Vampires and Sexy Romance (78 page)

“This part of the conversation is over.”

I heard Bess laughing on the other end.  “You’re just bummed you didn’t get to tell me ... and he’s enormous, right?”

“Shopping,”  I said, trying to change the subject.  “I’m seeing him again tonight.  I need to buy another dress, and shoes that won’t leave me with serious injuries.”

“Don’t forget make-up. I’ll show you how to use it ... it’ll be just like having a little sister.”

I fell back onto the bed giddy with flashbacks of last night.  “We got caught in the rain ... and that’s when he kissed me.  It was so romantic, and so ...”

“Did you say rain?”  Bess’ voice turned shrill.

“Yeah, it rained last night, and we ran all the way back to my apartment.”

“In my Jimmy Choos!”

“No, silly.  I couldn’t even walk in those suckers.  I wore the black ones again.”

I could hear Bess take a sigh of relief, and then I could swear I heard her croak.  “Oh My god!  You were wearing my Halston!”

“Your what?”

“The dress!  It’s a Halston!  And it’s silk!”

My jaw dropped open as I realized that I’d simply chucked the dress at the bottom of my bed.  I scampered to the foot of the bed and looked over at the still wet, blotchy stain that used to be a stunning red silk dress. 

I gulped.  “I’ll buy you another ... today.”

“What do you mean?”  she was shouting.  “That’s a twelve hundred dollar dress!  It’s vintage!”

“I’m so sorry.”

Silence on the other end of the phone.  Then Bess started to speak, slowly and quietly, yet her voice oozed sternness.   “Now listen very carefully.  Get dressed and take the dress to Sato’s Dry Cleaning on twenty-third street.  Tell Mr. Sato that it’s my dress and that you got it wet in the rain.  Do you understand?”

I sprung from my bed and started throwing on a t-shirt and a pair of jeans.  “Yes, I hear you.”

“And do it now!”  And Bess disconnected.

God she’s mad, I thought as I grabbed the dress from the floor and stuffed into a plastic grocery sack.  I tugged on my boots and lashed my hair back in a ponytail, and ran out of my apartment, down the stairs and out onto the street.  Twenty-third was ten blocks away.  I started to jog, fear for my life jabbing my ass the entire while

*****

The line at Sato’s Dry Cleaning was three deep out the front door. After approximately twenty minutes I finally made it to the front of the line -- thank god it was my day off.  Mr. Sato was short and plump, yet stood gracefully before me as I turned over to him the grocery sack with the dress in it.  He peered into the bag and then smiled at me with a confused expression.

“This is Bess Armstrong’s dress.  I got caught out in the rain in it and --”

“This is one of Miss Armstrong’s?”  The dry cleaner said looking back into the sack.  Then his eyes became hard and shot back at me furiously.  “You‘ve destroyed the Halston!”

Damn, I thought.  Even the dry cleaner knows more about fashion than I do.

“As I was saying, I was wearing it and then it started to rain.”

“New York City rain toxic.  Why you stand out in it?”  Mr. Sato stared accusingly.

“I didn’t stand out in it!  I ...”  Well, I did make out in it for a while.  “I got caught out in it, blocks away from my apartment.”

“Couldn’t catch a cab?”  His tone of voice was really starting to irk me.

“Look, can you fix it or not?”

Mr. Sato smiled placatingly, more of a sneer.  “For Miss Armstrong I try.  No promises.”  Then he said something in Japanese that I was sure was an affront on my character.  But since I wasn’t sure -- I’d taken French in high school and one class of Spanish in college -- what the hell he’d said, and since he was my only hope to restore the  dress (and for Bess not to kill me)  I tried to smile and walked out of the store.

*****

When I returned home I was surprised to find no messages from Bess.  I called her but only got her voice mail.  “Okay, I screwed up,”  I told her voicemail.  “But Mr. Sato seemed pretty sure he could fix it.”  I omitted the “No promises” part of what he’d said.

