Industry Analyst

Sawyer checked his watch as he moved through the streets of Manhattan toward his dinner meeting.  He felt hurried and anxious for some reason even though he had plenty of time.

Was it anxiety, he wondered?  No, it was excitement, he reassured himself.  He was actually excited for this meeting.

“Well that’s a first,” he thought.

Thought he had done his background prep, he could never have been prepared for what was really going to happen tonight.

It had been eight months ago when Sawyer, a Principal at the boutique financial firm, had approached the executives, his bosses, with the idea to add fashion and fashion retail to the sectors they analyzed for investors.  He was dying of boredom having to research everything from mining operations to medical supplies.  It seemed all the cool and interesting sectors were covered by the other analysts and he was tired of hearing stories of movie launch parties and industry events that he didn’t get to go to.   Sawyer needed to find an industry that was fun and attractive that he could lead. 

The idea had occurred to him one lazy Sunday as he and his wife Greta sat on their couch reading.  He’d taken to reading her fashion magazines since they were always strewn across the apartment.  At first, he’d just flip through the pictures.  It was fun to see celebrities and models dressed up.  But soon he’d become fascinated by the aspiration of it all and more than once found himself daydreaming about the world of high fashion. 

The partners had been hesitant at first since they were all men and primarily focused on large consumer and industrial sectors; ironic as this sector was bigger than almost all of the others. Fashion had never occurred to them, but Sawyer had shown them the size of the market, almost $2 trillion, and how investors would find it a nice diversification strategy.  All they needed was an in depth look into the market so they could credibly advise clients.

And so, after many months of back and forth, Sawyer was given the green light to deep dive into the business world of fashion.  What better city to be in than New York to do just that?

It wasn’t a long walk from his offices off Madison Avenue and 43^rd.  He walked west into the Garment district to 7^th Avenue and went down to 39^th.   He had on his finance uniform: lace up leather shoes, nice slacks with a flat front, buttoned down oxford and a “casual” vest to show they world they were no longer suit clad duds but rather hip and with the times.  He tried not to hurry as he didn’t want to sweat under his fleece vest.

As he rounded the corner of the final block to his destination his phone buzzed in his pocket.  He looked at his watch but could have guessed who was calling. Greta.

“Hey, what’s up?” he asked still moving up the block.

“Hey, honey.  I was just calling to tell you I was home now.  You’re heading to dinner, right?” asked Greta.

“Yeah, almost there now.  I don’t think it will be too late since we’re starting at 6:30.”

“Great.  I have so much to tell you about that little snake Liz in my office.  Guess what she did today?  She actually went into the meeting and…” Greta continued on for several moments. 

Sawyer loved his wife of three years dearly, and normally actually enjoyed hearing the office gossip from her work.  It beat having to explain his day to her, which he had no desire to do once he had gotten home each night.  But tonight, he wasn’t in the mood to hear more about how Liz had been passive aggressive to her coworkers.

“Hey, hon, I’m at the restaurant so I’ll need to get going.  Finish the story when I get home?” he asked

“Oh.  Yeah of course, honey.  Who are you meeting with tonight?”

He had been avoiding telling her all week because he knew Greta was a fan and devotee of the man with whom he was having dinner.  Primarily, he just didn’t want to have to field questions about it all week.  He had planned to tell her tonight when he got home, but guessed now would be fine since he’d need to hang up and go into the restaurant.

“Greyson Oliver,” he said matter-of-factly

“Greyson Oliver…wait, like the Greyson Oliver!” she almost shouted into the phone, suddenly excited.  “The designer, Greyson Oliver?!  The one I’m looking at in Vogue right this very minute?” she gushed into the phone.

He could picture her desperately rummaging through one of the half dozen fashion magazines she left by her favorite chair in their small apartment some thirty blocks north.  Indeed, one of the recent issues had done an in-depth interview with him discussing, among other things, not only his genius with evening wear but also his uncanny ability to find and hire new modeling talent for his shows and photo shoots.  A half dozen of the most highly sought-after models had all started by working for him, or so the article explained.

