I have a new name. It comes from Victoria, but I'd never have thought of it. I don't know if I like it or not Aunt Isobel says it is just delightful, and that it is really just the opposite of the word "rebel" and thus fits someone as meek as I am.(MEEK! If she only knew I had spun around to tell her off! Aargh… that woman!)
My name is Tory. Thus sayeth Isobel, and so let it be done.
I sigh, and I record it here again, an admission and a statement:
I am Tory.
And it is only fitting that I should have a new name. For… I have all new clothing!
I don't know how she does it.
Yes I do; she ORDERS people, and they quail before that rocky thin face and that magnificent black hair and those iceberg eyes!
At five minutes to eleven, when I was still moping about my room, wearing, by then, her nightgown (all perfumey-smelling), there was a sharp knock at the door. Then it opened. A hand came in; hers. It held a box. It dropped the box. The hand disappeared; another box came in and was dropped. Then a third. Thump, on the floor, three white boxes with "Allen's" on them, in royal blue script, with a little crown.
"You have received these boxes in order. There are things in them that will fit you and probably some that will not. Hurry along and try them out, and when you've found what does fit, come right along to the library." That was my Aunt Isobel's voice, and that was all. The door closed.
Should I gush and gush for pages and pages, and talk about every thing in those boxes, or shall I try to be restrained and brief?
The first box contained five brassieres of some white artificial fabric, very slicky and smooth. They were unpadded and unboned. The first I tried on was too large, even for my bosom. The second fitted, and felt wonderful, but I tried the other three, too. Two of them were all right, but the second was perfect. I left it on, bouncing and pirouetting shamelessly before the mirror. I looked magnificent!
That first box also contained four pairs of dainty little slicky laboratory-fabric pants briefs! They were all white, and one was too small and I suppose the one I liked best was a shade loose. But I decided on that. Then there were two half-slips, a pale blue and a white. Both fit superbly.
When at last I went down, walking on air and yet feeling rather embarrassed, I wore a new bra and new naughty brief panties and a huge-collared blue blouse with very blousy sleeves and snug cuffs and plain white buttons, and a dark blue straight skirt. I carried everything else.
Aunt Isobel waited in the library, with a woman of about thirty-five or forty, I don't know, I'm not much of a judge. She was blond, short-haired, and wore a beautiful pants-suit just a little darker than sky-blue. It did not look at all indecent I never learned her name. Aunt I didn't bother to introduce us. She was from Allen's. Allen's is not the most expensive store in Denver, but it is far from cheap, I have learned that.
"What a beautiful girl!" the woman from Allen's said. "What a magnificent figure!"
"Isn't it," Aunt Isobel snapped. "Tory, are you quite sure you chose the underwear that fits best?"
I nodded. "Yes, ma'am."
She sighed, "I suppose I shall take your word for it. And the blouse and skirt certainly do. Well then. You have the sizes?"
The woman nodded. "I know what I brought, and all I have to do is check off what's missing."
"Good. This over-brought-up child is very, very modest indeed. All right then. One more of the brassieres in white, and one each in black and in blue. A half-dozen blouses in assorted colors… she waved her hand… and some skirts, and um, perhaps a wide belt or two. Hose… pantyhose."
I stood there with my mouth open. The woman from Allen's sat there very coolly, smiling and nodding and writing it down, and then she picked up the three boxes to go. As she passed me she stopped, smiled, and said, "You really are a lovely girl, Tory," and then she left while I stood there with a burning face.
"Before you say anything, Tory," Aunt Isobel said, "don't. That's all. I don't want you getting breast-cancer from those God-awful cinch-straps you came here with, and I can't abide the sight of the rest of that junk. When's your birthday?"
"October… eighteen," I stammered, feeling as though there were a hickory nut in my throat.
She nodded. "Good then. I am remembering your birthday early this year. Happy birthday. And start fixing us a decent lunch for a change. Going without breakfast for once won't hurt you."
"Aunt Isobel…"
"You're quite welcome," she said. Another dismissal. It was very hard for me, but I went to the door, heading for the kitchen.
"Tory," she said.
I stopped and half-turned.
"You answer very nicely to a very nice name," she said, and she was almost smiling. Almost. "And you really are very lovely girl. Shoulders UP! Chest OUT! But then you can't help that, I suppose…" She fluttered a hand. "Well, go along, go along, was up early and all I had was toast and coffee and I'll want a big lunch!" She got a big lunch.