I am happy to report there is a Rosalind, and she's just as wonderful in RL as she is in my story. I blame her for my heavy duty addiction to the stuff. (You'll see, trust me)

Enjoy. Feedback is always appreciated.

--Badgirl

Dressing the Part

Sara pulled into the parking lot of the strip mall. There was a tiny grocery store wedged in amongst the check cashing businesses, clothing stores, doctors' and law offices. She was way on the other side of town, but after almost two weeks of solid work graveyard was close to closing two active cases, and they'd just gotten some promising new DNA evidence on a murder Sara had been afraid might have to be kicked over to the cold case detectives. She was dead tired but was happy to have remembered to stop and get the basics; she craved something simple and homemade for dinner, even if it was only a bowl of cereal or a tuna sandwich.

It was midmorning but Sara was coming off a fourteen-hour shift. Seeing that light at the end of the tunnel, case wise, buoyed her steps and she almost floated through the aisles of the store. She even tipped the eager bag boy who helped load her paltry few groceries into her trunk. She stood and stretched and took a moment to just enjoy the sun on her face.

The light made mirrors of most of the plate glass windows of the storefronts; the usual odd mix of high and low end businesses you only seemed to find in places like Vegas. The law offices of Belton, Boshart and Associates stood next to a seedy looking liquor store. Must explain the "DUI? Our Specialty" sign discreetly taped to the window closest to the liquor store, Sara mused.

A store at the end caught her eye, "Rosalind's" was written in flowing gold script over the windows, which were draped in pale pink silk. Rosalind's what? she wondered. Intrigued, Sara wandered closer; it seemed to be a clothing store. She could just make out the mannequins in the window behind the splashes of sunlight.

Drawing near, Sara could see the mannequins were wearing not clothes but delicate peignoirs and filmy nightgowns. It was a lingerie store. An upscale one at that, because one of the dummies was dressed in a black lacy La Perla teddy. Sara turned to go, curiosity satisfied, but then paused. The display in the store window reminded her of the pictures from Greg's book, this was serious lingerie, a definite cut above Victoria's Secret. It wouldn't hurt to just go in and have a look, she had a minute or two to spare. She pulled open the door and went inside, all thoughts of crawling home for a quick supper then bed forgotten.

A gentle chime sounded when she opened the door and stepped into the shop. Sara's first impression was of pink. The walls were pale pink striped wallpaper, the carpeting was a deep rose, and even the air smelled kind of pink. And lingerie, lingerie was everywhere. Elegant tables displayed a rainbow assortment of bras and panties. Racks close to her overflowed with gowns and robes and other long silky things Sara couldn't identify. Posters in gilded frames displayed images of languid women in Lejaby, La Perla, Aubade, and Rigby and Peller wearing bras and panties, tiny scraps of thongs, garter belts, and wistful dreamy expressions. As if strolling through the countryside clad only in their underwear was the real secret to inner peace and contentment. The whole place was girly, too girly for Sara's tastes. She turned to go.

"Hello. Can I help you?"

Sara faced the woman who had spoken, she was blonde and petite, with short tousled hair and gold-rimmed glasses perched on the end of her nose. She looked matronly at first glance, but then Sara took in the very short skirt on the stylish business suit she was wearing, the pale cream fishnet stockings and two, no three-inch heels the woman was wearing. Sara quickly revised the mental image of somebody's mom. The woman had to be at over fifty but she wore an air of confident sexiness that struck Sara as being very European and out of place in Vegas.

"Uh, I was just browsing," Sara moved into the store, she felt compelled now to at least do a cursory sweep. The woman smiled merrily at her and held out her hand for Sara to shake. Surprised, Sara let her hand be enfolded into a warm and confident grip.

"Well feel free to look around as long as you like my dear, my name is Rosalind, let me know if there's anything special you need."

"I will, thanks," Sara found herself grinning back at the tiny woman; she was so sincere and genuine.

Sara wandered through the store, idly looking this and that. She was struck by a display of beautiful hand-embroidered corsets pinned to a backdrop of shimmering satin.

