In Your Room (7 page)

“Where does this one go?” Molly asked, taking a men’s burgundy velvet vest with a ton of potential from a cardboard box.

Penelope peered over the reading glasses perched on her nose to get a better look. “Front right corner, honey. Put it with the blazers. That’s the first vest I’ve seen in years.”

Molly shook it out and smoothed her hands over the fabric, imagining the various outfits she could pair it with—after making the necessary additions and adjustments, of course. When Molly left the store two days before, working there, let alone ever coming back, was the last thing she thought would ever happen. But when Penelope called with the offer, Molly accepted. She had spent the better part of the interim days in the house while her mother and Ron went off on local excursions. They had invited her along, but she had continuously turned them down in the name of working on her Cynthia Vincent application. While she had officially
given up on completing it, it provided the perfect excuse to avoid hanging out with the “lovebirds.”

And if she was honest, she’d have to admit that she was secretly holding out hope that a brilliant idea would come knocking—one that would easily win her the internship.

But no amount of staring at a blank page, perusing fashion websites, or checking her e-mail inspired her or made the time alone pass any faster. The job at the thrift store had gone from no-way-in-hell to might-as-well in less than forty-eight hours. Sifting through old clothes for a few hours a day gave Molly a reason to get out of the house, and if it didn’t work out, she could always quit. Rina was a firm believer that every open door was a potential opportunity for life change, and Molly wasn’t in a position to be turning any down.

“You’re making good progress,” Penelope observed. Molly had already unpacked and sorted through three boxes. “It’s amazing what an extra pair of hands will do. Let’s see what else I have in back.”

Penelope led Molly through a door behind the desk into another room. Maybe it was that she’d been in a rush to leave the last time she was there, but Molly was only now noticing that Penelope had style. “I like your outfit,” she said, taking in her white tunic paired with a silk turquoise scarf draped loosely around her neck.

“Thanks, honey,” Penelope said, smoothing her blouse. “Where is that damn thing?” she grumbled, feeling along the wall with her other hand. “Ah, there it is.”

The room lit up, revealing overflowing shelves displaying old costume jewelry, intricate boxes, and every kind of knickknack you’d find at a flea market. More racks of clothes stood against the back wall, and three naked
mannequins, one of which was missing an arm, were crammed into a corner.

“Wow,” Molly said, walking in. “There’s so much stuff in here.”

“Junk. All junk, but I have a hard time throwing anything out. Not much to sell back here except what’s in this pile,” Penelope said, pointing to a box by her feet.

Molly was already on the other side of the room, inspecting the mannequins. “Why don’t you use these?”

“You know, I picked those up at a garage sale a couple years back and forgot they were even here. Pretty silly, since they’re staring me right in the face.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Molly started, “but I think a display could be good for business. I don’t mind making one for you.” Molly loved window displays, especially ones that took risks and paired unusual items together to create a new look or a variation on a style. Molly also believed that as a designer it was key to know not only how to make clothes but how to put them together, and she’d always wanted to create a window display.

“Darling, do I mind?” Penelope said. “That’s the best offer I’ve gotten all year! Let me dust these off and help you bring them out front.”

They carried the mannequins one at a time through the store and stood them side by side in the display. Penelope wiped down the window while Molly spent the next hour carefully scouring the racks for clothes to dress them in.

Once she narrowed it down to a few select items, Penelope brought her a box of pins and Molly got to work. Dozens of people streamed by, all of whom seemed to turn and stare at Molly standing up there, like she was on display too. Once she got going, though, she became so absorbed in mixing
and matching outfits that she forgot about the eyes on her—until there was a knock at the window. Molly didn’t hear it until it came a second time, louder and more deliberate. She turned around with three pins clenched between her teeth and saw Sylvia, the red-haired girl from the coffee shop, standing out on the sidewalk, with a confused look on her face.

Molly stuck the pins in the back of a men’s pin-striped shirt that one of the mannequins was wearing to give it more shape, then hopped down off the mounted pedestal. “I’ll be out front,” she called out to Penelope, who was sorting through paperwork at her desk.

“It’s about time you had a break. Take your time, honey.”

“Wow,” Sylvia said, when Molly came out. “Who knew there was anything that cool in there.”

“That’s why I thought a display might help. It’s obviously not finished yet.”

“But it looks amazing already! I’ve lived here my whole life and never even been in this store. It always seemed so old and creepy, but now I want that outfit,” she said, pointing to the mannequin in gray-colored cords, the velvet burgundy vest, and a delicate white blouse, creating a Ralph Lauren circa 1982 effect; the other two were still in a state of semi-undress, but Molly had at least masked the missing arm with a hand-knit poncho she had dug up in the back.