“Yeah, that’s the one,” he said with a big smile on his face.  He was excited too.

“Holy shit, honey why didn’t you tell me?  Oh my god! What are you going to talk to him about?”

“The firm is going to start covering the sector,” Sawyer said calmly. “So, we needed to begin doing industry interviews.  One of the partners knows someone who knows him and set it up.  I’m sure it will be as boring as the rest of them, honey,” he lied.

“Oh my god, you have to tell me everything when you get home!  Wait, can I come down there and meet him?” she asked hurriedly.  “I won’t make a scene I promise.  Or I could just sit at the bar and watch.  Please?” Sawyer imagined her poor parents dealing with their little girl who wanted a pony.

“I think we should leave the stalking out for tonight, what you think?” he responded, chuckling.

“You have to tell me everything when you get home.  I mean everything do you understand.  Not a detail left out.”

“Ok, honey.”

“I mean it!  I will fucking kick your ass if you don’t.”

“Ok!  Geez baby.  Relax.  I’ll tell you everything, okay?  Now, I gotta go.”

“Everything!” she said, and the line went dead.

At least she didn’t drag it out he thought.

 

*******

 

Sawyer pushed open the door, a full ten minutes early, and walked in, letting his eyes adjust to the darker atmosphere.  The hostess inquired as to his reservation status and he produced the correct name for her to check off her list.

“Party of two?” She asked unnecessarily

“uh, yes, two” he said as he scanned the room.

“Your guest is already seated.  Follow me,” she said sweetly.

Sawyer worriedly checked his watch again. 

“He’s already here?  He’s crazy early,” he thought to himself, growing embarrassed that he’d left a world renown designer sitting alone waiting for him.

The restaurant had been Greyson’s choice and was an upscale brasserie style with warm lighting and décor.  It was a fun spot, not too big or crowded and focused on the food given the diminutive size of the bar he walked by.  The Hostess walked him to the back to slightly more secluded table in the corner.  A man sat alone, back to the rest of the room, reading from the soft glow of his cell phone.  The Hostess motioned to the table, smiled and left.

“Mr. Oliver?” Sawyer asked as he stepped to the far side of the table to face him.

“Yes, are you Sawyer?” the man responded looking up from his phone.

“Yes sir, I’m sorry to keep you waiting,” he said offering his hand, a hint of his southern upbringing apparent for just a fleeting moment in what was an otherwise hidden accent.

Greyson rose from his chair with surprising agility and took Sawyer hand in his.

“No, no, I wasn’t waiting at all.  I escaped from my studio upstairs,” he said gesturing to the ceiling, “to come down for a cocktail before our dinner.”

Sawyer saw a half-drunk glass of red wine on the table.

“Please, sit.  I’ll have Dominic come get you a drink,” he said and looked back over to the kitchen, open and exposed.  A frenetic energy danced across the restaurant emanating from the kitchen as its staff prepared for the full dinner crowd.  A man in a black shirt noticed Greyson and came over.

The men took their seats opposite each other and Sawyer asked for a glass of the same red.  As Dominic walked away Sawyer took in the man in front of him.  He wore all black, but for now Sawyer could only see a black button-down shirt tastefully open at the neck and made of some sort of magical cotton fabric that was all at once soft, sturdy and chic.  His hair was thick and dark and perfectly coifed as though he too could be a magazine model.  Sawyer pictured him in a fragrance ad, rugged and aloof.

“Thank you for taking some time tonight Mr. Oliver, I very much appreciate it.”

“It’s no trouble.  And please, call me Greyson.”

The conversation proved to be effortless and Sawyer was captivated by the man across the table.  Sure, he was a celebrity of sorts, but more than that, he was worldly and interesting.  He was even a bit mysterious.  It wasn’t Sawyer’s job to interview him like the Vogue reporter had, he was meant to get background on the industry and to discuss its future with the people who would take it there.  But he couldn’t help being fascinated with the man across from him and how he connected his vision with the aspirations of women the world over.  After all, he didn’t design ready-to-wear that one found at the discount department stores Sawyer had grown up shopping down south.  His was a world of high fashion and glamour.  The stuff you saw on the red carpet at awards shows and in the movies, not on the rack at the general store on main street.

