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I’m off early today due to an optometrist appointment, and it didn’t make sense to go back to work afterwards. Not that anyone but me will see them or anything, but my cheap bras haven’t held up well in the wash so I’m using the extra time for a trip to the mall.
I park at the back side of Bloomingdale’s because it’s the best place to park without having to stalk someone for their parking space. The heavy double doors sweep open automatically. The merchandise artfully displayed on tables placed center aisle in your face to maximize temptation immediately draw my eyes. I haven’t been inside a mall in so long. The odor of a million scents coming from the fragrance department mixed with bright signs, crowds and pulsating music are intoxicating. The sweater set on the table springs to life with a pair of cut off denim shorts on a tastefully made up mannequin. I wouldn’t think of it myself, but on the mannequin the pairing is so obvious, I desperately want the entire outfit in my closet. Fingering the beautifully woven pink knit of the softest sweater I’ve ever touched, my hand hovers over the matching rhinestone embellished tank but quickly withdraws when the number on the price tag flicks into view. That tank must be spun with silk and gold for that price.
I make a beeline for the interior exit, ignoring every possible temptation, and run right past the Apple store, filled with throngs of people clamoring around brightly lit display tables eyeing the latest in iTechnology. I glance longingly at the MacBook display, but keep my attention ahead until the fresh clean scent of brand new books permeates my nostrils. My head swivels to the right and zeroes in on Barnes and Noble. The paper like, woodsy, manufactured aroma reminds me of spending day after day happily reading my childhood summers away; every title a new tale waiting to unfold.
I wasn’t thinking about $100 tank tops, or MacBooks for that matter, but something about being in the mall makes me want everything. It’s exactly why I avoid the place, and as a result I have almost managed to forget this world of consumerism; this incredible world of things I can’t have. I make a beeline for Victoria’s Secret.
“Hello, welcome to Victoria’s Secret. Would you like to be sized today?”
“Sure.” I follow the black clad girl with a pink tape measure around her neck to a fitting room. She declares me a thirty-four B when all this time I’ve been buying a thirty-six B.
I stick with the basics; nude and black. The girl is good and they fit perfectly. I eye an adorable pink pajama set on the way to the register, but keep walking. These bras are my Birthday present to myself. Nothing else.
“$104.34 is your total.” I cringe handing over my credit card because I spent $350 on new glasses and contacts an hour ago. I take my bag and head back to Bloomingdale’s.
I’m early, so I stop in the shoe section and check out the clearance rack advertising seventy percent off shoes, and can’t resist picking up a pair and flipping them over to check the price.
“Shopping?” I hear someone say behind me. I turn around and spot Sabrina ensconced in an array of shoe boxes scrutinizing her image in a full length mirror.
“Hey! Well, not here. Definitely just looking but I did get some new bras at Victoria’s Secret.”
“So what do you think?” she asks looking down at the round toed red flats bearing a gold emblem on her feet.
“I love ‘em. And most importantly, they look comfortable.”
“They are. I love her shoes.”
Her? I eye the box on the floor next to her feet. Tory Birch. Hmmm...I’ve never heard of her.
“Well, my only thing is that I’d probably get black or brown. Don’t you think it’s more practical? That way you can wear them with everything?”
Sabrina eyes me quizzically. “You’d be surprised how many things you can wear red with. Everyone should have at least two pairs of red shoes. It’s the perfect pop of color.”
I think of the sea of black and brown shoes in my closet.
She decides to get them. The sales guy rings up her purchase and says, “Your total is $253.21.” My eyes widen. I glance at Sabrina out of the corner of my eye, trying not to look horrified.
“Hey, since we’re already here, you wanna just go to Fifty-ninth & Lex instead of that weird sandwich place you suggested?” She knows I normally kill time after work so she suggested we meet for dinner before class since I’d be extra early today.
“Where’s that?” I ask suspiciously. It sounds expensive.
“Here. In Bloomingdale’s,” she replies with a tone suggesting I should know.
If I can’t afford to shop in Bloomingdale’s why would I eat here? “I don’t know,” I stammer. “I’ve never been there before.”
“It’s really good, they have the best tomato soup—you’ll love it,” she says, smiling, and grabs my arm, propelling me forward. I don’t even bother to tell her I don’t like tomato soup. Instead, I allow her to pull me along.
I breathe in the aroma of the place and take in the simplistic black and white decor. Sabrina leads us to a table. A waitress comes over to give us menus and my eyes immediately zero in on the prices. I order the least expensive sandwich, and Sabrina orders a salad with the tomato soup.
“Get the soup, get the soup!” she exclaims. I shake my head and start to say no, but she insists, “You have to try it,” and tells the waitress to add another one onto her order.
“Fine, fine,” I say, laughing as if I ever had a choice in the matter to begin with. There’s something about Sabrina. Her infectious energy comes across as demanding but not totally overbearing, and the sly way she goes about making you want to do whatever she wants you to do without you even realizing what’s happening keeps things interesting.
“I can’t wait to see Tessa’s monologue today. When I left on Thursday, I overheard her telling Earl she isn’t going to be using one of the options he gave us. It’s something original,” Sabrina says, mimicking Tessa’s haughty way of saying everything. “She’s a piece of work, that girl.”
I’m sure Tessa the Great thought she’d sail through acting, but even she hasn’t escaped an Earl Warren tongue lashing.
“Are you ready for yours?” I ask.
“Uh huh,” she says as the server brings our orders. “The good thing about it is that if we mess up, no one really has to know. We don’t have to do it word for word. As long as we stay in character, we’re good.”
That’s what I’m banking on. I have mine memorized but knowing that it doesn’t have to be verbatim takes the pressure off. I can focus less on the lines and more on trying to really get into it.
“So, have you figured out what you want to do with your life yet?” I ask.
“I’m getting there. It’s been really hard because my dad wants me to be a lawyer. He’s a lawyer and his father was a lawyer, but that’s not what I want and it’s not my fault he didn’t have a son who also wants to follow in his glorified footsteps. I’ve been putting off law school testing and applications. I told my dad I needed a year off to relax and clear my head.”
“Well, what do you really want to do?”
“I’m more the ‘creative’ type but he doesn’t get it. I’d love to go to fashion design school instead, but I know he’d have a fit.” She shakes her head. “As long as I’m doing what he wants me to do, things are fine, but the minute I decide to start thinking for myself, he threatens to cut me off. He helps me out a lot financially.” She adds more salad dressing to her salad and takes another bite.
Sabrina doesn’t work, so I imagine a lot means he probably paid for those Tory Burch flats. “Well what about your mom? Does she have any input on the whole thing?”
“My dad is an eternal bachelor. It’s really just been my dad and me since I was in high school, and whoever he was dating at the time. He’s not really the settling down type. My mom got tired of waiting around for him. I think he expected her to put up with his lack of commitment because he has money but she got tired of him making promises he never kept. She lives in Texas and I don’t think she ever forgave me for choosing my dad over her. We’re not really that close. I’m not close to extended family either. Whatever.”
She waves her hand in the air as if to dismiss the very notion of a mom and her estranged family. I get a good look at the tattoo on her wrist. I can barely make out that it says “plrg” in tiny script letters.
“So, how do you like the soup?” she asks with an expectant look on her face.
I lap up another spoonful and consider the flavor. “It’s delicious. I’ve never actually eaten tomato soup before. I don’t like tomatoes so I never thought I’d even like it, but it’s really good.”
“Told ya so,” she says smugly and takes another spoonful of hers. “It’s the best. I love this place. It’s my little hidden gem.”
We finish up our meals then exit the mall.
“See ya at Chloe’s,” she says before getting into her little Audi and driving away.
