Friday arrived with the kind of urgency usually reserved for medical appointments and tax deadlines.
I showered in the morning, washed my hair, kept conditioner away from the roots like Leah had instructed, and spent the next several hours trying not to accidentally ruin myself.
By four, the apartment looked completely normal, which felt wrong considering I was apparently about to be assembled into a person who attended museum galas.
Lin sat cross-legged on the couch with a book open in her lap, watching me check my phone for the sixth time.
“You know she said four-thirty.”
“I know.”
“It’s four-twelve.”
“I also know how clocks work.”
“You’ve been standing by the window for ten minutes.”
“I was looking outside.”
“At the same parked cars?”
“It could have moved.”
Lin lowered the book.
“You’re nervous.”
“I’m not nervous.”
“You cleaned the bathroom.”
“That needed doing.”
“You cleaned it when she was here last Saturday.”
“She’s doing my makeup in there, she’s gonna notice something.”
“So you cleaned it because you’re nervous?”
“I cleaned it because apparently lighting matters now.”
My hair had dried the way Leah asked. No product. No oil. No conditioner near the roots. I had followed every instruction precisely and still felt like I had probably missed a step or two.
I had also moisturized.
Possibly too much.
I touched my cheek, then remembered Leah had told me not to touch my face and dropped my hand.
Lin noticed.
“Did she tell you not to do that?”
“No.”
“She did.”
“Shut up.”
The buzzer sounded.
I looked at the clock.
Four-twenty.
Lin smiled.
“She’s early.”
“That is Leah for you.”
I pressed the intercom.
“Come up.”
A minute later there was a knock.
I opened the door.
Leah stood in the hallway carrying my dress in its garment bag, the shoe box tucked under one arm, a large black makeup case in the other hand, and her own garment bag draped over her shoulder.
She looked at my face and smiled.
“Ah, good. You followed my instructions.”
I stepped aside.
“Hello to you too.”
Leah hung the dresses in the hallway and carried the rest into the bathroom and set the makeup case on the counter.
“Makeup first,” she said. “Then hair. Dress last.”
“So I don’t smear half my face onto several thousand dollars of satin.”
“Exactly.”
She looked me over again.
“Put on something that doesn’t need to go over your head.”
I looked down at my T-shirt.
“This needs to go over my head.”
“Indeed it does.”
“What am I supposed to wear?”
“Button-up shirt. Robe. Zip hoodie. Anything that opens at the front.”
“I own a hoodie.”
“Does it zip?”
“No.”
“I guess just bra will work”
Lin had followed us into the hallway and was now leaning against the bathroom doorframe.
“I have a robe,” she said.
Leah nodded. “That would be perfect.”
Lin disappeared into her room and returned with a soft grey robe, holding it out to me.
I took it.
“This is becoming a group project.”
“You invited us into your life,” Lin said.
“And I am happy to have you.”
Leah opened the makeup case.
Inside were rows of brushes, palettes, bottles, compacts and several small pouches arranged with the kind of precision usually reserved for surgical instruments.
Then she pulled out a folded white panel.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“Light.”
“It looks like a placemat.”
She unfolded it into a small rectangular frame with a soft fabric diffuser across the front, attached it to a collapsible stand, then reached behind the mirror for the shaver outlet.
“You brought your own sun.”
“The lighting in here is yellow.”
“I fucking knew it. I’ve been blaming my face for years.”
“Your face wasn’t the problem.”
She plugged it in.
The panel came to life with a clean white glow that filled the bathroom without turning it into an interrogation room.
Lin stepped closer.
“Oh, that’s clever.”
Leah adjusted the angle.
“It’s soft light. Better colour accuracy, fewer hard shadows.”
I looked at my reflection.
The bathroom suddenly revealed several things about my skin I had been happier not knowing.
“I take it back. The cheap bulbs were protecting me.”
“Let’s see what you prefer when we are done.”
Leah pointed at the toilet.
“Sit.”
I looked at it.
“The toilet?”
“Lid down.”
“This is very glamorous.”
“Most backstage dressing rooms are less glamorous than this.”
Lin folded her arms.
“I’m staying.”
Leah glanced at her.
“That was always allowed.”
I lowered the lid and sat.
Leah moved the light closer, tilted my chin up with two fingers and studied my face.
Lin’s book had been abandoned somewhere in the living room.
Her interest was officially piqued.
Leah clipped my hair away from my face and started laying things out across the counter.
Lin moved closer.
Not close enough to interfere. Close enough to inspect.
Leah worked quickly. Moisturizer first, then primer, then small amounts of foundation placed exactly where she wanted them instead of smeared over my entire face like wall paint.
I watched her work.
She looked focused. Calm. Completely unsurprised by my face.
Lin watched differently.
“You’re color-correcting first,” she said.
Leah glanced at her in the mirror.
“Only where she needs it.”
“And you’re mixing the foundation.”
“The undertone is wrong straight from the bottle.”
Lin nodded slowly.
I looked between them.
“What language is this?”
“Your skin has more than one color in it,” Lin said.
“That can’t be right, all the ads say to pick the color of my face, that means it has one color, right?”
Leah ignored me and worked a brush along my jaw.
Lin leaned against the sink now, fully invested.
“You do this professionally?”
“No.”
“You could.”
Leah gave a small shrug.
“No. Too stressful. Doesn’t pay well. I’ve done makeup for shoots, conventions, friends, events.”
“That is professionally adjacent.”
“I could do photography professionally, makeup is photography adjacent.”
She moved to concealer, then powder, setting each part in thin layers.
Lin watched every step.
“She’s barely using any,” she said.
“Because she doesn’t need much.”
I looked at Leah.
“That sounded almost nice.”
“You have a good face Mia, we just need a bit to make people see it.”
I smiled.
Leah stopped applying makeup and looked at me, “No smiling. Wait until we’re done.”
She then turned my face toward the light and started on my eyes.
She used warm browns, a muted bronze and something darker near the lashes. Lin noticed every choice before I did.
“You’re lifting the outer corner.”
“Yes.”
“And keeping the lower line soft.”
“She has strong eyes already. Too much underneath would drag them down.”
I looked up.
“My eyes drag?”
“Not anymore,” Leah said.
Lin laughed.
Then came liner.
Leah rested one hand against my cheek and drew the line in one controlled movement.
Lin made a small impressed sound.
“What?” I asked.
“She didn’t hesitate.”