They ate and talked for almost two hours, interrupted only by the half dozen texts Greta had sent him asking for, in effect, a play-by-play. Thank the lord he hadn’t told her what restaurant, though by now she had used the ‘find my phone’ feature and triangulated his exact location.

The check came, reasonable by New York standards, and Sawyer gave his credit card to Dominic who dutifully went off to run it.

“But Sawyer, if you want to understand the industry you really need to see how we do what we do.  If you have time, why don’t we pop upstairs to the studio for a bit and I’ll show you firsthand?”

Greta was going to lose her shit when he got home tonight.

“That would be incredible, Greyson.  But, seriously, you don’t have to take any more time.  I’m sure you have better things to do than to show me around.”

“Don’t be silly, it’s only twenty floors up.  Do you have time?”

“Of course. I definitely have the time,” Sawyer said as Dominic handed him back the receipt to sign.

“Great, we can pop out the back door to the freight elevator.  My secret way up.”

Greyson made a point to thank Dominic and waved to the owner chef in the kitchen before leaving out the back. Sawyer followed the man and soon they were lurching upward in the large freight elevator, a remnant from when the building was heavily involved in manufacturing garments.

The elevator opened up on to a large studio which took the entire top floor of the building.  Greyson had store fronts around the world and likely a showroom somewhere as well, but this was the heart of the fashion house, where it all happened.  They had kept the old hardwood floors, brick and exposed wood beams, but had basically updated the rest of the space to a modern operation.

Greyson spent a half hour walking him around studio, now devoid of workers, showing him the various stations and specialties from the art department to where the seamstresses would assemble his vision.  He had purposefully walked him around so that they ended in a section of the floor that had the finished pieces, gowns mostly, wanting him to understand start to finish how they got to hanging on a rack. 

It was incredible, Sawyer thought to himself.  He would have guessed there was a lot of effort put into these pieces but to be walked through it, step by step was incredible.  And there were so many.  The entire back corner of the floor was rows and rows of dresses and accessories going back several seasons.  Greyson had begun to discuss the system they used in arranging them all when his phone began to ring.

“Excuse me, please.  This will be a supplier in Asia.  I’ll need to take this,” he said apologetically.  He answered the phone and walked back to his office at the opposite wall, leaving Sawyer alone with the racks of beautiful gowns.

He thought to text Greta but knew if he did it would open the flood gates.  He’d text her when he got in the cab later. 

His eyes wandered down the row of gowns and he began to peruse through them.  There was a lot to take in, the colors, the fabrics, the details.  Lace, beading, buttons, zippers, he saw the same thing over and over down the row and none of them were the same.  He ran his hands over fabrics and enjoyed the cool sensation on his skin.

“How could you think of this many ways to make a dress,” he wondered?

He came to the end of the racks and turned toward the long row of windows facing west.  The sun had already crested the horizon but the faint glow of it still lingered in the sky.  The lights of the city were already blazing.  Against that wall, almost in the corner stood a lone rack of perhaps a dozen gowns near an old fashion partition screen used for changing behind.  Sawyer wandered over and was immediately taken by the gowns.  There was something almost magnetic about them, like they called to him.  Clearly, they were finer and more beautiful than the rest. 

He couldn’t take his eyes off of them.

As he stepped to the rack, he saw a tall mirror to his left he hadn’t seen hiding behind the partition.  He reached out and touched the first dress and was immediately rewarded with the exquisite feel and texture of the soft fabric. A sort of warmth flowed from it he felt in his chest and throughout his body.  He pulled the first, a lavender creation, from the rack and held it up. 

What would it feel like to fit into this gown he wondered, absently holding it up to his body? 

He turned and examined himself in the mirror; images filled his head, dancing, laughing, flirting and the warmth feeling spread further through his body and into his mind.  

