57
Elodie never understood the appeal of wearing vintage, which was really just a fancy word for old. Admittedly, she had no innate fashion sense. That’s why she always relied on stylists at Bergdorf and Barneys and Saks to tell her what the must-haves were for each season. The result was that her wardrobe was impeccable, if not terribly adventurous.
And so the vintage shop in Chatham, with metal racks filled end to end with gowns from the 1960s and 1970s, left her cold. But this was what Celeste wanted. And for the first time in a long time, she cared about her sister’s happiness.
“Can I ask you for a favor?” Celeste said, sifting through the gowns. She pulled out a satin shift and placed it back on the rack.
“Sure,” Elodie said. “You’re the bride-to-be.”
“I’d like you to consider offering Gemma a job at Pavlin & Co. Designing.”
Elodie felt like she’d swallowed a mouthful of dust and coughed loudly before managing a brisk, “Are you serious?”
“Completely.”
“What makes you think she’s even interested?”
“Well, it’s arguably the most prestigious design job in the industry. Who wouldn’t want to be a part of it? And I have a feeling that this whole issue of the diamond ring isn’t so much about the ring as it is about her own legitimacy as a Pavlin. There are other pieces of jewelry she could ask for, pieces Paulina wore. She’s just fixated on that diamond because it represents so much.”
“Well, I can’t hire her just to appease her over a lost ring,” Elodie said.
“She’s talented, you know.”
Even Elodie couldn’t argue with that. There hadn’t been a designer in the family since Isaac Pavlin, the founder, back in 1919. After his death, the company had always hired outside talent and prided itself on finding the Next Big Thing.
But what if the Next Big Thing happened to be part of the family?
Elodie thought about the mob scene outside of Queen Anne’s Revenge the other day, tourists and locals alike lined up for Gemma’s chunky necklace chains and one-of-a-kind charms. There certainly hadn’t been organic, grassroots excitement like that for Pavlin & Co in a very long time.
“Her work appeals to the new generation,” Celeste said. “Think about it—for me?”
With a start, Elodie realized she had thought about it. She’d thought about it deep down in places she wasn’t brave enough to fully visit. She’d thought about it when she read the New York Times feature, and she thought about it when she saw the half-empty display at Celeste’s store. She thought about it when she saw the necklace around Gemma’s neck, and when she looked at the continuing decline in numbers on the weekly sales spreadsheets.
“Oh my goodness!” Celeste said. “A Bellville Sassoon!”
She pulled out an ivory-colored gown with long billowing sleeves and an overskirt. The neckline was quilted and the gathered bodice gave way to an ankle-length, waterfall skirt.
“That’s . . . interesting.”
Celeste, clearly reading her lack of enthusiasm, said, “Bellville Sassoon is a great British fashion house. It was founded in the 1950s by a woman named Belinda Bellville. She became one of Princess Diana’s earliest dress designers. They dressed absolutely everyone, from Jackie Kennedy to Madonna.”
Maybe so. She still thought her sister would look best in a custom Vera Wang or Monique Lhuillier gown, but if she insisted on looking like a medieval flower-child bride, who was she to argue?
“Let me buy it for you. As an engagement gift,” Elodie said.
“What? Oh, no. Thanks but that’s completely unnecessary . . .”
“I want to! Please. It’s the least I can do. I’m living at your house for free.”
After Celeste tried on the dress and declared it perfect, Elodie took the gown and draped it over her arm. She headed down the stairs to pay, and it felt so good to be doing something for her sister after such a long time. It felt so good, in fact, Elodie had an idea for another gift—a wedding gift. It would be a fitting gesture to make peace with the past, and might assuage some of her own, more recent feelings of guilt. It would just require a quick trip back to New York.
The prospect should have excited her, but the thing was, she didn’t want to leave town. Not even for a weekend. Not if it meant missing time with Tito. But she could invite him along. Yes, of course! She’d experienced his world, and now he could get a glimpse of hers.
Elodie felt Celeste’s footsteps on the stairs behind her. She glanced back at her with a smile. Truly, she never imagined that someone else’s engagement could be so much fun.
