Vintage (27 page)

The audience laughed.

“You’ll do.” Ivanna pointed at Betsy Barrett, who was sitting in the front row. “I’m not opposed to a sugar mama, you know. I’m a modern girl.”

April panicked for a moment, hoping Betsy wasn’t embarrassed. Though she knew Betsy often spoke her mind and even swore, she was also a well-respected philanthropist in the community and might not appreciate being hit on by a drag queen.

To April’s great relief, Betsy blew a kiss to Ivanna Martini, who pretended to catch it and hold it to her heart. “Other than yours truly, everything you’ll see on the runway tonight is listed in your catalog along with the starting bidding price, in order of appearance,” said Ivanna. “If you see something you like, you can bid on it during the silent-auction part of the evening immediately following the show. There will also be a raffle for a very special item. My friend Amanda is going to come out here to show it to you.”

A long-legged queen in a gold minidress traipsed onto the stage with the boutique’s prized Hermès bag slung over her arm. The purse’s buckles gleamed under the stage lights.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Ivanna said, “give a big warm welcome to Amanda Reckenwith.”

The audience clapped and murmured to one another.

“Remember,” said Ivanna, “the more tickets you buy, the more chances you have of winning this fabulous handbag. But let’s get on with the runway show, shall we? Please sit back and open your minds, open your hearts, and, most importantly, open your wallets. Enjoy the show!”

The music started—Lena Horne sampled with a hip-hop beat—and a woman pranced across the stage in a coral-colored 1940s suit by Elsa Schiaparelli. The jacket had a nipped-in waist that flattered the model’s hourglass shape. She unbuttoned the military-style buttons and took off the jacket to reveal a matching silk shell and arms inked with colorful tattoos. April happened to know that the suit was quite rare and valuable. She’d written a little bit about its history in the program: A customer had found it in her Italian grandmother’s basement. The grandmother had bought it on a trip to New York during the war years. It had been a splurge, but she’d been so thrilled to see an Italian designer making it big in New York that she just had to own something made by Schiaparelli. She’d offered to give the outfit to her granddaughter, but the tiny suit didn’t fit the girl’s figure without the bondage of heavy-duty undergarments. Instead, grandmother and granddaughter had come into the store together and sold it. With the money, they’d driven down to Chicago to view Italian paintings at the Art Institute and have a fancy lunch together at the Drake Hotel.

Before starting her internship, April didn’t even know who Elsa Schiaparelli was. In the short time she’d been working at Hourglass Vintage, April had learned so much from Violet—how to tell if a designer garment was authentic or fake, how to tie a silk scarf, how to remove stains from vintage fabric with a Q-tip and dish soap. Most of all, she’d learned that just because something wasn’t perfect didn’t mean it wasn’t valuable.

A new model appeared onstage, this one wearing a pink 1950s dress with a frilly skirt that stood nearly straight out from her hips, supported by layers upon layers of crinoline. She wore a white mink stole over her shoulders and smiled at the audience with painted red lips.

As the show continued, every ensemble was more elaborate, more breathtaking than the last. When the final model on the program—a dark-skinned drag queen wearing a silver one-piece pantsuit with a halter neck—strutted onto the stage, the audience cheered. Amithi, looking demure in her silk sari, stood up and yelled. Even Sam, who looked a little out of place among the dressed-up crowd in his plaid shirt and jeans, got out of his seat and whistled.

April straightened out the bid forms and made sure there were plenty of pens, preparing herself for the rush of people she hoped would make their way to the silent-auction tables as soon as the curtain closed. Just when she was about to sit down, she heard an announcement from the stage.

“In just a few moments, ladies and gentlemen, the bidding will start for all the wonderful auction items you’ve seen in your catalog and onstage. But please sit tight. We have one more special guest for you this evening.” Ivanna left the stage to blaring disco music.

A blond drag queen appeared on the runway dressed in a nurse’s outfit, complete with thigh-high white patent boots and a hat with a sparkly red cross. She grabbed the microphone from its stand. “Ladies and gentlemen, I am here tonight as the assistant and humble servant to a very important doctor. His name is Doctor Love. Let’s give him a warm welcome so he’ll come out and show us his bedside manner.” The nurse held her thin, muscular arms in the air and the audience cheered.