What would it be like to have the fabric against his warm skin? 

If he should have felt odd as a man holding up a dress and wondering what it would feel like to wear, Sawyer didn’t notice.  His attention and thoughts were only on the gown.

But lavender wasn’t his color. 

He kicked his shoes off as he returned the gown to the rack and tried the one next it, again holding it up and examining it against himself in the mirror.  He did these three more times, each time becoming more animated with the garment and his reflection in the mirror, swaying and swishing waiting for it to speak to him, before rejecting it and picking the next.  He removed his vest and then his shirt as he carefully took the next gown from the rack. 

He was blissfully unaware, now, of anything else around him, so enthralled was he by these beautiful long gowns and their fabrics.  He held the red gown up, holding it close to him and spinning around watching himself in the mirror as though he were dancing at a high society ball.  He imagined himself stepping lightly as his partner twirled him, the hem of the dress spinning out full and elegantly before falling again to its resting state.

Sawyer was in a dream like state now, a trance really, unable to break away, not wanting to regardless.  A soft voice, more pronounced now, seemed to whisper to him again that the red gown was not for him.  He removed his pants and socks, now standing only in his boxer briefs and select one of the remaining two.  As his hand brushed the fabric reaching for the hanger, he knew this was the gown for him.  

It spoke to him in quiet tones and dreamy visions. 

He picked it up and a euphoria washed over him, pure joy.  He lifted the heavy, full gown up and off the rack and carefully held it to him studying the daring structure of the design in the mirror.

He held it away from him, searching the back of the garment for the zipper.  Slowly, carefully he pulled the zipper all the way down to the end, opening the back of the dress.  He slipped off the hanger and returned it to the rack then lowered the dress, lining it up to step into.  He brought his first foot through the opening and felt a wonderful sensation run up his leg.  He stepped his next leg in, and the same sensation enveloped it.  Slowly, he pulled the dress up his thighs, the delicious tickling sensation spreading upward as he did.  He brought the fabric slowly past his hips and felt as his sex melted away and his hips reformed.  He brought it up just a bit higher and his waist was brought in, soon to be a perfect fit to the gown’s measurements.

Now, smiling, delighting in reverie, he held the top of the dress and lined up the armholes.  He slipped his right arm down into the long sleeve, slowly pulling it up the length of his arm as it morphed to fit the delicately thin sleeve.  His now long, thin feminine fingers escaped the end, lengthy gorgeous nails at their tips.  A delicate hand followed, emerging from the sleeve and opening like a blossom on a warm spring day.  He tugged at the top of the sleeve, pulling the dress up over his shoulder which similarly transformed, now smaller and more delicate.  He brought his right hand across to hold the dress at the top and slipped his left arm slowly, deliciously down the sleeve.  His new feminine hand again emerging from the delicate lacey fabric of the long sleeve.

Sawyer finished pulling the dress up to his neck in the front and felt his bosoms emerge into the soft sewn-in cups.  He stood there, looking into the mirror, his boyishly good-looking face atop an impossibly feminine and beautiful body. 

The long sleeve black silk dress was adorned with ornate stitching that ran down the bodice and full floor length skirt. The sleeves were the most beautiful delicate lace and mesh and came to his thin wrists.  A smart bow punctuated the front of the dress at his new waist.

“I see you’ve found the Enchantresses,” a voice from behind him came. 

It was Greyson, returned from his call. 

Sawyer was still in a wonderful trance aware of Greyson but enthralled by his transformation. 

“These are very special dresses indeed.  Made from various fabrics sent to me from an ancient order of monks,” he explained as he walked up next to him.  “Let me zip that up for you so we can see how you look.” 

Greyson gently took the zipper of the dark gown between his fingers and slowly pulled it up until it stopped at the very top of his neck. As it did, Sawyer’s face metamorphosed into that of a stunning beauty, his hair flowing out and down his neck in a feminine style.

Sawyer the man was gone.  Sawyer the woman, a goddess among women really, stood before the mirror admiring her own reflection.

