The Dress Makes the Woman

This is a work of fiction. No real people, places or events were used. Copyright ã 2011 Plot Roach.

The Dress Makes the Woman

By Plot Roach

I started out the day looking for a Halloween costume. And then I was chased by a goblin wearing a bear skin rug.

I can explain, really.

This whole thing started when a friend and I decided to go shopping for Halloween costumes in the Garment District in L. A. Maggie told me that we could find something really cool and realistic, but also really cheap at the same time. And since Halloween only comes once a year, and I’m in between jobs at the moment, cheap was in my price range. We took the Metro -link (her treat) and headed off in the direction of industrial sized buildings with a few dollars and lots of hope in our hearts.

She headed for a place called “Fred’s Frocks” she’d heard about from a coworker who liked to cross dress. The man was the size of a football quarterback, but shrugged on woman’s wear on the weekends to sing at a local club. I had seen him perform once, and Fred’s Frocks had done wonders for the man, transforming him into someone that put supermodels into shame for lack of femininity.

But then again, I’d swear half of the Victoria’s secret catalogue was really male anyway..

But getting back to my story…

Maggie pulled me into the shop in a whirlwind of gasping, whining and shrieking. And that was just her reaction to the clothes she saw on the racks. “OHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGODTHISISSOCUTE!” She screamed in one tremendous breath, brandishing a dress that looked appropriate for an Amazon warrior, but sequined for Barbie. I wasn’t that impressed, but then I’m not really into sequins.

As Maggie plunged like an intrepid explorer through racks of brightly colors dresses, I headed for the back, where something in the shadows had caught my eye.

You know that feeling when you see something, but aren’t really sure what you saw? And you know that if you don’t investigate it, you might miss out on something big. Well, this was my big moment. And I didn’t realize how big it was going to get.

I walked up to a rack, mostly old coats and robes when the owner, Fred, sauntered up to me. He was a thin man, built like a reed, but had the attitude of a heavyweight boxer. It made sense, you would kind of have to have that feeling about you if you were going to sell stuff like this in this part of the city. The top half of him wore a lab coat and the bottom half looked like it belonged to a homeless bum, the gleaming white of his coat glaring against battered sneakers peeking out under the bottoms of stained and ripped jeans. “is there something that I can help you with, my dear?” he asked.

“Oh, no.” I said. “I’m just looking. Something caught my eye is all.”

“Hmmm.” Fred said and then began to paw through the rack of clothes. “I’d say that you’re fit to be a princess this Hallows.”

“Me? No.” I said. “I can’t stand the type.” And it was true. I was always a t-shirt and jeans kind of girl. I never donned a tutu, a ball gown or a frilly dress of any kind. It just wasn’t my kind of thing. But then Fred pulled out a dress wrapped in plastic and my heart fell to my feet.

“I think that this one will do the trick.” Fred said, tearing off the plastic and holding the dress in the sunlight that filtered through a nearby window so that it played across the fabric. And I swear to you that the dress looked like it was made out of twilight itself. Beautiful hues of deep blues and hazy purples drifted through the cloth, every now and again a thread of silver gave the smallest hint of a star that you might see in the sky above.

“Ah, yes.” Fred congratulated himself. “We have a winner.”

“I don’t know.” I said, backing slightly away. “I might not have enough money.” I KNEW that I didn’t have enough money. That dress was beautiful and well out of my price range. Looking at it I went from a Zen state of happiness to deep regret. Even if it did fit, it would like putting a wedding gown on a cow. I wasn’t “ugly” by any means, but my thighs could put a draft horse to shame.

Fred read the hesitation on my face and proceeded to escort me to the nearest dressing room. I tried to argue, but he was having none of it. “Go try it on at least.” he said. “You’ll never know what it’s like to be a damsel in distress if you never get into the dress.”

I took the dress and headed for the little wooden room, feeling like I was on my way to the gallows. Things this nice weren’t made for the likes of me, but for some Homecoming Queen with the charisma and the body to pull it off. Still, I took the dress and walked forward, locking the door behind me.

“Don’t forget this.” Fred said, handing over an envelope.

“What’s this?” I asked.

“You’ll see.” he said. “But open it only after you’ve gotten into the dress.”

I sighed and shrugged off my jeans and t-shirt, but left on my combat boots. Yes, I’m THAT kind of girl. As I left my clothes on the floor, I pulled the gown over my head, smelling a faint dustiness on the fabric that reminded me of used bookstores and childhood adventures. Once the dress was on I chanced a look at myself in the mirror.

I hated to admit it, but I didn’t look half bad.

Aside from the stray hairs that pulled themselves out of my ponytail and the combat boots, I could almost be recognized as a feminine entity. I snickered at my reflection and tore open the envelope. Inside was a note in spidery scrawl.

The dress is a gift. It will serve you well in the days to come when you are rescued and taken to your far away land and your happily ever after. As unlikely at it seems, you will find yourself in a different world from the one you just left. I believe every girl should be a princess at least once in her life. Now it is your turn. Make it count.

Ps. I hope you kept the combat boots on, you’ll need them to get away from the ambush.

Love, Fred

Huh? I thought. “Is this some kind of joke you play on all the customers?” I asked Fred when I opened the door.

I lifted my eyes from the note and realized that I wasn’t in the store anymore, I was in a forest. The changing room was a small square box leaning up against a tree.

“Well this can’t be right.” I told myself. I walked back into the ‘changing room’ and closed the door behind me, hoping that it would take me back to the store. I tried opening and closing the door several times. It did not work.

“Now what?” I asked the woods around me. I started walking. What else could I do? Dusk began to settle in amongst the trees and I heard voices behind me. “Hello?” I called out. “Is someone there?”

The voices got closer, though I didn’t recognize the language And then I saw who was speaking and I understood why.

They were roughly a head taller than myself and green from head to foot. Rat-like faces with yellow eyes evaluated me in my dress as I gazed at their mottled flesh barely clad in the skins of animals. The small was overwhelming and I did not know if this was their natural musk or the remnants of flesh still attached to their ‘clothing’.

I was not about to sit around and find out. Especially when one in a skunk skin loincloth sneered at me and prepared to throw his spear at me. I ran like there was no tomorrow. Which I knew that there would not be if these things caught me.

My mind raced as my feet flew beneath me. What the hell were they? Where was I and how could I get out of here? I could only think of them as ‘goblins’, since a steady diet of fantasy fiction had educated me to the xenobiology of far away places that never existed.

The further I ran, it seemed the likelier I would be to survive, as Skunk crotch gave up the chase almost immediately and two more of them fell away after the first few minutes. The only hunter left was a goblin in a bearskin. And his chances weren’t so good, since he was wearing the whole skin like an ill fitting costume. Where the others had used the skin as a loin cloth, this one had chose to wear the whole bear. Ursine limbs flapped in the breeze kicked up in the chase and I prayed that the long dead bear might avenge its death by tripping him up in the floppy folds of its skin.

I thanked whatever gods of this land that might be listening that I had not taken off my combat boots as the ate up the ground beneath me. And I hoped that my version of Prince Charming would get off his noble fancy pants and rescue me soon, since I did not wish to be dinner and a date for the bear wearing goblin behind me..