There was a spirited game of Spades going on inside Diane Brown’s living room that afternoon. Actually, most afternoons there was some kind of lively activity happening in Diane’s house, though Diane would usually be at work at the time. But Diane’s house wasn’t some kind of community hangout; she didn’t have deadbeat roommates abusing the place while she brought home the bacon. At least, not the usual type of non-paying roommates…
“How many books do you have?”
“Mmm… three. I guess that means we have six?”
The two opposing players grunted.
“We bid eight. That adds up to fourteen.” A sigh. “Somebody overbid, as usual. Is it you, Red?”
The red jeans, lying “face down” if there had been someone in them with a face, sighed. “No, I just told you, I have three. See?” Red’s cards, floating a few inches away from the waistline of the empty jeans, turned towards the playing area.
In a more conventional setup, that would have been a big no-no. You don’t show anyone your hand in Spades, not even your partner. But this was not a conventional setup. You see, the four participants in this particular game of Spades were… hmm, invisible would be a bit simplistic. You could see them, and yet you couldn’t. Red, as was pointed out, was an empty pair of red jeans, with translucent white socks at their cuffs. Red’s partner, usually called Legs, was a curvaceous pair of black leggings. The opposing team? A white tube top tucked into a pair of tight black jeans, across from a pair of white pinstriped dress pants paired with a white button-down blouse. How these items of clothing came to be no-longer-inanimate was anyone’s guess, including theirs, but Diane didn’t seem to be bothered by it.
Being animated clothing but not really bound to the clothing meant, in this case, being able to see not only your partner’s cards, but those of the opposing team. But knowing what’s in their “hand,” so to speak, and knowing what cards they will play, are two different things.
Back to the game…
“You didn’t have to show your cards, Red, ” the pinstripe pants said. “We would have figured it out somewhere along the way.”
“Just wanted you to know it wasn’t me,” Red said. “OK, let’s play. Jean dealt, so it’s your go, Legs.”
Legs played, and the game went on uneventfully for the first few hands, until White nonchalantly said, “Oh, Legs, I meant to tell you. They made some changes to the dress code at Diane’s job.”
“Yeah?” Legs said flatly, concentrating on the game.
“Stretch pants are now officially a no-no.”
“What?!” Legs snapped. “What do you mean, a no-no? I don’t interfere with her getting her work done.”
“Hey, don’t tell me,” White replied. “I know none of us gets in Diane’s way. But apparently they’re concerned with putting forth a professional image, and they say stretch pants don’t fit the bill.”
“That’s a bunch of crap!” Legs shot back. “There’s nothing unprofessional about me! I don’t have anything to do with how Diane does her work. And anyway Diane could do her job buck-naked in that place if she had to!”
Jean snorted. “Yeah, right. I’d pay to see that.”
“Uh, Jean,” White said, “sorry, but you’re out too, kind of…”
“Yeah, I know about the Jeans Friday thing,” Jean said. “Diane makes sure to make her donation to whatever charity they’re collecting for, so she can be more comfortable on Fridays.”
“What about me?” Red said.
“Well,” White said, “the rule is Ã¢Â€Â˜no denim except on Fridays if you’ve donated to the charity drive,’ but I don’t know. You’re kinda bright, you know. Guys will be staring at your butt and thinking about what’s inside, and not getting any work done.”
“Some of the creeps that work in that place,” Jean said, “would be staring at Diane’s butt if she wore a burlap sack, or trying to. And the customers are worse. Plus, Red, you’re probably the tightest pair Diane owns. She’s never worn you there, has she?”
“No. I just wondered if all that went for me too, that’s all. The dress code doesn’t really bother me, it just means that–”
“Look, are we talking or are we playing?!” Legs grumbled.
“Didn’t mean to spoil
the game,” White said. “I just figured I should let you know…”
“But what about you, White?” Jean asked. “You mentioned all of us. How does the change affect you?”
“Yeah, Miss Pinstripe, what about you?” Legs retorted. “Seems to me that you’re just about as tight on Diane as I am.”
“Well… I can be,” White conceded. “But Diane doesn’t stretch me out quite the way I do on my own, when she’s not wearing me.”
“Uh-uh,” Legs said. “I’ve seen you and Diane leaving here for work a few mornings, You looked mighty filled out to me.”
“That’s only when we leave the house,” White said. “By the time we get to her job, I’m a little bit loose on her. A bit like this.” White’s cards placed themselves face-down on the floor, as the outfit stood up. The pants deflated themselves a bit, not appearing to cling to the unseen figure underneath. But when White began to move around, it was clear that the figure underneath was still quite shapely. But large unseen breasts still strained against the cotton-blend shirt, which couldn’t stretch quite as much as the pants did. And, of course, that didn’t escape Legs’ notice.
“But what about the shirt, Missy?”
The shirt pulled up and away from the pants, hovering towards Legs on its own.
“What about the shirt?” asked a voice that was plainly not the same as White’s. A little higher, a little breathier, and plainly angry. The empty sleeves crossed themselves under the shirt’s chest.
“I’m just saying–” Legs started, before the shirt cut in.
“You’re just saying that you’re so mad that you’re not even thinking. This is Diane’s shape in here,” the shirt said, as it moved its sleeves just under each side of the chest. What appeared to be unseen fingertips pressed against the front of the shirt. The shirt’s intangible breasts moved under the invisible fingertips. “Besides,” the shirt began again, “remember, the rule change isn’t about you or about Diane. They don’t want anyone wearing sweatpants, leggings, yoga pants, or anything like that. So, please, get over yourself.”
It was quiet for a few moments, before White finally spoke up.
“I think Ã¢Â€Â˜get over yourself’ was a bit harsh, but we all get the point.”
“I knew it was over the top,” the shirt said, turning toward White, “but like you said, it made the point.” With that the shirt floated back toward White, tucking itself into the pants when it arrived.
“In fact,” White said, “Diane may not wear this particular shirt to work anymore, to avoid the wrong kind of attention.” The sleeves moved again toward the shirt’s breasts, which began moving again beneath unseen fingers. “She likes it, and she probably won’t get rid of it or anything, just buy a slightly larger size for work. There are other places she can wear it. Or, of course, she could just leave it home…”