29
Hailey
“I have never found a pair of sunglasses I really love.” I was turning a rack at the Sunglass Shack outlet, having tried a few and dismissed them all. “What is it about sunglasses? They make such a strong statement.” I tried a squarish pair. “Bossy. Aggressive.” An oval pair. “Nerdy.”
Marcella nodded. “Schoolmarm.”
“Try these.” Alana handed me some crescent-shaped tortoiseshell frames, which made us all laugh. I fanned my fingers past my face, Travolta-like. “OK, give ’em back,” Alana said. “Why is it that they look fine on me?”
And they did.
“On you they say ‘intellectual, astute, artistic.’ On me, they’re like ‘did you get a message from your planet yet?’ ”
Marcella placed a pair of rhinestone frames back on the carousel, then nodded. “OK, ladies. Let’s move on. Banana Republic?”
“But we didn’t buy anything.” Alana handed Marcella a pair with neon frames. “We just got here.”
Marcella tucked the neons back on the rack. “Don’t you have sunglasses?”
“Sure. But I like these tortoiseshell frames.”
“Do you need them?” Marcella pressed. “ ‘Need’ means, can you live without them?”
“Well, that’s an odd question,” Alana said, modeling the shades for us.
“Honey, you’re the one worried about budget and all. That’s all I’m saying.”
“I know, but aren’t they fabulous?”
I nodded. “You should get them.”
“Should I?” Alana beamed.
Marcella put the brakes on. “How much are they?”
“Who knows? They’re great.” Alana removed them to check the tag.
Marcella snorted. “And they call that a discount? Honey, you do what you want, but I’m telling you, we carry the same line at Bon Nuit, and they’ll be half that price on Silly Sale Day. Think about it, ’cause I’m trying to save you some money.”
“Oh.” Alana seemed crestfallen, but she lifted the glasses and plunked them back onto the rack. We headed toward the door, but she turned back and gazed longingly at the sunglasses. “I think they need me.”
Marcella crooked her arm through Alana’s and guided her toward the exit. “Let them go, honey,” she said soothingly. “Someone will find them a nice home at a farm somewhere. A very expensive farm.”
Banana Republic was a festival of fashion.
No Manhattan girl can resist a black linen blazer, especially in the crisp yet casual styling of the Big Banana. There’s something so “I don’t give a fuck” about the lines and fabric of their clothing; it’s so New York.
I was trying on my blazer when Alana passed me on the way to the checkout counter, her arms loaded down with a heavy wad of items. “You hit the mother lode!”
“Just a few things I had to have.” Marcella popped out from behind a display of silk tanks and Alana added, “Things I need. Yup. I totally need this stuff.”
“How do the khaki boot pants fit?” Marcella asked.
“I think they’ll be good. I’ll try them on at home.”
“What?” Marcella was flabbergasted. “Why?”
“It takes too much time to wait in line here, and I’m not in the mood. I’ll just return anything that doesn’t fit.”
Marcella was shaking her head. “Oh, no. No, no. You are not wasting your money on things you won’t ever wear.” She pointed to the dressing room with a stern look. “March!”
To my surprise, Alana listened. I grabbed my black blazer and red hip huggers and denim stuff and hurried behind them. It didn’t seem like a good idea to cross Marcella, and I was curious to see what she thought of my black linen blazer.
Half an hour later, the three of us stood in line with very select purchases and a new feeling of pride. Marcella had taken us through the paces, critiquing each outfit, checking out the seams, the drape, the fabric, the care instructions.
My linen jacket had not passed Marcella muster. “Who wants to see a soap opera star in a droopy linen jacket all bagged out like a potato sack?”
Ouch.
But we had found a linen blend that Marcella assured me would not wrinkle, and I couldn’t wait to wear it to work. Maybe I’d run into Antonio in the coffee shop across the street from the studio ... maybe I’d wear it to his apartment ...
I was leaping ahead, as usual, but I wanted him in my life so desperately, especially after the night we’d shared. The hot groping we’d done in the club had fired up to mad movie passion at his place, and we’d twisted and rolled through the sheets, two playful lovers.
And to think I’d been so nervous at the start of the evening, so worried that I’d do something stupid and he’d realize I was a klutz and a fraud. But Antonio had a gift for making you feel like you were the only person on the planet, the only one who mattered. When we sat down at that table in the club and started talking like two old friends, I felt that bond, that connection with him. I knew he was into me, but I wasn’t sure how much, how deep his commitment was. I mean, some women were good at playing the casual game, that “if it feels good do it” thing, but not me. When I fall for someone, I start planning out forever. Neurotic, I know, and it had driven more than a few guys away, but I can’t really invest in someone without thinking long-term.
The question was, how could I make plans with Antonio without pressuring him too much?
So far, he was still doing the initiating, and had asked me to dinner tonight. Marcella promised to help me find something special to wear at Liz Claiborne or DKNY. But I worried a little about how things would play out when we returned to the City. Would he have me over at his apartment, or come to mine? Would we spend whole nights together? Move in together? There I was, pushing again.
Marcella went to the register first with her single item—a pair of black faux linen pants in a size six, stretchy so they fit well over her “J-Lo butt” as she called it.
Alana stepped up to the next open register and started her transaction.
I moved up when Marcella was finished and handed the clerk my card. “Sorry,” he said. “They’re not taking this for some reason.”
I gulped. My credit limit, maybe? Hadn’t I paid the minimum on my cards? I did! But maybe that was before I’d bought my new swimsuits for this weekend. And the massage at Armitage.
How embarrassing. “Oh,” I said with minimalist brilliance. “Sorry.”
“Here, put it on mine,” Alana said, reaching for a slip of paper across the counter.
“But I thought ...”
“I have a new charge card,” she said proudly. “My very own.”
“Congratulations! What a big step.” It was a move in the right direction for Alana, taking financial responsibility. After all, she’d gotten a job, and she was even pursuing a career that interested her now. Hand model. Who would believe it? “I can’t believe you got your own credit card,” I said. “Kudos, honey.”
“Oh, it’s not just a card,” Alana said, tucking the slip of paper carefully back into her wallet. “It’s my ticket to summer fun.”