Forgotten Desires: A Short Story in Aid of the Eve Appeal by Jodi Ellen Malpas

I’M STANDING IN FRONT OF my wardrobe with a towel wrapped around me, scanning the rails of dresses that barely see the light of day anymore. I’m also chewing my bottom lip, silently deliberating on my best option. It’s been a while. Or longer than a while. I wasn’t particularly bothered by how long it had been since one of these dresses had made it out of my wardrobe and onto my back, nor had I given it much thought. Not until that email landed yesterday afternoon, the one that requested – no, demanded – I be at a certain place at a certain time, with no option to decline. He made no reference to what I should wear, but it’s all I’ve been able to think about ever since I slumped back in my office chair and read his message over and over. I was slightly miffed by his cheek, even gasped at my computer screen…before my thighs clenched under my desk.
    Short or mid-length? Black or red? Cleavage or no cleavage? My eyes drop to my shoe racks. Strappy sandals or stilettos? Then I look across to my chest of drawers where my underwear is kept. Lace or satin? Thong or French? I might need to delve into the black depths of my drawers to find anything remotely sexy.
    I glance down at my watch, noting I’ve been standing here for over twenty minutes deliberating on too many things. My time is ticking and if I don’t get my arse in gear soon, I’m going to be late. Red lips or nude?
    ‘Oh God!’ I drop my head back, looking up to the ceiling. Date nerves. They’re getting the better of me, and I can’t damn well help it. I need help, someone or something to calm me down.
    Tasha or wine?
    It’s another decision to be made, and as I appear to be incapable of making what should be easy decisions right now, I plump for both. I dash out of the bedroom and down the stairs, landing in the kitchen like a frenzied mad-woman, which is fine because I am. I fight to ignore the mess surrounding me and yank the fridge open, pulling out a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc. I only just about manage to refrain from kissing it before pouring myself a large glass. Then I find my phone and call Tasha as I make my way back up the stairs – phone to my ear, glass at my lips. The chilled liquid slides down my throat and hits my tummy, and I sigh, closing my eyes in appreciation.
    Tasha answers hastily, no doubt expecting the call. She encouraged me to do this, so I’m banking on her to help me make some of these decisions. ‘Aren’t you supposed to be on a date?’ Her question is loaded with sarcasm – sarcasm I’d usually bounce off. Not today, though. Today I’m in no mood for banter with my quick-lipped mate.
    ‘I don’t know what to wear!’ I fire down the line, entering my bedroom and purposely avoiding my wardrobe.
    ‘Really?’
    ‘Yes, really!’
    ‘We bought two new dresses yesterday for your date . You dragged me around Selfridges for the best part of my lunch hour. What’s wrong with those?’
    I squirm as I look across the bedroom to the bag that still contains the two dresses, both with tags still attached and ready to return. ‘I’ve had second thoughts.’
    ‘But you felt like a goddess yesterday. In both. Which is why you bought both!’
    I scowl. It’s alright for her. She can slide into a sack and look amazing. Her hourglass figure makes men drool and women cry. All of her weight is in the right places, unlike mine which seems to collect on my arse and thighs. If I didn’t love her so much, I’d hate her. ‘That was yesterday. Today they aren’t doing it for me, and I need to feel hot. Super-hot. I need him to walk through the doors, see me and fall to his knees.’
    ‘You and I both know that will happen, no matter what you wear.’
    Will it? I’m not so sure. Of course, he won’t see this side of me. All he’ll see will be a composed, cool woman. He will not know he has affected me like this – all girlie and neurotic. He will not know I’ve spent all day fantasising over our date or obsessing over