Chapter 1: Sometimes Customer Service Is the Last Thing You Want
Call me old-fashioned, but there’s nothing quite like a department store in the middle of the week. Quiet, shiny, anonymous. You could spend an entire day in the lingerie section, surrounded by lace, elastic and padded inserts and nobody would consider you a pervert because they wouldn’t even notice. Watching the flat screens in electricals, trying out mattresses in bedding, browsing through racks of dresses that cost $2000 each. Applying hand cream, perfume, lipstick. All without a single, ‘Can I help you?’
‘What do you think?’ Melody held up a pair of black pleather leggings. ‘Too much?’
‘Hmmm …’ I created a mental picture of Melody, all long shiny black hair, slender limbs, the queen of neutrals, rocking leather. ‘Different for you, but I think they could work. Try them on.’
Melody scrunched up her face. ‘Oh, okay. We’ve got time, right?’
‘Yes, don’t worry. We’re not meeting George for another hour.’
While Melody tried on the leggings, I browsed through the new season autumn designer collections. Melody and I never bothered with the basement, where all the markdowns hung messily on over-stuffed racks, sad and dejected as a batch of unwanted kittens. If there’s one thing that makes me depressed, it’s ill-fitting, poorly constructed, sweatshop produced fashion that nobody wants even when it’s half-price. I pulled out my phone and took a picture of a Wedgewood blue lace shift. Looking around to make sure no one was watching, I pulled it off the rack, turned it inside out and photographed the insides. Lazy overlocked seams, and it was $600! Criminal.
‘Honest opinion.’ Melody came out of the fitting room, barefoot in her leather leggings and oversized white button-up. She looked like an off-duty Hollywood star. Effortless.
‘Wow,’ I said. ‘You look amazing.’
‘They’re pretty cool. If I was rich I might even buy them.’
‘Ha,’ I scoffed. ‘You don’t need to. You’ve got me.’
‘Really? Thanks, Winter, you’re the best. I’ll totally help you get an A in history.’
Poor Melody. It was the first curriculum day of the year and I knew she felt like she should be in the library studying, but George and I convinced her to spend the day with us. We were only two months into Year 11 and when school gives you a day off in the middle of the week, it should be embraced.
‘Of course you will.’ I smiled. ‘But you are not allowed to feel guilty for not doing schoolwork today!’
‘I know, I know,’ Melody said. ‘Why did I agree to do final year maths?’
‘Because you’re brilliant and everyone knows it,’ I said. ‘Now stand still for a second.’
I took a quick photo, but I didn’t really need to. They were just leggings. All I needed to do was find the right fabric and I’d whip up a pair in less than an hour. Melody liked simple silhouettes; I’d sewn half her wardrobe with barely any effort. She always says that one day, when she has money, she’ll pay me. But there’s no way. Even when we finish high school and university and Melody ends up becoming a successful paediatrician, I’ll never accept payment from her.
‘See anything good?’ she asked.
‘I’m kind of into this lace frock. It’s cute, don’t you think?’
‘Gorgeous,’ Melody said. ‘Very you.’
Unlike Melody, I never try anything on. There’s no point. Not many labels go up to my size and even when they do, the fit is usually off. The truth is, I haven’t seen the inside of a fitting room for years, not since I was eleven and Mum took me bra shopping.
Talk about being scarred for life.
Mum had made a really big deal out of me getting my first bra. She had said it was a special occasion so we caught the tram into the city and had lunch at a really fancy place that Mum said served lots of delicious healthy options. We ate tuna niçoise and Mum talked about the time she went into town with Grandma to get her first bra.
‘Gosh, I was a 10A. I hardly needed one. Not like now!’ She laughed.
The whole thing was pretty embarrassing. But I could tell Mum was trying really hard and that made me feel a bit sorry for her. There I was, getting fatter by the second, and there she was, all glamorous and excited about me getting boobs.
‘I think you’ll be a 14 something. But we’ll get you professionally measured, just to make sure you get enough support for the girls.’
Please, ground, I thought. Swallow me up.
