“Well, The Brewery is more of a hipster place. I bet most everyone will be in jeans and T-shirts.”
“But Windy will be wearing one of her colorful ensembles. I know because I asked her. And I saw Fiona. She looked so cute and youthful in her denim skirt, lacy blouse, and cowboy boots. And who knows what Kitty will be wearing—probably something short and tight and cut low.”
Riva set her iced tea aside. “Well, I doubt you want to go as Kitty’s sidekick.”
Laurel rolled her eyes. “Just shoot me now.”
“Can we go through your closet together?”
She brightened. “Sure. I’d appreciate it.”
Riva picked up half of the clothing pile and followed Laurel up to her room. Together, they went through her sparse closet. Finally, Riva turned to Laurel, giving her a long hard look. “You know what I think?”
“I’m not a mind reader.”
“I think you need to discover your own style.”
Laurel rolled her eyes. “I have no style, darling. That’s the problem.”
“Right.” Riva pushed Laurel toward the bathroom and in front of the mirror. “Your short gray hair, which is very becoming, suggests you’re a classic.”
“Classic?” Laurel smiled. “I like the sound of that, but I have no idea what it means.”
“You look best in classic styles. Not frills or fads.”
“Well, I’ve never liked frills or fads, so you could be on the right track.” Laurel tilted her head to one side. “But how do you know all this?”
“I took a class once. Another lifetime ago. I wanted to rejoin the workforce after the kids were in school, and I felt like I needed a makeover, you know, to ditch the mommy clothes.” Riva went back to the closet and pulled out a navy-and-white striped boatneck top. She held it up to Laurel. “This would be a good look on you.”
“Yeah, for going out in my yacht.”
Riva chuckled. “Take me along. But, really, I’ve always thought of you as sort of sporty too. A sporty classic.”
“I used to be sporty, back in my previous life. I was on the women’s softball team for years. And I loved tennis and golf back when I could afford such luxuries.”
“Maybe it’s time you found a new sport,” Riva suggested. “Lots of gals our age are playing pickleball.”
“So I’ve heard. But at the moment, we’re talking about tonight. Are you suggesting I wear workout clothes and tennis shoes to the show, maybe an eighties sweatband on my forehead?”
Riva smiled. “Not exactly.” She pulled out a western-style chambray shirt and held it up to Laurel. “This color matches your eyes.”
“That’s a men’s work shirt.” Laurel frowned. “It won’t even stay snapped over my bustline.”
Riva slid a sleeveless white top under it. “Then wear it like a jacket over this shirt.”
“That’s pretty plain.” Laurel shook her head. “And not very feminine. I wanted to look, well, attractive ... you know, to the opposite sex. That looks like I should go shovel dirt.”
“You’re not using your imagination. We put the right scarf with it and that silver chain in your pocket and your black jeans.” Riva fished around a bit more and found a red paisley scarf from a basket. “Here, just try these together, Laurel. You might be surprised.”
“I don’t know.” Laurel looked doubtful as she carried the items to her bathroom to change. Riva sat on the recliner, and Fred leaped onto her lap, snuggled in, and cranked up his purring.
“You’re a happy camper, aren’t you?” She stroked his coat. “You like your new home?”
“What?” Laurel called back.
“Conversing with Fred,” Riva told her.
After a few minutes, Laurel emerged, and Riva was impressed. “Oh, Laurel, I love this look on you. Stylish but classic. Feminine but not too silly or girly. I think you look great. How do you feel?”
