Free Food for Millionaires Page 8

  The problem was that Ella could barely remember her choice. There had been so many: lace, ornaments, sleeves, straps, belts, flowers—with or without. It had been her father’s office manager, Sharlene, who’d made the appointment for her and her father at Bayard’s. But when Ella went to her father’s office to pick him up, it turned out that one of his postoperative patients had gotten a viral infection and Dr. Shim had to return to the hospital. He’d left a scribbled note for her on the pink telephone message pad: “Go for broke.” Sharlene, who felt sorry for the girl, had added, “Your dad really did say that you can get whatever you want.” Ella had smiled bravely at the kind lady who’d told her only what Ella already knew, so she’d trudged off to face the snowy blur of dresses by herself. It was after purchasing the costliest dress there that she’d come down the escalator to spot Casey standing before a pile of clothes she’d intended to put on hold.

  The elevator stopped at three. A pair of attractive women stepped in, chatting glumly about the troubles their husbands were having at work.

  Casey ignored them and, staring intently at Ella, asked about the sleeves. Ella used hand gestures again to illustrate the style.

  In her mind, Casey was filling in the blanks with words she’d picked up over the years working retail and from the dressmaking classes she’d taken during the summers at FIT: ivory satin silk, portrait neckline, A-line bodice with princess seams, tapered sleeves, no train, hem trimmed with seed pearls. Sounded all right. Just all right, however. Casey paid attention to Ella’s tone of voice—brimming with a fear of rebuke.

  After living with Ella for a month, Casey knew her host’s safe wardrobe: Talbots, L. L. Bean, Lands’ End, Bass Weejuns. Ella dressed like a beautiful preppy nun—Peter Pan–collared blouses, dark A-line skirts or pleated-front pants, Hanes nude stockings, boxy Shetland cardigans, stacked heel pumps with tassels. But Miss Zero Fashion Sense had screwed up the courage to ask Casey for help because she was terrified that Ted, a dandy extraordinaire, wouldn’t approve of her dress. For fancy parties, Ted bought dresses for her. But neither felt it was right for him to help with her wedding dress.

  The attractive women got off at five. As they left, Casey caught a whiff of Eau de Camille, a favorite scent of hers.

  Then she got an idea. There were other ways to discern a shy customer’s preferences. “You don’t wear perfume, do you?”

  “No, Ted doesn’t like perfume or makeup.”

  “Really?” Casey said skeptically. “But do you?”

  Ella shrugged.

  “Okay. Think of smells you like.”

  Ella wrinkled her brow. Casey reached over to smooth the little V in Ella’s forehead with her fingertips. “Don’t do that.” This was something Sabine had taught her to be conscious of—to prevent wrinkles.

  Ella thought about it. “Oranges. And cinnamon.”

  Casey smiled. “Food. Colors.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Comfort, pleasure, warmth. Those come to mind. Yes?” Casey tried to look patient. “This isn’t a science. I just try to associate ideas with whatever you choose. Then I wonder if that’s how you want others to see you. If that’s how you see yourself. Then, how do you put that onto something you want to wear? Do you understand me?”

  It made little sense to Ella, but she was intrigued. “Maybe you can help me choose one. A scent, I mean.”

  “We’re searching for a dress, darling.”

  Casey gave her one of her shop assistant smiles—full of courtesy and innocence. She felt like giving up. In her mind, she could hear Ella asking her to tell her who she was. How was she supposed to do that? How could anyone tell you who you are? The elevator stopped at six.

  “What scents do you like?” Ella asked, exiting the elevator.

  “Tuberose, gardenia, lilies.”

  “And that means what?”

  “Knowing my preferences won’t help you know yours,” Casey replied, her annoyance undisguised. The bridal department was not ten yards away from the elevator. Casey slipped her hand in the crook of Ella’s arm to keep her from walking ahead. She motioned to the empty camelback sofa parked opposite the lingerie department.

  “Sit,” she said, and Ella sat down. “Let me see the receipt.”

  Ella withdrew it from her purse and handed it to her. She stared at the mirrored surfaces of the elevator doors, fearful of Casey’s response. The dress had cost eight thousand dollars.