Tito took Elodie for a motorboat ride. He wanted to show her around the oyster farm, where the cages were set underwater.
The sun pummeled them. Elodie adjusted the wide-brimmed straw hat she’d bought at Mad As a Hatter for the beach. Then she rolled up the sleeves of her white linen shirt. Her golf shorts would stay dry and the borrowed boots offered enough protection for her to climb out of the boat and wade through a few feet of water to dry land.
Tito had just come from picking oysters on the flats and was dressed for action in rubber coveralls, boots, and a black baseball hat that read Helltown. One thing about Tito that was so different from other men she’d known was that he always seemed eager for activity. She couldn’t imagine him paging through The New York Times or spending hours in a board meeting. Around him, she was forced to be a more energized, open version of herself.
For decades she had been most comfortable walking into the Pavlin & Co offices wearing a St. John suit and a string of twelve-millimeter pearls. But now she was wiping salt water off her face with the sleeve of her shirt. And she’d never been happier.
Still, it would be fun to show Tito around New York. She wanted to experience Central Park, the museums, even Café Carlyle with him. If she could don a pair of rubber boots for the afternoon, he could put on a tie for a few hours. Hopefully he’d enjoy the change as much as she enjoyed the things he was bringing out in her.
Tito used a contraption to pull up one of the “cages,” a wire box filled with oysters. It was half covered in seaweed. The air smelled intensely briny and it was much cooler than it had felt in town. She could just make out the Pilgrim Monument in the far distance. An incredible feeling of calm washed over her. Sitting in the middle of the bay with the man she loved, she realized there was no other place in the world she’d rather be. And yes, she was starting to believe she was in love.
“This is also where Marco farms his seaweed,” he said, pulling off a fistful of stringy, wet plant and handing it to her. She smiled at him like he’d given her a bouquet of roses.
“So you’re going to be working with him more?” she said.
Tito nodded. “They’re expanding and they need people they can count on year-round. It sounds like fun to work on an oyster farm, but then when their employees experience how labor-intensive it is . . . Well, they lose a lot of folks. My cousin tried to warn him it was a very difficult business, but he had his heart set on it.”
“And his wife works with him?”
Tito nodded, sitting on the second crate next to her. “She was a city gal like you once upon a time.” He leaned over and sprung open her cage.
“Speaking of the city: I have to go back soon to pick up a wedding gift for my sister. I was wondering if you might come with me.”
He unzipped the knapsack and handed her a pair of thick work gloves.
“New York?” he said.
“Yes. You can see my apartment; we can have dinner at—”
“Thanks, but no thanks. I’ve never been to New York City and I don’t intend to start now.”
Had Elodie heard him right? “You’ve never been to Manhattan?”
“No. Why is that surprising? Before now you’d never been here.”
“I know. But it’s Manhattan.” A creeping dread made her heart start to beat faster. “It will be fun.”
He started up the engine and they sped off toward Wellfleet, her heart pounding.
“So that’s it?” she shouted over the hum of the motor. “You won’t even consider coming with me?”
“Elodie, I care about you. But I’m not a city person. I don’t want to go to New York with you because if this becomes a situation where you’re in the city and I’m visiting you, it’ll never work.”
She couldn’t believe what she was hearing.
“Are you seriously telling me that the only way we can spend time together is here in Provincetown? I mean, I’m sorry, Tito—that’s incredibly narrow-minded.”
He looked over at her. “We’re old enough to know ourselves. And our limitations. I certainly know mine. I’m not saying it’s right, but that’s the way I feel. Me in New York—I’d be like one of the oysters in this cage.”
Elodie felt her hands shaking. She couldn’t look at him. She felt like a fool.
How could she have let her guard down, opening herself up to this kind of hurt again? Now she couldn’t wait to get back to the city, away from this mirage of happiness. Once she was back home, her relationship with Tito would be put back into perspective. It was a summer fling. That’s all.
She looked around her. Solid land seemed very far away.