Off we went down Bourke Street and into Myer. Mum said hardly anyone shopped here in person anymore, but that it was a really good place to have underwear fitted.
‘She’s well-developed, isn’t she?’ remarked the bra lady as she measured my chest.
Thank God I was wearing a singlet.
‘It’s a beautiful age, when they still have their puppy fat, but they’re growing up.’
‘Isn’t it?’ Mum sighed.
My body felt like a piece of meat being inspected to determine whether or not it would be fit for human consumption. I didn’t know what to do, so I just stood there in my singlet as the bra lady found me some bras to try on. I thought about all the puppy fat she said I had and how I might be able to get rid of it. I knew, even then, that it wasn’t going to disappear all by itself. I’d been scoffing down a lot of chocolate at the time. Puppy fat. If only.
While the bra lady searched for bras, Mum chattered away.
‘That’s the advantage of being a bigger girl,’ Mum said. ‘The boobs. Not many skinny girls have boobs the natural way, if you know what I mean. Sure, some say they do, but it’s a load of crap. Look at me. I’d be flat as a pancake without a bit of help.’
‘Here we go,’ said the bra lady. ‘Why don’t you go and try them on and your mum and I will wait out here.’
I stood alone in the cubicle and all I could see was the white blob of my body, surrounded by mirrors reflecting it back at me from all angles, front and back. I thought my hair was cute. Straight, dark and cut into a pageboy bob. And my face was okay except for all the zits. But the rest of me? Round and getting rounder. Like one of those Valentine’s Day cherubs. And not in a good way.
‘How are you going in there?’ the bra lady asked. ‘Sing out if you need a hand!’
‘I’m okay,’ I said loudly, trying to sound as positive as possible.
‘She definitely shouldn’t be wearing underwire at the moment,’ I heard the bra lady tell my mother. ‘You’ve got to let the breasts fully develop before you move onto anything like that. At her age they change so quickly.’
I knew the moment would come. When the bra lady would want to enter the change room and check the fit. The only thing that made it bearable was the fact that she had even more ginormous boobs than me. If she were all skinny and perfect like Mum I couldn’t have coped when she entered the change room and put her fingers under the elastic to see if it was too tight.
‘This looks lovely on you,’ the bra lady said. ‘I love this print. It’s gorgeous. I would definitely get this one. You can wear it under your clothes and it will feel more like a singlet than a bra, but it offers quite good support. Just stunning.’
I thought stunning was pushing it a little, but at least she wasn’t going on about my puppy fat anymore.
‘Let’s try the others.’
I felt like I would never get out of there. Trapped on a bra-trying conveyer belt of elastic flicking, boob-examining humiliation. I tried on bra after bra after bra. When I finished with the first pile the bra lady brought in more. And if there’s one thing my mum loves, it’s shopping. She was super excited when we left with five wire-free styles in bubble gum colours and pretty lace and butterfly prints.
‘My little girl’s growing up,’ Mum said, putting her arm around me. ‘You’ll be bringing home boys in no time.’
‘Winter!’ Melody interrupted. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Yeah, sorry. I was just thinking about Mum.’
‘What’s she done this time?’
‘Oh, nothing. I was just thinking about the time she brought me here to get my first bra. It was ages ago.’
‘You can’t let her get to you,’ Melody said.
‘I know. She’s been okay lately, except did I tell you she’s trying to get me to try out for some roller derby team? She probably thinks it will make me lose weight.’
‘Argh,’ Melody sympathised. ‘I can’t imagine anything worse. What’s with that so-called sport? So violent.’
‘Violence is the least of my worries.’ I sighed. ‘I’ll probably fall over and break my arm before anyone has a chance to bash me with their hockey stick or whatever that thing is.’
I waited for reassurance, for Melody to disagree. Instead, I saw the pity in her eyes and we just stood there in silence as I pictured my flabby, unco body lying face down in the middle of the rink while a group of bad-ass roller-derby girls looked at me in horror, no doubt thinking, ‘It sucks to be her.’