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 Five: The “Salesgirl”

Colleen needs a salesgirl and finds one close to home.

Colleen had been busy preparing for the Washington County Makers’ Market, a craft fair the next town over where artists and small business owners rented booths to show off their work.

“I signed us up!” she said brightly one Sunday morning. “Next weekend we’re going to sell the ‘Pastel Picnic’ line at the fair!”

“Us? We?”

“You, me, and the mannequins.”

Ethan froze. “Wait. You want me to go? In public?”

“Not just go. Model. In costume.”

“Mom.”

“Oh, don’t worry, it’s in Washington County, so no one you know will be there.” She grinned. “Plus, you’ll be in disguise.”

Ethan swallowed. “Oh--”

* * *

The heat of July lay over Washington County like a thick quilt, but the breeze off the river kept the day pleasant enough for a summer fair. From the parking lot came the high, bright twang of a fiddle blending with the steady thump of a stand-up bass. The music drifted over the hum of voices, the creak of folding chairs, and the sweet-salty smell of kettle corn.

Down the main path, shade tents sprouted like colorful mushrooms. Quilts flapped on clotheslines, wind chimes tinkled from wire racks, and jars of honey gleamed like bottled sunlight. Locals and out-of-towners crowded the aisles. Children darted between stalls, tugging parents toward the petting zoo or the ice cream truck.

At the center of it all, under a white canopy decorated with pastel bunting and paper rosettes, stood Colleen’s Creations. Locally made vintage and retro-style dresses in soft cottons and airy voiles hung from racks, their colors like scoops of sherbet. Two dress mannequins flanked the entrance, each wearing one of Colleen’s designs in a perfect confection of fabric: a lemon-yellow sundress with daisy trim and a sunhat, and a pale blue frock with puffed sleeves and matching bonnet.

But the real draw was not those mannequins--the main attraction was Colleen’s “living mannequin” at the front of the booth: Emily.

Ethan’s dress had been chosen days ago: an old-fashioned white party frock scattered with pink rosettes, lace edging each layer of the skirt, puffed sleeves grazing the tops of his arms. One of Colleen’s handmade petticoats flared the skirt out just so, exposing the blushing boy’s knees. Shiny pink Mary Janes matched the rosettes, frilly white ankle socks peeking above them. And crowning the look--his new blonde wig, softly curled, bangs feathered just enough to frame his face. A pink silk rose was pinned just above his ear, like a decoration on a frilly birthday cake.

Underneath, of course, he wore a pair of handmade bloomers, which in turn concealed a pair of pink panties, both trimmed in pink rosettes similar to the ones sewn into his dress. And neither of which, he prayed, would be on display that day.

The wig itched under the pins, and every time a breeze lifted the skirt, his legs and upper thighs prickled with awareness. But what really made him self-conscious was the way people’s eyes lingered. Colleen had purposefully placed him where he could greet customers and hand out fliers and order forms. She said it would help “bring the dresses to life.”

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” he said weakly as he took his position. “Everybody in town will see me.”

Colleen smiled warmly. “Oh, it’s not just a good idea, it’s a great idea. And don’t worry so much. Nobody will see you--it’s Emily they’ll be looking at. I guarantee it.”

“I guess.”

“Just remember our little arrangement--as an employee of Colleen’s Creations, you get a five dollar bonus for every dress you help me sell, plus your regular rate. I think that’s a pretty good deal, don’t you?”

Ethan pursed his lips. “I guess so.”

“It’s a great deal. I think we’re both going to make a lot of money. And be sure to smile, dear. Remember, you want everyone to want to come in, not scare them off. And try to have fun, okay?”

“Yes, Mother.” Ethan sighed. That’s easy for you to say, he thought ruefully.

“That’s my girl.” Colleen gave him a quick peck on the lips. “Mmm, your lips are dry, so you might want to…”

“Okay, okay, I get it.” He got out his little pink and red tube of lip balm and expertly applied it. There was no sense in arguing, especially when he was already dolled up in a wig, dress and panties.

