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do, I had to move on to another rack quickly, knowing
that fantasy would have to wait until I wasn’t in public.
    Someone had pawed over the rack
of bras in front of me, and they were no longer arranged by size or
colour. Tutting to myself, disliking the disorder, I began to
rearrange them, humming to myself.
    “Excuse me please, dear.”
    I spun around to find an elderly
lady looking up at me with a hopeful glance. I smiled kindly,
eyebrows raised.
    “Thank goodness I spotted you.
It’s so hard to find someone around here to help. And I just have
one little question. I won’t take up much of your time, I
promise.”
    “Oh, okay. Sure,” I said and
assumed my listening face. Surely I could answer one little
question, even if I didn’t know much about the store.
    “Thank you, dear. I’d like to
buy some new underwear, but it has to be quality, mind you. None of
that cheap rubbish that falls apart after a few washes. Can you
recommend a brand for me?”
    “I know just what you need,” I
smiled, pleased to be able to help. Heller’s personal stylist, Mei
Wong, had introduced me to a wonderful brand, locally made, that
lasted forever. “I wear them myself, you know. Very comfortable and sexy.” I blushed. “Oh, I guess you’re not much
interested in that.”
    She laughed. “Not these days,
dear. Thirty years ago, I would have been. But comfortable suits me
fine.”
    “Now, they’re not cheap,” I
warned, as I searched for that brand’s rack amongst all the
others.
    “Nothing worth having ever is.”
She turned up her nose as we passed a rack of exclusive Jules Roux
Masquerade lingerie, stopping to check the price tag on a
particularly garish set. “Goodness me! Who can afford to buy this
over-priced nonsense? Look at it – all leather and chains and
feathers. How uncomfortable!”
    I smiled wanly and hurried her
on to the rack where the lingerie I’d been searching for was
nestled. And I spent the next ten minutes helping her choose
half-a-dozen new pairs of sensible granny undies in assorted
colours.
    “Thank you so much, dear,” she
gushed. “You are the most helpful person I’ve ever encountered in
this store.”
    “Oh, that’s nice. Thank you !”
    “What’s your name?”
    “Tilly Chalmers.”
    She looked around and spotting a
man rushing past, waved her hand and called out. “Excuse me. Are
you a staff member?”
    The man hurried over, all
attentiveness. He resembled someone out of a sixties family sitcom
with crisply pressed trousers, a perky bowtie, side-parted hair and
a blindingly cheerful manner. “Yes, madam. I’m the store manager.
How may I help you?”
    “I want to commend this young
lady for her service. Her name is Tilly Chalmers, remember that.
You ought to be proud to have such an excellent member of
staff.”
    “We’re proud of all our staff,
madam, but of course we’re especially pleased to hear of excellent
service.” He turned to me, smiling. “Well done, Tilly!”
    “Oh, but –” I started.
    “Look, she’s talked me into
buying six pairs of underwear today! I’d scarcely hoped to
go home with one.”
    “Let me ring those up for you,
madam,” he offered, the epitome of good customer service. And he
ushered her to a nearby purchase point to complete the sale.
    Smiling to myself at the
misunderstanding, I continued browsing. A hand landed on my
arm.
    “Thank you again so much, dear,”
said the elderly lady.
    “It was nothing, really,” I
replied, embarrassed.
    “I hope I see you next time I
visit.”
    “Oh, but –” It was too late. She
was gone with a wave of her hand, happily clutching her bag of
underwear.
    The manager approached me,
smiling. I thought this would be the perfect time to set the record
straight and opened my mouth to speak, but he spoke up first.
    “I’m trying to place you,” he
said with cheery sheepishness. “Don’t tell me! Let me guess. My
wife is always scolding me for being completely hopeless with faces
and I’ve been