Enlightenment Chapter 2

Might not be what you're expecting.

She walked through the doors and was immediately overwhelmed by the intensity of the color pink, and by the number of pajama pants hanging up front. She had to pass through counters of bath products and fragrances to even get to the lingerie. She didn't remember so much of this other stuff.

It was Saturday, a rare day off, and she had come alone. She had thought about calling Lanie, but this was something she just needed to do by herself. She didn't want an audience.

After glancing through the racks, she grabbed her size in a few flirty, sexy, fairly see-through items and got in line. Saturday morning was apparently a popular time to go lingerie shopping for perky twenty-somethings. Girls had come in pairs, holding up items and giggling or smirking before going into dressing rooms, sometimes also in pairs. The woman policing the rooms looked completely overwhelmed by the "no" rack and the endless line of customers.

When Kate finally got her own room, she disrobed quickly and slid on the first nightie. It was black, somewhat sheer, low cut in front, and had no ribbons or sparkles. The first thing she noticed as she shimmied into it was that she didn't seem to fill it out. But she'd picked up her size? She turned to the mirror after slipping on the matching underwear and took in a sharp breath. Oh. Wow. She didn't think it would be so obvious. But it was. This even covered the big one along her ribs, but just the little one between her breasts just looked so angry and red contrasted with the sleek black lingerie.

She turned and looked from other angles. This definitely didn't fit right. And no matter the angle, her eyes were just drawn to that puckered, round imperfection. She had always had a nice body. She'd been one of those twenty-somethings outside, proud enough of her body to ask a good friend's opinion on lingerie. Now, well, she was glad she hadn't brought Lanie.

She wouldn't give up yet. She had other things to try. Maybe this was just the wrong cut or material.

Five outfits later, as she buttoned her blouse up over her no-nonsense underwear, her hands were a little shaky. She wasn't this shallow. She knew she was beautiful. But some of her confidence, despite her intelligence and her physical and mental strengths, did come from feeling sexy wearing little to nothing.

She was not going to break down in the dressing room of a Victoria's Secret. She had more important things to think about and more going for her as a woman than her looks. But there was something about standing in lingerie in the harsh lights with the giggling girls outside that she just could not handle right now.

She gathered up her things, dropped all her items on top of the poor attendant's return pile, and made a beeline for the exit.

Well, she wouldn't be doing that again anytime soon.

She headed up the avenue back toward her apartment and stopped at a Starbucks. She never drank the whipped cream-laden confections that Castle liked, but on a whim she tried a Skinny Cinnamon Dolce Latte.

She trudged on, trying to decide if she should just go for another run to get her out of this funk. A few blocks up, as she was composing the speech she would give if she ever met the CEO of Victoria's Secret about the evils of objectifying women with cheap, trashy, glittery lingerie and nationally-televised fashion shows, she had a fairly good head of steam built up to overpower any sense of insecurity lingering from her experience.

That was when she spotted it. She'd forgotten it was here, even though she passed it nearly every time she took a long run. It was a non-descript storefront, windows and door shaded by a large tree near the curb. "Dora's Ladies Boutique" was painted in script on the window. She had never been inside, in fact she had thought of it as kind of a little-old-lady store. Certainly not somewhere she would have thought to bring friends to shop for lingerie. But now that she really looked in the window, she saw they had nice things. Pretty things, really. She stopped at the door and peered in. After the morning she'd had so far, it couldn't get any worse. Why the hell not?

As she turned the knob, the old-fashioned hardware shifted and she tugged on it to open the door. A bell tinkled above her head, and then she heard a soft pop from one side of the room. She suppressed the reflex to flinch at the noise, took a breath, and stepped inside.

The first thing she noticed was the soft lighting. Neutral tones with dark wood paneling. No showy displays. Everything was hung closeted along the walls or laid out on heavy, granite-topped tables. She heard Rachmaninoff playing softly in the background.