He smacked his lips and gave his mother an exaggerated, cherry-flavored smile. “Happy now?”

Colleen beamed. “Very.”

* * *

A small crowd had already formed before they were ready to begin, so mother and “daughter” worked as fast as they could to get everything ready.

“Emily, sweetheart, would you bring me some of those order forms?” Colleen called over from the display of gingham pinafores.

“Yes, ma’am,” Ethan replied in his practiced, lighter voice. He managed the small, wiggly steps his mother preferred--to make the skirt sway rather than bounce--and he set several pastel forms on the counter. He felt his face get hot as a murmur of approval came from the crowd.

“This is my daughter Emily,” Colleen told two women on the other side. “She’s modeling one of our most popular styles.”

“You made that, too?” One woman leaned forward, her eyes alight with interest. “That’s such a darling dress. Is it comfortable, dear?”

He glanced at Colleen, who gave the faintest nod. “Yes, ma’am.” He dipped at the knees as he’d been coached, remembering his “Emily voice.” He blushed to see both ladies watching him, delighted. “It’s very light for summer. The lining’s soft cotton.”

The other smiled. “It’s lovely. Do you like wearing it, Emily?”

Ethan managed a small nod. “Yes, ma’am. I do like it very much,” he said with as much enthusiasm as he could muster. He clenched his jaw as Colleen mouthed some words. “I always feel pretty when, um… I wear something my mother made.”

“Oh, she’s so sweet!” The lady’s face lit up. “Does it twirl, honey?”

Colleen’s eyes twinkled. “Show them, sweetheart.”

The request sent a pulse of heat to his face, but he obeyed, lifting the skirt just enough with his free hand to give it a spin, the layers fanning out around him in a cloud of pink and white. Both women cooed appreciatively, and Colleen took their orders. By the time they left, cashbox heavier, Ethan’s pulse had begun to settle.

“Good job, sweetie.” His mother gave him an affectionate boop on the nose. “See, you made ten dollars, just like that! Not bad for a few minutes work.”

Ethan grunted. Ten dollars was a lot of money--he just wasn’t so sure it was worth the risk. Judging from the look on his mother’s face, though, he couldn’t do anything else but carry on.

As the morning progressed on business got busier. Older women asked about lengths and colors and fabric and care. Mothers brought shy daughters forward to admire “Emily’s” dress. And more than a few girls reached out to touch the lace at his sleeves. The littler ones stared wide-eyed at “Emily” as if she’d stepped out of a storybook.

And the more questions he answered, the easier the Emily voice came: “Yes, ma’am, my mother made this herself” … “No ma’am, the patterns aren’t store bought… Mother designs everything we sell” … “Just fill out this form, ma’am, and see my mother, please.”

And so on.

“Your daughter is so precious,” one woman said. “Very polite, very professional.”

“She’s so well-behaved,” another added. “And very responsible for her age.”

“My granddaughter could never do that,” said yet another. “She’s too wild.”

Colleen glowed. “Emily is very dedicated. She’s my right hand girl.” She gave Ethan a wink as she took orders for more dresses.

“Keep up the good work, sweetheart,” she during a gap between customers. She put her hand on his shoulder and kissed him on the forehead. “We’ve already sold more today than we did all last month. At this pace I’ll have enough orders to get us through Christmas. And you’ve made enough money you’ll have to open up your own bank account.”

Ethan bit the inside of his cheek. He wasn’t sure if he was mortified or oddly proud. Maybe both.

Then came the horror.

Auntie Penelope appeared.

In a sun hat.

With her cat, Gingersnap, in a pink and white stroller.

“Well, well, well,” she drawled. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Ethan panicked.

Penelope leaned in conspiratorially. “Don’t worry. My lips are sealed. I just needed to confirm that my maid moonlights as a model. Very versatile.”

Then she added, in a whimsical whisper: “Also, you forgot to dust the mantle in the parlor last visit. I’m deducting a dollar from your imaginary tip.”

