One Friday, about eight weeks ago I went grumblingly with my friend Paula while she went clothes shopping. She’s not my girlfriend, at least not yet, but if being dragged into a women’s clothing store is the price I pay for being able to spend a couple more hours with her, then so be it.

As we went in, she made a beeline for one particular display, stopping in front of a mannequin in a strapless body-hugging minidress and matching tights. The mannequin was positioned on a small platform near the cash register that would have given a person a good vantage point to see everything and everyone in the store. The colors of the outfit were like an explosion in a paint factory, meant to draw attention to its wearer. I imagine the designer figured any woman would be proud to have her figure highlighted the way this outfit was drawing attention to the mannequin.

I looked at the mannequin, wishing it was Paula looking so good in that outfit. So did she. “One day I’m gonna wear that,” she said.

I decided to be gallant. “What do you mean, ‘one day?’ Why not today?”

She turned her cute, shapely self toward me and smiled. “Now you know I can’t wear that just yet, but mark my words, I will.” Then she went on with her shopping.

Evidently there had been a “fine woman” convention in the area, because the store was full of them, and I am genetically wired to notice all beauty within my field of vision. Fortunately for me, Paula does not seem to be threatened by this. It was a wonder I didn’t get whiplash from all the whipping my head back and forth.

Paula found what she wanted, paid for it, and we turned to leave. When we got to the front door, Paula turned, looked longingly at the outfit one last time, and left the store.

Paula is not a clothes horse, but she is a sharp dresser, and usually buys something from Finelli’s every week (usually on Friday). And every week, we both stop and stare at the outfit on the mannequin, and while she shopped I’d get an eyeful from the other shoppers. And every week, the mannequin was in that same spot.

* * * * *

Finally, eight weeks after she told me she would wear that suit, she asked a salesclerk if there were any more in stock, since none were on the display racks.
“Wait a minute!” I said. “You told me you needed to go on a diet! What changed?”

She fixed me with a you-can’t-be-serious look. “You don’t notice anything different about me?”

I knew I had to tread lightly; one wrong remark and all my plans would go down the drain. “Um, well, I can see you’ve lost some weight, but you made it seem like you had to do something drastic.”

Her smile lit up the whole store. “So you did notice! I’ve lost 25 pounds.”

“Twenty-five pounds? Since when!?”

“Since I first told you that I would wear that outfit. It snuck up on you because I did it right. Two or three pounds a week. If I had done something drastic, I would just turn around and gain it all back.” While she spoke, all kinds of female fineness swirled around us. I almost hurt myself trying not to look.

The salesclerk came back and told Paula that the display dress was the last one in the store and that if she wanted it she could have it for one-third off. She jumped at the offer before the woman could change her mind. It was very interesting to watch the salespeople removing the dress from the mannequin. They had to take great care not to rip it; it was *that* tight on the mannequin. I wondered if it had stretched, but I was just about to find out that it had not.

* * * * *

Finally they got it off, and the salesclerk walked towards the dressing rooms with the dress in her hands.

“Hey,” Paula called out. “Where are you going?”

“Don’t you want to try it on?” the clerk asked.

“No need. It’s size 8; I’m size 8.”

“Uh, miss,” she said nervously, “I know it’s a great-looking outfit, and a great deal, but it’s still a good idea to try it on.”

Paula grudgingly tried on the dress and tights. When she came out… It was like the outfit was made expressly for her. “What do you think,” she asked hopefully.

I was in awe. Once I found my voice, I answered, “It looks great. You look great. I always knew that, but the outfit just brings it out more. Please go ahead and buy it.” Which she did.

On the way to the car, she said, “I know our conversation in there kept you from being able to look around like you usually do.”

I pretended to be innocence itself. “What are you talking about?”

“Come on,” she replied. “I know when you’re around a lot of attractive women, you can’t help looking. I just want you to be discreet.”

I sighed hard. “Um, OK. Discreet. I can do that.”

On the ride home, she was unusually quiet. Not icy quiet, but more like uneasy silence. I was as uneasy as she was, if not more, not knowing whether I should take her at her word or if she was really hurt.

