Maille tried the door several times, even putting her weight into it. Nothing. Frustrated she thought about calling the man who was still in the large multi-closeted room with her, although she couldn't see him amid the racks and rows of clothing and costumes. There had been people in and out of wardrobe the last several hours. Designers. Assistants. All kinds of people, and the door had not locked on them.

She'd only come in here to get away from the crowds and the questions about her famous sisters. She'd just wanted a little peace and quiet.

And now, she seemed to be locked in the wardrobe with a perfectly insane stranger.

But she didn't need to worry. Here he was, coming at her with an arm waving, a peacock blue satin Victorian dress draped over his arm. "Try this."

"Excuse me?" she croaked. Was he serious? Did he mean what she thought he meant?

"Try it, try it, try it!" He commanded tossing it over her shoulder and turning back toward the jungle.

Maille held up the dress. "Who are you?" she called. "I'm locked in. I was hoping you'd let me out. Do you have a key?"

His head, adorned now in a feathered tricorn hat peeked at her around a rack of snowy fur capes.

"Try it!" Issued the bristly and rather gruff voice.

"I don't see..." Did he think she was some kind of model?

"Can you get me out? Is there another door?"

"Dress, dress, dress!"

"No dressing rooms." Maille hotly declared, as if playing his game would recover at least an appearance. This time the head did peer out at her.

"I don't see the difficulty. No one will be coming through a locked door, and there isn't anyone else in the room interested in seeing you in that dress. Put it on, put it on. Put it on!" He demanded in rising exasperation.

"Even if I did want to put it on." She mimicked his tone of voice exactly. "I wouldn't dress with you in the room anyway." The thought was ludicrous, as was the situation. She tried the doorknob again for good measure.

"Why wouldn't you want to put it on?" he came around the rack now, hands on hips, eyeing her in mild fascination. It was the first good look Maille had of him, as her eyes were no longer full of tears and her mind was no longer focused on herself and her sisterly woes.

He was a few inches taller than she, hair a lighter brown than hers, and eyes a dark warm liquid blue, like velvet, like a pearl. Long, rather lank hair, and sideburns, a mustache, and goatee, pointed and... were those beads? And now she noticed the earrings as well. A part of the costume, or something else?

Despite the fact that she was deathly afraid of strangers, especially strange ones, and her usual timidity normally would have kicked in by now, making her voice a mere whisper, Maille felt a smidgen of courage. Her former anger and hurt must have rendered her gutsy.

"Do you have a name?" she asked, her head cocked to one side as she held the lovely dress off the floor. her tone of voice suggested she might have thought he was handicapped, or slow in some way.

I do." The man said haughtily.

"Do I already know it?"

"No more than I do yours."

"Maille Mann."

"What kind of name is that? Maille Mann?" He flipped his obviously altered hair and hat in feigned annoyance, although Maille detected a keen interest as he watched her approach. He could be a serial killer, she warned herself. A sick pervert who commonly raped young girls left in the costume warehouse too long. But something about his eyes called to her.

"Hawaiian." She answered.

"Hmmm. Are you Hawaiian?"

"No." she answered promptly, falling into the routine her name caused among her peers. "I was adopted at birth, and my birth mother was named Kylie Ann. It was supposed to be my name, as my adoptive mother loved my birth mother very much. But three days after my birth, we were traveling to Hawaii and were marooned on a deserted island in the Pacific in the middle of a hurricane, and the young woman who found and rescued my adoptive father and brother was Maille. They changed my name to honor her, and left the Ann for my birth mom."

Usually, this speech was received with oooh's and ahhhh's of interest or at least polite requests for more information. It was a practiced speech. One of her only ones. She wasn't habitually asked many questions. And she'd spoken slowly, so he'd be sure to get it, if he was struggling with a deficiency.

"I didn't ask for the family history." The man announced after a thoughtful second, and then flounced back toward the far end of the warehouse. Seriously, he flounced.

"Put it on, dear Maille."

"I'm not a model."

"Just put it on, do I make myself clear? What part of put it on don 't you understand?" he stepped out from behind her and startled her so much she dropped the dress and slammed awkwardly into a rack, causing it to teeter ominously. Reaching out to stop the near disaster, the man brushed dangerously near Maille's staggering form.

Maille squealed at his touch and fell headlong into the rack of white capes, landing with an undignified grunt on her hip and hand.

*****