April looked toward the stage wings to see if she could catch a glimpse of Violet’s expression. Was this planned? It wasn’t in the program. Then again, April had missed the dress rehearsal, so they could have gone over it then. With the bright lights, she couldn’t see Violet’s face clearly.

“Would you all like the good Doctor Love to pay us a house call?” the nurse yelled.

April didn’t know what to do. Had the queens gotten out of control? Taken the show in a different direction? For all she knew, Doctor Love might be a stripper.

As the audience grew louder, April closed her eyes, afraid to see what might come next. She heard the nurse say, “Well, hello, handsome doctor. Will you be performing any examinations today?”

The audience laughed and April opened her eyes.

Onstage, in a white lab coat trimmed with silver sequins, stood Charlie.

April felt light-headed and dropped into one of the chairs behind the auction tables. How did Charlie get onstage?

“Sorry, nurse,” he said. “I won’t be performing any examinations today. But I do have an important operation to do.”

“Oh?” The nurse batted her fake, glitter-crusted eyelashes.

“I botched something up and I need to fix it.”

April felt the baby moving around in her belly like an acrobat.

“What, did you sew a scalpel inside someone’s chest? Amputate the wrong . . . appendage?” The nurse grabbed the air right in front of Charlie’s crotch.

Charlie blushed as red as the cross on the nurse’s hat. “No,” he said. “All appendages that are supposed to be intact are intact.”

The nurse wiped her hand across her forehead in mock relief. “Whew. Because that would be a shame, doctor. A real shame.” She shifted her weight from one platform boot to the other and put a long-nailed hand on her hip. “So what is it, Doctor Love? What did you come here to do?”

“I came here to let my girlfriend know—well, my ex-girlfriend—that I’m sorry for what I did. I’ve been a real jerk. And a coward.”

The nurse wagged a finger. “Oh, Doctor Love, here at the Hourglass Revue we don’t tolerate that sort of thing, do we?”

The audience booed at Charlie, who held up his hands. “I know I deserve it,” he said. “I made a mistake. And now I need to make it right.”

April couldn’t believe that Charlie Cabot, who’d practically been raised at his parents’ country club, was standing onstage with a drag queen. For her.

“Is your ex out there in the audience today?” The nurse put her hand over her eyes like she was giving a sailor’s salute and looked from side to side.

“Yeah, but I don’t want to embarrass her. She knows who she is.”

The audience groaned. They’d clearly been hoping for some onstage drama.

April felt relieved. She wasn’t yet sure how she felt about this routine.

“So what do you need to tell her, Doctor Love?” the nurse asked.

Charlie stood with his shoulders square to the crowd and said, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry that we fought and even sorrier that I canceled the wedding without talking to you about it. I will never, ever hurt you like that again.”

People in the audience murmured to one another, and April bit her lip to keep from crying. She didn’t want to draw attention to herself. And anyway, she still couldn’t decide if she was flattered or pissed off.

“Doctor, you’ve been a bad boy, haven’t you? I think you need a spanking,” the nurse shouted. “Does everyone else think he needs a spanking?”

The crowd cheered. The nurse stood behind Charlie and whacked his butt several times. The audience laughed, and Charlie’s face flamed.

April smiled in spite of her shock. Just as she’d done penance for Violet by dropping off a plastic goose at her door, Charlie was doing penance for her in a very public way. And she had to admit it was funny, though painful to watch.

“That’s fair,” Charlie said when the spanking stopped. “I absolutely deserved that.”

“Oh, I’m not done with you yet,” the nurse said. She leaned in again and pinched his behind. “A pinch to grow an inch. Or eight or ten, if your girl is lucky.” She flung back her head, showing her Adam’s apple, and let out a throaty laugh. The audience joined in. “So is there anything else you want to say to your ex?”

“Just one more thing.” Charlie stuck his hands in the pockets of his lab coat. “I got in off the wait list at UW.”

April gasped. A few people in the back row turned around to look at her, and they nudged one another at the realization that she was the girl Doctor Love was talking about.