When we got to her place, she put the shopping bag down in the living room and went into the bathroom. Just as the bathroom door locked, the shopping bag began to rustle. I dropped the magazine I was reading and stared at the bag. The bag rustled some more and then Paula’s dress and tights rose from the bag, looking like Paula (or her invisible twin) was wearing them!

“I’m cracking up,” I said out loud. “I have to be. There’s no other explanation, because this can’t possibly be happening…” I went on and on, watching while Paula’s outfit stepped out of the shopping bag and began walking towards me.
I was sure I’d either fallen asleep or gone crazy, so I intentionally said the stupidest thing I could think of. “I know, take me to your leader, right?”

I almost fell out of my chair when Paula’s voice answered me, coming from somewhere above the top of the dress. “Real funny, Mr. Comedian. You gonna mess around and lose that girl if you’re not careful.”

* * * * *

“That girl?” I repeated, staring at the empty clothes Paula had just bought. “S-so you’re not Paula?”

“Do I look like Paula?” the voice asked.

“Well, um, yeah. Kind of. I mean, you do have her shape, whoever you are.”

“Whoever I am? Do you see anyone in front of you?” the voice asked sarcastically.

“Um, no. I see clothes with Paula’s shape.” And they were giving me a bad case of the creeps.

The voice answered, “That’s because she put me on back at the store. I couldn’t have done this otherwise.”

“How –” I stated, before the voice cut me off.

“If I were you,” the voice replied, “I wouldn’t worry about how; I’d worry about keeping Paula. It hurts her when you turn to look at every round butt that passes anywhere near you. And don’t try to play Mr. Innocent, either, because I saw everything back at the store. You were standing right in front of me, remember?”

“Who are you talking to in there, honey?” Paula called out from behind the closed bathroom door. “Or are you on the phone?”

“I’m not on the phone,” I said, “and I’m not talking to anyone. You must be hearing things.” Then I turned to the outfit and whispered, “I should have told her.”

“Yeah, right, like she would have believed you,” Paula’s voice whispered back. Just then I could hear the faucet running in the bathroom. “Listen, I gotta drop; she’ll be out any second. But we’ll talk again soon, I’m sure of it.”

The suit walked back over to the shopping bag, stepped inside, and collapsed into it. I just sat there, staring in openmouthed shock. I was still staring and gaping when Paula came out of the bathroom.

“Are you all right?” she asked me.

“I… guess so,” I replied absently. “Something just happened. I can’t really explain it. It might have been a dream.”

“Are you sure you’re all right?” she asked insistently. “I was about to run back out for a couple of things I forgot, but I could always do that later.”

“No, no, that’s OK. You go ahead and do whatever you have to do. I’ll be all right.”

She put on the coat she had bought at Finelli’s three weeks earlier, then changed her mind and put on her old standby, leaving the new coat draped over a chair.
After the elevator door slid shut behind Paula, the shopping bag rustled again and the outfit stood up and stepped from the bag. I noticed that its movement was just like Paula’s.

“It feels good to be able to move around and not be stuck in one position, like I was back at the store,” the outfit said in a gleeful tone voice. Then it took a seat on the couch to my right and, turning more serious, it continued. “Like I was saying before, you need to stop watching every butt and chest that passes and pay more attention to Paula.”

I usually look at someone when they’re speaking to me, specifically at their eyes, unless it makes them uncomfortable. What was making me uncomfortable about this conversation (besides the fact that the other speaker was an empty outfit of clothing) was that, since there were no eyes to look at, I wound up staring at the torso of the unoccupied dress. I found myself looking at it, then looking away, then looking back. After a while the voice giggled and said, “I’m sorry if I’m making you uncomfortable, since you have to do just what I’m saying not to do in order to look at me.”

“Um, yeah,” I replied. “It is kind of weird.”

“Well,” it continued, “it’s perfectly OK to look at me like that, at least when I’m empty. Be careful about doing that when she’s wearing me, though, because she might not appreciate it.”

While I ruminated on what I had just been told, I heard Paula’s voice again, this time to my left. “You also need to work on breaking out of friendship mode.”

