I sigh in relief when I hear “Just a second” from somewhere behind the door.
As soon as I see her, I immediately smile. “Hey.” Except it’s then I notice her outfit. Casual. Too casual. Similar to what she wore to the baseball game. She’s in cutoff denim shorts and a T-shirt with the phrase “Accountants Work Their Assets Off”. I laugh at the sentiment because it’s funny, except, that outfit is never going to fly at a party like this.
“You’re a little early. I still need to put on some makeup.”
Her face looks like porcelain. Perfect.
Stepping into her apartment, I’m so distracted by her attire that I miss her place. Rudely, I ask, “Is that what you’re wearing?”
“To a barbecue?” She looks up at me, and a frown replaces the smile on her face. “Yes.”
Okay. Now what do I do? I know I’m treading on shaky ground. What if I say the wrong thing? Women do not like men to tell them what to wear, I know that for a fact. My dad has tried it a few times, and it has backfired. I slip my hands into my dress slacks and hope she takes note of my clothing choices. A custom plaid blazer in blues, navy slacks, and a white silk tee all from a cool shop called Indochino here in the city.
It works. She notices my ensemble. “You’re wearing that?” She points at my jacket.
“I am.”
“Isn’t that a bit much? Won’t you be overdressed?”
As slowly as possible, I shake my head. “Sadly, no. When the Barbara McAllisters of the world have a barbecue, it means a chef will be off to the side grilling salmon and Kobe beef kabobs.”
“Oh.” She’s still staring at my jacket, but she’s not looking at it, if that makes any sense. “I don’t have anything to wear to something like that.”
“Of course, you do.” Don’t all women have a million things in their closets? I take a step further inside. “Show me to your closet. Let me help.”
She raises her arm and points somewhere to her right. I follow the gesture and see a small wire rack with what looks to be several blouses and some pants. Next to that is an equally minute dresser. “Where’s the rest of your clothing?”
“That’s it.”
“That’s it?” My voice squeaks a little.
“Yes, Hudson. That’s it.”
“Do you have any summer dresses?”
Willa blushes but admits, “None that fit.”
“Right.” I check my Patek Phillipe watch and note the time. “Let’s head out now. We’ll stop and get you something to wear on the way.”
She shakes her head. “No, I’m on a strict budget.” Her mouth is quivering. “I’m sorry, Hudson. You’ll have to go without me.”
“No, I know a perfect place to shop. We’ll find something. My treat.”
“I c-can’t.” Her eyes are getting glossy. “I had no idea. I could have gone to the thrift store if I’d known this was f-fancy.”
Oh shit. Is she going to cry? I can’t take it when women cry. And seeing this beautiful girl on the verge of tears is ten times worse than anything before now. “It’s not fancy.” Yes, it is. “Trust me, Willa. Let me take care of this for you. You’re really helping me out by going with me. I owe you.”
“N-no you don’t.”
Oh, shit. A tear appears. “Please, sweetheart. Don’t cry. Let me do this for you. I can’t stand seeing you sad. You’re my happy-go-lucky girl, remember?”
“I’m not, though. I’m not that, and I’m not joyous. I’m just Willa.”
She doesn’t mean any of that. She’s just upset. “Well,just Willa, I like you just as you are, but I need for you to do this for me. My mother is relentless. If I don’t produce you at this party, she’ll hound me. Hell, she’ll probably show up at your job and harass you.”
“She wouldn’t.” Willa swipes a hand over her face, removing a tear or two.
“She would. I promise you.”