* * *

After a while traffic slowed down enough that Colleen decided to send Ethan on an errand.

“Here’s some money, sweetie,” she said, handing him a ten dollar bill. “Go get us a couple of bottles of orange soda and a snack. Pick whatever you like.” She also gave him a bundle of fliers. “And while you’re out and about, pass these along to anyone you think might be interested.”

The cross-dressed boy was horrified. Going out … alone … dressed like a runaway from a fairy tale? He wanted to hide in the back of the booth, but his mother didn’t give him the chance.

“Please, Mother, can’t I just--”

“Shoo now, and don’t dawdle. The sooner you get going, the sooner you’ll be back.” Colleen gave him a not so gentle push and a nod. “And don’t be stingy with the fliers. We’ve got plenty. I’d like to give them all away by the end of the day.”

At first Ethan was terrified. He thought for sure he would get caught, beat up, put in jail or kidnapped. His biggest fear was someone coming up and yanking his wig off--or worse, flipping up his skirt!--exposing him for the fraud that he was. But none of that happened. Just the opposite, in fact.

Everywhere he looked people smiled at him: old ladies, especially, but younger ones, too, moms mostly. Even the men, the older ones in particular, smiled and nodded. Some would say hello while others would comment: “Look at that pretty girl!” and “Are you part of a show?” being the most common.

Not everyone smiled, of course. Most boys ignored him. Those that didn’t either sneered or rolled their eyes. A couple laughed or gave him weird little grins. That bothered him at first--he fought the urge to check his wig in case it had come loose, or some other sign that had given him away, but he eventually came to a realization: what everyone else was seeing wasn’t him as a boy, but Emily the girl. His mother was right. Like it or not, Ethan was nowhere to be seen.

As if to confirm that revelation, Ethan just happened to catch his reflection in a dressing mirror at an antique booth--seeing the pretty blonde child in pink and white was somewhat reassuring if not unnerving. He looked younger than his twelve years, and nothing at all like the boy he was beneath his mother’s petticoat and dress. Emily’s petticoat and dress. That was good news, he guessed, but it also unnerved him a bit.

Is it that easy? he wondered. How can they not see me?

Still, that single moment helped him push aside his fears and he began handing out fliers with more confidence. He’d hold one up, mumble something about “Collen’s Creations” and surprisingly, it would disappear. He held up another, cleared his throat and said, “Collen’s Creations, custom dresses! Would you like a flier?”

It took a while--a several rejections--but he soon had a routine: find an older lady looking in his direction, approach her, smile sweetly and do a little twirl while saying--in a lilting, almost musical voice--“Do you like my dress? My mother made it for me. She can make one just like it for your little girl.”

He was nearly out of fliers before he got to the concession stand.

Waiting his turn in line, the cross-dressed boy was feeling more confident and a little bit proud of himself. He couldn’t wait to tell his mother what had happened. Just as she predicted, he was almost having fun.

Then the spell broke.

A chill went up his spine when a voice he recognized floated from beside him.

“Oh my gosh, look at that,” a girl drawled.

“Ew! You have to be kidding me!” sneered another.

It was Tara Winston and Maddy Franks --both schoolmates from seventh grade--each with a plastic cup beaded in condensation, both wearing the typical preteen girl summer uniform--crop top T-shirt, short shorts and sandals, long hair tied back in ponytails.

“That’s… a lot of lace,” Maddy said, not even trying to hide her scorn. “You’d never see me in something like that.”

“Who even wears that stuff?” Tara laughed. “Like, hello, Little Miss Cupcake.”

Maddy giggled. “She looks like she’s about to have tea with the Queen.”

Ethan faced straight ahead, pretending to not hear them, sorting through his remaining fliers. The curly wig and rosettes suddenly feeling gaudy and childish. He could feel a bead of sweat trickle down his back into his panties.

