_OceanofPDF

Slipping into Bianca’s dark office, I listened to his muffled voice
through the wall and prayed Bianca or the bathroom called him. Getting the
dress off the mannequin required more time than pulling a hanger.
My prayers were not answered. He kept talking and talking. I wished
him explosive diarrhea or a long lunch. He could win the lottery or get
another job for all I cared. I just needed him out of that damn office long
enough to get my father’s dress.
Then he got louder, until I could hear the guttural consonants of his
French accent. “I said, ‘there’s something wrong with that girl,’ and she
said—”
Ducking behind a cabinet, I watched him on the other side of the office
window, pausing at the open door.
“The usual. ‘She is this, she is that,’ but…” He paused to listen,
reaching into the printer for a sheet of paper.
I held my breath, wishing him away.
“I know. The cheap supports the beautiful, so…” He went back into his
office.
Fuck.
I stepped out from behind the cabinet, into the office where I’d signed
away a year of my life. The red pen was laid on the tabletop. It had only
been a few hours since I’d used it.
A light went on. I froze as if I’d been caught.
No. I exhaled. It was the motion-sensor lamp in my father’s closet,
creating a halo around the door. The keypad flashed red.
Jean-Claude hadn’t closed it all the way when he’d gotten the mauve
dress.
I swung it open to a tiny, empty white anteroom and another door. The
hum of a climate control unit hummed from the other side of it.
Something clicked above me.
A little brown moth banged against the light.
“You stay in here, wool-eater,” I said to the insect as I tested the inner
door.
It opened, and on the other side was a hall of wonders. Racks stuffed
with garment bags. Glass-topped drawers filled with jewels, and shelves
upon shelves of shoes.
Everything in there would have my name sewn into it.