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Betty and Judy are in high spirits tonight, and Phil is reveling in the glow of their laughter and attention, his whip quick comedy out in full force, even without Bob, who’s meandered over to speak with the general. They’ve somehow managed to get around to their first meeting and the girls’ impromptu escape, and Phil is cajoled into telling them exactly how they distracted the crowd with a final number. Phil’s using a fan as a prop, pulling faces, and they’re all busting their sides laughing, when Judy sits up, pulls her sister by the sleeve, and whispers something into her ear.
They look at him with sly twin grins, and he grins right back, mischief running like a common thread between them.
“You boys didn’t actually wear our dresses, did you?” Judy starts, trading looks with Betty.
“Did you see any busted seams or sweat stains on those dresses? We would have ripped out of those little slips like Superman!”
“Well...” Betty drags out through her giggles, “Would you like to?”
Phil’s brain sort of steamrolls on past that and then catches up and comes to a screeching stop. “Huh?”
Judy and Betty stand as one, sidling up on either side of him. “We have them in our room,” Judy says sweetly, and Betty smiles wide and white. “We don’t have much use for them now, since you boys have scooped us up and made us stars.”
“I.... girls, you’re kidding—“ but Phil can already feel himself weakening as they each take an arm and cleverly steer him out of the room.
“Come on, it’ll be a lark,” Judy laughs, and Betty joins in, all the while moving along at a good clip to the rooms. “I’ve been just dying to see it since you told us about Wallace and Davis doing our number.”
Phil’s feet move automatically in step with them and they get him all the way across the freezing grounds and inside their room before he thinks to stutter some protest, and Judy just rolls her eyes and pushes him down on a stool.
“Now, let’s see what we can do about you. I think Betty’s dress will fit you best, since she’s broader in the shoulders—“
“Judy, you’re terrible!” Betty jokingly scolds from where she’s rummaging in the wardrobe. “But you’re right, which makes you witty and clever.” She emerges with an armful of sky blue lace and gossamer fabric, and throws it over a folding screen in the corner, Phil being herded behind it with Judy pulling off his suit jacket.
“Girls, really now—“
A ball of blue satin and a pair of sheer stockings flies over and hits him in the head, and Judy laughs. “Come on, mister, what’s taking you so long?”
Phil sighs, giving up his last shred of dignity and protest, and gets to work.
———
The dress won’t zip past his waist.
Phil feels a wash of relief at having an excuse to call this whole thing off, but he does feel a tad guilty when he accidentally snaps the pull tab off the zipper. “Judy?” he calls, sheepish, and she pokes her head round the screen.
“Hm,” Judy says pensively, looking him up and down for a minute before taking him by the arm and pulling him out from behind the screen. “Betty, do you know where my long blue hair ribbons are?”
They sit him down again and Betty fiddles with ribbons and needles at his back while Judy rummages for a hair clip and brushes his hair up and back, pinning a jeweled flower just above his ear.
“Done!” Betty announces, and Phil stands carefully.
“How does it feel?” Judy asks as he makes his way to the mirror.
“Like I’m a foot in a too-small shoe,” Phil gripes, trying his hardest not to breathe too deep and pop any stitches, and then he sees himself and forgets to breathe entirely.
He’d expected to look ridiculous, like a man in a dress, out of place and absurd and just not right, but he looks... good. Really good, in fact. The skirt is shorter on him, hitting high on his calves, and the waist nips in neatly, drawing attention to curves he didn’t think he had. His shoulders are broad and smooth under the lace, and if he turns around and cranes his neck he can see that Betty’s sewn a kind of corset lacing up the back, holding the gaping zipper together in a way that looks purposeful.
Phil’s preening a bit, turning his head a little to look at how the hairclip sparkles, how the skirt moves around his legs, and hears the door latch click. He looks up in the mirror and makes direct eye contact with Bob.
They’re frozen for a minute, a comedic tableau. Phil can feel his whole face turning bright red, but he can’t look away from Bob’s eyes, the way they go wide, skating over him from head to toe, traveling over his bare back, the lace and ribbons and his stockinged feet under the hem.
Phil jerks into motion suddenly, whirling around to face Bob. “A— um, d-didn’t anyone ever teach you how to knock?”
Bob’s eyes are caught on the hem of the dress swirling and settling around Phil’s legs. “Sorry,” he says, taking a half step forward, then stopping as if he’s not sure he’s allowed. Phil glances desperately over at Judy and Betty, sees Judy’s shoulders shaking with barely controlled laughter, and realizes he’s on his own here.
“Well,” he says, his voice cracking a bit, “shut the door behind you, before someone walks by and ruins my reputation for good.”
Bob’s eyes flick up to his, so blue, and he looks Phil up and down again, slowly this time as he reaches behind him and pushes the door shut. Phil swallows hard, and Bob watches his throat move.
A muffled giggle comes from the corner, and Bob abruptly loosens up, grins over at Betty and Judy. “This was your idea, wasn’t it?”
“Of course it was their idea, I wouldn’t have gotten into this thing for a million dollars otherwise,” Phil blusters, smoothing the skirt nervously. “Anyway, I’m really too gangly for it altogether—“
“Spin for us, won’t you?” Bob interrupts, going over to take a seat between Betty and Judy. Phil looks at them all sitting there, Judy raising her eyebrows at him, Betty hiding a smile with her hand, and Bob leaning forward, eyes still fixed on him.
He feels his face heating again, steps away from the mirror and spins, because what else can he do with Bob looking at him like that, like he would look at some girl in the chorus line with a mile of leg and a pretty smile. Phil stumbles, losing his balance for a second, and a firm arm comes around his waist.
“Careful,” Bob chuckles, pulling him upright, and Phil’s struck silent, mouth probably hanging open, as Bob steadies him, both hands at his hips. “Well now,” Bob says quietly, his eyes sharp, and Phil realizes he’s got his hands resting at Bob’s elbows, holding onto him, “I think I like you in this dress just fine.”