Ethan’s World

by Daphne Childress

Ethan Martin and his mother live a simple life in a small Southern town... with a twist: She makes dresses to pay the bills and he helps out as best he can.
 

Chapter Twenty-One: Emily's Audition

Ethan gives his mother’s dressmaking business an expected boost.
 

It began, as many of Ethan’s recent misadventures did, with a perfectly reasonable-sounding request.

“Sweetheart,” Colleen said over breakfast, slicing a peach with practiced elegance, “I need to drop by Eleanor’s Boutique this afternoon. She’s one of the big buyers for the fall line, and she’s asked to see a few samples in person.”

Ethan glanced up from his cereal, already wary. “Do I have to come?”

Colleen’s smile was honeyed. “I need help carrying the garment bags. And it’s just across town.”

He sighed. “I guess.”

She sipped her coffee. “And… I’ve packed Emily’s things in case Miss Eleanor wants to see them modeled.”

His spoon paused midair.

“What?”

Colleen tilted her head. “It’s not a guarantee, darling. But she might want to see how the fabrics move on a live body, not just in the pictures we took. I thought I’d be prepared.”

“You mean me?”

“You’re the only model I’ve got this week, honey. And Eleanor’s seen your photos. She just hasn’t met you yet.”

He set his spoon down slowly. “Mom... I don’t think I want to—”

“I know,” she said softly, brushing a crumb from the table. “But you’ve already done so well. This isn’t about dressing you up, Ethan. It’s about closing a deal. For the business.”

There it was—that quiet guilt dagger, slipped in so expertly he didn’t even bleed until he stood in front of the full-length mirror later that day, trying not to worry.

 

* * *
 

They arrived a little after one. Eleanor’s Boutique was pristine and bright, all cream walls and brass fixtures, with a long marble counter and racks of clothing spaced like gallery installations. A sign in the window read: Fall Preview Week—By Appointment Only.

Ethan carried the bag inside, stiff and silent, in plain jeans and a white T-shirt. He was hoping—praying—they’d just drop it off and leave. But as soon as Eleanor saw them, she gave a warm, catlike smile and said:

“Oh good. You brought Emily.”

Ethan frowned. “My name is Ethan, not that… other one.”

Colleen laughed. “As you can see… she’s a little shy today.”

“I’m used to that,” Eleanor said. She was tall, sharp-eyed, with a streak of silver in her black hair and long red nails that tapped her clipboard like a metronome. “Dressing room’s free.”

Ethan’s throat tightened.

 

* * *
 

The dress was soft lavender—sleeveless, with a gathered waist just below the bodice and a low neckline trimmed in lace. Colleen helped him into it in the boutique’s back room, zipping it up slowly.

“I hate this,” he whispered, voice catching. He squirmed a bit, his panties and bra a distraction.

“I know,” she said gently. “But you look like a dream. And you’re doing something brave.”

He didn’t feel brave. He felt like a boy in a dress in someone else’s world. The wig was straight and shiny, Mary Janes strapped on tight, the air thick with perfume and soft jazz. But he let her guide him out, one trembling foot in front of the other.

Eleanor took one look and smiled.

“Well,” she said, folding her arms. “Now that’s the Emily I’ve seen in the lookbook. You’re even prettier in person.”

Ethan blushed furiously. “Thank you,” he muttered.

Colleen positioned him under the high skylight and primped his dress one final time before stepping back. He stood primly, his hands clasped in front of his lavender skirt, knees touching, ankles crossed, heart pounding. The room was perfumed with rose oil and velvet upholstery. The walls were mirrored. Everything was visible.

“Turn slowly. Show Miss Eleanor how the skirt moves.”

He did. Barely. Shoulders tight, eyes on the floor.

Eleanor circled him like a cat, occasionally lifting the hem or adjusting a seam. “She’s got poise,” she said finally. “Still a little green. But natural. No wonder your pieces photograph so well.”

Colleen nodded. “She does have a gift.”

“I can hear you,” Ethan huffed. “And I’m a he!”

“Sure you are, sweetheart,” Eleanor cooed from across the boutique, perched on a dainty blush-pink settee with her legs crossed like a queen. “Now, chin up! Let’s see how the hemline falls when you walk.”

Ethan swallowed. “Walk?”

Colleen raised her voice just enough to catch his attention. “Yes, Emily, walk. Pretend it’s a runway. This is very important, darling, so please pay attention to Miss Eleanor.”

Ethan glanced between them—his mother, arms folded, one eyebrow raised; Eleanor, all smiles and steepled fingers.

He took a step.

“Slower,” Eleanor called. “Gracefully. Imagine you're walking to meet someone very important.”

Colleen nodded. “And do not stomp. That’s a lady’s heel, not a basketball sneaker.”

Ethan obeyed, stepping slowly across the plush rug, the lavender fabric swaying lightly at his knees. The dress had a smocked bodice and pleated skirt—sweet, but grown-up. The matching headband itched behind his ears.

“Stop there,” Eleanor said. “Now a turn. No, not like a robot—flowing. Fluid.”