Leah did the other eye.
Exactly the same.
Lin moved even closer.
“That’s annoyingly good.”
Leah smiled slightly.
“Thank you.”
I looked at the two of them.
Lin was impressed.
Leah accepted this as normal.
I was still sitting on a toilet lid while someone painted my face under a portable sun.
The lashes came next. Not dramatic ones. Leah trimmed them, adjusted the curve, and placed them so precisely I barely felt them.
Lin shook her head, “I would have glued those to her eyelid.”
“Still might,” I said.
“I won’t,” Leah replied.
There was no reassurance in it. Just fact.
By the time Leah moved to my lips, Lin had stopped pretending she was casually watching.
She was studying.
Leah tested two shades on the back of her hand, chose the deeper red, then used a brush instead of applying it straight from the tube.
“Why the brush?” Lin asked.
“Control. Better edge. Easier to build.”
“And it lasts longer?”
“If you layer it properly.”
Lin nodded again.
I caught her expression.
A respectful look, like she had met a master of a craft she was already proficient in, and saw how far she could still go.
That felt new.
When Leah finished, she stepped back and adjusted the light.
Lin looked at me first.
Then she looked at Leah.
“Oh, wow.”
I turned toward the mirror.
My face still looked like mine, just better.
My eyes looked sharper. My cheekbones had arrived. My skin looked even without looking artificial. The red on my lips made the rest just click together.
Leah had not made me into someone else.
She had apparently found the expensive version hiding underneath.
Lin came closer.
“You look incredible.”
I smiled.
Leah immediately pointed at me.
“Don’t move your mouth too much yet.”
“There she is.”
Lin laughed, but she was still looking at my face.
Then Leah removed the clips from my hair.
“Hair next.”
She plugged in the dryer, took out a round brush and started rebuilding the shape from the salon.
Lin stayed.
Of course she stayed.
Leah lifted sections, directed the heat, turned the ends, pinned pieces to cool and moved through the whole process without stopping to think.
Lin watched with the same expression she had worn during the eyeliner.
“She really does know what she’s doing,” she said.
“I know,” I replied.
To me, Leah was not suddenly impressive.
She was just Leah.
This was what she did.
She looked at a person, found the weak points, and started fixing them before anyone had agreed there was a problem.
Leah stepped back and looked me over one last time.
“Okay. I’ll do myself next. Go wait in the living room. I’ll try to be quick.”
Lin and I obeyed.
We sat down on the couch, me carefully upright, Lin angled toward me like she was still trying to work out exactly what Leah had done.
For a few seconds, neither of us said anything.
Then Lin leaned closer.
“Was she like this on Wednesday?”
“Like what?”
“This.”
She gestured vaguely toward my face, the bathroom, the entire day Leah had apparently spent reorganizing me.
“Efficient?”
“Bossy. Prepared. Weirdly good at everything.”
From the bathroom, Leah shouted:
“Don’t touch your face!”
My hand stopped halfway to my cheek.
Lin looked at me.
I lowered it slowly.
“Yes,” I said. “Exactly like this.”
Lin smiled.
“And you just let her?”
“I argued constantly.”
“That isn’t the same as stopping her.”
“No. No, it is not.”
Lin studied me for another moment.
“You liked it.”
I looked toward the bathroom.
“I liked the shoes.”
“The shoes.”
“And the haircut.”
“Right.”
“And the dress.”
Lin’s smile widened.
“Sounds awful.”
“Oh, it was the worst.”
“Mm.”
“She made a stranger rip out my pubic hair with dessert.”
Lin blinked.
“With what?”
“Some sticky sugar substance.”
“Oh.”
“Hurt like you would not believe.”
“I have had a wax job, its an experience in womanhood, I know the pain”
From the bathroom came a “Ha!” then the soft clatter of brushes and something snapping shut.
Lin lowered her voice.
“She really paid for the dress?”
“Yeah.”
“And the shoes?”
“Yeah.”
“And all the rest?”
“Mostly.”
Lin looked toward the bathroom now.
“That’s a lot.”
“I know.”
The words came out quieter than I intended.
Lin looked back at me.
“You feel bad.”
“I was kind of an asshole all day.”
“Only kind of?”
“Thank you for your support.”
She smiled.
“But she still wanted you there.”
I looked down at my hands, then immediately remembered the makeup and kept them in my lap.
“Yeah.”
That was the part I had not quite figured out.
Leah could have brought someone easier. Someone who already owned the right underwear and knew conditioner had borders.
Instead, she had spent an entire day turning me into the person she wanted beside her.
From the bathroom, Leah called:
“And stop talking about me like I can’t hear you.”
Lin and I looked at each other.
“You heard nothing,” I shouted back.
“I heard enough.”
Lin laughed.
I tried not to smile too widely in case Leah see me as well as hear me.
By the time Leah finished her own makeup, we had used nearly an hour.
She checked the time.
“Good. Halfway.”
“Halfway?”
“We booked two hours.”
“I thought that was an estimate.”
“We have a deadline, that makes it a schedule.”
She closed the makeup case and stood.
“Right. Mia first. Bedroom or living room?”
I looked toward my room, then at the open space in front of the couch.
“Living room. More space.”
“Good.”
Leah brought the garment bag over and laid it carefully across the floor.
“Undress.”
I untied Lin’s robe and let it fall.
This time I did not ask what had to come off. I already knew.
I stripped completely, then immediately folded one arm across my chest.
Lin looked me over.
“Wow. That wax-job makes your pussy look amazing.”
“I know, right?” I swung my hips back and forth, showing it off from every angle.
Leah glanced up from the dress.
“Both of you, focus.”
She opened the fastenings and gathered the skirt.
“Step in.”
I did.
Leah worked the dress up over my legs and hips, correcting the lining when it caught, smoothing the satin flat, tugging one seam into place, then another.
“Don’t pull.”
“Sorry, I know, I was trying to help.”
“It’s OK, just let me do it.”
I stopped helping.
She pulled the bodice into place, fastened the back, adjusted the neckline and checked the slit.
Then she stepped away.
For a second, nobody said anything.
The dress fit even better than it had in the shop.
The alterations had tightened the waist, cleaned the line over my hips and made the slit fall exactly where Leah wanted it. The red looked darker under the apartment light. Richer.
I turned toward Lin.
Her mouth was slightly open.
That felt good.
“What drawer is the underwear in?” Leah asked.
