Georgie's Apartment, Uptown
Then again, Chrysanthe thought, more practically and a little more wryly, it had been an excellent excuse when she hadn’t wanted to go out – and most of those books she had enjoyed thoroughly. There were, really, very few books she didn’t enjoy thoroughly.
No, the problem tonight was her clothing.
Georgie, Chrysanthe thought despairingly, was lovely, and an artist. She had every assurance that the other woman would look absolutely lovely for their date. She, herself, had not in the least idea what to wear. She knew she must have had clothing she liked at some point – she remembered dressing up for days in Muffey or the Stacks at Brunnhold, and remembered even being pleased those days she had not had to wear her uniform. In Gior, naturally, she had dressed largely for warmth, and since she dressed mostly for practicality.
Skirt suits were eminently practical. Most practical of all, in fact, Chrysanthe thought, would have been trousers, but that was a secret desire harbored in her heart which she was not quite ready to voice; her hair was scandalous enough. Skirt suits were practical and comfortable, and she owned several, neatly tailored, in grays and browns, and a variety of fabrics. Some were plainer and simpler, well-suited for factory work and not so expensive that an accident would be ruinous; others were fancier and more elegant, for society meetings or nights out with a friend, when she liked the idea of brown silk instead of brown linen.
And yet, looking at herself in the stand mirror in the corner of her rented room, Chrysanthe felt – dull, she thought, her lips pressed together. Dull and drab. The gray skirt was one of her nicest, neatly tailored at her waist, and the white shirt beneath her jacket was crisply pressed. She had brighter dresses, the sort Amaryllis favored for her – colorful or floral or girlish or sometimes all three. They did not quite feel like her either, not tonight. She’d had one on, a pink sort of confection with many more flounces than she’d remembered, and she’d felt oddly like a bit of tissue paper crumpled up and shoved in a box. She’d certainly sounded like it.
With a sigh, Chrysanthe pulled off the suit jacket, and hung it up once more. She glanced at herself in the mirror. The white shirt was a bit too plain, she thought, worriedly, smoothing at it; now she simply looked as if she’d forgotten her jacket. She glanced at her watch, and grimaced, her lips tight; if she took any longer, Chrysanthe thought, she would be late.
She turned back to her closet, searching, as if some new inspiration might present itself.
Then, it did.
The floral-patterned pink top was designed for a wide, flowing, frothing gold skirt that Chrysanthe could never quite stand; but, Chrysanthe thought, seeing it with new eyes, it looked well on its own, and she didn’t have to wear the gold skirt. She took it down and changed into the brown silk skirt which she anyway liked better; she pulled the top of the dress on like a blouse and tucked it in at the waist, buttoning the skirt up and smoothing it into place. She glanced at herself in the mirror, hopeful; with the full sleeves of the top, Chrysanthe thought, she didn’t look underdressed – and she didn’t either, she thought, look like she was trying very hard to be someone she wasn’t.
Chrysanthe took a deep breath, dragged her brush through her hair one last time, grabbed her bag, and fled down the stairs and out of the boarding house, pulling her warm coat over her shoulders as she went. She came to the stop just as one of the public coaches went past; she climbed on, settled herself in, and tried not to think too much about – well – any of it.
It was just shy of twenty three o’clock, the sun setting outside and spilling vivid sunset color over the horizon, when Chrysanthe knocked at Georgie’s door. She took a deep breath, pulling back slightly, and smiled; the smile warmed when Georgie answered, brightening her face. “Good evening,” Chrysanthe said, looking at the other woman, and couldn’t quite seem to do anything but smile a bit more.