  Casey nodded impassively. This was her inured response to having been surrounded by the wealthy for so many years. She would never have asked the price, except that she had to know Ella’s budget. Obviously there was none.

  Casey read the back of the receipt carefully. “May I?” she asked before tucking it into her skirt pocket. “Now, for the last time.” She took a breath. “How would you like to look at your wedding?”

  “I never thought much of it, you know?”

  “Again with the you-knows. You’re giving women’s education a terrible name.”

  Ella laughed. “What kind of dress would you wear, Casey?”

  “I’m not the one getting married.”

  “Do you want to get married?”

  Casey frowned, irritated by Ella’s inability to stay on point. Virginia had often remarked that Casey thought like a man. It was Virginia’s argument that women thought in branches and men in trunks. Ella’s distractible nature made Casey feel masculine.

  “No. I don’t want to get married. I’m twenty-two years old.”

  “I’m twenty-one,” Ella said.

  Casey whistled. “I know.”

  Ella twisted the gold braid strap of her Chanel handbag—a birthday present from Ted—her slim white fingers fluttering across its quilted leather body. The girl needed comforting. That was obvious. Casey tried to think of what she should say. Ella had everything. Absolutely everything. Now she wanted Casey to assure her that she was making the right decision about her marriage. It seemed to Casey that despite Ella’s bountiful generosity, she was almost greedy in wanting her approval, too. How was it possible to give affirmation to the winner when you were so clearly the loser?

  “Go back to the dress.”

  “I barely remember it, Casey. I was so overwhelmed.” Ella’s slender neck bent as if burdened by a heavy yoke.

  Casey then recalled how some women dragged girlfriends along to choose a rain hat, an item costing fifty bucks at Sabine’s. Ella had chosen her wedding dress alone, and though Casey would’ve preferred to do that for herself if the occasion ever arose, it occurred to her that Ella had had no choice about it. Ella had no mother or sister. Ella was closest to her father and Ted, but they were useless for a number of things that women did for one another without thinking. Casey had many people who liked her but few she told anything to and fewer she asked anything of. From the outside, it looked as though Casey and Ella were opposites, but they were similar in the small number of intimates in their lives.

  “Do you think I’m too young to get married?” Ella asked. David had joked once that she was nearly a child bride.

  “Well, no.” Casey dished out the appropriate response. She herself had entertained the idea of marrying Jay a few weeks ago, but she saw now how perfectly stupid that would have been.

  Ella fidgeted with the flap of her handbag, clicking and unclicking the latch, refusing to look into Casey’s eyes. Ella knew she wasn’t a confident person, but when it came to her upcoming marriage, she felt more insecure than usual. It wasn’t her father’s style to overrule her, not that it had ever needed doing, but he’d mentioned in a vague way that a long engagement might be nice. What would Ella have done if Casey said out loud what her father refused to say?

  It was impossible for Casey not to notice the profound worry in Ella’s pretty dark eyes.

  “Ted’s a good guy. A veritable catch. For God’s sake, he’s Korean even. How did you possibly manage to find one?” Casey sounded shrill at the last thing, because that fact to her was more shocking
than anything. Nearly all the Korean-American women she knew were with white guys. Then Casey reminded herself that her sister had recently found a Korean to date, too. Then she wondered if Tina had gotten laid after all.

  “Do you like him?” Ella asked, somewhat reassured.

  “He went to Harvard twice. He can’t be stupid, right? He’s got an insanely well-paying gig. And he’s good-looking.” Casey did not mention love. Because it would’ve sound like crap and therefore contaminating the true things she’d tossed out. As it was, each word of praise was costing her something dear, but payment, Casey felt, was required.

  Ella smiled. “I really appreciate you doing this.”

  “No problem.”