“Top one.”
I kept looking at Lin.
She was still staring.
I smiled.
Proud was probably the wrong word.
I felt fucking magnificent.
Leah disappeared into my bedroom and I heard a drawer open.
Then:
“Mia.”
I closed my eyes.
“I asked if you had underwear. All I see here are ten-dollar value-pack panties.”
“Hey. Those are good value.”
“Yes, but we need a seamless low-rise thong. Preferably laser-cut. None of these are usable.”
“They have successfully been used many times.”
“Not under fitted satin with a slit at the hip.”
Another drawer opened.
“Lin,” Leah called, “do you have a red or nude seamless thong?”
Lin looked toward the hallway.
“Sorry. Fresh out.”
Leah came back into the living room.
She looked at me, then at the dress, then down at herself.
“You are lucky my dress doesn’t require one.”
She unbuckled her trousers.
I watched her push them down and step out of them with the same practical expression she had used while adjusting the hem.
Underneath, she wore a red thong with thin, smooth edges.
Leah hooked her thumbs into the waistband, pulled it down and stepped out of it.
No hesitation. No little turn away. No attempt to make the moment mean anything.
She held it out to me.
“Put these on.”
I stared at the thong.
Then at Leah, now standing naked from the waist down in our living room.
Lin stared too.
Leah looked between us.
“What?”
“Nothing,” I said.
“Have you two never seen Japanese pussy or something? Stop being weird.”
“You just removed your underwear in the living room.”
“Because you need them, I do not.”
She held it out again.
“Put them on. Make sure they sit tight, should not be able to see them.”
I took the thong.
Apparently even Leah’s nakedness did not stop her from being instructive.
I carefully stepped into the thong and pulled it up.
The fabric barely felt like fabric.
No thick waistband. No cheap elastic cutting into my hips. No seam digging into the place between my legs like it had a personal grudge. It settled against my skin without bunching, smooth enough that I almost could not feel where it ended.
After the sugaring, the difference was even stranger. Everything felt closer. Softer. The material slid over newly smooth skin instead of catching against it.
I adjusted the waistband once.
“Oh.”
Leah stepped back and put both hands on her bare hips.
“Yes,” she said. “That will do nicely.”
“I hate that you were right.”
“Well, I would not want you flashing any rich donors today. Just be glad it worked out.”
She turned toward one of the bags on the floor, then bent over to reach inside.
Lin and I both looked, I looked over at Lin for confirmation that this was strange, but she was biting her lower lip and looking more intently than I was.
There was no point pretending otherwise. Leah’s dress might not require underwear, but apparently our living room did not require modesty either.
She rummaged through the bag for a moment, completely unconcerned about the view, then straightened with a small jewelry case in her hand.
“I realised this would work with the dress.”
She opened it.
Inside was a necklace that looked expensive in the quiet, dangerous way the dress had looked expensive. Fine metal, pale stones, nothing oversized, but clearly not something bought beside a cash register.
Leah lifted it out carefully.
“It’s a family heirloom.”
I looked at her.
“And you’re lending it to me?”
“Yes.”
“That seems unwise.”
“It probably is.”
She stepped behind me and fastened it around my neck.
The necklace sat just above the neckline, filling the empty space without competing with the dress. It made the whole thing look finished.
More finished than I had ever looked in my life.
Leah adjusted the clasp, then met my eyes in the mirror.
“Do not misplace it.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“Do not take it off and put it in your bag.”
“I wasn’t planning to do that either.”
“Do not hand it to anyone.”
“I understand how necklaces work.”
“I have seen your underwear drawer. I’m managing expectations.”
Lin laughed.
I touched the necklace lightly.
Leah caught my hand.
“And don’t keep doing that.”
“Right.”
She stepped away and started unbuttoning her shirt.
No announcement. No pause.
The shirt came off first, then her bra. She placed both over the back of a chair with more care than I gave most of my possessions.
Then she pulled her own dress from the garment bag.
Dark blue. Almost black until the light caught it.
High-necked, sleeveless, fitted close through the waist and hips, then falling in one clean line toward the floor. A narrow slit opened along one leg, controlled rather than dramatic.
It covered more than mine.
It still looked more dangerous.
Leah stepped into it and drew it up over her body with none of the wrestling mine had required. The fabric settled into place as though it had been waiting for her.
She reached behind herself for the fastening.
Lin moved instinctively.
“Need help?”
Leah glanced at her.
“Zip.”
Lin stepped behind her and pulled it up carefully.
When Leah turned back around, the effect was immediate.
The dress did not transform her.
It confirmed her.
Everything about it looked deliberate. The high neck. The clean shoulders. The dark blue against her skin. Even the slit seemed to open only as far as she allowed it.
I looked her over again.
“You made that.”
“Mostly. It was an existing pattern.”
“So you did not make it.”
“I changed the neckline, opened the shoulders, narrowed the armholes, corrected the inseam and side seams, rebuilt the cups, added light padding through the hips and adjusted the slit.”
I stared at her.
“So, just some minor tweaks then. Hardly any work?” I joked.
Without catching my joke she answered, “Yeah. I have a purple one still in early design. That’s a much more complex rebuild.”
Leah checked her watch.
“Twenty-five minutes to spare. Shoes, then final review.”
I brightened immediately.
“My shoes.”
Lin looked at me.
“You sound like a child being told she can wear her costume outside.”
“They make my ass look incredible.”
“That explains it.”
I took them from the box and sat down to fasten the ankle straps. The red platforms looked even better with the dress than they had in the shop. Once I stood, everything shifted back into place: posture, hips, legs, all of it.
I walked slowly across the living room, then turned so Lin could appreciate the engineering.
“Well?”
She looked me up and down.
“The shoes are doing excellent work.”
“I know.”
I turned again, letting the slit open over my thigh.
Leah watched with folded arms.
“Shorter steps.”
“I’m showing Lin.”
“Long steps will show off my underwear.”
“I am not shy.”
Lin smiled.
“You really love those shoes.”
“They fixed my ass.”
“Your ass did not need fixing, now it’s just easier to see how good it looks” Leah commented.
“Yeah.. It now has professional support!”
Leah shook her head and reached for her own shoe box.
Then she opened it.
Lin and I went quiet.
Inside were dark-blue pointed stilettos with narrow heels that looked less like shoes and more like a threat designed by an orthopedic surgeon.