A petite, middle-aged woman stood smiling behind an antique desk as she set a bottle of champagne into a waiting ice bucket. She looked up at Kate and stepped around the desk to where she stood, extending a hand.

"Well, hello there, darlin'. I'm Dora. What can I help you find this morning?"

She had a soft Southern lilt to her voice and a surprisingly firm handshake. Kate noticed the subtle but stylish makeup, pinned up graying hair, perfectly-tailored suit, and string of pearls. She smiled back in spite of herself.

"I'm not really sure."

Dora placed a gentle hand behind her elbow and walked her toward the desk.

"Here dear. Start on this." She handed her a heavy crystal champagne flute and poured her a generous glass. "Well, then what's the occasion? Are you getting married?" She leaned conspiratorially in and guided Kate toward the rows of lingerie hanging along one wall.

"Oh, no, not getting married." Dora veered away from the white and cream section she had been aiming for.

"A new man in your life, then?" She looked up at Kate and slyly raised an eyebrow with a knowing grin.

"Kind of. Well, I wouldn't exactly call him 'new,' but it's complicated. Let's just say, I'm looking for a fresh start." Why was she telling this woman any of this?

"Oh, I like that. Fresh starts are one of my specialties. Now, tell me your name, so I can stop calling you darlin'. People in New York seem to be bothered if I use it too much."

Kate chuckled. She was telling her things because she was Dora, apparently. She had a store that had been here at least as long as Kate had been in the neighborhood, with very nice things from what she could see, and she obviously still ran the business herself. Manhattan had a way of making warm people turn cold, but Dora still had the smile and the honeyed tone of voice straight out of wherever her hometown was.

"I'm Kate. Where are you from, Dora?"

"I grew up in Fort Worth, Texas. My momma and daddy had a pretty little shop down there, and I came up to get my own fresh start about 15 years ago. Took a little time to get settled, but the right people found me. What do you do for a living, Kate?"

"I'm a homicide detective with the NYPD."

"Oh my, how impressive. It must be difficult sometimes to maintain a sense of being a woman when you're in charge of so many men, especially with the things you see every day. I have so much respect for what you do, solving crimes and putting things to rights for the families."

From someone else, Kate might have taken her words as condescending or intrusive, but somehow coming from this woman, she understood they were sincere.

Dora had led Kate back to a curtained hallway in the center of the room.

"Why don't we get you measured and then I'll pick some things out and bring them back to you. Dora's Fresh Start Special."

She pushed the curtain aside to reveal a tastefully-lit mirrored alcove flanked by two doors.

"I think we'll put you in the blue room. I'll bet with your coloring, the light in there will be just right."

She opened the door on the left and Kate took in the chaise lounge, love seat, and matching chair, all quite modern but interspersed with dark wood antique side tables and full-length free-standing mirrors. The lighting was indirect, the carpet was plush, and the walls were a rosy cream.

It wasn't until she put down her champagne and took off her jacket that she saw Dora start to back out of the room.

"I'll get my tape measure while you undress. The less you have on up top, the better I can size you, but you can leave your panties on."

Kate suddenly realized what this meant. She was going to have an audience after all. She knew her expression must have changed, because it was reflected back in Dora's look.

"Now Kate, I have seen just about everything, tattoos and piercings and beauty marks and all, so don't be shy." She ducked out the door and closed it with a soft click. She wasn't so sure about this. Her hands were a little shaky again as she started to unbutton her blouse. She closed her eyes, took another long sip of champagne, and tried again.

When she heard Dora's soft knock, she had gotten down to just her panties, facing away from the door.

"All set, dear?"

"Sure." That didn't sound shaky. Really, it didn't.

To her credit, Dora walked around in front of Kate and looked her straight in the eye. Kate wasn't quite up to that direct gaze, so she shifted to look at a point in the corner of the ceiling.

"Now, arms out to the side a bit."