I didn’t hear Paula’s keys, or the lock turning, so I turned and started, “I didn’t know you–”, before I saw that Paula wasn’t there. What was there was Paula’s new coat, unbuttoned but moving like she was in it. The coat, well, hovered over to where I was sitting and the other voice (well, the same voice but from another source) said, “She’s been sending signals at least as long as I’ve been here, but you seem to be trying to stay ‘just friends.’”

The coat then sat on the couch, to my left. As it did, it pulled its sleeves away from its pockets, revealing black leather gloves, which it folded in its lap as it continued. “She really likes you, but if you keep ignoring her signals, she’ll stop sending them, and I’m sure you know what that means.”

“Yeah,” I answered. “I have been holding myself back.”

“Well, let go, man,” the coat said, putting its right glove on my left knee. “If you really like her that much you gotta show her, and tell her. We know she likes you–” (at this point the coat gestured toward the outfit on my right) “– but if you feel the same way, you have to tell her. We can’t do it for you.”

“Well, do you have any suggestions, since you’re so full of advice?” I knew I didn’t need to be sarcastic, but it was just a little bit spacey to be getting romantic advice from clothing. But of course, they had plenty of advice.

“Yeah,” Paula’s voice called out from a back room. I looked up to see black fishnet pantyhose standing in the corridor leading to Paula’s bedroom. I did a double take.

“Fishnets?” I asked.

“Yeah, fishnets,” the voice answered. “Paula really likes you, and wants you to notice her legs more. You’re really not that observant.”

I had picked up an apparent contradiction in their messages, but the voices continued before I could address it.

“Speaking of which,” the minidress outfit chimed in, evidently speaking to the coat and the pantyhose, “did you both know he actually waited until she’d lost 25 pounds to notice that she had lost weight, and didn’t say anything until she told him?”

“Hey, now, wait a minute,” I called out in my defense. “I did notice. I just, well, didn’t say anything.”

“Now, that’s a crying shame,” the coat chided. “It really doesn’t ‘count’ that you noticed if you didn’t say anything. How could she know that you noticed or what you thought about it if you didn’t tell her?”

“Well, uh, I wasn’t sure if she really was losing weight or not and, if she wasn’t, I didn’t want her to think I was suggesting it.”

“Come on, now,” the minidress said. “Didn’t she tell you in the store that she would wear me one day?”

“Well, yeah, she did.”

“That should have tipped you off,” the pantyhose said. “Why don’t men pay more attention to things?”

Before I could say anything to defend myself or men in general, I heard more rustling. It was coming from a plastic shopping bag under the coffee table right in front of me. The bag just kind of rolled around, like something was trapped in it and couldn’t get out. Paula’s voice answered again, this time from inside the bag. “They take women for granted. They think that because women outnumber them, there will always be someone there for them. And if one gets away, another will be along soon.”

“Oh, great,” I moaned. “Now I got a plastic bag putting me down?”

“No,” the voice called back, “I just can’t get out of this bag. I’m stuck somehow.”

I unrolled the bag and looked into it. There was some kind of garment with a black-on-white windowpane pattern on it. There was also a piece of strapping tape stuck to the outfit and to the bag. I pulled the tape out of the bag, and a few seconds later a shapely windowpaned catsuit stood up, a plastic bag over its feet.

“Whoa! Where’d you come from?” I said in barely concealed glee.

“Paula’s sister gave me to her last night to congratulate her for losing the weight.”

“Well, it looks like we’re running out of places for you all to sit,” I said, hoping for a particular outcome.

“No, we’re not,” the catsuit answered. It then stepped out of the bag and did just what I had hoped, sitting down on my right knee. Of all the clothing assembled around me, the catsuit was the closest to a complete outfit, and so I put my right arm around it. It responded by putting its left arm around me and leaning close.
Paula”You know,” the pantyhose said, “you should do that with Paulae sometime instead of just her clothes.”

“Could any of you explain to me just how you’re able to talk and move around like this?”

“We could,” the catsuit said, “but it would just go in one ear and out the other. You’re a guy. You just wouldn’t get it.”

“But the truth is,” the pantyhose continued, “that every woman has at least one outfit or piece of clothing that speaks to her. If something’s really bothering her or if she feels really strong about something, the outfit can speak for her as well, but only to someone really close to her. But this was an extreme case. Something had to be done, so we all spoke up.”