I stared.
“I can’t afford an ambulance if you break your ankle. Are you sure about those, Leah?”
Leah sat down and slipped one on.
The heel was impossibly thin. There was no platform, no ankle strap, no visible concession to human balance.
Lin leaned forward.
“How do you walk in those?”
“Normally.”
Leah put on the second shoe, stood and crossed the room without wobbling once.
I watched her feet.
“No.”
She stopped.
“No what?”
“That should not be possible.”
“They’re just heels.”
“They’re weapons.”
Lin nodded. “I think Mia’s right.”
Leah turned neatly and walked back toward us, the slit in her dress opening exactly as far as she intended. “I can teach you, but it’s a difficult lesson. I started learning when I was ten”
Not one uncertain step. Not one ankle twitch.
I looked down at my thick heels and supportive straps.
Training wheels.
Then back at Leah’s tiny blue murder spikes.
“I hate you.” I said mockingly.
She smiled at me, “No, you don’t.”
She stopped beside me and looked us both over in the mirror.
“OK. Final review.”
Her eyes moved over my hair, makeup, necklace, dress and shoes.
Then stopped.
“Your bag.”
I looked around.
“My what?”
“Your evening bag.”
“I have a purse.”
“You have a shoulder bag.”
“It carries things.”
“It does not go with the dress.”
There it was.
A tiny crack.
Leah looked toward the garment bags, then the shoe boxes, mentally retracing the entire shopping trip.
“We forgot a clutch.”
Not you forgot.
We forgot.
I had never heard her include herself in a mistake before.
She checked the time again.
“We don’t have time to go back. I should have thought of it when we bought the shoes.”
“It’s fine.”
“It isn’t. You need your phone, card, keys, lipstick—”
“I travel light.”
Leah looked at me.
“I’ll keep my phone and card in your bag. That’s it. You already have yours.”
She hesitated.
“My bag is small.”
“My phone isn’t.”
Lin laughed.
I held out my hand.
“Nothing to worry about. We’ll share.”
Leah looked at the clock, then at me, then finally nodded.
“Fine.”
The fracture closed almost immediately.
“Phone and card only,” she said. “No keys. Lin can let us back in.”
Lin raised her mug.
“Apparently I’m now coat check.”
Leah ignored her and handed me the bag.
Still, for once, I had fixed something before she did.
Leah checked the time again.
The crack had vanished.
“Our ride is here in five minutes.” She looked at me. “Anything else you need, or are you ready to head out?”
I looked down at the dress, the shoes, the necklace, then at the small bag now carrying both our essentials.
For once, there was nothing missing.
“I’m ready.”
Leah nodded.
“Good.”
Back in control. Like the purse problem had never happened.
The car waiting outside was not a normal Uber.
It was black, polished and large enough that the rear seats seemed to have opinions about people who carried backpacks.
I stopped beside it.
“This is an Uber?”
“Uber Black,” Leah said.
“My luxury option is usually not sharing with strangers.”
“That is called UberX.”
“I thought the X meant exclusive.”
“It does not.”
The driver opened the door for us.
Leah gathered her skirt and slid inside with one clean movement. I followed more carefully, holding the slit closed with one hand and trying not to crush the dress under me.
The leather seat was softer than my bed.
I sat straight-backed, knees angled together, terrified that one wrong movement would wrinkle something Leah had spent two days controlling.
Beside me, Leah leaned back like the car belonged to her.
Her legs were crossed. One dark-blue heel swung slowly from her foot, sharp and narrow, like a snake waiting to strike.
“You can relax,” she said.
“I am relaxed.”
“You’re sitting like the seat is electrified.”
“I’m protecting the dress.”
“The dress can survive sitting.”
“Better safe than sorry”
Leah looked out the window.
I tried leaning back.
The satin shifted under me.
I sat up again.
She did not comment, which was somehow worse.
We reached the museum at seven-ten.
The entrance had been dressed for the event with ropes, lights and several people in black standing around with tablets. Cars pulled up in a steady line, releasing people who looked as though they had arrived already knowing where to stand.
The driver opened our door.
Leah stepped out first.
I followed, remembering shorter steps, smooth the dress, knees together, do not expose myself before reaching the entrance.
A man in a dark suit greeted us beneath the lights.
“Good evening. Names, please?”
“Leah Takahashi with Miriam Williams.”
He found Leah first, then glanced at me before locating my name beneath hers.
Something was checked off on the digital pad.
Then something else.
He smiled and stepped aside.
“Perfect. Please follow me.”
Leah moved immediately, and I followed her into the museum.
The man led us through a side corridor and into the museum proper.
The place looked different at night. Less like somewhere school groups came to be quietly punished and more like a palace that had agreed to rent itself out.
Soft lights climbed the walls. Staff moved between clusters of guests carrying trays. Somewhere ahead, a string quartet was playing something elegant enough to make me suspicious.
Leah slowed just enough for me to walk beside her.
“All right,” she said quietly. “Quick briefing.”
“I thought lunch was the briefing.”
“That was preparation. This is live information.”
She nodded toward the room ahead.
“My mother has friends here. Two of her clients. One trustee she wants me to speak to. Several people connected to the company that hired me. And at least three people who will report back if I behave strangely.”
“Report back to your mother?”
“Not formally.”
“That is worse?”
“Yes.”
We entered a wide gallery where people had already arranged themselves into groups that looked accidental until you noticed everyone was facing the most important person in each circle.
Leah’s eyes moved across the room.
“The woman in silver near the sculpture is Evelyn Hart. Museum development committee. She remembers everyone and everything they say.”
“So don’t lie?”
“Lie very carefully.”
She shifted her attention.
“The man beside her funds digital outreach projects. If I get five useful minutes with him, that is good.”
“What counts as useful?”
“He remembers my name, understands what I do and thinks introducing me to someone else was his idea.”
“That sounds manipulative.”
“Yes, but we call it ‘networking’.”
“Ah. Ethical manipulation.”
“Exactly.”
She nodded toward another group.
“The couple by the bar are friends of my parents. We need to greet them early so they don’t spend the evening wondering why I’m avoiding them.”
“Are you avoiding them?”
“Yes. But we can’t let them know that”
A waiter passed with champagne. Leah took two glasses and handed one to me without breaking stride.
“A successful night,” she continued, “means I speak to the right people, nobody asks whether Dan is my boyfriend, my parents hear that I looked settled and competent, and you have a good time without becoming memorable for the wrong reason.”