“Yes, you are a beauty, aren’t you?” Greyson said standing close behind her. “Simply gorgeous.”

Sawyer had at that moment a vision of the life he could lead as this woman, perhaps as a model.  He smiled and leaned back against Greyson, the warm euphoric feeling again overtaking him, making him feel better than he ever had in his life.

“It’s wonderful,” he said, now in a voice unfamiliar to him. 

A woman’s voice.  The sound of it seemed to pull him from the trance and back into consciousness. 

“What, what happened,” Sawyer said, fully regaining his senses. 

“Not to worry dear Sawyer, all is well,” said Greyson.  “You’ve put on a rather special dress is all and it is giving you a glimpse of a new you, a different you, and perhaps a different life you could have, if you want it that is.”

Sawyer, now in a state of mild shock, walked close to the mirror.  As he moved, the wonderful swishing sound of the gown’s fabric moving against itself, hem sliding delicately across the floor, came to his ears.  His hands went to his midsection and discovered his impossibly small waist.  He leaned in and examined his flawless, gorgeous face, younger than his years, and soft brunette hair that fell in easy curls down his neck, now past his shoulders.

He was a vision he decided.  Or she was, whoever was in the mirror.

“Now, you’ll have many questions, my dear, I’m sure but let me just get you some proper shoes.  Never make an important decision without the right shoes on!” he exclaimed and hurried over to the rows of accessories across the room. 

Sawyer was still lost in his own reflection, turning this way and that, admiring himself with a growing sense of affection. 

Greyson returned quickly with a pair of lovely black satin four-inch heels with petite satin bows on the top.  He bent town and easily guided Sawyers newly formed feet into them.

“Now, before you say anything, let’s just see you walk over there,” he said gesturing back over to the racks across the room. 

Sawyer walked slowly, wary of the heels toward the racks of dresses.  With the new height, the hem of the dress was now nicely suspended just above the floor eliminating the threat that he’d step on his own hemline and crash to the floor. He could feel his hips swaying and how the heels pushed his rear up accentuating the lovely curves now hidden by the full skirt.  He could feel the soft jiggle of his breasts and he felt like his hands were so delicate they might break if he wasn’t careful.

He walked until he ran out of space then put his hand on his hip and spun around striking a pose for Greyson as if he had been a catwalk model his whole career.

“Marvelous, my dear, and with such flare!  How does that feel?”

Sawyers smile faded as the reality and absurdity of the moment seemed to return to him. 

“What the ever-loving fuck is going on?   I’m an actual woman, Greyson.  And stunningly beautiful!  This can’t be real,” a feminine, slightly southern accented voice exclaimed from his lips.

“It is, though.  Very real.  Most people would never have the chance to experience this,” Greyson explained walking to him.  “The Enchantresses don’t work on very many people and almost never on a man.  I’m actually quite stunned that they called to you.” 

He seemed to become lost in a momentary thought as the words left his mouth.

Sawyer vaguely recalled hazy whispers that had seemed to come to him as he approached the gowns for the first time.  They had called to him and he had felt their draw.

Greyson seemed to come back around, out of his thoughts.

“But the question really is how do you feel?  Do you feel like you? Or do you feel like something foreign and strange?” 

Sawyer searched his feelings.  The sense of joy really hadn’t left him yet, which he supposed was why he wasn’t freaking out.  No, he felt good.  He felt natural and normal.  He liked the feeling of the dress hanging from him and walking around, posing for Greyson.  This was his body, every inch and, if he was honest, he felt better than he did just minutes ago.

“No, I feel good, like this is my body.   Like this is the body I’m supposed to have,” he said then immediately wondered why he had said it. 

“Was that true?” he wondered.

“Well, then, you are quite lucky to have found it.  We don’t all get to have the body we feel we’re supposed to have, do we?” he said coming up to him and lightly putting his hands on Sawyers now delicate upper arms.

“My, he is handsome,” Sawyer thought looking into Greyson’s face. 