Ethan turned, trying to hide his scowl. He’d been in this outfit all of five minutes and already wanted to crawl under a table.

Colleen clucked her tongue. “Better. Now smile, darling. You can smile, can’t you?”

“I guess.”

“Then do it like you mean it.”

He gave a stiff little smile.

“Hmmm,” Colleen thought for a moment. “Ethan, what would you think if I gave you another raise? Say… ten dollars?”

“There we go!” Eleanor purred. “Now that’s the Emily I saw in those photos. Such a darling. Honestly, Colleen, how did you keep her hidden this long?”

Colleen smirked. “Trade secret.”

 

* * *
 

Back in the changing room, Ethan pulled at the zipper of the lavender dress.

“I don’t think I can do another one,” he muttered.

Colleen was already had the next garment on a padded hanger. “Of course you can. We’ve got at least three more to show her. And you’re only on dress number one.”

“But I—”

She turned sharply. “Ethan. Look at me.”

He did.

“You’re helping me close this deal. You’re being paid for this, even if I haven’t put it on paper yet. Believe me, you’re doing a lovely job. But I need you to commit. For me. For us.”

His cheeks flushed. “I just don’t like how she looks at me.”

“She looks at you like a buyer who sees dollar signs. That’s what we want. That’s the point. Remember, this isn’t about you—well, it is, of course—but it’s also about us. This is our livelihood, how we pay our bills… put food on the table...”

“She knows, Mom.”

Colleen’s tone softened just a notch. “Of course she knows. And she loves it. Do you understand how rare that is? A buyer who sees your work and says, ‘Yes, this—this pretty little paradox—is exactly what I want.’ That’s a gift, honey. Don’t waste it.”

He turned away, heart sinking.

She reached for a hanger. “Now. Try this one. It’s the floral drop-waist with the tulle lining.”

 

* * *
 

The moment Ethan stepped out, Eleanor gasped. “Oh my stars. That is darling. Spin for me, sugar.”

The dress was a crisp white with navy flowers, a sash that tied in the back, and a tulle petticoat that made the skirt bounce slightly with each movement. Colleen had added a straw hat with a navy ribbon.

Ethan turned slowly, cheeks aflame.

“Come on, darling,” Colleen encouraged. “You can do better.”

The cross-dressed boy bit his lip, imagined himself somewhere else… then did a little twirl…

“Perfection,” Colleen whispered. “That’s my girl.”

“Oh yes,” Eleanor said, rising now. “See, this is what I was hoping for. Youthful but not childish. And that blush—are you actually blushing, darling? That’s perfect. We can’t buy that.”

“Let’s try walking again,” Eleanor said. “Now with just a hint of a skip. Pretend you’re going to meet your favorite cousin at the park.”

Colleen chuckled. “That would be Dani.”

Ethan fought the urge to pout. Instead, he walked. Skipped. Smiled. Twirled without being asked.

Eleanor clapped. “Exquisite. And the way the skirt lifts just a bit when she skips—Colleen, I’m going to need three of these in those prints you showed me.” She shot Ethan a little wink. “My dear, you are going to make us a lot of money.”

Colleen beamed. “Say thank you, Emily.”

Ethan tilted his head just so, smiled coyly, knees together, feet pigeon-toed. He even forced himself to flutter his eyelashes. “Thank you, Miss Eleanor.”

 

* * *
 

This one was satin. Pale turquoise with pearl buttons and capped sleeves. It was demure, elegant—something a young lady might wear to church, or to tea with an older cousin who insisted on table manners and thank you notes.

“Shoulders back. And give her your eyes, not your scalp.” Colleen adjusted the bodice. “Now, arms up, hands down… yes, dangle them just like that.”

Eleanor stepped closer, examining the seams. “Now this… this is versatility. A shy, pretty girl with a secret. A little story in every position, every little movement.”

Ethan stood still as Eleanor circled. He felt foolish with his hands drooping in such a silly, girlish pose. But he did it—perfectly.

“You’re a dream,” she said softly. “And I can tell you’re embarrassed, which means I’m right. You do feel beautiful, don’t you?”

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Stared at the mirror. Nodded.

“I knew it! Darling boy, you know how this dress moves better than most girls your age,” Eleanor continued, her voice a velvet hum. “That’s something special, sweetheart. Something you shouldn’t hide. The world needs more beauty like this.”

Colleen watched her son’s reflection closely. “You’re doing wonderfully… Ethan.”

He nodded slowly. “Thanks,” he said, too softly.

 

* * *
 

They packed up a little while later. Eleanor had made her decisions. Colleen had made her sale. More than she’d hoped.

Ethan, now back in jeans and a T-shirt, sat in the passenger seat of the car, staring at his hands. Even after having taken his bra off he could still feel the straps digging into his skin.

Colleen looked over. “You were magnificent.”

He gave her a glance. “I feel like I just played dress-up for an hour.”

“You did.”

“And you enjoyed it.”

Ethan frowned, then nodded. “I did.”

