The only thing I’m going to find in a Chanel or a Dior is that I cannot afford anything.
‘Okay,’ I say, my voice shooting up in pitch, so high it’s like even my own mouth is surprised to be agreeing to it.
‘Marvellous,’ he replies. ‘Come, this way.’
Oh, God, what am I getting myself into now?
Beau wasn’t exaggerating when he said that Bondi Junction was close by – we’re there before I know it, before I’ve had a chance to think of what the hell I’m going to do.
Well, when he walked past Zara without even acknowledging that it was a shop that sold clothes, I realised I was in big trouble.
‘Oh, this one,’ I say, clocking a boutique that says it sells vintage items. Obviously there is the kind of vintage where it’s worth a fortune but sometimes vintage just means old and used. If I’m smart, perhaps I can find a bargain. It’s not going to be easy, finding something that is cheap, meets the dress code, and looks and feels good on me, but I’ll give it my all.
I try to look like I’m casually browsing when what I’m actually doing is skimming the rails for the cheapest black dresses I can find. I’ll try a bunch on and then I guess I’ll take the cheapest one that fits – and then I’ll go into overtime, faking it, making out like I love it.
‘Okay, I’m going to try these on,’ I tell him, holding up the four cheapest dresses I could find, smiling to try to make it seem like I’m excited about them.
‘Right, well, I’ll wait here,’ Beau says as he lingers outside the fitting room. ‘In case you want a second opinion.’
I step behind the curtain – the only thing separating me from Beau as I get changed – and I do my best to keep steady on my feet, because it would be so like me to fall over, into the curtain, and rip it from its hooks as I tumble out of the small fitting room and onto the shop floor, in my underwear, before – I don’t know – knocking over a decorative nuclear warhead that just so happened to be nearby. Well, that’s what would happen if Ethan was with me, and we dared to flirt.
Meh, one of the dresses is okay, I guess. I like that it doesn’t cost a fortune more than I actually like it but it’s demure and it covers all the bits that need covering, so this might be as good as it’s going to get.
‘I think I’ve found the one,’ I announce, not sounding at all like I mean it. I need to up the enthusiasm. ‘It’s great! Would you like to see?’
‘It would be an honour,’ Beau replies.
I step out in the long, plain black dress. It has a very high neckline that doesn’t quite play well with my ‘tacky’ cup size but, hey, it covers them.
‘Well, you do look beautiful,’ Beau tells me. ‘But something tells me that’s not the dress for you.’
‘No?’ I reply.
That’s funny, because my bank balance tells me it is, and if I tried to buy anything more expensive, my bank wouldn’t think twice about telling the cashier that it wasn’t the dress for me – because my card would be declined.
‘That’s not the reaction to a dress you love,’ he tells me. ‘If I may…’
Beau reveals a dress that he has been hiding behind his back. He holds it up in front of him and, I swear, my breath catches in my throat.
‘That’s the reaction to a dress you love,’ he points out with a grin. ‘I asked the lady who works here if she had anything special. She tells me it’s vintage Chanel, from the nineties. She tells me it’s from Coco Chanel’s neutral palette collection, that she believed black was empowering and that this dress represents freedom and independence.’
It also probably represents a month’s wages for me.
‘Oh, it’s very nice but I have this one, and I really do think it’s the one for me,’ I tell him – sounding even less convincing now.
‘Indulge me,’ he insists, handing it over. ‘The lady who recommended it said it looked like it would be your size, so it should fit.’
The next thing I was going to say was that it might not be my size.
‘Okay, yeah, I’ll give it a go,’ I say – well, what else can I say? I’ll just humour him, I’ll try it on, and then I’ll tell him I like the cheap one so much more, and I really will say it in a convincing way this time.
It’s a black midi dress with layers of material. It has a mesh overlay, which makes it look like my trashy dress’s classy sister. One strap is thicker than the other, giving it a stylish asymmetric neckline that flatters my chest the second I get it on and, wow, okay this dress is… wow. The back is a mesh panel – hilariously, if I were to wear my dress backwards, it would give a similar effect. It’s just… wow, it’s perfect. I can’t stop looking at it, twirling around on the spot, looking myself up and down, twirling again.
‘What do you think?’ Beau calls out.
‘Erm, not for me,’ I reply.
Beau laughs.