How had he not seen how good-looking Greyson was earlier?

“Come, let’s get some more wine and let me explain some things.  Come,” he beckoned. 

He scooped up Sawyer’s old clothes and took Sawyer’s hand leading him back toward his office.   Sawyer again felt the thrill of how the dress felt as he crossed the floor, the weight of the garment pulling on him, the swish of the fabric.  Even the click of his new heels resonated with him and the warm joy he felt seemed to get stronger.  Wearing the gown made Sawyer happy.

When they had crossed the floor, Greyson pause in front of their photo area, a thought sparking.

“Would you mind?” he asked motioning to where the models posed out in front of the camera.

Sawyer, apprehensively at first, obliged and stood where he was asked.  Greyson took a series of pictures of Sawyer who, at Greyson’s urging and behest, did his best to pose for the camera, somehow happy to do it.  They huddled around a small MacBook as the pictures were transferred from the camera to its hard drive. They were both stunned to see just how gorgeous the model in the photos was.  She seemed happy, earnest and real, and lovely in an ethereal sort of way.  In short, the woman in front of the camera belonged there in a way that only few did.

“Amazing,” said Greyson.  “With just a little refinement on your poses you could easily be a cover model, top tier, no doubt.”

Sawyer almost blushed at the praise.  He scrolled through the shots again, his slender fingers working the small laptop’s touch pad. 

“This woman really could be a super model,” he thought.

They took the laptop with them as they continued on to Greyson’s spacious office. A long couch took up one wall and Sawyer sat, tucking the skirt of the dress as he did, careful not to damage it. Greyson produced a bottle of wine and two glasses.  He opened it and sat down close to Sawyer.  Almost at once he could smell Greyson’s wonderful cologne as it danced its way to his nose.  He studied Greyson’s features, wanting to touch his magnificent face with his new, delicate hands. 

“He had such wonderful, beautiful eyes,” Sawyer thought, and he stared deeply into them as Greyson spoke, almost transfixed.

They sipped at the wine while Greyson explained the history of the gowns he called the Enchantresses.  He spoke about the monks who had sent him the fabrics years ago when he was just starting out. Explained how he had made them and how they had turned a handful of friends and colleagues into impossibly beautiful women, many of whom were now world renown models.  He explained that this too was Sawyer’s option, to stay in this impossible body or to return to his life as a financial analyst.  “She” was more beautiful than any of the others who’d worn the gowns he assured him.

“I can change back?” Sawyer asked, slightly relieved that he had options.

“Of course, just take the dress off.  Simple as that.”

“Ah. Well, I guess that makes sense.  I suppose it is a relief…”

They each sat there, thinking.  Greyson began to smile, knowing what was about to come.

“…and…if…if I don’t want to?  You know, if I don’t want to change back?  What then?” Sawyer asked, taking another sip of his wine to buoy his apprehension.

Greyson grinned. 

And there it was. 

They always asked.

“Well, we found that out quite by accident not long after I made the dresses.  It seems that if you, ah…, take in the male seed, shall we say,” Greyson explained, clearly choosing his words carefully, but looking down at his crotch so that there was no misunderstanding, “then the changes become permanent.”

Sawyer watched him as he spoke.  His thick hair never seemed to move, and he imagined running his new thin fingers through it. 

“That scent, too,” Sawyer thought, was incredibly attractive. 

He felt the euphoria again course back through his body, giving him conviction and courage. 

He was incredibly attracted to Greyson, and it felt right.

“Take in the “seed”? You mean…sexually?  Like, you have to have sex?” he asked. 

He was mildly surprised he wasn’t at all put off by the thought.  Sawyer’s pulse actually quickened as he pictured what that would entail.

“Yes, that is what I’m saying,” Greyson responded, putting his glass of wine on the side table.

Sawyer slid even closer to Greyson, lascivious thoughts starting to crystalize in his mind.  He’d never looked at a man and felt desire before, but that was exactly what his now female brain was feeling. 

She wasn’t just attracted to Greyson; she desired him. 

