Dancing With Bears - Michael Swanwick [94]
It was not an easy look to achieve.
“Does this make my bottom look big?”
“Oh, no. Well, yes, but in a nice way.”
“Does this make me look sluttish?”
“Oh, yes. But not in a nice way.”
“Does this make me look like I’ve completely lost my mind?”
“Um… in a nice way or not?”
Also, everything had to coordinate with everything else. Many an outfit which any ordinary woman would have killed for had been donned and then ripped off and trampled underfoot because it clashed with another’s costume or because the shoes that were absolutely right for it simply wouldn’t go with the underwear.
“Am I wearing too much jewelry?”
“I don’t think such a thing is even possible.”
“Yes, it is.”
“But on her it looks good.”
“Mascara! Must I wait?
Gargantua lumbered forward with the tray of cosmetics. A hand whose fingers glittered with diamonds and whose nails glistened red as blood moved up and down the lines of delicate little pots, then waved them all away. “Not these mascaras! The ones I had made up to match my eyes.”
“Those are mine, I think. But I don’t want them either.”
“Is it too late to commission a new selection? It is? Well, perhaps I’ll just change the color of my eyes.”
“Oh, but you mustn’t! Then I’ll have to change mine, and I just now got them to go with my hair and stockings both.”
“No fighting, girls. Unless the duke likes that sort of thing. But even if he does, not now. Later.”
“If he wants me to fight, I’m going to need a completely different set of makeup.”
There were other considerations as well. “How does this look?” Olympias asked, and the others paused to critically examine an outfit that showed enough of her to hold any man’s interest but not so much as to make her look as if she were trying to do so. It dazzled the eye without drawing it away from her face. It clung, but not in a needy way.
Russalka walked around it slowly. When she had made one full circuit, she abruptly grabbed the blouse’s neckline with both hands and yanked. Olympias stumbled forward. “No good. If the duke seizes you passionately, it won’t rip off.”
Aetheria held up another blouse. “How about this one?”
“It will rip,” Russalka said, judiciously rubbing the fabric between thumb and forefinger, “but not in a sufficiently fetching way.”
Euphrosyne lifted her skirt. “Do you think I should apply makeup down there?”
“On your wedding night? It would make you seem worldly.”
“But not in a nice way.”
“Anyway, if he gets close enough to see and isn’t already blind with lust, you haven’t done your job properly.”
“I saw you applying eau de cologne to your own garden of delight.”
“That’s not the same thing and you know it. No makeup.”
Nymphodora abruptly yelped and dropped a brooch. Holding up a finger, she wailed, “I pricked myself!”
The Neanderthals had retreated to the very back of the room, where they stood with their backs pressed against the wall, trying to look unobtrusive. One of them rumbled sotto voce, “Are you guys enjoying this?”
“To tell ya the truth, I got mixed feelings about the whole thing.”
“I got blue balls.”
“You and me, brother. You and me.”
They fell silent for a space. Then, with a mournful edge in his voice, Kull said, “This ain’t gonna end well for us, is it?”
“Not for us and not for nobody,” Enkidu said. “I’d bet money on it. If I had any money. And if anybody was stupid enough to take the bet.”
The others nodded glumly. But then Aetheria, whose outfit appeared to mortal eyes beyond improvement, made an exasperated noise and, suddenly deciding to start over from scratch,