Vinyl and Validation

Lunch was winding down, but Donna wasn't.

She sat with her legs delicately crossed beneath the table, one rhinestone-studded thigh peeking from under the obscenely short hem of her white vinyl micro-skirt. The skirt shimmered under the restaurant's upscale lighting, pristine and unapologetically indecent. Her blush-pink thigh-high stockings clung tight to her legs, held up by a rhinestone garter belt that sparkled like it belonged on a pop star. A sheer pink mesh crop top hugged her chest, doing absolutely nothing to hide the lacy bralette underneath, which was so dainty and soft it felt like it might fall apart under Joey's gaze.

Which was exactly the point.

Glittery eyeshadow fanned outward from her lashes. Her lips gleamed with fresh gloss. Every inch of her look was designed not to whisper seduction—but to sing it, sweet and high and cheerful. A perfect little Barbie dream, but sluttier. Softer. Warmer. Designed for a boy.

Her boy.

Joey had responded so well to her outfit. His eyes kept drifting. His neck flushed. His lips parted once when she leaned forward to get the pepper shaker, and she watched him try not to stare at the soft underswell of her breasts beneath the pink lace. She didn't say anything—just giggled, then thanked him for being such a gentleman. Joey, her little prince, trying to be proper when all she wanted was to see him undone.

He excused himself to go to the washroom. Donna smiled, waving her fingers after him as if she were the airhead she was pretending to be. Then, the second he turned the corner, she picked up her phone.

A new notification.

Joey's Girls

Group chat.

Her perfectly shaped brows lifted. "Well, well."

She scrolled lazily through the messages, her glossed lips curling. The tone was predictable. Excited. Obsessive. Hilarious. She could almost hear the fluttering hearts behind the exclamation marks. They adored Joey. They missed him. They missed each other.

Serena's tone caught her eye—sharp, uncertain. Donna sighed. Serena was beautiful, mature, and poised, but still new to this. She was used to being wanted—not wanting. Still, that could be ironed out in time. Joey would take care of her.

But it was Indira who caught Donna's interest. Sweet, smart, bright-eyed Indira—troubled. Her mother standing in the way of what would bring Indira happiness. The girl was an adult, but was only now coming into her own purpose, her own being.

Donna drummed her pink acrylic nails on the table. She remembered that morning. She remembered the mother—Neha. Intense. Protective.

They could work with that.

She'd picked Indira up that Friday, hadn't she? The memory felt like a lifetime ago. Maybe Joey and her could swing by for a chat, see if they could support the girl somehow.

She tucked her phone away and thought about her man. He had been distraught since that strange woman had accosted them on the street outside of Eliza's apartment building. It all seemed so strange, Joey having to help her, Joey having to do something dangerous but impactful. She didn't doubt her son, but it all seemed to come out of left field. She hoped he was making good decisions, and she hoped that he would be alright.

She decided to put the issue aside and trust her man just as Joey returned to the table. He looked freshly washed, flustered in the way that made her want to climb into his lap.

"Feel better, baby?" she asked, voice soft, playful, twirling a strand of hair.

He nodded, trying not to glance at the sheer panel over her chest. Trying. Adorable.

Donna flagged the waiter and handed over her card, brushing a lock of hair back from her face and giving the man a radiant smile. Her lashes fluttered. The man couldn't look at her properly. He stammered something about it being his pleasure.

Of course it was.

She took Joey's hand as they stood. Her heels made her calves flex and her hips sway as they left the restaurant. She didn't walk—she performed. Each step was a little celebration of her body. Each wiggle of her skirt was deliberate. The sliver of bare skin between her hemline and stockings felt like electricity, alive under every set of eyes they passed.

She didn't care.

She wanted them to look. She wanted them to know. She wanted them to see Joey walking with her and understand—he was the one she belonged to. He was the reason her ass jiggled under vinyl and lace. He was the one her lips were glossed for, the one her perfume lingered for. He was the one she chose to please.

Outside, the sun was sharp and clean. Donna opened the passenger door, then walked around to the driver's side in a swing of blush and shimmer. She tossed her purse onto the seat, then leaned back in, flipping down the visor to check her reflection.

Perfect.

She glanced over at Joey, smiling. "So," she said, turning the ignition. "I was thinking… wanna go on a little drive with your favourite girl? Just you and me?"

He looked at her, a little stunned, a little thrilled.

Donna leaned over, one hand on his thigh, and whispered, "I've been, like, literally dying to kiss you since forever ago. My lips are practically starving."

He blinked.

"So that's the first thing on the agenda," she said with a giggle, pulling out of the parking lot. "Then maybe we go somewhere suuuuper quiet and romantic, and then maybe we, like, drop by that pretty girl’s house? You know, Indira?"

She saw the confusion in his eyes.

"I think Mrs. Patel liked me," Donna added, eyes on the road, hand moving to his groin. "But she doesn't know how awesome you are. So I think Indira might just need a little... help. Maybe we can show her mother that you're not some scary monster."

There was a moment of silence in the car as she drove, and then Joey slid his own hand over to Donna's thigh.

She brought it to her lips and kissed it.

The irony didn't escape her—not entirely. There she was, thirty-nine, dressed like a sugar-frosted stripper, plotting her next "family" intervention with her teenage son-slash-boyfriend riding shotgun. But the thing was—she felt happy. And not in that frantic, **** way she used to feel when she was trying to be good enough for some miserable man. This was different.

This was right.

Let the world judge. Let the world talk. There was, after all, nothing freaky about any of this. It was allowed. She was a hot girl, and girls always wanted Joey. Always had, always would.

So she didn't need the world's approval. She already had her perfect man.

And all she needed was for him to give her an excuse to fix her makeup.