She wrapped the tape around her ribs, adjusting it to fit without being tight. It was running right along the bigger scar.

"Don't forget to breathe. If you hold your breath my number will be wrong, and worse, I might have to catch you if you faint dead away." Kate exhaled and huffed out a small chuckle.

Dora checked the number and moved to measure over the fullest part of her breasts, then her waist and hips. She stepped back, rolled the tape into her jacket pocket, and wrote the numbers down on a pad she pulled from her opposite pocket. Kate dropped her arms, not quite sure how to stand.

"OK, I'll be right back. And Katie, sweetheart, I don't want to overstep, but can I tell you something?"

"Sure." Kate crossed her arms over her chest and met her eyes. She wasn't so sure.

"You are a beautiful woman." She swept her hand toward Kate's two angry red marks. "If those are what have you so skittish about not wearing clothes, then you have nothing to worry about. I don't know this Fresh Start of yours, but I'll just bet that if he's lucky enough to be in a bedroom with you, the last thing he'll be looking at will be a couple of little pink scars. Now, I'm going to go out there and bring back a couple of things that will hide every bit of those, but what I hope is that you'll try the ones I'm going to bring that don't hide a bit of you." And with that, she turned and left.

Kate blinked at the closed door. How on earth did this complete stranger get inside her head? And moreover, how did she get it all exactly right? She didn't leave Kate much room for disagreement, either. Kate shrugged her blouse over her shoulders and sat on the lounge. She crossed her legs, reached for her glass, and sipped, allowing a small smile to slide across her lips. She liked this woman, intrusive bossiness and all. Now that she thought about it, maybe she knew why. That was exactly what Johanna Beckett would have said.

Dora had really lovely taste, and true to her word, she had brought back a little bit of everything. Glitter was conspicuously absent, thank god. Kate was going to have no problem filling that top drawer. Trying on things that fit her body and were beautifully-made really made a difference. It shouldn't give her self-esteem or confidence just to have a pretty backdrop and an elegant soundtrack and French champagne, but despite her feminist leanings, Dora and her Ladies Boutique made a difference. No pink pajama store ever again.

While she was changing, she heard another customer come in, and from somewhere she heard another saleswoman's voice start the process again. Dora stayed with her, and she was glad. When it came down to picking what to buy, especially what she had in mind for, well, for their first time, she actually asked Dora's opinion.

The older woman quietly stepped in and closed the door.

God she had to stop thinking about this whole thing like it was a foregone conclusion or a wedding night, but she'd built it up so much in her mind she couldn't help herself, and it was a first impression, after all. The bathtub didn't count. She didn't just want "wow;" she wanted speechless. That required an outside opinion.

"Take your hair down, for goodness sake, why do you have all that beautiful hair if not for this! OK, now look at yourself again." She held up her index finger and twirled it around.

"Turn around… all the way." Her finger shifted to point toward the chaise.

"Now sit. Look in the mirror while you're sitting, too. I know you think you won't have it on that long anyway, but just humor me, I sometimes know what I'm talking about." Kate laughed out loud hoped that hid her blush.

Dora stepped out while she switched outfits, and she repeated it all with the second option.

"So, what do you think? I just don't know."

Dora took a breath and looked up at Kate with a critical eye.

"They are both stunning on you, Kate. But one of them makes you glow when you wear it."

"The first one."

"You got it sweetie. You were thinking about him the whole time you had it on."

Kate held up the topic of conversation on its hanger.

"You're right. How did you know that?"

"Every once in a while, someone comes in here in the same spot you're in right now—totally in love and completely at a loss on what to do about it. You haven't taken the leap yet, but you're thinking about it every day. You're looking for something to help you form the thought that's in your head into reality. And when you find it, it shows. You're there, darlin'." She smiled.

"Now get changed and come on out while I ring all this up. And then I'm gonna do something I never, ever do with my customers. We're going to have us a little toast, because I think this Fresh Start is worth celebrating."