Just then Paula’s keys began jingling in the lock and the door opened. Evidently the clothes didn’t think they had enough time to get away, so they all just dropped where they were. Paula came in carrying a paper bag and went straight to the kitchen. Half a second later she backed out of the kitchen, looking into the living room with a baffled expression on her face.

“What are my clothes doing all over the place?” she said. Moving closer, and looking right at me, she continued. “And why is my new catsuit draped over your leg? What’s going on here?”

I didn’t think I could make her believe what had just happened, but I decided that what I had learned was more important anyway. “Listen, Paula,” I said. “I don’t know how to explain the clothes, but there’s something more important that I need to say to you, so please hear me out.”

“I know it bothers you when I look at other women. I can’t excuse it by saying that I have an eye for beauty, because you should be all the beauty I need. And I haven’t been as attentive as I could be, or I would have known to mention as soon as I first noticed your weight loss. I actually noticed in the third week, but then, well, it became less noticeable. You lost a lot of weight at first, right?”

She smiled in spite of the baffled expression she still wore. “Yeah, I did lose more at the beginning,” she replied. “I lost ten pounds in the first 10 days, and then I hit the brakes hard and took another month and a half to lose the other fifteen.”

“Well,” I continued, “I waited forever to say something, but I did notice. And I’ve been trying hard to maintain a friendship and not move too fast when you’ve been sending me signals and I haven’t been returning them. I just didn’t want to take a chance at losing what we have now.”

“That will never happen. I want to be much more than just a friend to you, but only if it’s what you want to.”

“I can’t find the words to say how much I do, Paula. You look gorgeous, and you’re a beautiful person. It’ll take the rest of my life to show you that. I love you, Paula.”

“You love me?” she asked, tears welling in her eyes. “Do you realize that’s the first time you’ve ever said that to me?”

“It is?” I’d felt so strongly for her for so long I was sure that I’d said so before, but in retrospect it all made sense. Of course I thought I’d told her. I hadn’t been paying attention. “Well, don’t worry, you’ll be hearing it a lot more from now on.”

She studied me for a few moments before asking, “What’s gotten into you tonight? Where did all this openness and insight come from?”

*I might as well tell her,* I thought. “You see all these clothes lying around? Well, they spoke to me while you were out.”

“My clothes– spoke to you?” she asked in disbelief.

“Yeah. They told me that I was hurting you by looking at other women, that I wasn’t being attentive or observant enough, and that I was taking you for granted. Incredible, isn’t it?”

Paula looked around at her clothes lying around the couch and — I wasn’t prepared for this reaction — she looked hurt. Like she had been betrayed. “Um, I’m not trying to get rid of you or anything, but I have a big day tomorrow. Are we still on for breakfast?”

“Of course,” I said, and kissed her. She grunted in response and kissed me back. While we were in liplock, with me facing the couch, I saw something even odder than the earlier display. Most of the coat continued to lay limp on the couch, but the sleeves and gloves filled out like there were arms and hands in them and started to clap silently. After a few seconds, I could hear the sound of gloves lightly brushing against one another, and evidently so did Paula. She turned around just in time to see the gloves fall limp on the couch.

“Sorry, but you gotta go,” she said, pleasantly but firmly as she guided me to the door. “I have to straighten this out. See you in the morning?”

“In the morning,” I repeated. “Good night.”

I went home exhilarated, bewildered, and full of anticipation. Exhilarated because Paula finally knew just how I felt. Bewildered because, let’s face it; no matter what the outcome, it just ain’t normal for clothes to talk and move on their own. Period. And I was full of anticipation because I knew that our relationship was going to change, permanently, for the better.

I went home, did a little cleaning, and went to bed. Just as I was about to drop off to sleep, my phone rang. I got the unexpected surprise of hearing Paula’s voice from the other end. “This is a surprise,” I said. “I didn’t expect to hear from you again tonight. How did everything, uh, go?”

“What do you mean? There wasn’t but one way for things to go. I just wanted to be alone with my thoughts for a while. I also needed to wash my new perfume out of those clothes.”

