Floral Depravity Read Online Free Page B

pulled up the bodice, which had crept down again. Grandma Mae would be rolling in her grave. Actually, I wasn’t sure she’d be rolling as much as she’d be plotting her escape so she could drag me home by the ear and give me a good talking-to about modesty and dressing like a lady. “I do have a cloak, though.” I unfolded my makeshift backpack and pulled on the yellow cloak.
    A titter of laughter went up among the nearby bystanders, and Kathleen rubbed her forehead, as if she were trying to scrub away a sudden migraine. “I knew this was a bad idea.”
    Andrea laughed. “I was so happy to get my flowers, I didn’t even notice. It’s just like the book, isn’t it? At least it’s period-correct.”
    â€œOh dear,” Nick said. “Audrey, you can’t wear that cloak.”
    I pulled it closer to me, almost like a blanket. The air seemed chilly in the shady woods. “What do you mean? First you say it’s period-correct, but then you tell me I can’t wear it?”
    Kathleen looked at Andrea, who glanced at Nick, who blushed and looked back at Kathleen. But before anyone could speak, shouts of greeting came from just across the market. Shelby and Darnell, our two regular part-time employees, ran to greet us. I knew they’d be here, of course. They’d asked for time off to attend the re-creation, since their attendance gave them points in a popular history elective they were taking at nearby Nathaniel Bacon University (good old Bacon U). They were joined by Melanie and Opie, two of our occasional interns. The floral design students helped out when we were swamped with work.
    Shelby and Darnell were dressed not too differently from Nick, in tights and tunics, although they also wore scabbards that held swords. Melanie had dressed in an outfit a little like mine—but with a much more modest neckline. I suspected she was portraying some sort of servant or peasant.
    Opie (short for Opal), our resident goth, looked splendid in an elaborate black and purple corseted dress that somehow managed to cover most of her anachronistic tattoos. The girls were joined by another young lady I didn’t recognize, who, like Melanie, wore the plainer clothing of a servant.
    â€œWicked togs!” Opie said. “Love the cloak.”
    â€œOh, my,” Melanie said. “It’s like the picture in the history book. Audrey, you can’t wear that.”
    Opie rolled her eyes. “They don’t like mine, either.”
    â€œBut that’s because you were supposed to be dressed as a servant,” Melanie said, studying my outfit.
    â€œOkay, I’ve had enough. This was the only thing the costume shop had. I’ve already been told it’s period-correct.” I turned to Melanie. “You said it’s just like a picture in the history book. So what gives? Why can’t I wear it?”
    Again, the little crowd around me grew silent, until Opie nudged the one young woman I didn’t know. “Let’s let the history major explain it. Carol?”
    Carol cleared her throat. “The neckline is a little too low for a servant,” she said hesitantly. “So one might conclude that you’re a tavern wench.”
    Not exactly the look I was going for, but not exactly scandalous, either. “So? Weren’t there tavern wenches back then?”
    â€œOh, yes,” Kathleen said. “That’s why it’s period-authentic. Only the tavern wenches often . . . moonlighted.”
    â€œMoonlighted?” I repeated.
    â€œIn an older occupation,” Andrea said.
    â€œOften referred to as the
oldest
occupation,” Carol added. “If you get my meaning.”
    I pulled the cloak closer to me instinctively.
    â€œBut I’m afraid the cloak cinches it,” Carol added. “In many areas prostitutes were required to wear yellow.”
    I shrugged the cloak off and it fell to the ground.
    Andrea