“Tell him I can’t wait to
see him.” I hung up and drove the five miles to Pour Femme, a chichi boutique
close to the salon where my mother and Jacks got their hair done. It was full
of beautiful dresses and gowns that cost more than I made in six months.
I walked in and probably still
smelled of eau de bacon judging by the wrinkled nose of the woman who
approached me. In her early forties, tall and painfully thin, she looked like
a chic vampire in her tight black sheath.
“Yes?” she asked with one
brow artfully raised.
Flashing Axton’s picture
around and telling my missing friend sob story had so far gotten me nowhere.
Besides, this woman would have tossed Axton’s pot-loving ass out of here in two
seconds flat.
“Hello,” I said with a
smile, “I’m here from NorthStar.” I waited for her to either toss me out on my
ass or start spilling information.
She did neither. She inspected
me from head to toe, and from her world-weary sigh, I didn’t come up to snuff.
“I wish they would send me taller girls.”
Say what, now?
“What size are you? Eight?”
“I’m a four.”
She propped her chin on the
back of her hand and pursed her dark red lips. “Up top you’re maybe a two, but
that ass is definitely an eight.”
“Excuse me?” I puffed out
my size-two chest daring her to say more.
“Come,” she said with a
disdainful look on her face and slinked across the store. “Do you need a
cocktail dress or a gown?”
“Cocktail,” I said with confidence.
“When do you need it?” she
asked, thumbing through a rack of short dresses.
“Now.” Wow, I liked this
new brazen me.
She sighed. “Of course, you
need it now. They give me short girls with big asses and they want me to work
miracles yesterday.”
I put my hands on my hips.
“That’s enough big ass talk, sister.”
She didn’t even respond.
She pulled three dresses from the rack and shoved them at me. “Try these on.”
She stretched out her arm and pointed toward the back of the shop. “In there.
Go.”
I walked to a dressing room
and hung up the three dresses she’d given me. In my old life, I took dresses
like these for granted. My dad handed me his AmEx card and I bought what I
wanted without ever looking at the price. Those days were long gone. I
glanced at the tags and almost passed out.
I took a deep breath. I
wasn’t going to have to buy anything, I reminded myself, I was just on a fact
finding trip. I’d try them on, ask a few questions, and get the heck out.
The first was a black halter
dress with a lacy bodice and a full skirt. The V-neckline exposed half my
chest.
The saleswoman knocked on my
door. “Let me see.”
I stepped out into the
store. She walked around me, like a shark circling its prey. “Not bad,” she
said. “It camouflages that bottom and minimizes your lack of breasts. Next.”
She was full of
encouragement, that one. I walked back into the room and took off the dress.
After carefully hanging it up, I tried on the next. This one was royal blue
with an asymmetrical neckline. I walked out on my own this time.
“It does not hide that big
bum of yours, but the color is flattering.”
“Hey, big butts are in, you
know. JLo, Kim Kardashian, ever heard of them?” Why was I defending myself?
I did not have a wide ass.
“Go try the next.”
I trudged back into the
dressing room. This was worse than shopping with my mother.
The last dress was dark red
with a sweetheart neckline and a full and rather short skirt. I felt like I
was ready to skate in the Olympics.
I stepped out of the
dressing room and stood there, bracing myself for another blow to my ego. She
shook her head. “Awful. Go change.” She turned and walked to the front of
the store.
Before I could make my way
back, a familiar voice stopped me.
“Rosalyn Strickland?”
Oh no. Tatum Hopkins.
Could my life possibly suck any harder?
Tatum and I attended
Huntingford Prep together. Tatum had been a cheerleader, student class rep,
Winter Court Queen, and valedictorian. Yeah, I thought she was overcompensating,
too. Tatum’s mom, Stella was in my mom’s bridge club, so I knew the news of my
shopping in the ritziest boutique in town would find its way to my mother
sooner rather than later.
Tatum kissed the airspace
near my cheek. “Oh my gosh, look at you. You look fantastic.” She tossed her
shiny dark hair and smiled. She wore a leather Burberry jacket, skinny jeans,
Manolo ankle boots, and clutched a Gucci purse.
“You too, Tatum. How are
you?”
You big label whore.
All right, I used to be one, too.
“I’m home from med school
for the weekend. I’m trying to decide where to do my residency. It’s so
hard.”
I tried to smile through the
pain. Tatum had her life all mapped out. I didn’t even know what useless
class I was going to take next semester. “I’m sure. Well, it’s been just
swell seeing you. Take care now.” I spun toward my dressing room.
“Wait, what have you been up
to?”
I turned back, with a phony
smile on my face. “I’ve been taking classes at the city college. It’s just
great.”
“You must be doing well to
shop in here. Last I heard you were slumming it as a waitress.”
She did not just say that.
With narrowed eyes, I straightened my spine. “Oh, I still am. I work at Ma’s
Diner. You should come in sometime and try the pancakes. If you don’t eat
carbs, you could always purge them later, like you used to do in high school.”
The smile slowly faded from
her face.
“Tell your mom hello for
me.” I returned to the dressing room and quickly changed into my own clothes,
then stood there for a few minutes, leaning against the wall. The Tatums of
the world made me feel like crap. All that “only you can make yourself feel
inferior” blah, blah, blah was bullshit. I felt just fine about myself before
she showed up. Mostly. I hated running into people from my old life. Axton
of course, being the exception. He was an oddball, like me. And he loved me
just the way I was.
When I came out of the
dressing room, Tatum was gone and I sighed with relief. It would have been too
humiliating to put the dresses back with her standing there, knowing I couldn’t
afford them.
