend I didn't say anything? Tanya already thinks I'm a disease, I don't need her thinking I'm a psycho too." I lay my head on my desk and watch the run in my hose as it slides all the way down to my foot.
"What are you doing after work?" She's smiling so sincerely that I smile back without wanting too.
"Nothing." I'm so depressing a speed bump has more of a social life that I do.
'We're going to Eclipse. Don't make any plans." She tells me. My mouth drops open and she giggles, shimmying her chest as she walks out of my teeny space.
Eclipse is a luxury bra store, much like the one in my beloved "What Not To Wear" episodes, but I'd never step foot in there alone.
The rest of my day flies by. I trip a few times, and eventually have to pull off the dumb hose so I don't resemble an elephant from the waist down, but I am giddy about my booby play-date at Eclipse.
Rosalie is talking up the sales woman, who already has her elderly arms weighed down with sumptuous lace and sheer-bodiced beauties, when I walk through the door.
"Oh! This is Jessica, Sue, the one who's here for her fitting!" Rosalie spots me and I burst into a full body blush. I know what comes next; I've done my reality show research. My breasts are about to be manhandled my a complete stranger.
Why am I doing this again?
Sue lumbers off the set up my dressing room and I follow Rose like a lost puppy as she touches different lingerie sets, and holds brightly colored underwear to her arm to test the colors against her skin.
"I'm ready girls!" Sue calls, and my stomach starts to churn acidic butter deep in my belly.
But when I walk into the room and see all of the gloriously gorgeous things that I might actually own at the end of this excursion, I settle into the experience.
"Miss Jessica, could you please remove your shirt for me, dear, so I can assess the fit of your current under garment?"
Sue is so pleasant and Grandmotherly that I feel perfectly comfortable taking off my blouse while she stands a couple of feet away. Her forehead creases immediately when she sees that contraption I chose to hold my bosom today.
"Oh dear." She shakes her head. "This bra is much too big, Miss Jessica. Your poor boobies are staring at your belly button!" She walks behind me and grabs my straps, hoisting them up to my ears to demonstrate where my boob should be sitting.
I gasp. I didn't know my breasts could lift that high! It's a revelation, and I'm rowdy with relief that this daily torture that has plagued me for so long might get a little easier.
"Okay now, love, you just take that poor thing off your little body and I'll be right back in to measure you."
When no one is near by to see me, I put my hands over my breasts and cock my head in what I hope is a sexy manner. "Miss Jackson, if you're nasty." I say to myself. Janet would be so proud of me. I am going to get my bra.
I hear Rosalie snicker outside my door. "Oh shush, lady, this was your idea. It takes me over an hour to get dressed every morning because my body is so uncooperative."
"It's not that, Jessica." Rose sounds like Snow White gathering animals to her in the forest; except Rose gathers body parts. She is the pied piper of boobies everywhere!
"What is it then?" I ask, self consciously. I really am not ready to know what else is wrong with me.
"It's that you don't see yourself clearly. You're beautiful."
I sit down on the bench in my little room and take deep breaths. I know it's not true; it can't be, but it still feels good to hear the words.
"Um, thanks?" I mumble.
Rose laughs again and I hear Sue bustle back to the door.
"Knock, knock! I'm coming in now."
I stand, and wait for my mammary measuring to begin.
Things are not going well. Sue forgot to bring her glasses to work today, which is disturbing in and of itself, but the lack of spectacles is making the measuring process take years.
Sue cannot read any of the numbers on the tape without pressing her nose into my lady parts. I'm pretty damn mortified, and I can hear Rose huffing in annoyance outside my door.
Her feet are all fidgety under the door, and I starts to panic, worried that she's regretting asking me here at all.
Suddenly, Rosalie bursts in my dressing room.
"Oh for the love of lingerie Sue! How long are you going to make her stand there while you sniff her armpits? Didn't Charlie remind you to put your glasses in your purse?"
My embarrassment is soon overtaken by curiosity. I had no idea that Sue and Rose knew each other before today.
"He did, Mz. Rose, but I forgot them anyway." She hangs her head in shame and Rose's face softens.
"I'll finish it, Sue, don't worry. You go call Charlie and see if he or Seth can run your glasses to the shop for you before closing, okay?"
Sue nods in agreement and Rosalie closes the door, leaving us alone in the dressing room.
With expert and speedy hands she takes all my measurements while I flail my arms around in a one person game of statues.
"This was my job before Tanya hired me." She smiles at me in the mirror.
I didn't want to ask why someone as lovely as Rose knew how to sculpt boobs into breasts.
I kind of grimace-grin at her reflection, consumed once again with her possible opinion of me and my less-than lady lumps.
"You're a much better customer than Tanya ever was." She cackles, conspiratorially.
"Tanya shops here too then?" Rose has felt up my boss's chest.
"Yes. Things were especially interesting after her surgery." I want to plug my ears and lalala myself to lala-land, but this information if just too good not to devour.
I was right, Tanya's boobs aren't the real thing, and she's difficult fit.
Karma is already have a field day in my unconscious. Knowing these things about Mrs. Denali can only make my job more strenuous.
Why did Rose take a job with her if she was so awful to work with?
"I'm not trying to gossip, Jessica. There's a point to all of this." Rose made a minute adjustment to the right strap of the deep green, satin bra I was wearing against my skin.