“Call me!”

About an hour later I still hadn’t heard from Bess.  She was obviously pissed.  And I couldn’t blame her.  She’d leant me a twelve hundred dollar dress and I -- in my ignorance of fashion and fabrics -- had gotten it soaked in the toxic rain that eroded the facades of every building in the city. 

And then you left it balled up over night on your floor, a venomous voice sounded in my head. 

I felt so damn guilty.  After all she’d done to facilitate my rather steamy union with Dean, I’d failed her miserably.  I was a lousy friend.

Two more hours past and I tried her number three more times.  Still no answer.

And then when the digital clock by my bed declared it was now two in the afternoon, I suddenly remembered I had another date with Dean -- I had a flash of ecstasy as a panel of last night’s love making played in my mind.  And then I realized that I had nothing to wear, no shoes or make up ... and now no Bess to help me out.

I had a horrifying moment where I considered taking my Visa down to Macy’s and throwing myself on their mercy.  “Make me into a silk purse!”  I’d grovel.  But then I remembered how much the thong had cost.  Having them make me over might put me in bankruptcy.

With every fiber in my being I didn’t want to do what I was about to do.  I picked up and tried to dial the number three times before I finally let it ring through.  She picked up on the third ring.   “Lucy, dear, what a pleasant surprise.”   Then her voice changed, harder, gruffer.  “You’re not canceling on me, for brunch tomorrow?”

“No, Mother.”  I closed my eyes tight and held my breath for a beat or two.  “I need your help.  I need to go shopping for a dress and make-up.”

Silence. 

“I’d understand if you’re busy.  It’s just I’ve got a date --”

“With a man?”

Great!  Now even my Mother is thinking I’m a lesbian.

“Yes, he’s a man.  I just need --”

“I’ll be right there.”  And she hung up on me.

Twelve minutes later she was knocking on my door.  When I let her in she flourished excitedly into my apartment, didn’t even comment on my frizzy hair or my stained sweat pants ... or the frayed and faded t-shirt I was wearing.  She just looked like I’d told her she’d won the lottery -- or that I was getting married and had a bun in the oven already.

“Thanks for coming so quick, Mom.  I really do need your help.”

She grabbed my frayed pea coat and tossed it to me to put on.  “I was just so shocked when you said you needed to go shopping.  And then you said you had a date ... and with a man!”

“Wait a minute ...”

“I couldn’t be happier.  Now let’s go.  After we get some nice dresses, we can make a day of it at Elizabeth Arden.”

“Who’s Elizabeth Arden?”

“They are who will tame that hair and show you how to apply your make up.  “She looked me up and down.  “Maybe they can turn the rest of you into a woman while they’re at it.”

“The rest of me?”  I looked down at myself.  “What’s that supposed to mean.”

“Nothing ... nothing.”  Mother turned and closed her eyes as if hearing beautiful music -- probably “Here Comes the Bride” -- turned on the spot, simultaneously latching onto my arm and whisking us both out my apartment door and off to shop as if we were in fast forward.

*****

When we landed in front of Macy’s I broke it to her I couldn’t afford to shop there.

“My treat,” she said without batting an eyelash.

“Do you know how expensive it is to shop in there?”

“Of course I do,”  Mother scoffed.  “I shop there twice a week.”

I’d forgotten how well she’d done for herself in the divorce settlement from Dad.  Dad had told me once that she’d tripled her fortune in less than two years after the split up.  That she had a preternatural knack at picking good investments.  He joked that she was probably now worth more than he was.

I suddenly wondered if he hadn’t been right.

When she marched into the store a flock of sales women sprang to her side, calling her by name and telling how gorgeous she looked today.  She smiled generously to all of them, and called then each by name as she sounded off her marching orders. 

In no time at all they had us ushered into a private salon in the back and had shoes and dresses and even the most alluring looking underwear and bras for me to pick from.