The saleswoman took the them
out of my hands, then hung the blue and red on the rack. Still holding the
black one, she walked to a small desk with gilt accents and removed the price
tag. When she put the dress in a garment bag with the Pour Femme logo on it, I
started to panic. Even if I sold a kidney, I couldn’t afford that dress.
“I’m not really sure about
the black one. I need to think about it.” I began edging toward the door.
She wrote out a ticket.
“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s the best looking of the three and flatters you the
most.”
She held out the bag to me.
“Here you go. Do you have shoes to go with that?”
I stared at her for a
moment. “Um…yes?”
“Good. Tell them next time
to give a few days’ notice. You would have had more of a selection if I had
time for alterations.”
“You bet.” I grabbed the
bag and made a run for it.
It wasn’t until I was
sitting in my car that I realized I hadn’t asked her anything about NorthStar.
I dropped my head on the steering wheel. I was so freaked out at seeing Tatum
Hopkins and the thought of having to pay for the dress, that I forgot my first
objective.
I reached over to the
passenger seat and ran my hand along the side of the bag. A little thrill shot
through me. At least I got something out of it.
As I drove to Jacks’ house,
the wind made a horrible
thwap-thwap-thwap
sound against the clear
plastic bag affixed to my passenger door. It was loud and annoying, but I
didn’t feel like I was in the middle of a tornado anymore.
Scotty answered the door in
a Spiderman costume. I peered down at him, a confused expression on my face.
“Excuse me, Spiderman, do I have the wrong house? I’m looking for my nephew,
Scotty.”
He started laughing like a
little maniac and pulled up his mask. “It’s me, Aunt Rose. I fooled you.”
I gasped. “You sure did. I
thought I was at Spiderman’s place by mistake.”
He turned and ran toward living
room, leaving me to step in and close the door. The savory smell of oregano and
tomato filled the house and made my mouth water.
Although I was alone in the
foyer, all of the sudden every hair on the back of my neck stood on end. Only
one person caused that reaction.
I swung around, my hand on
the door knob, ready to make a run for it.
“Hello, Rosalyn.”
The theme from
Jaws
started to play in my head. I glanced back at her. “Hello, Mother.”
“I see you’re as surprised
as I am.” She didn’t look surprised. She looked like she’d stepped on a turd.
“I guess so.”
Her posture was as stiff as
always. She wore silky golden pants and a flowing tunic. She took in my
appearance as well, her gaze landing on my jeans.
“I talked to Stella Hopkins
today. She said Tatum ran into you at Pour Femme.”
I leaned against the door
and shoved my hands into my jacket pockets. Here we go. “Yep.”
“First of all, what were you
doing there?” She lifted her nose in the air. “I know for a fact you can’t
afford it.”
“Hey, have you been hacking
into my bank account again?”
“I know you like to think
you’re amusing, Rosalyn, but Tatum was traumatized by your rude behavior.”
Really? Traumatized? How
does the woman expect to become a doctor if she can’t handle one little
conversation? With a waitress, no less? Still, I said nothing. I was in
Jacks’ home and the last thing I wanted was another incident with my mother.
“She’s gotten treatment for
her eating disorder. You were rude and hateful. And while you sneer at people
like Tatum, at least she’s doing something with her life.”
I was getting a weird sense
of déjà vu, like I’d had this conversation before. Like a thousand times. And
she was wrong—I didn’t sneer, I’d derided. Totally different.
Before Barbara could speak
again, my sister stepped into the foyer. “Hey, you two. Isn’t this nice?”
We both gaped at her as if
she’d escaped from a mental health facility and was still wearing the straight
jacket. Her smile looked more like a grimace and her wide eyes reminded me of
a frightened horse, all wild, with the whites showing. “How about a glass of
wine? Does anyone want a glass of wine?” she asked before fleeing.
A glass? How about the
whole freaking bottle?
My mother and I eyeballed
one another as we walked from the foyer into the living room. Scotty was
telling my dad important Spiderman facts and Allen sipped a glass of whiskey.
He looked up when we entered the room.
“Hey, Rose,” he said. He
put his glass on the coffee table and reached forward to kiss my cheek,
something he’d never done.
I pulled back before his
lips could make contact. “Hey, Allen. What are you doing?”
He threw out a nervous laugh.
“Oh, sorry. How about a drink? Barb, glass of wine?”
Just then my sister walked
into the living room with a tray of cheese and crackers, a bottle, and three
glasses. “Here we go,” she said a little too loudly. She poured and handed
each of us a glass.
I stood by the fireplace,
sipped the wine and nibbled a piece of cheese. My mom refused any food and sat
down, her spine never touching the back of the sofa.
Jacqueline sent Scotty off
to change out of his costume before dinner. Once he left she turned to the
rest of us. “All right,” she said and cleared her throat. “I know you might
be a bit upset that I did all this without telling you. But I decided this unfortunate
situation has gone on long enough.” Her shoulders sagged with relief, like
she’d been screwing up all of her courage to say her little sentence and now
she could relax. My poor, deluded sister. She had no idea what hell she’d unleashed.
“Pardon me?” Barbara asked.
Her face was expressionless, her eyes cold. “To what situation do you refer,
Jacqueline?”
Pity, fascination, and a
little schadenfreude had me riveted to my sister’s reaction. Rarely was she a
victim of my mother’s displeasure. That was almost always reserved for me,
thank you very much.
Jacks’ gaze flew around. If
she was looking for help, she wasn’t going to find it in this room. “Um,”
Jacqueline said and cleared her throat again. “The situation between you and
Rose.”
“And what situation is
that?” my mother asked.