“New perfume?” *Uh oh,* I thought. *Back into weird territory again.*

“Yeah. I’ve been using this new amino perfume that’s supposed to inspire the wearer to be bolder. It didn’t have much effect on me, except for maybe that catsuit, and Francesca bought that because of the diet. But the perfume had a huge effect on my clothes, evidently. You should have seen and heard all the protesting when I took them to the laundry room. ‘Come on, Paula. We did it for your own good. Somebody had to tell him. We only wanted what was best.’ Stuff like that.”

“Well, if they were only doing it for your benefit, what was the problem?”

She gave me the familiar men-don’t-know-anything sigh and said, “That’s supposed to be a girls-only situation. Men aren’t even supposed to know about the unspoken agreement between a girl and her clothes. They only talk to her, and if they talk to anyone else, it’s only with her permission. Now, about that breakfast tomorrow–”

“You’re not cancelling, are you?”

“Never! I just wanted to tell you that, well, when you pick Paula up, be sure to pour out your heart to her and make her do the same.”

“Wait a minute,” I said warily. “Who is this?”

After some laughter from the other end, the voice said, “Sorry I didn’t tell you right away. This is Paula’s phone. Paula herself is fast asleep.”

“Her phone?”

“Yeah, her phone. Top of the line, computerized, all kinds of features, and I can talk, too. Anyway, when Paula comes home after your breakfast, her clothes will tell me all about it, so make sure the date’s real juicy, OK?”

“Let me get this straight. You’re not Paula?”

“Really, I’m her phone. You sound like you don’t believe, so listen to this…” With that I heard ringing on the other end. How that could be possible if the line was in use I couldn’t even guess, but I waited to see what would happen.

The ringing stopped and Paula’s sleepy-sounding voice answered. “Hello?”

I waited for the prankster at the other end to identify herself (or himself), but after a second or two of silence I knew I had to speak or else she would hang up. “Paula, hi, this is Bryan.”

“Hi, Bryan,” she slurred.

“You sound like you were sleeping,” I said.

“I was,” she said, sounding every bit like she was telling the truth. She would in fact make a very good actress if she chose to go into that profession, with her ability to tell huge whoppers with a straight face, but somehow I was sure that she wasn’t putting me on. She had really been asleep.

I had no idea what to say next, and I didn’t know whether I should tell her how she was awakened. After a bit of silence, Paula said, “Bryan, why’d you call? Is something wrong?”

I decided to spill the beans. “Actually, Paula, I didn’t call you. I got a phone call and heard your voice on the other end. I thought it was you until a couple of seconds ago.”

“But I didn’t call you,” she protested. “I was fast asleep.”

“Actually, Paula, that was me,” her own voice replied, sounding much more alert. “I called him.”

“Who is–” she started, before she evidently recognized her own voice coming back at her. “Oh no!! Why can’t you all just leave me alone?” Heaving a sigh, she said, “Hold on a minute, Bryan,” and then I heard some shuffling around. I heard muffled voices that sounded like they were coming from another room, away from the phone. The voices all seemed to be Paula’s, making it sound like Paula was arguing with herself Finally, I heard another click and Paula was back on the line.

“Bryan, are you still there?” she asked, clearly angry.

“I’m here,” I said, with no idea what she was about to do.

“Good. I want you to be my witness.” Then, sounding like a PA announcer, she continued. “Now hear this: I want every scrap of clothing and every gadget in this apartment to leave me and Bryan alone from now on. I need every scrap of clothing and every gadget to leave us alone tonight so we can get some sleep. Is that understood?”

I heard a chorus of Paula’s voice from the other end of the line, though the response wasn’t clear to me. I guess she was satisfied with the reply, because she next addressed me. “What did they… I mean, what did she… what were you told?”

“It’s not important, Paula,” I said. “What is important is for both of us to get some rest. We can talk about it in the morning, OK?”

“Fine with me,” she mumbled, adding “See you in the morning” before she hung up.

As sleep crept up on me, I thought about Paula’s talking clothes and gadgets and wondered if we would indeed be left alone. I wondered too what was the real reason for that phone call. But there would be plenty of time to think about that in the morning.