Oh gosh! I just knew this would happen! What do I do when they recognize me? What do I say? Do I run away? Cry? Call for my mom…

“Do you think she actually likes dressing like that?” Tara asked. “I wonder who she is? She looks almost our age, but… wow.”

“Maybe her mom makes her. I mean, she’s kinda cute, but…” Maddy wrinkled her nose. “No thanks.”

“Whatever,” Tara scoffed.

Maddy snorted. “Yeah, whatever.”

They drifted off, smug with themselves, already gossiping about someone else.

Ethan exhaled slowly. They hadn’t recognized him. They hadn’t seen him at all--just a prissy stranger in a dress. Somehow that stung almost as much.

Wow, girls are mean! he thought wryly.

He arrived back at the booth carrying two orange soda pops, two small bags of caramel popcorn, flier-free.

Colleen beamed with happiness to see him. “I got a lot of traffic while you were away. You’re apparently very popular. Everyone kept saying how they saw you in that dress and they just had to come over to see what all the fuss was about. I’ve got so many orders I don’t know what to do with them all.”

“That’s good, Mother.” Ethan smiled weakly. “I ran out of fliers.”

Colleen looked at him carefully. “Everything alright… Emily?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he murmured, but his hands were trembling as he took a sip of his soda and prepared to hand out more fliers.

* * *

By mid-afternoon, the booths buzzed like hives, Colleen’s Creations among the busiest. Ethan’s attention was split between answering questions and scanning the crowd for more familiar faces. Which is why he almost missed the tall shadow that fell across the booth.

When he turned, his breath caught.

Mrs. Julia Campbell. The most popular teacher at Abraham Lincoln Middle School. And the crush of every teenaged boy--and every adult man--who saw her.

Even out of the classroom, she was unmistakable--tall, confident, the sun turning her blonde hair into a halo. Her heavy breasts strained against a crisp white sleeveless blouse tucked into a snug navy skirt that showed off her shapely posterior; tan leather sandals and a tote bag slung over one shoulder completed her look. She moved like she belonged everywhere.

Julia browsed the rack nearest the entrance, fingers brushing over daisy trim and smocked bodices, until Colleen’s cheerful voice drew her in.

“Looking for something special?” she asked. “Oh, Julia, it’s you. I’m so sorry I didn’t recognize you… it’s been a crazy day.”

“Colleen! It’s good to see you. This is your booth?” She looked around. “I don’t suppose Ethan is here--”

“Oh, he’s close by,” Colleen grinned. “Yes, this is our little money-maker. Ever since the divorce I’ve struggled to make ends meet. Though after today I don’t think I’ll have much to worry about. We’re swamped, which is a good thing.”

“I can see that. I had to wait for the crowd to thin out before coming over. These dresses are all so amazing. The craftsmanship, the designs, so classic, but also original.”

“So, you were looking for something--”

“For my niece’s birthday,” Julia smiled. “She’s just turned six, so I thought something sweet and old-fashioned might suit her. She loves playing dress up.”

Colleen gestured toward Ethan, who was trying in vain to hide at the back of the booth. “This style has been our most popular today. My, um… daughter Emily is modeling it.”

Julia frowned for a moment, thinking. “Your… daughter? I thought Ethan was an only…” She paused, looked at Ethan, then saw the smirk on Colleen’s face. “Oh, I see.”

Ethan bit his lip as his mother snapped her fingers for him to come closer. His skin prickled under the wig and he felt the sudden urge to run for the bathroom.

“Hello, Mrs. Campbell,” he managed, his voice light and trembling.

“Smile, sweetheart,” Colleen cooed. She put her hand against the small of Ethan’s back and gave him a gentle shove. “You want to impress your teacher, not depress her.”

Julia gave a little laugh. Her smile warmed, but her eyes--in full schoolteacher mode--studied the anxious boy a shade too long.

“Well, isn’t that a lovely dress,” she cooed. “Do you like wearing it--Emily, is it?”

Ethan felt his stomach flutter as Colleen gave him a little nudge. “Yes, ma’am,” he squeaked. “I like… it, um, very much.”

