Soma

"Nothing that I can think of," Lauren replied.

"Do you mind if I take these?" Cherry asked, holding up Lauren's clothes. "I want to make sure there's not anything else in the fabric -- maybe you got dusted with something. I don't know."

"Sure," Lauren answered. After promising to return with a hospital gown, the young doctor stepped from the bay, clothing in hand. While Lauren certainly didn't luxuriate in the idea of her clothes disappearing down the hallway, she did want to know what had happened to her. The sooner she could clear this up, the sooner she could return to the office and get back to work.

Lauren's rise at Evelyn Apparel had been meteoric. She was young for her class, graduating from college at twenty-one and from law school at twenty-four. She'd been recruited to the retailer right just after finishing her J.D., choosing the company over a number of different law firms pushing for her service. Though the prestige of working as in-house counsel for a women's clothing store was certainly nowhere near that of being employed at Cravath Swaine or Wilmer Hale, Lauren saw greater opportunity for advancement in the corporate sector. And she seized upon that opportunity like none before her.

Her thirtieth birthday was Friday, and if she proved capable of pulling the Cortland acquisition papers together before the quarter ended, she was sure to receive a promotion as her gift. She was young for an Assistant General Counsel, Rachel a bit more than four years older than she was. And she'd certainly be young for an Associate General Counsel, Danny having eleven years on her. But Lauren, time and time again, had proven that she'd go the extra mile for the company, sacrificing herself, her social life, and her own personal hang-ups in the interest of Evelyn Apparel, Incorporated.

The company had experienced somewhat of a meteoric rise itself. Founded twenty-eight-years earlier by Connecticut socialite Evelyn Lane-Russet, Evelyn Apparel had, over the previous ten years, risen to the role of challenger to the Limited, Victoria's Secret, H&M, American Eagle, and so forth. The "Evelyn Lane" chain of stores catered to the stylish, sophisticated woman -- smart, sexy business and casual attire. "Eden" was the store's counterpart in the tween, teen, and young adult markets, targeting girls and young women with a bit more flair. And "Eve Intimates" was making greater and greater in-roads in intimate apparel, and currently sat behind only Victoria's Secret for bras, panties, and lingerie. But Evelyn Lane-Russet, still the company's Chairman and Chief Executive Officer, had expressed an interest in expanding into menswear, and Corporate Development had decided that acquiring "Cortland," a struggling "Banana Republic" knock-off, was the way to best move into the market.

"I'm fine," Lauren assured Danny and Rachel both. "I'll get something else to wear, and I'll be right back at the office."

The two others met eyes, and Rachel said, "Honey, I think you need to get this checked out. What if something worse had happened? I mean, you don't know what's going on with your body."

The moment that Lauren had first noticed the rash, Ginger had grabbed Danny and enlisted him into getting the blonde girl to the hospital. Jen Ellison had been left behind to explain to anyone else in the office what had happened and where Ginger had taken Lauren. Rachel, Lauren's best friend in the office and perhaps in New York altogether, hadn't waited a second before storming out of the Lane-Russet Building herself, only moments behind the vanguard.

Lauren was thankful that her friend was here, and despite the obvious awkwardness of being naked in front of Danny, she appreciated his support, as well.

Danny had come to his senses a bit in the past few minutes, and had begun to fully realize the scene taking place before him. Lauren Laframboise, who he had fantasized about on any number of occasions while making love to his wife, was standing in front of him in the nude. Sure, a few minutes ago she'd been in danger of succumbing to an allergy-induced collapse, and been covered in a bizarre pink skin affliction...but now, Lauren stood undressed and vulnerable just feet from where he was sitting, flawless from head to toe.

Her legs were smooth and never-ending, and Danny longed to touch her thighs. Her pubic hair was a bit unruly for Danny's own particular tastes in pornography, but the wispy blonde hair barely visible against her skin proved that Lauren was a natural blonde. Her breasts were even more stunning than Danny had dreamed, exposed for just the consumption of just Rachel and himself. Her nipples stood on alert, and Danny wondered if it was simply the cool air of the hospital or the excitement of being naked in front of an audience that was to blame. Danny hoped it was the latter.

You're scum, he scolded himself. This girl had nearly died a few minutes ago. And, besides, he was married. And she was friend. And, God, he hoped neither girl noticed his raging hard-on.