"Gorgeous aren't they? I almost hate to sell them," Rosalind appeared again with a tiny cup of espresso that she offered to Sara, "They're like works of art."

"Oh no, that's okay," Sara demurred.

"Nonsense, I'm having one so you may as well join me. Keep me company on my break." While she may not look like a mom, Rosalind definitely had the manner. Sara took the coffee and sipped politely, the flavor hit her tongue and she widened her eyes and sipped again.

"This is excellent."

"Isn't it? I smuggled some back with me during my last buying trip to France," her eyes gleamed wickedly as she confessed her petty crime. "My husband thinks I should just pay the duty but we all need our little thrills don't we?" she winked, and Sara blushed, catching the meaning behind Rosalind's comment.

"Uh…yeah." Sara bit her lip and looked at the corsets, torn.

Rosalind waited patiently, and Sara just knew she'd heard weirder things than what she was about to confess.

"Greg. My boyfriend—" why did it still feel strange to say that? "He likes…" Deep breath. "Bettie Page. That whole pin-up girl thing and well I was wondering…" Sara fell silent.

Rosalind beamed at her and said smoothly, "If I had anything here that might help you achieve that…retro look?"

Sara nodded, relieved she was acting like it was a perfectly normal request.

"I'm sure I have just the thing for you, any particular color?"

"Black, I guess."

"Of course with your porcelain skin, black would be an ideal choice, and very much in keeping with Bettie's style. Bra and panty set or…" Rosalind waved towards the corsets.

"Those. I've never worn one and I kind of want to…surprise him."

"Then surprise him we shall, he won't know what hit him when I'm finished with you," Rosalind all but purred, "sit dear," she waved to a velvet chair, "finish your coffee and let me see what I have."

Sara blinked and obeyed her, feeling she didn't quite know what had hit her either.

Three hundred dollars later—did I really just spend three hundred dollars? On underwear?—Sara left the store a little dazed but oddly happy. Rosalind was incredible; she'd spent over an hour showing Sara a variety of corsets, basques, and merry widows, and hadn't batted an eye when she'd had to teach Sara how to put them on. She'd just stepped into the spacious dressing room and helped her out, never once making her feel anything less than beautiful. Sara had been touched; it had given her a glimpse of what shopping with a mom might've been like. Never pushy, Rosalind had offered garments in a range of prices to Sara, but once she had put on the black satin merry widow from Aubade she had been sold.

"May I suggest these as well?" Rosalind had presented a pair of silk stockings from Italy. She flipped over the package to show the back seam. "These come with Cuban heels."

"Shoes?" Sara had said, baffled.

Rosalind had smiled and explained that "Cuban heels" were an old fashioned look of a black heel running up into the back seam. "In these, the whole foot is in a contrasting black material, not only are they historically accurate but they tend to be sturdier too, they can take some wear and tear." She then quirked a knowing eyebrow at Sara, who had been helpless to prevent the laughter that arch look had generated.

"But shoes are a definite must to complete this outfit. Most men love a really sexy high heel. It's such a turn on for them. I know my own husband sometimes won't let me take mine off…" Rosalind smiled dreamily and Sara was aware her mouth had dropped into a shocked O.

Rosalind caught her look and laughed breezily, "Well that's why he bankrolled this place in the first place, 'Rosie,' he said to me, 'if you're going to be spending all that money on the stuff, you might as well sell it too.' This store is a just hobby really, and I know he isn't complaining when I preview upcoming collections for him."

She nudged Sara conspiratorially. Grinning, Sara gave in and bought the stockings. She had made a mental note to pick up some fuck-me heels too.

Sara sat in her car for a minute and gazed over at the pale pink bag in the passenger seat, three hundred dollars or not, she was hooked. She'd be seeing Rosalind again.

"Greg is one lucky bastard and he doesn't even know it yet."

She started the car, turned up the radio, and sang along all the way home, stealing happy glances at the bag as she did.

Next: Wherein Sara has run-ins with suspicious co-workers and the need for clandestine text messages...