I took a sip.
“What is the wrong reason?”
“Starting an argument. Insulting a donor. Getting visibly drunk. Telling someone their art collection looks like tax fraud.”
“I would never say that unless it did.”
Leah looked at me.
“Mia.”
“Fine.”
“A bad night means I get trapped with someone useless, miss the people I need to meet, or one of my mother’s friends decides I seem isolated, unstable or romantically entangled with someone inappropriate.”
“And where do I fit into this?”
“You make me look socially established.”
I turned to her.
“I’m decorative evidence.”
“Socially useful, very beautiful, decorative evidence.”
“That is much better.”
She took a small drink and scanned the room again.
“You’re also here because you’re good at reacting to people.”
“I thought I was here because I’m more interesting than Lin.”
“You are louder than Lin.”
“That is not the same compliment.”
“For events like this it is.”
Ahead of us, one of the women near the bar noticed Leah and smiled.
Leah’s posture changed by half an inch.
That was all.
Her shoulders settled. Her expression warmed. The whole sharp machinery disappeared behind something polished and easy.
She leaned closer to me.
“Success is leaving before anyone realises we’ve been managing them.”
Then she smiled toward the woman and guided me forward.
The first half hour passed in a blur of names, smiles and people Leah apparently knew through three different chains of obligation.
A woman with silver hair kissed Leah on both cheeks and asked after her mother. A man with square glasses wanted to know how she was finding New York. Someone else remembered her as “the little girl with the camera,” which Leah accepted without visibly flinching.
I mostly stood beside her, smiled when she smiled and tried to remember which people were important enough to require complete sentences.
Leah did not dominate conversations. She redirected them.
She asked questions that made people talk about themselves, then used whatever they gave her to move toward the thing she actually wanted. A board member became a conversation about digital access. A donor became a possible introduction. One of her mother’s friends became evidence that Leah was happy, settled and absolutely not sleeping with anyone they needed to know about.
Every few minutes she touched my arm and brought me in.
“This is Mia.”
“Mia works in product.”
“Mia knows more about audience behaviour than she admits.”
That last one was generous enough that I almost corrected her.
I did not.
Eventually we escaped a conversation with a woman who had strong opinions about museum apps and no interest in whether either of us shared them.
I leaned closer to Leah.
“Okay. I have behaved.”
“Reasonably.”
“Where is the free food?”
She glanced toward the staff moving between the galleries.
“Come on.”
She did not head for the nearest tray.
Instead, she stopped a waiter carrying champagne flutes.
“Excuse me,” she said. “What has just come out of the kitchen, and what has been circulating longest?”
The waiter looked at her properly then.
“The tuna tartare is fresh. The mushroom tartlets have been out a while.”
“And the lamb?”
“Second round in about ten minutes.”
Leah nodded.
“Good. And which bar has the better wine?”
“The east gallery. They opened the reserve bottles there.”
“Thank you.”
He moved on.
I stared at her.
“You asked him which food was old.”
“Yes.”
“And he answered.”
“Staff know what is good. Guests usually ask what something is, not whether they should eat it.”
“That feels like forbidden knowledge.”
“Oh, for sure. It would never work if everyone did it.”
She guided me toward the east gallery.
At the bar, she did it again.
Not by asking for the most expensive thing. She asked which white had actually been opened recently and whether the champagne was the same at both entrances.
The bartender pointed her toward one bottle and quietly warned her away from another.
Leah thanked him like he had done her a personal favor.
Two minutes later, I had a glass of wine that tasted expensive and a small spoon of tuna tartare that had apparently not spent the evening touring the museum.
I ate it.
Then another.
“This is good.”
“I told you the food might be good.”
“You also told me to eat lunch.”
“That was risk management.”
A server passed with the mushroom tartlets.
I reached for one.
Leah caught my wrist.
“Those are the old ones.”
I let it go.
“You are terrifying.”
“You are fed, and we avoided food poisoning”
That was difficult to argue with.
Later, we were trapped in conversation with a woman who had spent the last ten minutes explaining why younger people did not appreciate sculpture properly.
I had reached the point where I was considering faking a medical emergency when Leah’s hand touched my waist.
Not affectionately.
Precisely.
Her fingers moved to the side of my bodice, and her expression changed by less than a millimeter.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing.”
That meant something.
The woman was still talking. Leah smiled, nodded at the correct place, and slipped two fingers inside the edge of my dress.
I stiffened.
“Stay still,” she murmured.
Something sharp pressed briefly against the fabric.
A safety pin.
Leah fastened the loose section before the neckline could open any further, then placed herself slightly between me and the rest of the room.
“I’m so sorry,” she said to the woman. “Wardrobe emergency.”
The woman looked at my chest, immediately understood, and stepped back.
“Of course.”
Leah guided me away with one hand firm against my back.
“What happened?” I whispered.
“A hidden fastening gave out.”
“Am I exposed?”
“Not anymore.”
“Was I exposed?”
“Not enough for anyone interesting to notice.”
“That is not reassuring.”
She stopped the nearest member of staff, a young man carrying an empty tray.
“Excuse me. We need somewhere private for five minutes. Her dress has come loose.”
He glanced at the safety pin holding my dignity together.
“There’s a storage room through there,” he said, pointing toward a narrow door behind one of the temporary bars. “Third door on the left. It’s empty. We’re using it for the tables after the event.”
“Thank you.”
Leah moved before I had finished thanking him myself.
The service corridor was narrow and badly lit compared with the galleries. The music and conversation faded behind us.
Leah kept one hand on my back, steering me ahead while glancing over her shoulder to make sure no one had followed.
“Third door,” she said.
“I can count.”
“Your recent history suggests supervision is useful.”
I found the door and opened it.
The room was not empty.
An older man stood near a stack of folded tables, trousers lowered, his bald head catching the fluorescent light. He had a trimmed white beard and the comfortable, well-fed appearance of someone who had not been told no in several decades.
A younger male staff member was bent over the stack of tables next to him.
Both men looked toward us.
The older man smiled.
Not startled. Not ashamed.
Interested.
The staff member’s expression was different. More like we had improved an already strange evening.
Leah was still looking back into the corridor.
I stared into the room, unable to move.
Then she turned.
She recognized the older man immediately.
I saw it happen.
No gasp. No name. Just a brief stillness as several calculations completed behind her eyes.
