Thanks For the Mammaries Susan Gee Heino, © 2005 Chapter 1
Holy cow! She sure hadn’t done this in a while. Lindy raked in a hesitating breath and tried not to bite through
her tongue. Wow, she’d almost forgotten what it felt like.
It hurt like a big dog, that’s what it felt like! Luckily, though, this time she’d only slammed one breast in the file
cabinet drawer. Used to be she’d get them both, and there used to be a lot more to get back then. Well, she
supposed this was at least an improvement.
She extricated herself and let a few more choice words circulate internally, then collected the tracking sheets
she’d come for and headed back to her work area. She’d been laboring on this project two days already and it was
probably about time she get it finished up, bruised boobs or not.
She sat down to the painting she’d been restoring and studied it once again. “Miss Coopersmith with Parasol”,
whoever Miss Coopersmith was. As far as Lindy knew the importance of this painting was its artist, Leon
Langenhurst. He’d been local to the area around the turn of the last century and was famous for his portraits of, uh,
well-endowed ladies. Yes, that would be Miss Coopersmith.
The most obvious thing about this particular portrait was Miss Coopersmith’s teeny tiny bodice. More
specifically, it was the ratio between bodice and body. The woman’s gown simply defied gravity. More bosom
blossomed out of it than was stuffed in. Amazing. Lindy sure hoped Miss Coopersmith never had to deal with
cranky file cabinets.
The official story on Miss Coopersmith’s origins was that she was the daughter of some University benefactor
from a century ago. Lindy’s best guess was that Miss Coopersmith’s reason for being here—as well as for her tiny
bodice and the “I know something you don’t know” grin she wore on her rosebud lips—had something to do with
another portrait recently sent down to their department for some work. Grand old Mr. Roderick Paxton, founder of
this institution, had been staring down smugly from his crackled portrait for years. Not coincidentally, she thought,
he’d been hung directly opposite Miss Coopersmith in the corridor outside the president’s office. Lindy was pretty
sure he wasn’t ogling Miss Coopersmith’s parasol.
She checked her watch. Oops, better finish up—almost time to go meet her sister for lunch. Clover had
something “really, super important!” to talk about. Sure she did. Probably met some new guy at the gym and wanted
Lindy to talk her out of dumping her nice, stable relationship with Pete to go chasing after him. Well, Lindy didn’t
really like Pete all that much, but it was nice not having to be introduced to Clover’s latest “once-in-a-lifetime true
love” every couple weeks.
“Lindy, I’m going to lunch,” Dr. Milford said, suddenly appearing at her elbow.
She jumped. When had he come in? Hopefully after the drawer incident. Dr. Milford was a sweet old guy, but
his beady little eyes spent entirely too much time perusing her chest. “Sure, okay.”
“Dr. MacIntire should be back in half an hour,” he continued. “In case anyone comes in looking for her.”
But he wasn’t looking for Dr. MacIntire. Nope. As usual, his full attention was fastened securely to Lindy’s
pectoral area. She slumped involuntarily. Maybe she shouldn’t begrudge him his cheap thrills, the guy was probably
not a day less than 85 and totally harmless, but she really, really hated the staring. If only she hadn’t taken off her
baggy cardigan.
“I’ll hold the fort,” she assured him.
“Good girl.” He gave an approving nod.
Miraculously, he managed to tear his gaze from her front and turned to shuffle out the door. She relaxed only
when she was sure he was gone. Dr. Milford had probably been at the college long enough to have met the real
Roderick Paxton, and they’d probably ogled Miss Coopersmith together.
Lindy shuddered. Eew, there was a thought--Dr. Milford in his younger years. Well, if the portrait was any
indicator, Miss Coopersmith didn’t seem to mind the attention her disproportionate figure got her. Lindy, however,
could not say the same.
Since junior high school her bustline had been carefully hidden behind bulky sweaters and shapeless cotton
shirts. It was nice to be free from all that now, but it would take a while yet to get used to the staring. No, she
corrected herself. Supposedly they weren’t staring any more. Now it was, what did Clover called it? “Appreciative
glances.” Whatever, it still felt like staring.
The door opened and Lindy jumped. Just Carla, back from her lunch hour. Her dramatic silver and black hair
was pulled back in the usual bun and her scarlet cape flowed out behind her. It was hard to overlook Dr. Carla
MacIntire.
“Hey, aren’t you supposed to be going to lunch with your sister?” she called when she saw Lindy.
“Yeah, I just didn’t want to leave the place empty. I know you’ve been waiting for a call from His Majesty.”
“Who?”
“Clarridge. The one we’re supposed to suck up to all the time so he’ll keep giving loads of money to Paxton.”
Carla laughed. “Pops Clarridge is a nice guy. I don’t know why you figure just because they’ve got money the
Clarridge’s are evil.”
Lindy kept her mouth shut. She guessed it really wasn’t fair to label Pops Clarridge. She didn’t know much
about him and he was very generous to the school. Their department only existed because of some Clarridge
grants.
But Lindy knew a few things Carla did not. Lindy knew about Pops’ son, the dashing and celebrated Brant
Clarridge.
Oh yeah, Lindy knew a few things about him. Things she’d never heard anyone else say about him. Things
he’d probably not like most people to know about. Brant Clarridge was a kinky chauvinistic jerk with a thing for
bondage and weird costumes. He used women and dumped them just for fun.
Little sister Clover had told her all about him.
“Is Milford out?” Carla asked. The professor swung her cape off and draped it on the rack. She certainly had
flair. Lindy liked that. When she was around Dr. MacIntire, it was easy to feel invisible.
“Yeah, he left just a couple minutes ago.”
“So, Mr. Clarridge didn't call?”
“No, not yet.”
“Good. I need to talk to him and hint around that a couple of our humidity controllers are on their last legs.
Plus, we need to upgrade all our UV filtering. The board cut it out of next year’s budget.”
Lindy rolled her eyes. “What do they think we do here, keep old things from falling apart just by magic?”
“Apparently. Hey, there might be something I need for you to do tomorrow, say around two. I know you’re
supposed to be taking a comp day, but could you help me out?”
Lindy shrugged. Friday’s schedule was blank. Big surprise. “Sure. What do you need?”
Carla sounded vague. “Well, it’s not settled yet. I’m waiting for a call to confirm it, but I thought I’d mention it
to you before you made other plans, just in case.”
“Well, okay. Just let me know.”
“I will. So, looks like you got Miss Coopersmith finished.” Carla leaned in to inspect the portrait, newly cleaned
and reframed.
“Yeah. Just need to check the seal.” Lindy said. “Then I can get going on Mr. Paxton and soon they’ll be
happily making puppy-dog eyes at each other back on their respective walls.”
“You spend way too many hours down here,” Carla laughed. “Get your things and go eat lunch. With live
human beings. And talk about something other than work, okay?”
“I’m meeting Clover. Conversation topics will be rather limited.”
Lindy left the worktable and went to collect her ratty blue sweater and over-full purse.
Carla laughed again and headed back toward her office at the far end of the workroom. She was always teasing
Lindy about working too hard and not getting out enough. So what? Lindy was quite content with her life, or lack
thereof, thank you very much.
“And I know you’ve become bosom pals there, but Miss Coopersmith cannot go to lunch with you,” Carla
called over her shoulder.
“Funny,” Lindy said.
Truth of it was, compared to Clover, Lindy would probably get more intelligent conversation out of Miss
Coopersmith. Or her parasol.