"I...I...I should probably go," Danny stammered, standing from his seat and inserting both hands into his pants' pockets in a pre-emptive attempt to hide the bulge in his crotch. He couldn't bring himself to make eye contact with the naked girl, but addressed her anyway, "You've got Rachel now. No need for me to sit around."

He had wanted Lauren to insist that he stay, but he was paradoxically relieved and disappointed when she didn't. Instead, as he breezed through the small opening in the curtain and back out into the larger room, Danny heard the blonde offer, "Thank you, Danny. You're a good friend."

Sitting there at the edge of the bed, in the nude, Lauren looked up at Rachel, and commented, "I can't believe this is happening to me now, of all times."

"I know," Rachel sighed. "Has anything like this ever happened before?"

Lauren shot her friend a look. "You mean, has my skin ever broken out in an allergic reaction to my clothes before?" Pause. "No, I would say that this is a first."

The redhead nodded. Like Danny, though with perhaps a bit less lust, she took in the sight of her friend's body. She had long been jealous of her friend, who seemed to have it all -- natural intelligence, stunning beauty, and a fast-moving career track. But, over time, she'd come to realize that she led a bit fuller of a life than the younger girl, who seemed incapable of maintaining a relationship any longer than a week and a half, had few friends outside of work, and little contact with the family she'd left behind in Vermont. Still, it was hard to look at Lauren, and her perfect figure, her perfect breasts, her perfect hips, her perfect legs, and not be jealous.

"We're falling so far behind," Lauren whined.

"You're seriously worried about the acquisition right now?"

The blonde shrugged. "I seem to be doing okay, don't I?"

"Sure, but ten minutes ago you were covered in hives."

"You heard the doctor; I was allergic to something in the fabric," Lauren explained. "I'm sure she'll bring me something to wear, I can get dressed, and we can go back to work."

The girl's blue eyes were steeled with confidence. "Ten minutes, and then we're out of here. Fifteen, tops. I'll be fine."

***

The next few hours in the hospital were excruciatingly long. Dr. Cherry returned with a set of hospital scrubs, clothing that Lauren accepted excitedly. But, despite being one hundred percent cotton, Lauren's rash began to return, and she shed them as quickly as she could. A paper gown came next, but even putting that on felt as if Lauren were running a cheese-grater across her skin. Lauren had no problem in sitting bare-assed on the hospital's bed, but when she attempted to wrap the bed sheet around her body, the pink rash returned once more, and disappeared only when Lauren had again undressed.

The blonde was, to be sure, growing increasingly frustrated at her predicament. She'd sent Danny and Rachel back to the office, in the hopes that they wouldn't fall too far behind on what they'd intended to review that day. With Tuesday slipping away, they had only three full days before everything had to be ready to go, the Cortland acquisition on the books before Q4 began. Ginger remained, and acted as Lauren's liaison with the staff at the office. Cell phones were, of course, banned in the Emergency Room, so Ginger was forced to walk back and forth between the bay where Lauren sat naked behind the curtain and the street outside the hospital. Jessica Braeburn, one of the staff's two student interns, shuttled files and briefs between Evelyn Apparel and the Emergency Room. And Lauren, for her part, had established a makeshift office behind the thin curtain, her papers spread out before her on the bed.

The doctors were frustrated at Lauren's inability to deal with the problem at hand. But to Lauren, the biggest problem she had was the deadline looming over her -- her bizarre skin allergy was merely an unfortunate inconvenience. Dermatological tests came back negative, and Lauren's blood work hadn't shown anything unusual. But the experiments conducted by Dr. Cherry, her supervisor Dr. Manzano, or the on-call dermatologist, Dr. Suiki, all came back the same way -- no matter what material they rounded up to give to Lauren, her body rejected them all. Silk pajamas. A wool sweater. A pair of polyester pants. A satin pair of panties. Denim, rayon, velour, leather -- all the same reaction: the same burning, itching rash.

Lauren treated the doctors as if they were intruding upon her work, inconveniencing her and breaking the concentration she needed to process the material before her. To be sure, the girl seemed almost more annoyed at being interrupted than sitting naked in front of the various doctors. Joe Manzano was a fifty-something man of small build and a geekish demeanor. Ken Suiki was an Asian man in his early forties, with the personality that one expected out of a passionate dermatologist. While Lauren might have been initially uncomfortable in front of either of them, she assured herself they were both doctors, and paid little attention to the secretive and entirely unprofessional glances they took at her body.