The door clicked shut behind us.
I gave Leah a look that I hoped clearly communicated, What the fuck is happening?
She stepped close, using her body to block me from the exit, while her fingers found the safety pin.
“Trust me,” she whispered against my ear.
I tried to say okay.
What came out was a weak, breathless sound.
Leah removed the pin.
The loose side of the dress opened again.
She adjusted the fabric with the same calm concentration she had used in the fitting room, except now she was deliberately allowing the room to see what the failed fastening had exposed.
Her arm wrapped around my waist. Her other hand moved over me, intimate enough to change the meaning of our presence without becoming hurried or uncertain.
The older man’s smile widened.
“That is very nice,” he said quietly.
Leah’s mouth remained beside my ear.
“Stay with me.”
I did.
Not because I understood.
Because after all this, I trusted Leah.
The staff member returned his attention to the older man, clearly entertained by the unexpected audience. The room filled with breath, movement, and the muffled noise of the gala continuing beyond the wall.
Leah used one hand to fondle my tit, and pulled my slit to the side, showing her underwear. She started stroking the underwear, sliding fingers under it. After a few strokes, her fingers entered me, and I let out a gasp. Leah bit my ear and whispered “Good girl” as she pushed her fingers in and out of me. My knees went weak, and I started to give out small grunts as we moved.
The older man watched us until his expression finally broke, his body tensing before he sagged forward against the tables.
Leah pulled her fingers out, and fitted the underwear back in place.
For a moment, nobody spoke.
Then he straightened and calmly pulled up his trousers.
The staff member stepped away and accepted a thick roll of bills from him.
The older man adjusted his jacket as though preparing to return to a board meeting.
Then he moved toward us.
He produced another roll of money and tossed it lightly toward Leah.
She caught it.
“Very good performance, Miss Takahashi,” he said. “Give your mother my best.”
Then he opened the door and left.
I stared after him.
The staff member counted the edge of his roll with his thumb.
“Thanks for the assist,” he said. “I’ve been trying to extract that nut for half an hour. Viagra has all these old men thinking they’re masters of the craft.”
He weighed the money in his palm.
“Lovely. Outreach funding approved.”
Then he followed the older man into the corridor and closed the door behind him.
Silence returned.
Leah moved in front of me.
The calculation vanished from her face. She was back to fabric, seams, and practical problems.
She lifted the loosened section of the bodice, reattached the hidden fastening, then reinforced it with the safety pin from the inside.
“You did very well,” she said.
“At what?”
She looked me in the eye, “Everything.”
My knees were still weak, but I was fairly sure I would not understand what had just happened even if I were sober and had notes for reference.
Leah checked the neckline from both sides.
“There. Secure.”
I looked at the roll of money still in her hand.
“Who was that?”
“I’ll explain later.”
“He knew your mother.”
“Yes.”
“And your name.”
“Yes.”
“And he paid you.”
“He acknowledged the arrangement.”
“What arrangement?”
Leah opened the door a fraction and checked the corridor.
Then she looked back at me.
“The room is clear.”
“That does not answer my question.”
“It will have to wait until we’re somewhere private.”
“We are in a private room.”
“Not private enough.”
We stepped into the corridor.
Leah kept the money in her hand until we reached the public gallery, then unrolled it, folded it once and slipped it into her bag.
The gala continued as if nothing had happened.
Glasses clinked. The quartet played. People laughed beneath paintings worth more than the apartment building.
I looked around for the older man but could not see him.
Leah checked my dress one final time.
“We’re leaving.”
“Good.”
No argument. No joke.
She guided me through the galleries, thanked two people we passed, and returned one polite farewell without slowing down.
Only when the museum doors closed behind us did I breathe properly.
Outside, the city felt loud and ordinary.
I turned to her.
“So what was all that?”
“Mutually assured destruction, Mia. I tell on him, he tells on me, and we all fall.”
“That was your plan?”
“It became my plan.”
“You decided that in three seconds.”
“Closer to two.”
I stared at her.
Leah looked down the street for our car.
“My mother’s friends will tell her I was charming, composed and socially successful.”
“You were also paid by a museum official after an unscheduled performance in a storage room.”
“Yes.”
“Does that count as socially successful?”
“He will speak very highly of me.”
I looked back at the museum.
For once, I had no joke ready.
Leah took my hand, “Do you want me to get you an Uber home, or are you coming back to mine? It’s only a few minutes away.”
I should have gone home.
It was late. Lin was probably already in bed. I did not particularly want to cross the city alone dressed like a very expensive emergency. Leah also had half my things in her bag, and there was no chance I was getting out of the dress without help.
All excellent reasons.
None of them were the real one.
I wanted to know how Leah lived.
I wanted to see where the portable lights, emergency sewing kits, handmade dresses and impossible shoes went when she was not carrying them around like equipment.
Wonder Woman had to keep the invisible jet somewhere.
“I’ll come with you,” I said. “Lin’s probably asleep, I don’t want to go back alone, and you’ll need to help me out of this thing.”
Leah nodded.
“Practical.”
“Exactly.”
She started walking.
I followed, pretending curiosity was not also a practical concern.
Leah’s apartment was only a few minutes away.
Corporate housing, she explained, which apparently meant someone had tried to build a home without committing to a single personal opinion.
The place was bigger than ours. Much bigger. Pale walls, clean floors, neutral furniture, nothing ugly and almost nothing memorable. It looked like a showroom waiting for a family to be digitally added later.
A stack of moving boxes sat neatly in one corner of the living room.
“You haven’t unpacked.”
“I’ve unpacked what I need.”
That seemed to be true.
The kitchen had food in it. Real food, not three sauces, old takeout and something Lin had bought for a recipe she would never make. The bathroom had products arranged in rows. Her clothes filled a walk-in closet with enough space left over that I briefly considered moving in.
The bedroom was less finished.
A king-size bed dominated the room, made too neatly to look slept in. An unpacked sewing machine sat on a long table surrounded by folded fabric, rolls of material, cutting tools and clear boxes full of thread.
A half-finished Chun-Li costume hung against one wall. The blue main section was mostly complete, but several missing pieces had been replaced by pinned paper patterns, like someone had mapped out the ghost of the finished outfit.
I moved closer.
“You’re making this too?”
Leah had already disappeared into the bathroom.
“Eventually,” she called back.
I looked around again.
