Diva Dismayed: Chapter 1 – A new beginning
It was a bright morning and despite the earliness of the hour, the July sun was already making its presence felt as I hastened along the street to where I would catch the bus downtown. I was about to start a new job. After the tumultuous events of the past week I was hoping that my life might now begin to settle down. Today I was attired rather self-consciously in a white floral dress whose layered skirts paid tribute to the latest in the fashions of the 1950s. My outfit was completed by tan shoes and matching purse and, despite my options being severely limited when dressing that day, I was quite content with this choice of clothing. As it happened, none of these items actually belonged to me. For the loan of them I was indebted to my dear friend Rachel.
I had not long turned sixteen when I had first taken refuge with her just a few days earlier and she herself was only a few years my senior. We were both quite new to this little city which was to be my home for the remainder of my formative years, though she had been working there for several months. Rachel had recently qualified as a nurse. The profession was a natural choice for her as her caring nature was never far below the surface. It had shown itself again in her readiness to be my rescuer in my hour of need. Although she also possessed a mischievous tendency to tease me whenever opportunities arose, and a plentiful supply of those usually came my way, I always found her to be kindness personified.
To say that I was naïve would have been an understatement. I was still wet behind the ears! This town was a much bigger place than the one I’d been accustomed to and my earlier life in a smaller, and safer, environment hadn’t prepared me very well for my present situation. Everything was unfamiliar and the simplest undertaking seemed to present a daunting obstacle. I had been in the direst of straits when I’d arrived. I’d had no place to stay with almost no money and no idea as to how I might come by any. Urgent as were these basic wants, I was in just as much need of human companionship. Besides my one friend I didn’t know a soul. Nevertheless, my ally and mentor was someone who was both practical and resourceful. Within a matter of days I found that I had somewhere to call home, a means of supporting myself and had even begun to know a few people.

To begin with I’d found employment, though, despite my best intentions, my job didn’t get off to the best start. That was because everything was so new. To reach my place of work I had to catch the bus downtown. On this my first morning my unfamiliarity with the neighbourhood caused me to miss my stop. When I alighted I was much farther away than I’d planned. I had to ask directions of passers-by and then walk back several blocks before I arrived at the beauty parlour. It was fifteen after nine when I made my entrance and somewhat breathlessly presented myself. The manageress proved to be a stony-faced woman by the name of Rosa, or Mistress Rosa as she styled herself.
My cheerful “Good morning!” and winning smile, which I hoped might make the right impression, were greeted with a cold stare, followed by a frostier “Good day.”
I hesitated, crestfallen. Things didn’t seem to be going how I’d intended.

“Tardiness is not acceptable here. Don’t let it happen again!” the woman stated flatly, and with a dismissive gesture she motioned me towards the back room. I rightly guessed this was so I might change into the uniform which the salon expected its staff to wear. Keen to make up for my shaky start, I followed her direction without hesitation. As speedily as I might, I slipped out of my dress with its voluminous petticoats and searched for something in my size among the white tunics which were hanging there. Once I’d made myself presentable I returned to the salon where I was introduced to the other ‘girls’ who worked in the parlour. Happily they seemed quite friendly and I was relieved to find that they made an effort to put me at ease. Sally was a redhead possessed of a wide smile and, as I was to find, a dizzy personality, while Claire was quieter. A brunette like myself and at least a decade my senior, she took pity on my youthful inexperience and it wasn’t long before she had taken me under her wing. By the time she had shown me around, my confidence had begun to return.
“You mustn’t mind Rosa, honey” she whispered with an encouraging smile. “Her bark is usually worse than her bite.”

This being my very first day I was eager to prove myself a capable addition to the staff and so I concentrated hard on committing to memory what everything was for and where it was kept. Fortunately, a salon was familiar territory. Back home, my Saturday job had also been in a beauty parlour, very similar to this one. I would be able to draw on the experience and skills which I’d acquired over the last few years. I wasn’t surprised to find that the initial tasks which Rosa assigned me came easily enough, despite accompanying looks of misgiving on her face. They revealed her low estimation of my usefulness.

Duties like washing hair and removing the rollers once it was dry were bread and butter routine, and in my former employment I’d soon progressed from such mundane tasks to performing manicures and pedicures and eventually to applying a full make-over. I had taken a pride in being counted on to fulfil a responsible role, so was hopeful that my performance here would soon dispel her doubts. By the end of my first day the manageress might just have been satisfied. Her grudging words at the close, “Well, I guess you’ll do”, were apparently the best that could be expected, or so I was later assured by my work-mates. All the same I quailed a little when she delivered her final admonition “Just make sure you get here on time in future!”

“Yes, ma’am!” I responded meekly, but I went to get changed with a skip in my step.

I’d divested myself of my uniform and was in the act of depositing it in the basket provided for laundry when the door opened. Over my shoulder I saw to my immediate confusion that I’d been joined by Sally. I was nearly overcome with embarrassment, wearing only my under-things in front of a virtual stranger. She for her part seemed completed unfazed by the intimacy of our situation. Without any hesitation she started to unbutton her tunic while chatting away in the most natural manner. I didn’t know where to look.

“How was that for your first day?” Then without pausing for my answer, “It’s great for us to have another pair of hands, I can tell you. Claire and me have been worked off our feet these last few weeks. Ever since Lulu left to have her baby, it’s been go, go, go. I could see from the start that you were going to be up to the job, so the more the merrier, as far as I’m concerned. Nice boobs, by the way!” I’d been aware that this part of my anatomy had been the focus of her gaze, while she was engaged in peeling off her uniform. “Sure you’re only sixteen? I hadn’t half as much at your age.”