  “I mean you coming with me today. These places are not easy for me. I feel afraid of the salesladies. You coming here,” Ella repeated, “this means so much—”

  “Shut up, Ella.” Casey tried to sound funny when she said this. “You’re letting me live in your place for free, lending me your shoes even. . .. Thank God we’re the same size.” Casey had almost no cash left, no available credit, and if she didn’t get that job as a sales assistant, then she didn’t know what she was going to do. Her face looked normal now, so she could finally go see Sabine to ask about work; they’d only spoken on the phone since she’d left her parents, and it was always better to talk to Sabine in person. But her parents wouldn’t want her to depend on Sabine anymore. Working weekends during the school year and full-time during summers for four years was more than they could tolerate. Everything with Koreans, Casey thought, was about avoiding shame. Her life was still a train wreck. And she missed Jay all the time. Every morning she wanted to bind her hands to keep herself from phoning him. “This is nothing.”

  Ella interrupted her. “You know, I’ve always wanted us to be friends. At church, for all those years, I had wanted you to like me.” She smiled like a child. “And I didn’t know how to get you to notice me.” She blushed.

  Casey didn’t know what to do with all this sincerity. “Thank you,” she said. She got up from the sofa, and Ella followed behind.

  The red-haired sales associate met them and brought over Ella’s sample dress. It was common for brides to show off their dresses to their friends. “It’s good to see you again, Ella. And how do you do?” The sales associate smiled glibly at Casey. Her name was Joan. Joan Kenar, accent on the second syllable. Two strands of marble-size Kenneth pearls circled her mottled throat.

  In no time, Ella popped out of the dressing room wearing the sample dress that she’d ordered. Casey sat on the white leather sofa set aside for the bridal party, her ankles crossed, spine vertical. Ella looked at her friend. Casey’s face went vacant, as though she weren’t in the room anymore. Ella understood then that Casey hated it. Why should it matter whether Casey liked it or not? Ella thought. But it did. It mattered so much. In fact, it was all that mattered. Then Ella knew. Ted wouldn’t like it, either.

  Casey was mum because she was trying to figure out how to dispose of Joan, who clapped at Ella as if she were a poodle doing tricks. There was nothing wrong with the dress per se; Ella merely looked as though she were wearing someone else’s clothing. The style of it aged her, stripping the bloom from her face. The dress was generic and traditionally elegant—a pricey costume for a girl with Grace Kelly dreams. Ah, Casey thought, the dress would have suited an older blonde better. She tilted her head. She’d never thought about it much before, but a woman should be hopeful and soaked with good wishes on her wedding day. And the bride should embody a purity—if not sexually (Ted made audible sex noises from Ella’s bedroom on Thursdays, Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays), then at least romantically. Ella had a face like a white rose. She deserved to be distinct from every other woman that day and yet the same as every bride on her wedding: The bride should be the ideal for her intended, and the dress played a part in that ritual. Wasn’t that right? Casey said none of this, however. She closed her eyes and waited for a picture to pop up in her mind of Ella’s dress; sometimes this worked with her customers at Sabine’s. One came very quickly, but it looked nothing like the one Ella was wearing.

  Ella waited for Casey’s verdict.

  Casey shook her head no.

  Ella turned to Joan. “Is it too late?”

  The sales associate nodded. She pulled back her shoulders, smiled stiffly. “It’s too late to cancel the order.” Joan refused to look at Casey.

  Joan had made a mistake. Casey noted this. Among the cardinal rules of retail marketing was never to disregard the opinions and feelings of spouses and friends who were there to advise the customer of her purchases. Joan was being arrogant to think that the deal was closed.

  “It was ordered a month ago.” Joan smiled with an implacable authority.

  Ella was defenseless against her.

  Casey almost admired Joan’s dominant style. It looked so effective. Casey sighed then, amused and pleased by it all. She loved a good fight. She pronounced tartly: “But it won’t do. It doesn’t suit her.”

  “Ella looks stunning in it,” Joan replied, taken aback by Casey’s unflappable tone. “That’s quite obvious.” Her own tone of voice was far nastier than she’d intended, and she quickly regretted it. But the truth was that there was no way in hell this bride could return the order without Joan having to call in every favor in the book, and she saw no need in this case to piss off the manufacturer for a bride’s friend’s whim—no doubt motivated by jealousy.

  “Ella would look stunning in any of these dresses.” Casey waved her hand across the parade of mannequins in silk taffeta, shantung, and brocade. She kept smiling. So, you want to play tough, little girl, Casey thought. Her eyes never strayed from Joan’s eyes.

