10 Lethal Black Dress (15 page)

CHAPTER 18

“I am not driving your
great gray whale
of a minivan, Felicity. Just drive.”

Felicity took the wheel and headed the minivan straight
toward Polly Sue’s vintage store in Takoma Park, Maryland, a suburb sometimes
referred to by Washingtonians as “the People’s Republic of Takoma Park.” It was
known, among other things, for its political correctness and a popular farmer’s
market.

“Why here?” Lacey asked, as Felicity maneuvered her gray van
into a too-small space in the rain. Lacey closed her eyes and hoped she
wouldn’t hear the sound of metal on metal. She didn’t. Felicity was a pro
minivan commander, speeding north through D.C.’s maze of streets and traffic
and road construction and Presidential motorcades in record time. Lacey was
fine, except for the motion sickness. They jumped out and darted through the
rain into Polly Sue’s.

“Because you mentioned this one in a column, silly, and then
Courtney Wallace did one of her Channel One spots from this store. She made it
look like fun.”

So Courtney was responsible for Felicity’s sudden interest
in vintage attire
. It figured that Felicity would take Wallace’s word over
Lacey’s.

“It’s much nicer than that Killer Thingy store up in
Baltimore,” Felicity went on, “according to Courtney.”

“You mean Killer Stash?”

“Whatever. And there’s an organic market near here that I
want to check out.”

Of course.
There would be food involved. Lacey closed
her eyes and rubbed her forehead. “What are you looking for in a dress?”

“Something cheap. You’ll find the perfect thing for me, I
just know it.”

That was the funny thing about Felicity. She’d been planning
the menu for her wedding reception practically since the moment she met Harlan
Wiedemeyer. Granted, she hadn’t made any firm decisions, but she was doing
something about the food every single day. Felicity refused to believe that the
guests didn’t really care about the menu at the wedding. Certainly not as much
as this bride. But this was one bride who didn’t care nearly as much about the
dress.

“Any particular color? Ivory, cream, snow white? Length?
Style? Look? Period?”

“A white dress. Pretty. Something that fits. What about you,
Lacey? What kind of dress would you have, if that handsome Victor Donovan of
yours ever gets around to asking you to marry him?”

Good old Felicity, always managing a little dig. Well, I
have my own secrets. So there.

But Lacey froze at the thought of choosing a wedding gown.
Wasn’t it enough to decide on a ring? She wasn’t hung up on what everybody else
was wearing. She could always wear her lovely Gloria Adams dress, though it was
blue. She liked the idea of a light-colored wedding gown, although the Morning
Glory Blue was a bit intense.

“I’ll know it when I see it,” she said.

“That’s how I feel too.”

Sure you do.

Polly Sue’s was one of Lacey’s favorite vintage stores. They displayed
a healthy selection of mid-century clothing, with some nice older offerings
from the turn of the twentieth century, the early 1920s and 1930s. There were
even a few wedding gowns, including a tiny Victorian number, meant to be worn
with a waist-cinching corset. It looked like it might fit a child, but not a
full-grown, twenty-first-century woman. They looked through all the racks, but
Polly Sue’s had nothing in Felicity’s size, not even a housedress. In fact, it
would be difficult even for Lacey to fit into many of these tiny dresses.

Lacey introduced herself to the new saleswoman, dressed in nerdy
but severe all-black and big square black-framed glasses, and asked if there
was anything in back, or set aside, in a larger size. It didn’t even have to be
a wedding dress. The answer was no.

“Courtney Wallace came here,” Felicity said. “She mentioned
your shop on TV.”

“Yes, but she didn’t wear anything she bought here,” the
saleswoman said.

“What did she purchase?” Lacey said.

“Evening gown. Thirties. Not the one she died in, thank God.
We like to be known for our killer style, but not, you know, literally.”

“Do you happen to know where she found the dress she wore to
the White House Correspondents’ Dinner?”

“The Madame X dress? That’s what you called it, right?”

“That’s right.”
Another reader.

“Great dress. Good name for it, too. No, I have no idea. I
pretty much know all the shops in the area. There’s one possibility though.
There’s a new vintage shop in Del Ray in Alexandria. The kind of shop that’s
open when the mood strikes.”

“Really?”
How do I not know about this?
Lacey thought
she knew all the vintage shops around town.