It wasn't until Dr. Dave Adams invited himself into her inner sanctum that Lauren suddenly felt unsure of herself. He was tall, well-built, and manly, with a chiseled jaw and broad, muscular shoulders. He breezed into the bay with a confidence the other doctors had lacked, a sense of dominance that caught Lauren's attention. She was instantly attracted to him, an animal-like instinct taking over deep within her body.

"Let's get this out of the way, in the hopes that it makes you a bit more comfortable with me being here," Adams began. "I'm gay."

So much for that, Lauren thought to herself.

Adams glanced around at the papers stacked neatly into piles throughout the bay -- on the bed, on the bedside table, and even in orderly little stacks on the floor. Lauren sat in the chair beside the bed, cradling a laptop on her knees, and after a few more seconds of awkwardly undressing Adams with her eyes, she immediately returned to the screen.

"What are we trying this time?" Lauren groaned. If she sounded unenthusiastic, she hoped it would be understandable -- over the past seven hours, she had felt increasingly like a human guinea pig, the emergency room doctors testing out new theories on her condition. Or, perhaps more fittingly, she felt like a child's Barbie doll, forced to dress in whatever garment the hospital staff was able to round up from patients, the lost and found, or their own personal lockers. Each time it was the same, Lauren grimacing in pain as the rash reappeared.

"Umm..." Adams looked around the bay, but couldn't seem to locate what it was he was searching for. Ultimately, he glanced down at his own midsection, and started to unbuckle his belt.

This caused Lauren to glance up from her work, if only briefly. There was a part of her that was wondering if Adams himself was about to undress.

Adams slipped the belt from his waist, folded it over in his palm, and extended it to the naked blonde. "How about this?"

"We've already tried leather," Lauren flatly responded. "Leather coat."

Adams didn't retract the belt. He took a step closer, forcing the belt in between Lauren's line of sight and the computer screen. He insisted, "Humor me."

The girl rolled her eyes, but reluctantly set the laptop aside. She stood, took the belt from the doctor, and began to loop it around her midsection, fully expecting to be burned and irritated once more. She whined, "You know, it's not as if this doesn't hurt."

But, surprisingly, as Lauren fastened the buckle at the front, nothing happened. No burning. No itching. No aching. And, glancing downward, she didn't see the rash returning. "What the hell?"

"Okay, one more," Adams pressed, excitedly. Locating Lauren's one shoe at the foot of the bed, he stooped to pick it up, and handed it to the girl.

"That's leather, as well," Lauren said, but accepted the shoe willingly. She was growing more excited by the second. Maybe something had been wrong with the leather coat earlier? Maybe the doctor's belt wasn't 100% leather? If she had to walk out of the emergency room in a full-leather get-up, so be it; she just wanted to be out of the hospital and get back to her office.

The shoe, as Lauren slipped it onto her right foot, caused no inflammation. She beamed at Adams, and for the first time in a few hours, saw the light at the end of the tunnel.

Adams seemed happy, as well. His guess had panned out where others' had failed before him. It didn't solve the girl's problems, but he had, at least, gotten a better understanding of how those problems were manifesting themselves.

"That's what I thought," the dark-haired man nodded.

"What? That I can wear leather?" Lauren asked.

Adams shook his head. "The material's not important. You don't have a physical allergies to the fabrics."

"Excuse me? Obviously, you're new to the scene. Pink rash? Itching? Burning? Hurts like hell? Sound familiar at all?"

"It's not a physical allergy. It's a psychological one. A psychosomatic response. And, for whatever reason, your mind's not categorizing the belt or your shoes in the same way that it's doing so with the rest of your clothes."

Lauren paused for a moment, trying to understand. She squinted, and asked, "Who are you?"

"Dave Adams," he replied. "I'm the on-call psychiatrist."

Lauren still didn't understand. She wasn't crazy. She had a real, physical ailment. "Why do I need a shrink? I mean, I have a rash." She glanced down at her body, clad in Adams's belt and one of her own high-heeled shoes, and saw nothing but pale skin. "Well, I did have a rash."

The psychiatrist nodded in agreement. "No, it's actually not that unusual for the body to demonstrate some sign of a...well...of a 'mental hiccup.'" He gestured around at the legal forms and print-outs spread through the bay. "I'm guessing you're under some stress at work?"