He looked out the window. “So did she.”

“Well,” Colleen said, turning the ignition, “maybe that’s because watching someone find out who they really are—even when they’re resisting it—is something kind of… magical.”

He didn’t answer.

But when they got home, and he went into the sewing room to hang up the dresses, he didn’t just cram them on the rack. He adjusted the hangers. Smoothed the fabric. Even re-tied the sash on the blue satin one.

And then he stood there a long moment, looking at them—three dresses, three selves. One face in the mirror.

Behind him, at the door, Colleen stood watching.

And smiling.

 

* * *
 

After supper Ethan stood at the sink, elbows deep in lemon-scented bubbles, wearing one of what Colleen had affectionately labeled his “housewife outfits”—a soft mint shirtwaist dress with a flared skirt, tiny white buttons, and—of course—a white apron with eyelet trim and heart-shaped pockets. No wig, just his real hair, which had been brushed and clipped back with a pair of barrettes that matched his dress. Colleen insisted it made cleanup easier. He suspected it was just another trap, but he gave no argument.

Behind him, Colleen sat at the kitchen table, phone cradled between shoulder and cheek, sipping wine from a glass and leisurely flipping through Eleanor’s order forms.

“Oh yes, I think we’re in,” she purred into the receiver. “She wants a half dozen of the Matinée dress alone. Said it made her ache for the old days of debutantes and proper posture.”

She glanced toward the sink and smirked.

“No, no, he didn’t faint. He did freeze one time, though. Like a deer in lip gloss. But once we got him into that little navy floral number? Mmm. Graceful as a dream.”

Ethan said nothing, but his ears turned a shade darker.

Colleen swirled her drink lazily. “Of course I brought the Paris Picnic. And he showed it off perfectly. I swear, Eleanor looked ready to take him to lunch and sign him up for finishing school.”

A pause. Then laughter.

“Oh, she did! You should’ve seen his face when she said, ‘Smile for me, sweetheart. Chin up like you’re in Paris.’ He nearly swallowed his tongue.”

Ethan cleared his throat. Loudly.

Colleen ignored it, crossing her legs and continuing, “Yes, he walked. Spun. Twirled. Did a darling little skip, didn’t even fall. And she was just eating it up. Said she loved seeing a model who enjoys her work.”

Clink. Ethan dropped a glass into the soapy water with a little more force than necessary.

Colleen raised an eyebrow and took another sip. “Hmm? Oh, he’s at the sink now. Recovering. Wearing his mint dress with the full skirt. You know the one.”

Another pause, then a dry chuckle. “Yes, that one. Rubber gloves, apron, the whole bit. I’m letting him soak in the glow of productive femininity.”

Ethan muttered, “I can still hear you, you know.”

Colleen winked at him and kept talking. “Eleanor asked if she could take pictures next time. I told her we’d have to ask ‘Emily’... but I’m sure she’ll say yes if we dangle the right carrot.”

Ethan turned halfway around, suds trailing down his forearm. “I didn’t agree to pictures.”

Colleen covered the phone. “We’ll negotiate, sweetheart. Back to rinsing, please.”

He groaned and turned back to the sink.

Into the phone: “He’s pouting. It’s adorable. He does this thing with his shoulders when he sulks—I swear, he’s not even aware he does it. All dainty and dramatic. I could die.”

Pause. Listening. Then Colleen’s laugh—a warm, conspiratorial sound.

“Oh yes, I’ll tell him. Hang on.”

She leaned back and called to Ethan, sing-song: “DeeDee said to tell you how proud she is of her princess. She wants to come by after work tomorrow so you can put on a little fashion show for her.”

“Tell Aunt DeeDee I’m retiring,” he called back.

Colleen snorted. “You hear that? He’s retiring. That’s fine. DeeDee said we’ll throw you a going-away party with lace napkins and tea cakes.”

“Good, ‘cause I’m moving to Australia!”

Another pause. “You heard him? Oh, he’s always saying that. Wait, I’ll tell him.” Colleen laughed. “Dee says be sure to pack sunscreen. And watch out for wallabies.”

Ethan huffed. “Ha. Ha. Very funny.”

Colleen giggled. “Very funny he said. I tell you, Dee, you’re missing out…”

She wrapped up the call with a few more soft chuckles and one last toast to “our girl.” Then she set the phone down and joined Ethan at the counter.

He didn’t look at her.

She picked up a towel and began drying glasses.

“You were spectacular today,” she said softly.

“I felt like a mannequin.”

“You were more than that. You were charming. Poised. Almost… radiant.”

He winced. “Don’t say that.”

“Okay. Glowing?”

“Worse.”

She set down the towel and turned toward him. “Ethan.”

He paused.

“You didn’t hate it.”

He didn’t move.

“I think you hated that you didn’t hate it.”

He glanced sideways, his mouth twitching. “You’re pretty annoying.”

Colleen tapped him on the nose, then kissed him on the lips. “And you’re very, very pretty when you’re annoyed.”

 

Next: Model Behavior