From onstage, Charlie continued. “I’m staying here in Madison with the hopes that someday, maybe not today—and that’s understandable—but someday maybe you’ll take me back and we can be together.” He pulled a hand out of his pocket and held up a tiny object that shone under the spotlights. “I got a ring this time. It’s yours if you want it.”

The audience oohed and clapped. Everyone squirmed and looked around for the girl on the other end of the proposal. The people in the back row who’d noticed her before turned and looked but didn’t say anything.

“Where is she?” the nurse said into the microphone. “Come on up here, girl. We want to see you.”

“No,” Charlie said. “Only if she wants to. Like I said, I don’t want to embarrass her. I just want her to know how much she means to me.”

“Oh, pooh,” said the nurse. “Get her up here. Come on, audience, help me out. We want the girl! We want the girl!”

The audience chanted along, stomping and clapping. Now not just the back row but the last eight or ten rows had figured out April’s identity and twisted around in their seats to stare at her. Part of her wanted to run up there and throw her arms around Charlie. She’d missed him so much, and she really wanted to believe that he had changed his mind. But her cautious, protective side held her back.

The crowd’s chant grew louder. April saw Amithi hurrying toward her up the side aisle, as fast as her tightly wrapped sari would let her go. Amithi leaned over the auction table and put her soft, small hands on either side of April’s cheeks.

“How are you doing, dear?” she asked. “Violet asked me to come back here and check on you. She was worried this might be too stressful for you.”

“Oh, I’m doing fine.” April brushed a tear from her cheek after Amithi took her hands away. “Just really surprised. Charlie was the last person I expected to see onstage.”

“You don’t have to go to him if you don’t want to,” Amithi said. “I can take you out of here and we can go somewhere quiet to talk.”

April shook her head. “I want to be here to work the auction. I’ve been looking forward to it.” She also looked forward to adding up all the cash after the show and, hopefully, figuring out how much they’d made in profit. It wasn’t every day she got to play around with numbers and calculations in such a tangible way.

“Well, we can leave for just a few minutes if you’d like, until the curtain closes,” Amithi said.

April peered up at the stage, where Charlie stood looking forlorn.

The nurse yelled, “Have you no heart, girl? Look at this man. He’s put himself through all of this for you. Come on up here and show him some love.”

Amithi studied April’s face in the dark. “You want to go, don’t you? Maybe just a little bit?”

“Maybe a little,” April whispered. “But I’m afraid of what will happen if I do. I think he really cares for me, but how can I be sure? We’ve hurt each other so much.”

Amithi put her hand on April’s arm. “You remind me a little of myself long ago. I was young, like you, when I got married.”

April had overheard Amithi talking to Violet at the store about her marital troubles. “Yeah, but he—”

“My husband broke my heart, yes. There is always that chance, with love. But to not even try—well, you might as well just not live, because nothing is certain. Sometimes you just have to take a chance.”

It was what April’s mother used to say.

She turned her eyes again to Charlie, standing onstage in his glittery lab coat, something he wouldn’t have been caught dead in if he didn’t think it would amuse her. She was pretty sure his mother, ever appropriate, would die if she could see her son now, getting harassed by a slutty nurse for April’s sake.

She got up, and although it usually took some effort to raise her pregnant belly out of a chair, she felt light. She made her way up the aisle toward the stage and broke into a clumsy run for the last few steps, being careful not to trip over the folds of the vintage maxidress she was wearing.

Charlie saw her and ran down the staircase from the stage to throw his arms around her. They kissed, and April felt as if no time had passed since their last kiss—it was warm, familiar. He was the same Charlie, still smelling of Ivory soap.

She realized she must have looked quite different to him, though, because he put his hand on her bulging stomach and looked into her eyes with wonderment.

“That’s our baby,” she said.

“Do you know if it’s a boy or a girl?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Not yet.”

“Good. I want to be there when you find out. I want to be there for everything.”

“I’m not sure yet about the ring,” April said. “I still need some time to think about getting married and all of that. I don’t want to rush into things this time.”

“It’s okay. Take as much time as you need. I’m so sorry, April. I never should have said that stuff about your mom, and you. You’re not crazy, and even if you were, I’d love you anyway.”