“Good.” Elsa was glad that at least her mother had thought outside of herself in that.
“Your father and I will eat what was left of last night’s dinner.”
“That’s called leftovers.” Elsa grinned. “You’re eating leftovers. Like the middle class.”
“Oh, fiddlesticks. In any case, you’re better off eating dinner at the Beresford. But if you aren’t busy right now, I thought you and I might do a little shopping together.”
Elsa eyed her, curious at the odd idea. When she was a child, a seamstress had come in and taken her measurements, and come back with tailor-made clothes. Only when she became an adult did she shop at department stores. She’d even purchased ready-made clothes off the rack, much to her mother’s chagrin.
Shopping with Mother didn’t sound like a pleasant prospect. And yet she could almost hear Lauren and Ivy in her head, telling her this was less about shopping and more about spending time together. They were both orphans now, while Elsa still had both parents living. She ought not take that for granted.
“I do need a better pair of walking shoes,” she said.
Mother brightened. “Then it’s settled! Lord & Taylor? Saks?”
“Macy’s?”
“Goodman’s?”
Elsa agreed. Bergdorf Goodman’s department store was more expensive than Macy’s but closer.
Mother smiled. “Good. Come, Reeves is waiting.”
Outside the museum, Mother’s onyx Studebaker shone in the afternoon sun. Mr. Reeves, the driver, held the door open while Mother slid into the back seat.
“How are you, Reeves?” Elsa asked. “It’s been an age since I’ve seen you.”
“Pleasure to see you again, Miss Reisner.” Silver threaded the hair beneath his cap. He’d been the only driver her parents had employed during her lifetime, the one who had driven her to boarding school and picked her up again to bring her home.
Before Elsa bent to take her seat beside Mother, he held out a couple of Tootsie Rolls for her, just as he had on all those trips when she’d been a child, and he’d been the first and last familiar face she’d seen. “Still partial to these?”
Her heart warmed. “Who isn’t? Thank you.” She unwrapped a candy and popped it in her mouth as soon as she sat in the auto. “Want one?” She held out the other to her mother, who lifted an eyebrow and shook her head.
“Seeing your dentist regularly, dear?”
Ignoring the jibe, Elsa looked out the window instead of making a snappy remark she’d regret. The auto filled with silence as they rode to the luxury department store.
A uniformed doorman opened the Studebaker’s back door. Elsa swallowed what remained of the Tootsie Roll and stepped out onto the sidewalk.
With a word of instruction to her driver, Mother accepted the doorman’s hand and exited the auto. Oh, the regal way she moved. She made the simple act of rising from the Studebaker and strolling toward the doors look like she was royalty.“Didn’t you know? Yourmother is a queen,”her father had teased when she was little.“And that makes you a princess.”
It had been a long time since she’d believed that, but Mother still moved with elegance and grace, like she knew people were watching her and wanted to make it worth their while.
People were watching both of them now. Two young ladies in short dresses and long strands of pearls exited the brass revolving doors, a man carrying hatboxes behind them. Their admiring gazes swept over Mother’s perfect coiffure and poise, then became open stares at the contrast in limping, bespectacled Elsa. A spark of recognition flared. Had these women been her classmates at boarding school? Or was it only the disdain in their expressions that felt familiar? Her fingers wrapping around the remaining Tootsie Roll in her pocket, Elsa wondered how good her aim was.
So much for Madame Trudeau’s deportment classes.
Straightening, she marched into the store as though she belonged with the beautiful, perfect people who shopped here. As though she belonged beside her mother.
———
Bergdorf Goodman didn’t have a shoe department. They had a shoesalon, furnished with plush sofas and chairs, potted trees, Turkish rugs, high ceilings adorned with crystal chandeliers, and mirrors that doubled the space. Elsa and her mother sat on the edge of a purple loveseat, their posture as erect as though they still stood. A saleswoman sashayed their way, introduced herself as Bette, and inquired how she could meet their needs.
“I’d like a good pair of walking shoes, please,” Elsa told her. “Size seven. Nothing fancy, just something practical. Comfortable.”
“But high quality in materials and workmanship,” Mother specified. “A little style doesn’t hurt, either.”
“But of course.” Bette smiled. “We have only the highest standards here. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll return with some selections in a few moments.”
