It sounds enjoyable, and I do have the night off. Playing dress up is something I almost never get to do and having been through the ringer with Tandi once already, it’ll be far more fun to see her pinched lips and quick needle judging someone else.
“Yeah, thanks. It sounds fun.” I glance at Lachlan who stares blankly at the ground, his gorgeous eyes unfocused. That pinch of sadness I see in him sometimes is in full effect, tugging at my sympathies though I don’t know the cause.
I remember his gaze sliding across to spy on me while a fluster of assistants raced to get me ready in time for his deadline. By the time I realised he was looking, I’d been stark naked, too distracted to be vulnerable.
The climbing heat in my cheeks isn’t just the flush of embarrassment, but I pretend it is. That’s easier than admitting to anything deeper, less tangible.
With something to look forward to, my afternoon lessons slow to a crawl. The heat in the classroom and the monotony of the teacher’s voice combine to make slow yawns my new preferred method of breathing.
I take the bus home then face the weird prospect of trying to find the right clothing to go clothes shopping in. It’s only when I absolutely must leave for the bus into town that I finally grab a peasant blouse and wide leg jeans from my limited stash, throwing a side-knitted cardigan over top to keep me warm, a move I bitterly regret when I have to sprint to catch the bus.
Greta waits outside the store, relieved when I arrive so shehas someone to chat to until the others get there, not that they keep us waiting long.
Five minutes later, we head inside and Tandi greets us, acting as hostess. She goes around the room, making sure we each have a drink of our choosing and a variety of snacks to munch on, before querying our preferred styles and showing each of us the dresses she thinks will fit those best.
“Ooh, try this one,” Kari says, taking a pale pink dress from a hanger and shoving it in my direction. As I spy the zeroes on the price tag, I’m scared to touch it, let alone manhandle it that way.
“That is a lovely selection,” the sales lady agrees, waving me towards an empty changing room. “We also have that in pale green, which might be better suited to your complexion.”
“Don’t worry about that,” Kari says with a wave of dismissal. “She’s trying it on for me.”
Perhaps angling for another sale, Tandi makes sure the alternative colour option also reaches my changing room. I model the pink for Kari, who’s already got another three selected by the time I walk out to show her the first.
From then on, I’m kept busy, trying on garment after garment. Some of them make me look fantastic, others make me look like a powder puff after excessive use.
I’m fine with flouncing in front of the other girls but hustling into and out of the garments has me run ragged. As I catch my breath, staring at myself in the mirror after the dozenth change in twenty minutes, I reluctantly decide I’ll never make it as a model on the runways of Paris.
A pity because I love the clothes. Love the differing textures and the exquisite attention to detail in the beading and embroidery, the delicate hand stitching where a machine would be too rough.
I can imagine falling asleep tonight with my head in clouds of chiffon, taffeta, silk, velvet, tulle, and thick brocade.
Things slow as the group selects their favourites and a small army of seamstresses make the changes necessary to get the elaborate dresses to fit.
Finally, it’s just me and the pale green dress alone in the changing room. With a shrug, I decide to try it on, too, even though I’m not taking it and I’m certainly not paying.
Tandi is right. The moment I pull on the dress in the ‘seafoam’ colour, it takes my breath away. The bodice is in rough silk, pulled tight at the back with long ribbons in a slightly darker shade than the main dress. The skirts are in a lighter, floatier fabric. See-through but with so many layers it becomes opaque except for brief glimpses as I move.
I thrust my leg out and twist to the side, sucking in my cheeks for dramatic effect. It looks so damn good I can’t resist slipping through the curtains and strutting along the mirror-lined catwalk, doing a twirl for my amusement.
“See?” Tandi calls out, leaning against the wall and looking like she’s in desperate need of a cigarette break. “Told you it would look fantastic.”
She winks at me like we’re equals, and there’s a rush of kinship. The other girls are being measured and fitted and sewn into their dresses like any halfway decent lady of the manor, while here I am, sneaking in a secret moment playing dress-up while their attention is distracted.
It’s not even something they’re doing per se, just a difference between their upbringing and mine. We’re here, at a crossroads, briefly cohabitating, but soon I’ll move on one way with my life while they head in another direction.
In the meantime, I should take advantage of every chance I get.
Tandi moves behind me, staring over my shoulder at my reflection, making a few adjustments to the ribbons so they narrow my waist and flare my hips, creating curves out of nowhere.
I’m staring, entranced, when Kari walks out of the sewing studio wearing a dark blue form-fitting dress encrusted with so many sequins, she could be a real-life mermaid bursting from the waves.
“You look fantastic,” I say, meaning every word. “You’re going to be best-dressed at the ball, absolutely.”
She preens, picking up a fan from a nearby table and fluttering her eyelids as she half-hides behind it. “You think? Lock said whatever I pick, he’s getting his tie in the same colour, so we match.”
I swallow down the wad of envy, scolding myself about choices coming home to roost. “That’s wonderful. I can’t imagine anyone else taking the title.”
Tandi hovers, fiddling with our garments, poking and prodding and tightening and adjusting until she seems happy with the result. “These are both excellent choices. I’m sure your partners will be thrilled.” She frowns at the mirror, then at me. “Unless you’re…”
