“What’s wrong?” a woman called Monica asked as I tugged on the dress.

“Oh, some creepy woman creeped all over a freshman I happen to like. They’re charging her with sexual assault.”

Monica winced. “Well, at least they bothered to. They don’t half the time when it’s a woman. The guy’s supposed to be flattered.”

“Did I say it was a guy?” I quipped. “Zip me up, would you?”

Half the time it seemed modeling clothes needed a helper to secure them properly. Prue called clothes like that “Boyfriend clothes,” because only women with boyfriends…or girlfriends…could actually wear them.

I kind of liked the term and thought I might steal it. Monica moved to fasten the zipper.

“I don’t get how you always look fantastic,” she told me. “You’ve technically got too many curves.”

I grinned. “I think the manager is just that good at deciding what to put on who.” That was a skill. Maybe that was a job I could do, if I got to stay long enough to have a job.

I felt a faint sense of storm clouds stirring at the point.

“Good point. I mean, you and I could never wear the same colors.”

I grinned at her. Monica had raven hair and a tan I suspected was at least in part natural. “Not remotely.”

“Sometimes I think some of the women…and men…out there could use to do this just once so they have some idea of what they should and shouldn’t wear,” she mused.

“Oh, drop that. People can wear whatever they want. It’s their problem if it doesn’t work that well.”

Of course, if people cared enough to want to learn more…well, there were fashion classes and beauty classes and the like to go to. For myself, I tended to let the director decide – but I paid attention to her choices.

I’d learned a lot about color theory since doing this job. And color theory did rather matter if you cared about how you looked.

I wasn’t sure how much I did. Unless I could get it to make me look scarier. Now, that wasn’t even that bad an idea.

I could get it to make me look scarier and, well, I’d not have to hit people as often.

“So, hopefully they’ll…what? Put her on the sex offender registry?”

I thought about that. “Man, from what I know of the woman, she’d hate that. Besides, it’s really hard to find anywhere to live within the restrictions.” I wasn’t sure though. “But she didn’t actually get to do anything, so…” I was glad of that, but it would make it harder to make the woman’s life hell legally. “I’ll have to ask Mike. She lives in Virginia.” Which I thought had tougher rules than DC. But…

“That’s the cop you live right, right? I’d have hated to live with a cop at your age.”

I shrugged. “I don’t drink underage, and he’s a decent guy.”

“A decent cop?”

“Hey, this isn’t PG County,” I quipped and then slipped my feet into the shoes. High heels. I hated them. I never wore them unless shooting. They made me tower over most people. Not here, though. All the models for this shoot were on the tall side.

“True. Still, I’d have hated to live with a cop.”