I raised an eyebrow to her glass-backwards face and she smiled that warm smile that keep every one from not grinning like an idiot in reply.
"What's the point then?"
"When you know what someone's got underneath? They're a lot easier to work with." She smirked, and I bloomed red across my clavicles. I was red and green like a Christmas tree.
Once again, when it came to discussions of my actual self-worth, I was speechless. The first thing that popped in my head was an image of Bette Midler parading around in her "Over the Shoulder Boulder Holder", so I started singing:
"'Otto Titsling, inventor and kraut,
had nothing to get very worked up about.
His inventions were failures, his future seemed bleak.
He fled to the opera at least twice a week.'"
I raised my eyes to Rosalie's and she cackled like a crow. With a deep breath she sang the next verse. Full on dance moves and facial expressions abounded, and the dressing room, with all the bras already on display, was the perfect stage.
We ended the song in harmony, both with brassieres on our heads, and chests stuck out proudly before we fell into each other laughing.
"'The result of this swindle is pointedly clear:
Do you buy a titsling or do you buy a brassiere?'"
The forest-hued titsling came with me to the check-out line, and Sue gave me a 20% discount for enduring her blind harassment in the dressing room. Life was hopeful again.
Sometimes saving graces are small squirrelly things.
I hit Tanya in the boob with a licorice stick. I had a legitimate excuse. There's a new boy in our office; his name is Mike.
He replaced the complete turd-hole that used to be Tanya's personal assistant. I think his name was Edward. I'm not sure, however, because he was always too good to look me in the eye.
Mike was ogling Rosalie, all new hires went through a phase of Rose-worship. All I could think was, "neener neener neener, she touched my boobs last week, you BOY".
Rosalie came to my cubed cage and complimented me on my sweater. It was the same green cardigan I'd worn last week, but it looked to much better with my new bra underneath. Some of us worship Rose for a different reason.
There are no white knights, but there are cute boys in all-white sneakers.
They were hideous, really, his shoes. But somehow, in my mind, his shoes and my bra became friends, and I knew I could woo with shoe, or something.
I sashayed to his cubicle, feeling buxom and benevolent, my plan to take him shoe shopping forming in my mind. I was paying it forward, Rosalie style.
"Hey Mike!" I was casual and smooth in my silky, satin bra, screw the muffin top and the slightly frizzy hair. "I'm Jessica, I just wanted to introduce myself."
He smiled at me, all toothpaste commercial, heart poundingly big and I swooned, just a teensy bit.
"Hey Jessica." His eyes did a barely perceptible scan of my body and when they found my face again, I was pretty sure I'd passed the test. Rosalie Hale was going to be the Godmother of my future children if her boob-wrangling skills helped me land this guy.
"Nice shoes." I said, jerking my head, in the most ladylike fashion, toward his feet.
"You really think so? I thought there was a rule or something women followed about no white before spring." He was a blusher.
"I think, actually, that Gwen Stefani renounced that rule with her first fashion line, or something." I had no idea what I was talking about, but name dropping Gwen made me feel like I had another hot chick on my side in this: Rosalie, Gwen, Janet Jackson…
"Hmm." He stared blankly at his computer screen and my heart fell. At least my boobs stayed put as my insides melted down to my belly button.
"Um, I was planning to head to the mall after work tonight to pick up some footwear that are more appropriate for this company. Do you… want to join me? We could get coffee or something too, if you want." Mike had beaten me to my own invitation. My face cracked in half, my smile was so big, and I pressed my palm against my throat, reminding my pulse to continue pulsing. I was going to kiss Rose on her perfectly pouting lips after this.
I nodded my head very enthusiastically, accepting shoes and coffee, and whatever else a date with Mike at the mall might bring, and Mike blushed again, laughing to himself.
"That's a beautiful sweater, Jessica." He said, clearing his throat.
I smoothed my hands over my hips, loving them immensely just as they were.
"Thanks, Rosalie helped put this all together today." I pointed to the sweater, skirt, and shoes that adorned my skin.
Waving my fingers like a beauty queen, I floated back toward my desk, bumping into Tanya yet again.
"Miss Stanley! You have got to watch where you're going! What is that on your shoe!" She announced to the entire building. With mortifying slowness I looked down at my left foot to see a small square of two-ply toilet paper taking a ride on my heel.
My eyes immediately flitted to Mike's who just shrugged in an "I'm sorry" kind of way. I bent down to pull the offending paper off my shoe and heard him choke.
Whipping myself back to full attention, I felt the jiggle that my new miracle bra gave my girls. Mike's face was beet red, and he had a stack of papers covering his lap.
"Jessica!" He whisper-yelled.
I just widened my eyes at him, trying so hard to fade into the background after being reprimanded by Tanya in front of everyone.
He motioned to the front of his shirt and I cocked my head like a confused puppy. Then, he pointed at my chest.
The top button of my sweater had come loose when I plucked the potty-paper off my shoe. Mike had gotten a full show of all Rose's hard work, and I bit my lips between my teeth, suppressing my glee inside without letting it explode on poor unsuspecting Mike.
I smiled back up at him and mouthed. "Thank you." He chuckled and whispered, softly this time, "I'll see you tonight."
I beamed. He'd be seeing both of us, because this bra was never coming off. He had a shoe shopping date with me and the bra that changed my life.