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“Or as many times as she wants. Things happen. But my point is that wedding lingerie has an expiration date. Once the wedding is over, it goes back into the closet and doesn’t come out till Halloween.”
“When she covers it in fake blood for her slutty-zombie-bride costume,” Elsa finishes my sentence for me, and as she does, I see at least a few of the board members crack a smile and settle into their seats.
“But women go to weddings all the time—as bridesmaids, dates, and as friends,” Elsa continues. “They might bring a partner and plan to stay overnight in a hotel; they might meet someone new on the dance floor and do something totally unplanned.”
“Basically, weddings are great places to get laid.” This time, I have the last word. “The booze is flowing, the bride and groom are saying lovey-dovey things to each other, there’s soft, romantic music playing, and the guests are swooning all over the place.”
Now, the board members are chuckling. The man with the water pitcher goes for another glass and downs it in one shot.
“I would never wear a white lace dress to someone else’s wedding, but there are no rules about underwear.”
“Our designs are soft, romantic, and designed to incorporate everything that’s fun about weddings—the flowers, the luxurious fabrics, the bright colors—without screaming ‘brides only.’”
“You can wear our line on your wedding day, your anniversary, Valentine’s Day”—while Elsa is rattling off lingerie-appropriate holidays, I can see the board members counting the sales figures in their heads—“and you can wear it even if you’re single, just because you can.”
The models move around the room to allow the board members to see the designs up close. I feel a little sorry for them. I can only imagine the visions of HR violations dancing in their heads as they frown in their chairs and back away from the models, trying to keep a respectful distance.
“These styles make everyone feel like a bride,” Elsa says in conclusion.
When the last model has finished making her rounds, she joins the others to form a semicircle around the conference table and take a bow. I grab Elsa’s hand—she doesn’t even fight me this time!—and lift it to the ceiling.
The applause is not as loud as I imagined, but it’s pretty enthusiastic for such a small group of people. I know the real runway show will be much bigger and more awesome.
“Thank you all so much. These designs are going to look even better on the runway—and on our customers.”
Just when I’m ready for an encore, Elsa discreetly squeezes my hand and starts heading for the door. I want to tell her to hold her horses.
It’s not every day that a room full of cranky suits gets this pumped up about fashion. Elsa didn’t even have to show them the slideshow she had prepared with the demographic statistics and the sales forecasts.
More importantly, this is a really special moment for the two of us that we should savor for as long as we can. For too long, we’ve been letting our feelings get in the way of business. And we’ve been letting business get in the way of our feelings.
Maybe it’s time we…
The woman with the cellphone clears her throat. “Um, Elsa?”
Elsa looks back, surprised. “Yes? Did you have a question?”
“Where is your lingerie? I thought this would be your big modeling comeback.”
The other board members nod in agreement.
“Well, this fashion show was just a preview of the lingerie,” Elsa explains. “I mean, I’ll be wearing it on the runway when we’re ready to go public with it.”
“We’d like to see something from you before we sign off on this,” a bald man with thick, furrowed eyebrows says. “The shareholders are going to be expecting a show after all that build-up in the press.”
“Of course. That’s perfectly understandable.”
Elsa rarely loses her cool under pressure, so when she squares her shoulders and shows the board members her wolf teeth, I know it’s time to wrap things up. Right now.
“We have something very special planned,” I reassure them. “It’s top secret. I didn’t want to have Elsa do it with the other models in the room because it would detract from the…the…”
“You’ll know when you see it,” Elsa cuts me off with the patience of a hungry hippo snatching a marble. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to step outside for a minute.”
Elsa has grabbed my arm and is practically pulling me toward the door. I can feel her digging into me with her nails, and while I’m alarmed by it, I have to admit it’s also kind of hot the way she’s dragging me out of a room like a cavewoman.
Despite the abrupt transition, the board members seem to have taken her vague promises at face value and gone back to their scheduled meeting, which is a relief.
Especially when I look at Elsa’s face and see that she has turned into a very unflattering shade of green. She’s swaying back and forth a little, and I’m not sure if she’s going to faint or barf or both. Before I can ask her what’s wrong, she bolts for the door.