This was where Wonder Woman kept the armor.
Not in some dramatic workshop hidden behind a bookcase. In a temporary apartment with beige walls, labeled boxes and a sewing machine that had not technically been unpacked.
A few minutes later, Leah came out of the bathroom.
She had removed her makeup.
Without it, she looked younger. Not less composed exactly, but softer around the eyes. More like someone who might occasionally forget a clutch.
She was also naked.
Her dress was folded over one arm, and she carried it into the walk-in closet without treating either fact as worth commenting on.
I watched her place the gown carefully on a padded hanger, smooth the fabric and check the shoulders before hanging it among the rest of her clothes.
Then she looked back at me.
“Come to the bathroom.”
“Why?”
“You can’t sleep in that makeup.”
“I’m not sleeping yet.”
“You still can’t leave it on.”
She walked past me toward the bathroom.
I followed, because apparently the gala was over but her authority had survived the trip home.
I sat on the closed toilet lid while Leah opened a drawer.
“I usually use soap and a washcloth,” I said.
She stopped.
“For makeup?”
“Yes.”
She looked at me like I had confessed to sanding my face.
“Please stop doing that.”
She took out a bottle and a stack of cotton pads.
“What is that?”
“Makeup remover.”
“That feels unnecessarily specific.”
“Mia, good makeup is water and sweat resistance. This means soap and water won’t remove it. You need the right tools to clean your face of makeup”
She soaked one of the pads and started with my eyes, working carefully around the lashes and liner. The makeup came away in dark streaks.
She used another for the rest of my face, then another, moving quickly and efficiently until the expensive version of me had been wiped off piece by piece.
“No scrubbing,” she said.
“I wasn’t scrubbing.”
“But you have been.”
“You have never seen me remove makeup.”
“I’ve seen your skin.”
Fair.
When she finished, she handed me a clean pad.
“See?”
I looked at it.
“Still makeup.”
“Exactly. Soap would have left that behind.”
“You’re enjoying this.”
“I like being right.”
When she finished, she put the bottle away and stepped behind me.
“Stand up.”
I did.
Her fingers moved to the back of the dress, undoing the hidden hook first, then the zip, then two small internal fastenings I had not known existed.
“What are those?”
“Waist stay and bodice hooks.”
“English?”
“They keep the dress on your body instead of trusting the zip with your life.”
The pressure around my ribs loosened all at once.
“Oh.”
Leah pulled the sides apart slightly so I could breathe normally again.
“There. Now you can get out of it without tearing anything.”
She stepped away.
“Take it off and leave it on the bed. I’ll hang it properly.”
“I can hang a dress.”
“You can put fabric near a hanger. That is different.”
She left the bathroom and called back from the bedroom.
“Do you want a drink?”
“Yes,” I called back, mostly because I wanted to know what Wonder Woman mixed when left alone near alcohol.
I stepped out of the dress and stood in nothing but Leah’s red thong. I carried the gown carefully to the bed, resisting the urge to fold it into something manageable, then walked toward the kitchen.
Every step made me aware that my tits were out.
I wanted to cover them. One arm across the chest, casual hand over the nipples, any of the small automatic things that turned naked into only technically naked.
I kept my arms at my sides.
Leah would notice.
Worse, she would understand.
The kitchen lights were low. Leah sat on a stool beside the island, still completely naked, one leg crossed over the other. Two tall glasses waited on the counter, pale gold beneath a thin curl of lemon peel.
“What is it?”
“French 75.”
“Named after all the wars they lost?”
Leah laughed.
“You’re American. Leave mocking the French to professionals.”
Leah raised her glass, “Gin, lemon, sugar, champagne.”
I picked up the glass.
“That is a dangerous list.”
“I’m sure you can handle it.”
I took a sip.
Sharp lemon first, then sweetness, then the gin arriving late to remind me this was not lemonade.
“Okay. That’s good.”
“I know.”
Of course she did.
Leah rested one elbow on the counter.
“Any questions about tonight? Anything you feel I didn’t explain?”
I glanced at her exposed chest, then moved my eyes quickly back to her face.
Too quickly.
Leah smiled as though she had caught me doing something primitive.
I took a longer drink.
“Who was he?”
“The museum director.”
I stopped with the glass near my mouth.
“The museum director.”
“Yes.”
“The man from the speech?”
“Yes.”
“The man whose museum we were standing in?”
“That is generally how museum directors work.”
“And he knows your mother.”
“He knows my parents. My mother has organised events involving him before. My father has worked with people on the board.”
I stared into the bubbles.
“So when you saw him, you knew exactly who he was.”
“Yes.”
“And you decided the correct response was to pull my tits out.”
Leah took a drink.
“The correct response was to make sure we didn’t leave that room as two frightened girls carrying a dangerous story.”
“Equally compromised.”
“Mutually assured destruction, Mia. I tell on him, he tells on me, and we all fall.”
I looked at her.
“That still leaves one question.”
“Only one?”
“Did you know I’d let you do that?”
Leah’s eyes stayed on mine.
“I hoped you wouldn’t run.”
“That isn’t the same thing.”
“No.”
She took another sip.
“I thought you would trust me long enough to decide.”
I looked down at the red thong she had given me. Her drink in my hand.
“And if I hadn’t?”
“I would have fixed your dress and got you out.”
She said it without hesitation.
That should have settled something.
It did not.
“Was any of it not strategy?”
Leah smiled slightly.
“There’s the real question.”
Leah looked at me for a long moment.
“Okay, Mia. Completely honest?”
“That would be new.”
“If you had spooked, I would have fixed your dress, pushed you out the door and handled it myself.”
“Handled it how?”
Her mouth twisted.
Not embarrassment. Disgust.
“I would have joined in.”
I stared at her.
“You?”
“Yes.”
“With him?”
“Yes.”
“You look like you want to disinfect the room.”
She took a drink.
“But we had just walked in on the husband of one of the richest women in New York going to town on the staff. Male staff, specifically. That is not a story you casually carry out of a room.”
“So your backup plan was…”
“Touching some old man’s balls.”
She grimaced again.
“Which would have been unpleasant, but still preferable to being the two frightened girls who saw something powerful people needed buried.”
I looked at her.
“And involving me was better?”
“It gave him something stronger than denial.”
“Mutually assured destruction.”
“Exactly.”
She studied my face.
“And, selfishly, I was very relieved you trusted me. You were considerably more appealing than the alternative.”
