He Cuts Her Breasts

I want to tell you about what happened today. Ms. Kellar was a thin woman with sharp angle cheekbones. Her frosted blonde hair peeked out from under her hat, looking more like an accessory for her beautiful hats than actual hair. She always wears a thin coat that cloaks her body from collar to ankles.

She needed her brassieres repaired. There were three of them, black satin with white fringes. All of them were cut. I am used to seeing tears or torn seams where wear and tear stress the bras but these were sharp lines caused by an edge. They had been sliced and I saw blood on the material.

I didn't say anything. Mr. Everett always said that since we deal with our clients' most intimate apparel, we had a duty to refrain from asking about their lives. Discretion is a clothier's greatest asset.

Ms. Kellar told me anyway. "He uses a knife. He carries it with him always. When he is angry, or just aroused, he cuts through my clothes. Sometimes he cuts me."

I didn't know what to say. "Who?" I asked. "Are you in trouble?"

Ms. Kellar smiled. "My lover cuts me. And yes, I am in trouble, but there is nothing you can do about it."

She unbuttoned the top button of her coat. She unclasped another, and another. She revealed a black blouse, which she pulled down. Leaning towards me, I looked down her blouse and onto her pale breasts. The ugly line of a cut marred her pale breast. The line of the cut dipped between her cleavage and out of my sight.

"See?" she said. Her tone implied that she wanted me to understand.

"I see," I said though I did not understand.

"Can you fix them?" Ms. Kellar asked.

I looked at the frail brasseries. The material was expensive and hard to work with. I could mend it though. When I am finished with them, you would never know they had been cut.

"Yes ma'am," I said.

Ms. Kellar buttoned her coat back up. I wondered what other cuts lurked below. I wondered what things her lover did after he cut her.

I wondered if she liked it.