Free Changing Teams by Jennifer Allis Provost Page A

skimmed over my body, so soft I could hardly feel it. As I fastened the single button at the back of my neck I felt like a princess.
    I hiked up the skirt before I drew back the curtain; the dress was a bit long, but that would be fixed once I put on some heels. Since there was no mirror in the alcove, I had no idea what I looked like. When I saw Sam’s face, complete with glazed eyes and open mouth, I had my answer.
    “Beautiful,” Sam murmured. “Jorge, you’ve done it again.” Jorge, however, did not share in Sam’s opinion.
    “It’s all wrong,” Jorge wailed. “It’s too plain, too soft, and that color does nothing for her.” Jorge stomped toward the back of his workshop, muttering, “ Dios , Sam, do you even have eyes? How can you think that dress is anything but terrible for Britt? Did you want her to look terrible?”
    “So, this is not the dress?” I asked, watching Jorge as he delved into the back of his shop.
    “Evidently not,” Sam replied. He glanced sidelong at me. “For all that it’s the wrong dress, you do look great, darlin’.”
    “Thanks, cowboy,” I said. Sam cocked a dark eyebrow, but before he could question his new nickname Jorge returned, bearing a measuring tape, a mouthful of pins, and more fabric draped over his shoulders.
    “When is this event?” Jorge asked around the pins.
    “Saturday,” I replied.
    “Arms straight out,” he ordered. I complied, and Jorge commenced measuring every part of my anatomy. He didn’t write anything down, instead muttering furiously in Spanish around all the pins. After a few minutes of this he dropped the tape, grabbed one of the lengths of fabric, and draped it around my neck. It was a sheer tulle, the color reflecting blue or gold, depending on the angle.
    “You are comfortable forgoing a bra, yes?” Jorge asked as he pinned a second swathe around my torso.
    “Not wearing one now, am I?” I countered.
    “Good. This dress will have a low neckline.”
    “Wait.” Jorge halted, mid-pin. “You’re making me a dress?” I asked.
    “I will customize a dress for you, yes,” he said, straightening up. “You cannot outshine a bride on her wedding day in something off the rack.”
    “I can’t afford a custom dress,” I said. Hell, I could barely afford groceries.
    “No charge,” Jorge said, resuming his pinning. “You are Sam’s friend, therefore you are my friend. I do not charge friends. However,” he added, “should I need a model of your height and coloring, I do hope you will return the favor.”
    “Of course I will,” I said. “Thank you, Jorge.”
    He waved away my gratitude. “Now, about the skirt. Will there be dancing?”
    “Honestly, I have no idea,” I said. Melody hadn’t exactly involved me in the wedding plans.
    “If you’re going with me, we’re going to dance,” Sam declared. “I always show my dates a good time.”
    “Sam will be your date?” Jorge asked, and I affirmed that he would be. “I assume you will want me to dress him, as well.”
    “Couldn’t hurt,” I said. “All he owns are jeans and tee shirts.”
    “I have an excellent and extensive wardrobe.” Sam huffed.
    “And you’re keeping all these items hidden, because?”
    Jorge poked me with a pin and I yelped; I was pretty sure he did that on purpose. I guess Sam’s and my bickering got on his delicate nerves. “I will construct the skirt for ease of movement,” Jorge said. “It will take me a few days to complete, then I will have it delivered to Sam’s apartment.” Jorge stood and waved me toward the changing alcove. “You may dress now. Be careful not to disturb the pins.”
    “I’ll be careful.”
    After extricating myself from the fabric while keeping each and every pin in place, I exited the alcove and reentered the studio proper. I found Jorge and Sam discussing a gallery opening. “What opening is this?” I asked, reverently handing the pinned fabric over to Jorge.
    “Michael’s,” Sam replied. “You met