Without thinking Sawyer leaned in and kissed him, tentatively at first and then deeply.  The kiss was returned with enthusiasm.

Sawyer slid closer still so that she was almost on top of Greyson’s leg, kissing him and running her fingers through Greyson’s wonderful hair.

“God this feels good,” she thought. 

It felt true. Her conviction grew furthers and solidified, and he knew now what she wanted.

Her right hand descended down and found Greyson’s belt buckle.  Soon she had unclasped it and gotten the loose end through the buckle.  Greyson did not stop her.  He knew she had made a choice and let her do what she felt she must.  They always chose this.  No one ever wanted to go back to what they were when they could be the embodiment of beauty perfected.

The pants were opened and brought down his legs and the underwear soon followed until his fully-grown member stood erect and beckoning.  She didn’t hesitate.  She didn’t stop to consider the life altering choice she was making or the impact it would have on her life or those in her life.  She did not stop to consider how to legally exist in society not as Sawyer the man, but as Sawyer the now woman.  She did not consider any of the dozens of problems and issues the disappearance of the man would create.  She had only want, not consideration.

She instead took his phallus into her hand and stroked him, using her own saliva as lubricant.  She found quickly that she relished having him in her mouth and felt only the electricity of forbidden desire flow through her as she sucked and rubbed him to climax.  She had never wanted anything more in her life than to have him right there.  Sawyer the woman savored every last drop of the salty seed as she took it in and swallowed Greyson down.  Her own euphoria grew and crescendoed as she did, manifesting into a small but powerful orgasm, the result of which changed her forever, setting her new form.

When she finished, she brought her head up and looked at him.

“I accept,” she said letting her southern accent loose, now fully, utterly and forever a woman.

“Yes, love. You’ve made the right choice,” said Greyson, pulling up his underwear and then pants before again kissing her gently and lovingly.

He leaned forward to the laptop on the table in front of them and opened it.  Soon he was posting a few of Sawyer’s best shots online with a caption that read: “The House of Oliver’s next face”

“And, just like that you have a new career.  Now, let me help you out of that dress and why don’t you go play amongst the clothes, find something you like?”

“Mmm, yes please,” Sawyer said in a wanton tone. 

They both stood and she let Greyson unzip her, delicately removing her arms from the beautiful sleeves, careful not to damage them as she did.  Soon she had stepped out of the dress and was nude save for her shoes and some ill-fitting boxer briefs.

“There’s panties, bras, anything you need out there.  Go have fun!” he said to her. 

She started to head toward her shopping spree, a large smile punctuating her face before it quickly fell away and she turned back.

“Oh…but Greta,” she said gravely, suddenly concerned. 

How could she possibly have forgotten about her wife?

Greyson looked down at the black gown now hung over his arm and had an idea.

“Not to worry.  Unlock your phone for me?”

Sawyer smiled.  Yes, that would work.  She rummaged through her old pants and produced the phone.  With a swipe it was unlocked, and she handed it to Greyson.

“Thanks so much,” he said as he watched her retreat from his office.

Greyson looked at the home screen of the phone and noticed 11 unread texts, all from Greta. Sawyer had mentioned her at dinner, and he smiled as he read the texts asking how the meeting was going. He tapped on the name and then tapped on the phone icon to call her.

“Hello Greta!... No, this isn’t Sawyer, I’m sorry.  I borrowed his phone to call you.  This is Greyson…  Yes, “the” Greyson Oliver…Yes, thank you… Well, I’m flattered, really… yes, thank you,” he responded at the staccato pace of praise that was coming from the phone.

He looked down again at the Enchantress gown laying across his arm, smiling again.

“Listen Greta, I wonder if you wouldn’t mind coming down and hanging out with us?  Sawyer and I are looking at the new line and have delightful bottle of wine and thought you might like to join us.  I have a few lovely gowns we think you might like to try on… You would?  Oh, fabulous!  I’ll text you the address.  Yes, yes…goodbye.”

He looked again at Greta’s profile picture thinking perhaps the lavender gown…