I can share a room with Savannah!” Amber declared as our luggage hit the bottom of the steps.
“No, we want you to really be able to relax, after all you’ve been through.” Paige placed her arm around her. I love Paige. “You deserve your own space for the week.”
Amber rested her head on Paige’s shoulder, a rather contortionist type of move considering their height difference. “Thank you, Paige.That is so sweet of you.”
One of the beauties of Seaside is that you can come for years and never have to stay in the same house. So each year we would pick one with enough bedrooms for us and usually some friends and make it home for a week. Mother preferred to stay in Savannah Sands, and not because it was on the ocean. If that wasn’t available, she’d take any house big enough on Savannah Street. Such things need no explaining.That is, until the String of Pearls was built on Seaside Avenue. Then Vicky found her resting place.
String of Pearls was Mother’s favorite. Truth be told, it was my favorite too. Vicky loved it because it was painted cream. Her favorite color. Not that I think cream is a color. I loved it because of the French doors stained a rich pecan that lined the front of the house on both floors. And because of the magnolia tree in the front yard, which reminded me of home. Everything about it was clean and pristine, just the way I desired my life, yet a far cry from how it actually existed. So, at least for a week, I could pretend my life was as perfectly aligned as the eight Adirondack chairs in a row on the front porch.
In no less than ten minutes, Paige and I were settled in and unpacked. We peeked into Amber’s room, and she was unpacking a wardrobe that made grown women lust. Two that I knew of specifically.
“Where did you get this?” I asked, running my hands across a soft polished-cotton sundress. “It’s beautiful.”
“I got it at Saks. It was for . . . my . . . my . . .”—the tears and wails started coming before she could finish—“queen’s breakfast at the pageant.”
Paige snatched the dress from her hand and hung it in the closet for her, and then wrapped her arm around her shoulder. “Come on, Miss Amber, me and Savannah are going to take you to get a bathing suit. That will make all of us feel better.”
“But I already have a . . . ”
“Oh, don’t argue,” Paige said, bringing her toward the door. “You need a bathing suit with no memories attached to it.”
“You think?”
“We’re certain,” I assured her.
Amber’s eyes held sincere appreciation as she batted away the tears.“I probably need to get a complete new wardrobe to get rid of all my memories.”
“Ooh, that many, huh?” Paige glanced back at me as we descended the stairs.
I offered her a shrug.
“Worse. I even have memories of other people’s wardrobes.”
Paige and I looked at each other but didn’t even bother.“We have no idea when we’ll return,” Paige hollered out to my mother and dad. “Absolutely no idea,” she whispered to herself.
“We have dinner reservations at seven,” Dad informed.
“Well, then we’ll be back by six forty-five,” Paige shouted as we exited the building.
PER-SPI-CAS-ITY Market caught Amber’s eye first. It was the first outdoor market to open in Seaside in the summer of 1981. Originally it was called the Seaside Saturday Market and housed a few tables shielded from the intense southern sun by canvas awnings. But with the brutality of summer’s humidity, it changed into the Seaside Saturday Sunset Scene.
Eventually, though, in 1983, architect Deborah Berke arrived and designed multiple stalls that looked like tin-roofed beachfront cottages. And it is there that now a woman can find any item necessary to enjoy a week at the beach. Each clothing cottage offers linen dresses, hats, belts, straw bags, and flip-flops. It is a woman’s paradise.
“Maybe I should just go total bohemian,” Amber said as she stopped to fondle a pair of woven flip-flops.
“Too drastic a change.” I plopped down on the blue and white cushion that sat atop the white wooden bench.“You just need to loosen up a little. I mean, your face is pretty enough without makeup. Ever thought about wearing a little less?”
Her perfectly manicured hand reached up to touch her face. “You think I could get away with it?”
“Absolutely. And then if you would just loosen your hair up a bit. I mean, I think your hair looks great just straight and shiny.”
“Straight and shiny?” I didn’t miss the sarcasm in Paige’s voice.
“Well, it does.” I glared. “Just natural.”
Amber’s hands ran across a long, layered cotton skirt.
“Ever owned a pair of jeans?” I asked.
“No,” Amber responded flatly.
Paige’s face contorted. “You have never owned a pair of jeans? How old are you?”
“You shouldn’t ask a woman her age,”Amber said shaking her head as her hand moved up to the army green tank that rested on top of the skirt. “And no, like I said, I’ve never owned a pair of jeans. I did have a lovely linen ensemble once that had the look of denim, but that’s as close as I’ve ever been.”