“Ingrid Something. Allendale. Ingrid Allendale. Brand-new
shop. Used to do most of her business in Charlottesville, but I heard she
recently moved back home to take care of her parents. Her stuff is amazing. I
don’t know where she finds it. She’s more of a curator than a seller. Her stuff
is that good. But good luck finding her in. Better call first.”

Lacey took down the address and phone number and gave the
woman her own card. “I have a question. What’s up with all the Geek Chic these
days?”

She eyed the collection of distinctly nerdy clothes and black-framed
glasses. The saleswoman sported an austere version of the same look, like a
Beat Movement librarian.

“Geek is what Washington does best. Wild, isn’t it? Go
figure. People are embracing it. Making it cool. Making it chic. Wearing it
with a hip, self-aware irony.”

“Not everyone.”

The woman laughed. “True. And self-awareness is asking a lot.
But hey, if it sells, we’re there.”

Felicity sighed deeply, signaling to Lacey that she was ready
to leave. Her round doll face fell into a frown. She was pouting. Outside,
Lacey tried to smooth Felicity’s ruffled feathers.

“It’s just one store.”
One down and heaven only knows how
many more to go.
“Don’t be so glum.”

“I thought it would be easy.”

“Easy? Felicity, shopping is never easy. Style is not easy.
Sloppy is easy. Comfortable is easy. This is your wedding. You are looking for
a wedding gown. It’s once in a lifetime, if you’re lucky. Weddings are not
easy. They are hard. They take a lot of work.”

“You sound just like your column.” Felicity put her minivan
in drive. “Let’s get to that market. I’ve heard they’ve got great organic
veggies.”

While Felicity was inside scooping up organic goat cheese and
other sundry healthy foods, Lacey stayed in the car and prayed for inspiration.
She jotted down a few notes for a column on Washington Geek Chic, which made
her snicker. Suddenly, she thought of something that just might help in
Felicity’s hopeless quest for the unicorn, that perfect cheap vintage wedding
dress. It was a risk, however. She didn’t want to insult Felicity.

Oh, go ahead, insult her,
she thought.
She insults
me all the time.

The food editor hopped into the driver’s seat after setting
two bags of healthy, politically correct, organic groceries in the back. “I
can’t believe you didn’t want to come inside. They have incredible stuff.
Samples too.”

“My head is throbbing. Listen, Felicity, I have one thought
left. This is a long shot, and the dresses might not be vintage, but a few
bridal shops sometimes donate their older sample sizes to certain Goodwill
stores. There’s a sale on them this week, a June-bride promotion. I wrote a
news brief about it in the paper.”
And promptly forgot about it.

Felicity’s eyes lit up. “Real bridal gowns? At Goodwill? Why
didn’t you tell me?”

“You wanted a vintage gown. Remember? Something pretty?”

“I don’t care about that! I just don’t want to spend a lot.
Really? Goodwill? We have to hurry,” she wailed, “those dresses could all be
gone by now!” Felicity checked the map on her phone. There was a participating Goodwill
store within striking distance.

“You have to know they won’t have every size in stock,” Lacey
warned her. “They may not have your size. These are manufacturers’ samples.
Some might be soiled, damaged, or store returns. But it’s my last idea. Take it
or leave it. ”

“I’ll take it.” Felicity gunned the minivan in the direction
of the Northeast D.C. Goodwill store, near New York Avenue. “This better work.”

There was a threatening note in her voice. She was a bride in
desperation.

Inside the entrance of the store, under the harsh fluorescent
lights, they were greeted by a large rack full of fluffy bridal gowns. Oddly,
the rack, crammed with snowy white frocks, seemed to have been ignored by
Goodwill shoppers, as if bridal gowns at a thrift store were too kooky to
contemplate. On the other hand, maybe this was just a midday lull in store
traffic. In which case, they needed to act fast. Lacey started at one end,
Felicity stood paralyzed at the other.

The first few dresses Lacey looked at had obviously been worn
before. One was torn and stained.
Wine or tears?
Oh no, I hope this
isn’t the Bridal Rack of Broken Dreams.
Lacey prayed these dresses were not
all donated by heartbroken widows, jilted brides, or divorcees. She certainly
wasn’t going to voice her bad-luck fears to Felicity. She pressed grimly on.
Time was of the essence. Lacey dared not be late for the Granville interview.

