“Out,” she announced in a tone a general might have used on a soldier. “Bars. Bars full of men who appreciate boob shirts and high heels. Get into something sexy.”
Having delivered her ultimatum, she scooped Tigger up and nuzzled the little cat affectionately, twiddling her fingers at her white chest fur and cooing. She followed Helene up to her room where she dumped the happy kitty on the bed and surveyed the anal retentive cleanliness with a narrow eye. “Wow. That boy really got you didn’t he? I haven’t seen things near this clean since the Ketchup Incident last year and don’t give me that look. I still didn’t tell anyone about that. Only three people in the world know anything, unless you count that one guy who walked in – Oh! That’s lovely.”
She rifled through Helene’s closet as comfortably as she would her own and held up a slinky black number; eye balling Helene as though for fit. Too dressy for the occasion. She hung it back up. “What you need is a pick me up. Shots first. Some good atmosphere. Some healthy non-jam related flirting and maybe someone to pick you up in a duplicitous sense of the phrase.” She walked back to the bed and joined Tigger on the comforter, poking the little kitty playfully. “And shoes: The ones with the laces ups. Those are perfection and you never wear them.”