I eyed her long legs.“Amber, your legs were made for jeans. You are a jeans dream.”
She looked down at her lean legs sticking out from beneath her sundress. “Really? So why would you want to cover them?”
“Don’t think of it as covering them,” I informed her. “It’s more like accentuating them.”
“Swimsuits first, then jeans,” Paige said, taking the flip-flops out of her hand and directing us toward Fabs.“You will be a new creature by nightfall.”
Fabs has some of the most beautiful swimsuits I’ve ever seen.There would be no new one for me this year, however. I usually bought one every year just because I wore it so often it fell apart that fast. But this year my budget had no room for extras. Mother would buy me one if I asked. After all, she would be in here by tomorrow morning getting herself a new one as well. But I had decided I wouldn’t ask this year. A free vacation was enough. I would enjoy that. Plus, the thought of parading my Coke-loving thighs in front of Amber’s perfectly proportioned body didn’t excite me much anyway.
My point was proven when she exited the curtain, poured into a fabulous taupe number. She looked as good as Entertainment Tonight’s host and former beauty queen herself, Nancy O’Dell. The small spaghetti straps and slightly squared neck complimented her shoulders and bosom to perfection. But the small matching belt that sat at the top of her hips with the tortoise buckle just made me want to scream,“I hate you!”
“Ahh!” Paige screamed as she exited her dressing room and caught sight of Amber. Once she saw herself, the scream turned into a moan.
“Whose pitiful idea was this?” she asked the mirror. It mocked her.“I drink Diet Cokes, for goodness’ sake.Where did this come from?” She jiggled the barely visible little piece of skin hanging over the top of her bikini bottom. She had obviously forgotten the Doritos. Her hands moved on down to her hips. I almost thought I saw a tear in her eye.
“You look wonderful, Paige,” Amber offered.
Amber, however, looked almost inhumanly flawless. Her legs went up to there. Her breasts were the perfect size for her body. Her skin was the perfect tone for her bathing suit, and neither her hands nor feet were disproportionate to her frame.
“This is a sad comparison,” Paige stated as they stood side by side, Amber’s six-foot frame towering over Paige’s five foot five.
“Just look at it like this, Paige,” I tried to encourage. “If you had a slightly greater area of distribution, you would look just like her.”
She turned and glared at me, and then headed to the one-pieces with skirts. “These hips should not be forced on anyone’s eyes.”
“You need a bathing suit like this,” Amber said, reaching up into a mass of two-pieces and pulling out a red halter-style top with bikini bottoms that had a short red and white stripe sheer skirt. “The top will lift you up and give you wonderful support. And the bottom is cut high enough to make your legs look leaner. Yet the sheerness of the skirt hides that slight . . .well, that slight . . . extra.”
“How do you know this?” Paige asked, yet to be comforted.
“I know bathing suits, Paige. I’ve competed in them for more than half my life.” Neither one of us could argue with that. So we didn’t .And when Paige made her second entrance, she looked fabulous. We both stared at Paige’s reflection in the mirror.
“That is unbelievable,” I said, walking up behind her to get a better view myself.
“It wasn’t that bad before,” Paige responded.
“Well, it didn’t look like that, I assure you.”
Amber laughed.
“You are really good at this,” Paige told her.
My word. If I’d had the money, I would have let that girl turn me into a calendar model. I sure hoped I didn’t look like Paige’s first attempt once I donned last year’s suit. But I was certain these two would inform me tomorrow. Paige grabbed a matching pair of flip-flops. Amber purchased that divine suit she had had on, with a beautiful pink-and-taupe floral wrap, and I decided I just might have to come down with the flu tomorrow. Then my muumuu wouldn’t be any big head turner.
We walked to dinner. Me, Dad, and Paige in flip-flops. Victoria and Victoria Jr., in three-inch heels. Victoria’s were Stuart Weitzman pumps, and Junior donned Stuart Weitzman wedges. But the girl was wearing jeans and had let us straighten her hair and do her makeup. Vicky had eyed her curiously when Amber descended the stairs. Paige and I almost regretted talking her into them at Venus, a women’s clothing store on the square. When we looked down at our own stubby legs in our own jeans, we realized we should have left the woman in sundresses. And when she slung that beautiful mane of hair,we were regretting that too. But for the first time in our almost fifteen hours together,Amber was smiling. So we would endure the double takes she would get for an evening with no tears. It would be our sacrifice for the cause of peace. World peace, that is.