“My God! What is this place?”
Ava takes a selfie in front of Dorian Gay and then strides into the shop, arms open, eyes wide, taking in the over-the-top mannequins, the mid-century décor and the vintage fashion.
“We call this Palm Springs, honey!” Patty O’Furniture says, emerging from the back in a giant wig, cowboy hat and rhinestone pantsuit that Dolly Parton would applaud. “Mere mortals call it heaven!”
“This is Patty,” I say. “Patty, this is Ava.”
Patty extends her hand.
“Enchantée,” she says. “You may kiss my ring.”
Ava looks back at me, bewildered.
“Kiss the ring,” I say. “It’s better than kissing her ass.”
“Which you will do the rest of your life now that we’ve met,” Patty says, her lips shimmering in a glittery gloss.
Ava obliges, kissing a giant costume ring with a megawatt faux ruby.
“You took that ring from the counter,” I say. “Put it back.”
“It seems as if someone put a cob back up your ass again,” Patty says. “This one’s been perimenopausal since JLo and Ben Affleck broke up... thefirsttime.”
“Put it back.”
Patty pouts, removes the ring and places it back in the jewelry case.
“You’re a drag, and not in the fun way at all,” she says. Patty eyes me suspiciously. “Why are hanging around with a girl this young and pretty?” She gasps. “Oh, my God! Did you watchThe Substance? I knew it was real.” Patty walks over to Ava. “Kill her now while you have the chance!”
The bell jingles, and a man and woman enter.
“Get to work while you still have a job,” I say.
Patty sashays away.
Ava moves toward the counter and eyes the jewelry.
“When did you open this place?”
“Years ago,” I say, “with John. Long before mid-century fashion and design blew up, long before Coachella, when tumbleweed still blew across the streets downtown.” I look around the store. “I always loved fashion. And I especially loved taking something beautiful that everyone believed was dead and gone and bringing it back to life again.”
“You should take your own advice,” Ava says, brow raised.
“Enough about me,” I say. “Let’s talk about me!”
Ava laughs.
“So,” I continue. “Your grandmother tells me you are interested in design. What kind?”
“I’m not sure,” Ava says. “I’m just fascinated by bringing some beauty to this world.”
“Well, you’re in the right place,” I say. “Design is personal. It’s like home: It should reflect who you are and what you want to say to the world. The one thing you must do is listen to your voice.” I walk over to Ava and touch her heart and her temple. “It’s the only thing we have as artists and souls. It’s the only thing we can trust in this world.”
I continue.
“Everythingcomes back into style again. For instance, take a look at the man who just entered the store.” I nod his direction. “See his knit shirt?”
She turns to look, and I point up at a mannequin.