A quick inspection revealed that most of the other garments
still had the original tags. Lacey breathed a sigh of relief: Samples! These
unsold dresses weren’t exactly going for a song, but they were marked down by
hundreds of dollars, some by thousands. Most were only a year old, last year’s
styles, and Lacey was surprised by their quality.

“It’s sort of overwhelming,” Felicity said.

“Focus, Felicity. I need some direction from you. What do you
want? Beading? Ruching? Plain? Fancy? Neckline? Sleeves? No sleeves? Off the
shoulder? Long? Short? Ball gown? Mermaid?”

“Yeah. Sure. Whatever. Something that fits.” Felicity nodded
helplessly, her blue eyes wide.

“Great.” Lacey tried not to roll her eyes. There was freedom,
and a gin and tonic, in her future. She simply had to live that long.

Because they were samples, most of the dresses were sizes
eight and ten. But hidden in the middle of the white tulle forest Lacey found
some sample gowns made especially for the “full-figured” woman. The brand seemed
to be called “Curvaceous Bride.” Lacey zeroed in on them. There were three
possible sample gowns that just might fit Felicity, with minimal alteration: a beaded
ball gown, a mermaid style, and one in a sleeker A-line silhouette with ruching
on the sides. All three were clean, new, unworn, and had sweetheart necklines.
Take
it or leave it, sweetheart.

Felicity grabbed the fluffiest one, the ball gown, and charged
toward the dressing room with Lacey right behind her, struggling to carry the
other two dresses. Those two had straighter lines and might be more figure-flattering,
but Felicity was dazzled by the ball-gowned princess who suddenly appeared in
her mind. Lacey tapped her foot while she waited, worried that Felicity was
either frozen again in panic or mesmerized by her mirror image. She worried
about her four o’clock interview. Her previous serenity had flown.

Finally, Felicity emerged, in a flurry of ruffles and lace
and beading. She lifted the heavy skirt and made her way to the mirror, heavy
brown clogs smacking the linoleum. She seemed not to notice that she was dragging
the skirt on the floor. It needed to be hemmed an inch or so for safety’s sake,
depending on what shoes Felicity chose. Lacey hoped they wouldn’t be clogs, of
any color whatsoever.

“I can’t reach all the buttons. Could you?” Felicity turned
and Lacey fastened the rest, adding lady’s maid services to her personal
shopper duties.

The elusive fluffy white unicorn of a gown fit Felicity
amazingly well. The beaded sweetheart bodice was more flattering than Lacey
expected, and the bell sleeves with delicate lace kindly covered Felicity’s
upper arms and flared just below the elbows. There was a glittering, bejeweled,
sky-blue ribbon belt that fastened around the waist. The dress commanded
attention, and space, and could not be ignored. Scarlett O’Hara with her many
hoops would have nothing on this skirt. Felicity looked like a doll stuck in a
cake, a cake with layers and layers of fluffy white icing.

“Perfect,” Felicity declared, in love with her image, even in
the unflattering fluorescent lighting and wavy mirror. “And look at this blue
belt. I just decided this is my color for the wedding. It matches my eyes.
Harlan loves this color.”

“This is the one?” Lacey couldn’t believe her ears. “You’ve
decided? Really? Just like that?” Felicity had changed the wedding cake plans at
least twenty times. But Lacey shouldn’t have been surprised. Felicity simply
picked the dress most resembling a giant
dessert
. “Do you want to at
least try on the other two?”

What am I saying,
Lacey thought.
Take the dress and
run!

 “Nope. This is it, Lacey. I’m sure. I’ll tell Hillary to
find bridesmaid dresses in this blue color.”

“You could let your bridesmaids choose their own dresses. In
the same color.”

“What? Choose their own dresses? Don’t be ridiculous.”

“That’s what a lot of brides are doing these days.” She knew
it was a vain hope. She would soon be wearing one of those bridesmaid dresses.

“Lacey, Lacey, Lacey. Don’t you know anything about weddings?
The dresses have to go together, they have to
match
. I don’t know how
you can write a fashion column without knowing that.”

“How indeed.” How could Lacey be here at Goodwill, shopping
for wedding dresses with Felicity Pickles? The world was topsy-turvy. “You
should at least try on one other dress. To make sure this is your favorite.”
Somebody
shut my mouth, please.