Lose The Shirt

Lois looked down at her shirt. It was sticking to her in places, and stains were creeping down from her armpits, and the low cut front that exposed her cleavage. She looked across the table at her moth—this woman, whose bare breasts were dappled by perspiration...and of course all the other women in here were topless too. More than that, though, Lois burned with curiosity. How her mother could be here, now, alive—and Lois was willing to do a great deal to find out the answers to those questions.

With just the slightest feeling of self-consciousness, Lois grabbed her shirt and pulled it over her head. The air kissed the bare skin of her stomach and upper arms...it was still hot as hell down here, but she did feel better.

"The bra too," Ella Lane said, as the waitress returned with a chilled grey pitcher.

Lois didn't move immediately.

"You're already sweating. You don't want to get a boob rash. You know what that's like, don't you darling?" The older woman pressed.

She did know. Growing up without her mother, Lois had to learn a few things the hard way—like changing out your bra after an exercise run. As a teenager, more than once she'd cursed herself as the undersides of her tender young breasts had gotten red and angry where the bra had dug into them, followed by sweat and grime, and then the little red spots—she'd had to endure it for days, trying not to scratch her tits in public, despite the itchiness and the burning, waiting for the few moments of relief when she could duck into the girl's room and rub some cream on her aching jugs...

Carefully, Lois reached behind her to unclasp her bra. It was somehow harder, when this woman who looked like her mother was watching her do it.

"You really should do a front-clasp when going out, dear. Save everyone a lot of trouble, and you can see what you're doing." The woman said with a smile.

Lois scowled.

"I can manage well enough, thanks." The clasp came undone, and Lois let the straps fall forward over her shoulders, the cups falling off, to let her breasts hang free.

It didn't feel bad. That's what always surprised Lois, whenever she was changing in the locker room or elsewhere faced with the prospect of public nudity. She wasn't ashamed of her body, and being nude never felt...unnatural, the way being clothed sometimes did. She frowned a little at the thought.

"Oh don't be like that. It's the nature of mothers to fret."

"I'll take that miss," a topless waitress came up, and took Lois' shirt and bra out of her hands. "They'll be in the coat-check room, when you leave."

"Yes...thank you." Lois said, automatically.

Lois sat down; Ella poured her a drink from the full pitcher. The grey-white ooze inside sloshed into a martini glass. The reporter took the stem, grateful for the chill beneath her fingertips, and raised the glass. There was a clink as Ella tapped Lois' glass with her own.

"To unions and reunions," the older woman said, and tipped her glass back. Lois brought the cold glass to her own lips and drank, glad for something cool and wet down her throat.

"Mom," she said, setting the glass down and reaching for the pitcher to refill it. "How...are you here?"