“Which coat do you wish to wear today Madam?” Madeline asked.
It was superfluous to ask if Agnes wanted to wear a leather coat. It was merely a question of which one.
“My single-breaster. The one with the notched lapels,” Agnes said stepping over to her parlor window with her hands clasped in front of her hips.
Her hair glowed like gold fire and her blouse blazed blinding white in the sunlight. Her shapely bum gleamed in her leather skirt as she leaned forward to look out the bay window.
She clapped her gloved hands and bounced on her heels. She was just going for a walk and yet she seemed to be near bursting with excitement. Madeline wished she could tap into just an ounce of the perky energy that constantly bubbled inside Agnes.
Madeline returned to the foyer. The smell of leather perfumed the air as Madeline opened the coat closet. Spreading the garments apart and withdrawing the coat Agnes’ wanted produced a symphony of creaking. The leather coat peeled away from the one behind it with a sticky rustling before flowing out with a dramatic swish.
There actually were two long wool coats, a classic beige trench coat, and a slick, black mac in the closet as well. It was rare that Agnes ever wore them, though. European through and through, Agnes thought little of wearing a leather coat in the pouring rain. The anxiety wearing leather in the rain caused Americans puzzled her.
Madeline stopped for a moment to admire Agnes’ coat. The brilliant way it shined in the morning sunlight caught her attention. Madeline wondered if she had seen it before because it didn’t look familiar. Agnes owned so many leather coats, though, that it was difficult to remember the exact details of each one. This coat was truly a masterpiece, even among Agnes’ exclusive wardrobe.
The leather was cool, buttery pleasure to touch. Fifty-six-inches of the smoothest grain lambskin ran over Madeline’s hands with liquid suppleness. The vastness of all the leather gave the coat a palpable weight to match its quality. The leather was so well broken in that it melted in her grasp. Her fingers sank into the heavenly softness, eliciting a low, continuous creaking similar to the purring of a petted cat.
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