I was so glad that Mother had told them panties and not thongs.  I would’ve died it they had brought out thongs. 

“And,” one of the hyper sales ladies told my Mother.  “Christy at Elizabeth Arden said they’d be ready for you in about an hour, if that’s alright with you?”

“That’ll fine,”  Mother said, then turned to me.  “So we better get shopping.” 

Mother flipped through the dresses the fleet of sales girls brought out.  I was dizzy, not even getting a real look at the things.  Before I knew it they all looked like multicolored swirls of mist, passing by in torrents just to be replaced by another swirl of color.

Mother plucked one dress from the mire.  It hung a few feet away, and I started to stare at it.  It was powder blue, like the sky, it was satin, I took from its shimmering shine, and it had spaghetti straps that made me nervous.

The next dress to be plucked out and placed beside the other was jade green.  It had a faint oriental flair, with a high neck and dainty sleeves that would surely slip halfway over the shoulder.  The skirt was short but the line was so elegant that I was sure I’d never be able to pull it off.

Then came a beautiful yellow frock, it was a print that swirled with gold and black, a halter top and a skirt that flowed luxuriantly to knee length.  I was sure I’d look like a bad Princess Diana impersonator.

Finally came a little black dress, this one wasn’t like Bess’; this one was slinky and probably silk.  It looked ridiculously small hanging there on its hanger.

The lingerie was brought to me and I picked out seven different pairs, some silky, some lacy, and one that had a leopard print that shimmered with gold when they moved.

Before you could say bullshit I was whisked into another salon that had a private changing room.  Two of the sales girls helped me into the first dress -- the powder blue number.

I walked out in front of Mother and she looked me over with an unreadable eye.  I turned and saw myself in the mirror.  I was showing an awful lot of skin, but damn did I look good.  The dress just fit too well.  Made me feel giddy that I could look so hot.

“That one will do,” Mother said as she lit up a cigarette.  I was about to tell her she couldn’t smoke in here, but a sales girl materialized with a crystal ashtray and placed it on the coffee table in front of Mother.  Another girl brought her a champagne glass filled with mimosa.

I caught a glance at the price tag for the blue dress.  I about fell over.  It was twice as much as the red silk dress of Bess’ that I’d ruined.

“I can’t let her spend this much money on me.”  I whispered to the sales girl.

She scoffed and smiled brightly at me.  “Do you have any idea how much she spent on what she’s wearing right now?”

I shook my head.  “NO idea.”

It’s a one-of-a-kind silk Armani suit with a Vera Wang silk top and Minolo Blanik sling-backs.  She could buy you one of these for every day of the month.”

I must have had my mouth open, because the girl pushed it back up till my mouth was closed again.  “Your Mom is the richest of the rich bitches, why do you think half the staff’s back here helping her spend?”

I gulped as she zipped me up into the green number.

I walked out, a little stunned still from the sales girls revelation about my Mother’s finances -- I took a really good look at the exquisite outfit she had on.  And thought I couldn’t understand how a suit might cost so much, I had to admit Mother had great taste.  She looked sensational!

She looked the green dress over on me and frowned.  I turned and looked in the mirror, she was right.  The color made me look sickly, and the skirt, though accentuating my legs, made my hips look wide as a house.

In a flash I was changed into the little black number.  I felt like a prostitute walking out there in front of Mother, but the cunning smile she passed to me made me stand up straighter and then spin around to see what I looked like in the full length mirror.

I looked like freaking Julia Roberts!  It was too skimpy, it was too short, and too tight -- but I looked freaking crazy gorgeous in it.

“That one too,”  Mother reported before I even turned around to look her way again.

Another trip into the changing room and I came out in the yellow print dress.  I spun around and looked in the mirror before I even let Mother pass judgment.  I looked great.  Sexy and feminine, and elegant.  And the skirt made my legs look great.

“I don’t know,”  Mother said to me.  “It doesn’t really do anything for your breasts.”