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Show The White Suit 61 "Things are coming along," Don said, "slowly." "Anything promising?" she asked. "You can't pave the road to heaven with good intentions." " I t r y , Don." "Try harder. Everybody's got to try harder." Sara waited to show him the suit. White netting over a l i g h t straw, broad-brimmed hat. White gloves. A long-sleeved, buttoned-to-the-elbow vision in cotton. Bodice laced tightly. Breasts gently rising, gently f a l l i ng as the lady defined her breath ever so slightly. White gauze framing a white face-not pink, not beige. And the lady was gossamer, translucent, not really inhabiting the white-floor-length gown that barely whispered over the polished wood. The gentleman called in his white, and they dined before the sun set. They walked on a sponge of air, sank softly into cushions as they exchanged white glances and sipped tea. She played with a pearl button at her neck, fingered the lace, rubbed i t between two fingers, and he touched the rim of his white hat in the last light of the summer evening as the white changed to grey and he said goodbye, au revoir. At f i r s t Sara wore a half slip under the s k i r t , and when she walked, the only thing anybody could see was the s l i t f i l l e d with white nylon and lace trim. |