While she freely indulged her merriment over this observation, I tried to avoid reciprocating with my own stare at the endowments of her semi-clad body.
She continued with hardly a pause for breath. “Don’t think I’m complaining. I used to have my work cut out fending off my boy-friends wanting to get their hands full, if you get my meaning! They get fixated if you’re too big up top and won’t leave the darn things alone! I bet you find that?”

There was a pause in the flow of her talk. I looked up to see her silently regarding me. This question clearly required an answer. Embarrassing or what? Fortunately, thinking of the past behaviour of my own ex-boyfriend, I knew exactly what she meant and could reply with a heartfelt. “You could say that!”
Sally’s chatter resumed and while listening with half my attention, I hurriedly completed getting myself dressed. That done and a quick check of my make-up completed, I said my goodbyes to my colleague. Her own parting words contained a note of caution. “Don’t get blown away”, she warned. “It’s breezy out there. See you tomorrow!”

One thing of which I was aware of was that my frock was fuller than was ideal for a workday outfit. It had layers of an attached petticoat underneath it, so I took heed of Sally’s warning. Before I went to wait for the bus, I called at a store opposite the salon. I kept a restraining hand on my skirts as I crossed the street, feeling like a ship in full sail. I spent most of my limited cash buying groceries so I might to treat Rachel to the nicest supper I could contrive. My mother’s regime had assigned me the bulk of the household chores. That included preparing most of our meals so I had plenty of confidence that I would be capable in that direction. By the time I’d done my marketing and reached the bus stop, my arms were fully laden carrying my purchases.

As I waited in line, it was no surprise to find that the increasing wind was playing havoc with my skirts but unwelcome all the same. Before long the gusts were revealing more of the frothy layers below my frock than modesty demanded. Try as I might I couldn’t keep my clothing under control, hampered as I was by my groceries and my purse. It seemed to my impatient imagination that the bus would never arrive. To my dismay, every time I briefly managed to restore order, another blast of air would come along to raise my hemline to the top of my legs.

Waiting on the busy street I became very conscious that the waywardness of my garments was attracting the attention of passers-by and that was not the way I’d hoped to be making new friends! Despite my distress I couldn’t help observing that the reactions of onlookers were divided into two broad camps. In the main my plight evoked disdainful stares from women, while it gave rise to delighted grins on the faces of the opposite sex. To my chagrin, there were even one of two whistles from that quarter.

By the time my transport made its appearance I was in a state of considerable agitation. With my skirts barely under control I declined the offer of the young man ahead of me in the line to enter the vehicle before him, suspecting the purity of his motives. There was a twinkle in his eye which determined me not to provide him with a free show if I could help it. When I duly followed him up the steps, I found my precaution had been justified. All the bus windows being open, the draught through the doorway had an effect like a wind tunnel. With my skirts threatening to wrap themselves around my ears, one of my hands was fully occupied trying to preserve the least little bit of modesty. Aargh! Could my situation get any more embarrassing?

Yes it could, I found, and it did! Disaster befell me when my turn to pay the driver for my ticket finally came. The elastic in the waist of my borrowed panties chose that particular moment to let go. I was unable to prevent gravity taking control and they slid all the way down my legs until they neatly encircled my ankles. It had been a mistake to choose such a well-worn pair that morning. Helplessly I gazed down at them, while a mischievous gust of air forced me to make another grab at my billowing skirt. As I did so my purse slipped from my grasp and fell to the floor. There was a resounding thump which to served to draw the attention of my fellow passengers to my predicament.

I had no idea how I might recover the situation as I remained clinging grimly to my purchases with one hand and trying to keep my skirt down with the other. It goes without saying that no one offered me the least assistance and the expressive grins on surrounding faces spoke volumes!

Besides my anxiousness to preserve what little was left of my dignity, there was an additional reason I was desperate to keep what was below my fluttering dress concealed from public display. Not only was I in danger of revealing all, but the all which would be revealed would be a revelation for any witnesses. That must never happen. Panic almost overtook me until, gathering my shredded wits together, I saw the seat just behind the driver was vacant. Keeping a firm hold on my skirts, I shuffled across to it. There I was able to put down my groceries and step out of my fallen panties. Then it was relatively simple matter for me to pick up my traitorous item of clothing, retrieve my purse and quickly hide it within. With no little relief, and a bright crimson face, I counted out the fare and handed it to the smirking operative. I didn’t know how to look when at last I was able to seat myself.

For the next twenty minutes I avoided eye contact with my fellow passengers, while the ride seemed never to end. Each time we stopped and someone got off I detected an expressive grin on some or a discernible twinkle in the eyes of others. When we arrived at my home stop it was with a real sense of escape that I gathered myself and my possessions together. Ignoring the looks on neighbouring faces, I alighted, clutching my skirts tightly with one hand and my belongings with the other. Ruefully I reflected that it was unlikely that I would ever live the incident down. I might see these people every working day and to them I would always be “the girl who lost her unmentionables”. Perhaps I ought to walk! The conclusion that I felt compelled to draw was that I only ever escaped from one calamity to fall into another.

There was one consolation. At least I was destined to be the ‘girl’ who lost her panties rather than… Actually what could have befallen me was much worse!