  Joan adjusted her pearls. The rhinestone ball clasp had shifted toward her collarbone.

  “Joan.” Casey extended the vowels, relishing the sound of her name in two syllables.

  The sales associate rolled her eyes, then remembered herself. She wasn’t used to having her opinions confronted in this way by someone like this. Perhaps it had been a mistake to sell Ella the most expensive dress she’d tried on. But the bride’s buyer’s remorse didn’t seem to stem from the price.

  “It’s not her dress,” Casey said.

  “What do you mean?” Joan snapped.

  “You know exactly what I mean,” Casey said, her tone of voice growing more syrupy as Joan’s grew more sour. “Look at how unhappy she looks in it.”

  The bride slumped in the armchair next to the dressing room, feeling certain that both women were angry with her stupidity. It was all her fault. Then, right away, as if Ella could cover her shame with her posture, she sat up and folded her hands in her tidy way. She wished she were sitting in her office at St. Christopher’s.

  Joan recognized that there was no winning this argument. She shut up and smiled, her lips covering her even white teeth. She studied Casey, giving her the once-over. The bride’s friend wore the upcoming season’s pieces from three. That gray skirt alone, by the Dutch designer whose name escaped her, must have been seven hundred dollars. Sometimes Joan hated rich people. They got everything and never stopped complaining. Joan believed in hell. As a hardworking middle-class person, she found the idea of justice comforted her.

  That morning, Casey had dressed anticipating this appraisal. The image of this conflict had surfaced as soon as Ella had asked Casey to come look at the dress. Retail salespeople on the whole were the greatest snobs in the world. Virginia used to tease her about how much Casey fussed about her clothes. But after a while Casey retorted, hand cocked on her hip: “Well, gee, honey, but you never get confused for a Japanese tourist, nanny, mail-order bride, or nail salon girl when you walk into a store, do you? What the hell do you know about it?” Virginia, with her biracial looks that gave her the appearance of a beautiful dark Swede, never raised the issue again.

  Casey glanced at Ella’s defeated expression, and she tilted her head back. How little faith Ella had in her. Casey turned to
Joan. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your title.” She smiled.

  “Senior sales associate.” Joan was growing more detached. She just didn’t care anymore.

  Casey nodded but said nothing for a few moments. Silence made people crazy.

  “Would you like to speak to the manager? I’m happy to call her for you,” Joan offered. In these situations, it was better to leave the kitchen before the fire went out of control. Joan wasn’t actually afraid of the bride’s friend.

  “No need, I think. Not yet. ” Casey wondered if she was angry enough to humiliate Joan. If Joan backed down, Casey would back down.

  Ella then stared at Casey silently—her head lifted as if a string pulled it taut from the ceiling. She had no wish for Joan to get into trouble because she had picked poorly.

  Casey pulled out the receipt from her pocket and glanced at the back of the sheet quickly, knowing full well what was written on the paper.

  “There’s no carve-out for custom orders or bridals at Bayard’s. I know you must know that from your years here. We women, so fickle, shop at Bayard’s and pay its premiums precisely because we can return anything, change our minds, and be pleased ultimately with our choices. Don’t you think it is a privilege to see growth in one’s aesthetic point of view, Joan, even in a month? So why are we pretending that the sale is carved in stone? Even monuments can be broken. The alternative, of course, is to cancel the order entirely and go elsewhere. And you have already been so kind. I would hate to do that.” Casey smiled, not mentioning the commission, because it was implicit in everything she’d said.

  “It was four weeks ago,” Joan said quietly. This felt personal somehow.

  “Joan. Be reasonable. A bride should feel no less than thrilled with her dress on her wedding day. You know that.” Casey shifted her focus to the wall and began to point. “Ella, be a dear and try on those dresses over there.” Casey crossed her legs and said in Joan’s direction, “Yes?” She nodded once for emphasis.

  Joan exhaled quietly, her contempt escaping her nostrils in small measure. She retrieved the samples that the friend had chosen and hung them up in Ella’s dressing room.