Chapter Fifteen
Bev and Jackie stepped out of a cab and into Neiman Marcus. It was the week before the gala, and Union Square glittered with the heat of an Indian summer afternoon.
“You are going to love this,” Bev assured her.
“Don’t count on it,” Jackie said, shaking her head. “I am perhaps the world’s worst shopper.”
“Then since I am a practiced devotee,” Bev said, her eyes twinkling, “we stand a chance.”
Bev had insisted that Neiman’s was absolutely the best place to buy an evening gown. And, she’d added, they were having their annual sale. Somehow she’d also managed to talk Jackie into inviting her along.
Jackie flipped through the racks of exquisite gowns and pulled out three that caught her eye. When she saw the original prices, she found herself calculating how much seal food the same money would buy or how many samples she could send out for testing.
“No, no and no,” Bev said, pulling the gowns from her hands. “Those are definitely not your colors. Way too drab.” She lifted out a copper silk dress and a gold one, and hung the darker gowns Jackie had chosen back on the rack.
“May I take those to a dressing room for you?” asked a well-dressed woman around Bev’s age. Bev handed her the two gowns. “I’m Lauren.” The woman smiled. “I’ll be your stylist. Follow me, please.”
“Stylist?” Jackie mouthed to Bev as they tromped off behind Lauren.
“Trust me,” Bev whispered.
Moments later, Jackie stood in an elegant dressing room, eyeing herself in the floor-to-ceiling three-way mirror. After she’d told her about the gala, her mother had wired money, delighted that Jackie was finally going to dress like a lady. As Jackie fingered the price tags, she remembered the Thoreau quote warning one to be wary of any occasion that required new clothes. She was beginning to think he was right.
But as she surveyed her faded jeans and oversize sweatshirt, she realized that it had been a very, very long time since she’d fussed over her appearance. Except the day she’d dressed for the ball game. For him, a little voice niggled. She’d felt uncomfortable that day too.
“Let’s start with this one, shall we?” Lauren said, dragging Jackie back from her thoughts.
Lauren helped her slip the copper silk dress over her head, then motioned for Jackie to step up onto the pedestal in front of the mirror.
“It’s perfect,” Bev announced from her perch near the door.
Jackie pivoted on the pedestal. She looked into the mirror and saw her reflection framed by the soft light filtering down from the chandelier. Her stomach tightened. In her work clothes she felt safe, in control of her world and most everything in it.
But as she pivoted again and watched the graceful lines of the silk follow the contours of her body, she felt... vulnerable.
There was no other word for the ripple of tension that swept her. And the awed look on Bev’s face did nothing to make her any more comfortable. The last time she’d fussed over a gown, it had been her wedding dress. She stared into the mirror and wasn’t sure the person staring back was as ready to step into life as she’d hoped.
“Nice shoes,” the stylist said.
Jackie admired the woman’s tact. They were her good shoes, thick-strapped sandals with a bit of a heel that she wore only for special occasions, but they looked tawdry in this setting.
“But I believe we have just the shoes for that gown,” Lauren said with a practiced smile.
Before Jackie could protest, Lauren picked up the phone near the door and instructed someone to bring up the “evening flight” in size nine. The description sounded like something out of a fairy tale.
“I’ll be right back,” Lauren said and scooted out the heavy door. A moment later she came in with a tray that held a half bottle of champagne and two glasses. She handed one to Bev and one to Jackie.
“You’ll have to have your hair done,” Bev said, tapping her manicured nails against her glass. How the woman managed to feed whole fish to elephant seals and sea lions, perform intricate surgeries and maintain a manicure was beyond Jackie.
“No way,” she protested. There were limits to what one could bear. She took a sip of the champagne. It was crisp and cold, but it didn’t loosen the grip of the odd anxiety drumming in her chest.
“And I have a very good hairdresser,” Bev persisted, sipping her champagne. “I promise it’ll be painless.” She put her glass on a small table, then stepped around Jackie and lifted her hair up off her neck. With her other hand she pulled the clip from her own chignon and clipped Jackie’s hair into a graceful swirl atop her head.
Jackie studied herself in the mirror. The style made her neck look graceful, made her look taller and sleeker. When Lauren nodded her approval, the vulnerable feeling wound its way a little deeper into her body.
A quiet knock called Lauren to the door. She took a stack of shoeboxes from an assistant and clicked the door shut once again. Jackie watched as she opened first one box, then another. With a little shake of her head she replaced the lids then opened the third box and smiled.
“These,” she said with an approving nod, “these are the ones. Perfect.” She pulled out a pair of heeled gold sandals with thin, jeweled straps. “The gown is so simple, these accent it perfectly. Of course you’ll need a shrug.”
“She’ll need more than a shrug.” Bev laughed. “A Kevlar cape is more like it.” She turned to Jackie. “You look stunning. Donors had better check their wallets at the door.”
Jackie couldn’t laugh. She took a breath and balanced as Lauren strapped on the jeweled sandals. Then she turned to the mirror. The woman who smiled back did indeed look like a creature from a fairy tale. She moved her hand just to make sure the image was really her, that she wasn’t hallucinating under some spell induced by champagne and soft lighting. She turned away from the mirror and back to the two women watching her.
“Do they spray some sort of pheromone in here that makes people go mush-brained and lose their sense of reality?” she asked with a tentative smile.
“I detect a sense of humor, Dr. Brandon.” Bev grinned. She took hold of Jackie’s wrist and pretended to check her pulse. “Your vitals are returning to normal—a very good sign. Whew”—she swiped the back of her hand across her forehead in mock alarm—“I thought we’d lost you.”