“You look quite comfortable in it.” Julia smirked. “And the fit? Shoulders, waist--all fine?”

He nodded. “Yes, ma’am. Very fine.”

“I just adore the fullness of the skirt. Is the petticoat sewn into it?” She stepped closer, lowering her voice as if sharing a secret. “Does it twirl?”

Colleen laughed softly. “Emily, give Mrs. Campbell one of your little twirls.”

Ethan lifted the hem with one hand and slowly spun around, just as he’d done all day--the skirt and petticoat swirled in a halo of lace.

Julia fought the urge to laugh. “Oh my! He… er, she does that so beautifully! Well, done, Emily.”

Colleen beamed. “We practiced quite a bit before coming here today. Didn’t we, Emily?”

The cross-dressed boy lowered his eyes. “Yes, Mother.”

“Perfect,” Julia murmured. Then, with a glance that made his stomach drop, she said, very softly, “Do you plan to wear it to school this year?”

His mouth went dry. “No, ma’am. Just… helping my mother.”

“That’s too bad. I think seeing you in school wearing such a pretty dress would be fun. I’ll have to talk to your mother about that.”

Ethan got so nervous he hiccupped. Colleen gave a little laugh. The teacher grinned and nodded.

“Well, he… she’s sold me on it. I’ll take one exactly like this in a six.” She raised an eyebrow and gave Ethan a smug, knowing look: “You make a beautiful little girl, Emily. The prettiest I’ve seen all day.”

Colleen wrote the order with a satisfied nod. “She’s so helpful, too. My best salesgirl.”

“I can see why.” Julia shot him a wink. “Say hello to your brother for me, would you, Miss Emily?”

“Y-yes, m-ma’am,” the cross-dressed boy croaked. Before he realized what he’d done, he’d dipped into a Penelope Whitaker-approved curtsy. “I… I’ll do that.”

“My goodness,” the teacher said, more to herself than to either the mother or the son. “Absolutely amazing… and so charming.”

Colleen beamed. Ethan stood still, feeling the weight of Julia Campbell’s parting smile long after she disappeared into the crowd.

* * *

The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur. A grandmother bought two dresses “because I couldn’t decide.” Two more women bought outfits--dresses, petticoats and bonnets--for their daughters. More than a few asked if Emily did birthday parties. Little girls shyly asked her to help them try on bonnets. But every so often, Ethan’s gaze flicked to the crowd, occasionally catching sight of a tall blonde figure lingering in the distance.

Mrs. Campbell never returned to the booth. She didn’t have to. She’d made her presence known and it haunted the cross-dressed boy the remainder of the day.

By closing time, the racks were bare, Colleen’s order book full. She packed the few leftover dresses while Ethan carefully boxed up the accessories. Together they took down the banner, the final act of the day.

“Well,” she said, tucking the cashbox under her arm, “we’ve had a wonderful day. We won’t have to worry about our bills for a while. And you, little mister, are definitely getting your own bank account. You can thank Emily for that.” She gave him a wink and laughed.

“I feel like I’ve lived seven lives today,” he croaked as they walked to the car.

“Now you know how I feel after PTA meetings.”

He blinked at her. “Is this my life now?”

She laughed. “Maybe. Or maybe it’s just for the summer. Who knows?”

That wasn’t exactly the answer he wanted to hear. Frustrated, he fought the urge to run ahead, but he knew the car was locked and he’d have to wait anyway. Besides, running in a dress like this was never a good idea.

And so the cross-dressed boy walked alongside his mother, impatient and exhausted, pulling the little cart carrying their remaining dresses and supplies. He looked forward to getting home and out of his--Emily’s--clothes. His wig itched. His Mary Janes pinched. His dress was damp with sweat. His bloomers drooped and his panties had ridden up his crack.

And somewhere in his head, Mrs. Campbell’s voice--I’ll have to talk to your mother about that--played on a loop. Over and over again.

Next up: The Hostess with the Mostest