“You should come in and see what else we have,” Molly said, ignoring Sylvia’s comment about the store. She had felt the same way the first time she’d stood in front of the window, but now that she was an official employee, her perspective had started to change, and she even felt a tiny bit defensive about the shop.

“So you work here now?” Sylvia asked.

“Yup, as of this morning.”

“Okay, you’re definitely not the usual summer tourist,” Sylvia said. “So why
are
you here? I take it it wasn’t because of this job. There must be a million better thrift stores in L.A.”

“I didn’t have much say in the matter,” Molly explained. Off Sylvia’s look, she added, “My mom and her new husband decided it would be great if I tagged along on their extremely long honeymoon.”

“Romantic.” Sylvia laughed. “So where are you newlyweds staying?”

“Very funny,” Molly said, rolling her eyes. It was nice to have someone her own age to talk to. “We’re doing a house swap with a family around here. We’re staying in their house, they’re staying in ours. Now that’s romance.”

“I’ve heard about that kind of thing,” Sylvia said. “A bunch of people around here do it. I’d kill to escape my life right now if it were a remote possibility.”

“It’s not all it’s cracked up to be, trust me.”

Sylvia’s eyes welled up and she sat down on a nearby park bench.

Molly felt her stomach twist. Had she said the wrong thing? She followed Sylvia and sat down next to her—watched her wringing her hands, heard her ragged breathing.

It was heartache, no doubt about it. Molly was familiar with the feeling. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

“No. No, it’s okay,” Sylvia said, dabbing her eyes with a tissue to stop her mascara from running. “It’s just that my boyfriend and I broke up, and I guess I’m still having a hard time facing reality.”

“I understand,” Molly said. She didn’t, technically, since she’d never had a boyfriend, but if she had, she wouldn’t want it to end either.

“I totally fell for him. My friends warned me that he was a player, but
I refused to listen. I thought things were different with me, that he really cared.” She blew her nose. “I was so wrong.”

“What happened?” Molly asked tentatively, not wanting to pry too much.

“He came over after school one day and announced that it was over. Just like that, completely out of the blue.”

“Did he say why?”

Molly’s question brought on another round of tears. “Because he didn’t like me anymore.”

“Wow. I can’t believe he said that.” She was amazed that anyone could be so heartless. “What a jerk.”

“I know,” Sylvia agreed. “I was such an idiot.”

“You can’t blame yourself. He’s the one who has the problem, and you deserve a lot more than that.”

“Thanks,” Sylvia said, managing a half-smile. For a moment, they sat in comfortable silence.

“Why don’t you come in and try it on?” Molly suggested, nodding toward the mannequin’s outfit.

“My break’s over,” Sylvia said. “I better get back.” She rose from her seat, then paused. “Thanks for listening, though.”

“Sure,” Molly said. “Anytime.”

• • •

The house was empty when Charlie returned. Sally and Lisa were still at work, and the girls were god knows where with Celeste, who had come by that morning and offered to take them on an excursion. She had invited Charlie too, but he’d opted to spend the day alone. There was only so much girl talk he
could take, and he was going to that party with Celeste in a few hours anyway.

He went up to his room, kicked off his muddy shoes, and left them by the door. Three days in and he’d managed to avoid ruining anything yet. He turned on the stereo and played his current favorite song, “Together,” by the Raconteurs. He took off his shirt, sweaty from his ride, a worn red vintage tee from Second Time Around advertising Coke, and lay down on the bed with his laptop. Cheese suddenly appeared and jumped up on his lap.

“Hey, guy,” he said, rubbing the cat’s chin. “Let’s see what news Molly brings from Boulder.” He opened his laptop and checked his inbox, which was empty. “Out of luck, Cheese-man. She’s probably still hard at work—unlike you and me.”

He got up and walked over to the wall of photos and stared at the ones of Molly. “So who else calls her Molls?” he asked, looking down at his feet, where the cat was doing figure eights between his legs. “Is it her boyfriend, little guy? Is that what you’re trying to tell me?”

“Um, excuse me, I don’t mean to interrupt your little moment, but we’re going to be late.” Celeste was standing in the doorway, her arms loaded with shopping bags.

“Whoa! How long have you been standing there?” Charlie asked, hoisting the cat up in his arms to cover himself.

“Long enough to know that you’re not ready…and that you talk to cats. Out loud.”

“Where are my sisters?” Charlie asked, changing the subject. He grabbed the nearest shirt, which happened to be the one he’d just taken off, and put it back on inside out.

“They’re in their room, trying on their new purchases. Expect a fashion show in about five,” she said, coming into the room. “And I see that
someone’s shy,” she said, tugging on his sleeve. “Ewww. And way sweaty.” She jerked her hand away.