"Some," Lauren conceded. The girl was still trying to catch up. She had had a physical, allergic reaction to something. Why had they sent a psychiatrist? Why hadn't they sent someone with a needle full of allergy-suppressing drugs? Why hadn't they sent someone with some sort of hypoallergenic gown? Why Adams?

"Well, it's a bit odd that stress would manifest itself in this particular way," Adams replied. He hunkered down on the corner of the bed, carefully giving Lauren's nearest stack of papers wide berth. "Usually, you see things like headaches, upset stomachs, diarrhea, that sort of thing."

"Wait, so you're saying that I'm allergic to my clothes because...because I'm under stress at work?"

"Sounds about right. So you are, correct?"

Lauren hesitated for a moment, and conceded again, "Yes. Probably. I mean, I guess so."

"What do you do? What's all this for?"

Lauren was working through the predicament in her mind. She reached for the belt buckle, and slowly unfastened the one article of clothing she'd been physically capable of wearing in hours. "I'm an lawyer with Evelyn Apparel -- in-house counsel."

"Evelyn Apparel? Like, Evelyn Lane? Eve Intimates? That Evelyn Apparel?"

"Yes." Lauren slid the belt from her waist, and handed it back to the doctor.

Adams let out a low whistle. "Jesus, I don't know how you guys get the ads past the censors, but... Well, wow. Those lingerie commercials you run make the Victoria's Secret spots look like a Sunday morning in church."

Lauren wasn't sure what to say. Adams wasn't wrong -- the TV campaign that Eve Intimates was running at the time was as close to smut as Lauren guessed the networks allowed, women in lingerie writhing on beds, couches, kitchen tables, and various other inanimate objects. "I'm not really in charge of the ads."

"I'm not complaining," Adams continued. "Though I doubt I'm the target audience. I can't say that I buy much lingerie for myself...or for my boyfriend, for that matter."

"Okay."

"So what are you working on for Miss Evelyn Lane now?"

"Evelyn Lane-Russet," Lauren corrected, seating herself back down in her chair. "And we're acquiring Cortland Menswear."

"Ahh. So, one can only hope that you'll soon be running the same style commercials, with men..."

Lauren smiled politely. "I've been doing the contract work for the acquisition. Heading it up, really."

"You look kind of young to be putting together what I can only assume must be a billion dollar merger."

"Acquisition," Lauren corrected him again. "We're buying them out. And while, yes, I'm the principal on the deal, I'm not really the principal."

"Come again?"

"It's my boss's responsibility. Sort of. It's actually his boss's responsibility. But I'm the one in the trenches."

"I see."

"And we're trying to get it all wrapped up by Friday, so every additional minute I sit here in this emergency room just makes my life that much more difficult when I get back to work."

Adams was silent for a moment, but eventually spoke. He said, "So you work for a clothing company. And you've been consumed by the acquisition for another clothing company. And suddenly, out of nowhere, you find yourself allergic to..."

"Clothes," Lauren finished. Oh, God. Could it really be that ridiculous?

"You shouldn't be allergic to ALL of those different types of fabric. And if you really WERE allergic to the fabrics, you wouldn't be able to sit on the cotton sheets of the bed, or the fabric of that chair. I think the allergies you're suffering may all be psychologically induced, owing to the stress you seem to be under at work."

Lauren let Adams's analysis sink it.

"So I think that the only way you're going to get past this is to remove the stress."

Lauren began to nod slowly. She understood exactly what Adams was saying. It made sense. She'd been working herself to death the past few weeks, coming in on weekends, staying from seven in the morning until nine or ten at night, working through lunch. She hadn't been to the gym in almost four weeks, an otherwise unthinkable prospect before this project landed in her lap. She'd dreamt about the legal wording and various clauses while asleep, and was focused on nothing else but the contract while awake.

Nodding, Lauren stood, walked past the psychiatrist, and leaned her head out through the curtain. "Nurse!" she called. "Nurse?! Miss Pomelo? Can you get my assistant?"

Turning to Adams, Lauren asked, "So there's nothing else I can do? Nothing, like an injection, or some type of quick therapy, or anything like that?"

"No, I don't think so," he answered. "Like I said, I've never seen anything exactly like this. The rash, the way it fades so quickly, the allergy itself. It's all new territory. But, I think you need to eliminate the stress to be able to move on."