“Anything else?” Leah asked.
I looked around the apartment again.
“What’s the rent on this place? It’s huge, and we’re still in the city.”
“For me? Nothing. For now.”
I looked at her.
“Nothing?”
“Corporate housing. I have another six weeks before they throw me out.”
“That feels less generous.”
“It is less generous.”
She turned her glass slowly between her fingers.
“I have some viewings arranged, but on my current salary…”
She trailed off.
I waited.
Leah looked toward the stack of moving boxes in the corner.
“I really don’t want to ask my parents for help with this one.”
That was the first thing she had said all night that sounded like it might actually hurt.
Leah emptied her glass in one swallow and started toward the bathroom.
“I have a corporate-approved free toothbrush if you want one.”
I finished mine and followed.
She was already brushing her teeth with an electric toothbrush when I reached the doorway. Without stopping, she pointed toward a plastic-wrapped toothbrush and a tiny tube of toothpaste on the sink.
I opened both and stood beside her.
It felt weirdly domestic.
Brushing my teeth next to another person should not have meant anything. It was not sexy. Leah standing naked was sexy, obviously, but toothpaste was not.
Still, I had always done this alone.
There was something intimate about both of us facing the mirror, mouths full of foam, preparing to sleep in the same apartment like this was normal.
Leah spat, rinsed the brush and pointed at my underwear.
“Those are hand-wash only, by the way. Soak them overnight and rinse them tomorrow.”
I looked down at the red thong.
“How is something this expensive also this sensitive?”
“Quality requires maintenance.”
“Of course it does.”
She looked me over once before leaving.
It wasn’t the appraising look she’d been giving me all day. This one lingered for just a second.
She smiled.
Then she walked out of the bathroom.
I spat, rinsed my mouth, then took off the thong and filled the sink with cold water. The fabric sank slowly beneath the surface.
I looked at myself in the mirror.
Naked. Clean-faced. Standing in Leah’s bathroom with her underwear soaking in the sink.
I kept thinking about the look she had given me.
Did Leah want me?
Or was she just being Leah?
Should I make a move?
Was I the guy in this relationship?
No. That made no sense. Leah was clearly the feminine one, but she was also more dominant than anyone I knew.
So what did that make me?
I stared at my reflection.
Confused, apparently.
I stepped into the bedroom and lay down on the bed.
Straight on my back. Arms at my sides. Staring at the ceiling like someone had placed me there for inspection.
Leah came in a moment later, looked at me and gave a small grunt.
“What?”
She did not answer.
She moved closer, put one hand on my hip and turned me onto my side, facing the edge of the bed.
Then she settled behind me and pulled me back against her.
Her arm wrapped around my waist.
Her breath touched the back of my neck.
I was the little spoon.
Being the little spoon was always special. Nothing felt safer than having someone behind you, holding you together while you stopped paying attention to where all your limbs were.
But with Leah, it felt different.
Safer.
She would not put me somewhere I could not handle.
And if I ended up somewhere I could not handle, she would know what to do.
She had proved that all day.
Dress. Shoes. Hair. Makeup. The museum. The room.
Every time I had not known what came next, Leah had.
I lay there listening to her breathe, feeling her arm firm around my waist.
I had never trusted anyone like that before.
The thought should have scared me.
Instead, I closed my eyes.
The next morning, I woke before Leah.
She was spread across the bed like someone had dropped her there. Legs open, one arm under the pillow, the other hanging halfway over the edge.
She snored softly.
I stared at her.
Wonder Woman snored.
A tiny, ridiculous sound through her nose every few breaths.
I should have recorded it.
The thought arrived instantly.
Then left just as fast.
That would have been a betrayal. A small one, maybe, but still the kind that changed how safe a person felt around you.
Knowing was enough.
Wonder Woman snored.
I went to the bathroom to pee and found the red thong still soaking in the sink.
Afterward, I stood there looking at it.
Hand-wash only.
That sounded complicated, but it was mostly just rinsing, checking for spots and trying not to destroy something that cost more than several items in my wardrobe combined.
I drained the sink and turned on a stream of lukewarm water.
The fabric slipped easily through my fingers. Soft, delicate and annoyingly high-maintenance.
I was halfway through rinsing it when the bathroom door opened.
Leah walked in, still naked.
She caught my eyes in the mirror and smiled.
Then she came up behind me, wrapped both arms around my stomach and rested her chin near my shoulder.
Her lips touched my neck.
“You’re so beautiful when you stop hiding.”
Heat rushed into my face.
“I’m washing your underwear.”
“I noticed.”
“That is not traditionally considered beautiful.”
“It isn’t the underwear.”
I looked down at the sink.
“I’m not hiding.”
“I remember someone holding an arm across her tits, covering her nipples.”
“That was privacy.”
“You were in a fitting room with me.”
“Exactly. A room for fitting clothes. Not staring at tits.”
Leah smiled against my neck.
“And now?”
I looked at us in the mirror.
Her body pressed against mine. My hands in the water. Neither of us pretending the nakedness was an emergency.
“Now I’m busy.”
“Very convincing.”
I nudged her with my hip.
“You’re distracting me from delicate fabric maintenance.”
“You’re doing very well.”
“At what?”
“Everything.”
I caught her eyes in the mirror.
She knew exactly what she was doing with that word.
I looked back down before my face could betray me further.
“Still think these are worth the trouble?”
“Yes.”
“They need their own bath.”
“So do you.”
“I shower.”
“With hand soap.”
“That was one time.”
I rinsed the last of the soap from the fabric and squeezed the water out carefully.
Leah loosened her arms.
“Don’t wring them.”
“I know.”
“You were about to.”
“I was considering my options.”
She reached around me, took the thong gently and laid it flat across a clean towel.
Then she folded the towel over it and pressed.
No twisting. No stretching. Of course there was a correct method.
“There,” she said.
“Survived.”
“So did you.”
She kissed my shoulder and stepped away.
I watched her leave through the mirror.
The red thong sat neatly inside the towel, clean and absurdly delicate.
I looked at myself again.
No makeup. No dress. No heels. Nothing expensive except the morning I had somehow woken up inside.
Wonder Woman snored.
Wonder Woman forgot handbags.
Wonder Woman needed six weeks to find somewhere to live.
And apparently Wonder Woman thought I was beautiful.
I smiled at my reflection.
Today was going to be complicated.