Why did he give it to her and not me?Oh, yeah, because I wouldn’t have wanted to put any expenditures on it.
Four hours later, my long hair has been layered. It’s still almost the same length – minus the split ends – but now lies in flattering waves shimmering down from the top of my head. I’ve had a pedicure, a manicure, and a full wax – and I meaneverywhere –and my makeup has been redone and expertly applied. The mirror shows the result is tasteful, and I like it.But we still haven’t picked up the freaking cake.
“We’re going to be late,” I moan to Pippa.
“No, we’re not. Just ring Freak and tell him to delay for a while.”
I really want to see Ace’s face when he walks into the clubhouse, and sees it’s been decorated just for him. So I do as she suggests and call my man.
“Freak, can you keep Ace occupied a little longer? The girls have gone overboard.” I roll my eyes even though he can’t see me.
“Sure, babe. We’re actually still at the track. Ace is doing well. I’ve planned to stop off for something to eat after, so you can take your time.”
“Don’t forget there’s a barbecue later,” I remind him. “Don’t let him eat too much.”
He chuckles. “Trix, doesn’t matter how much I feed him. He’ll be ready to eat again in a couple of hours.”
He’s not wrong. We end with the normal platitudes exchanged by two people in love. And then, at last, we’re heading into town and toward the bakery. But Pippa pulls into a parking lot before we arrive.
“The bakery is further down,” I tell her.
“I know, but there’s a boutique here that I’ve wanted to visit.”
“I really want to get to the clubhouse before Ace.” If it wasn’t childish, I’d stomp my good foot. After all the planning I’d put into this, well, with Pippa’s help, of course, I don’t want to miss out on one moment of Ace’s surprise.
“It won’t take a minute, Trixie.” It’s Bronwyn who’s linked her arm with mine. “And I’m in the mood for something new for myself.”
Outnumbered, what can I do but comply?
As soon as the bell rings over the door, it’s obvious I can’t afford anything in here. But Pippa marches in, and Bronwyn drags me after her. Pippa goes straight to a display of dresses. Ihave to agree, they’re cute, a kind of fifties style, a pretty bodice, pulled-in waist, and a flared skirt.
Pippa pulls one off the rack. The background is cream, and it’s covered in prints of wildflowers. She holds it up against me and sighs. “This would look perfect on you, and it looks like your size. Trix, go try it on.”
Checking the label to see if it would indeed fit me, I catch her eye. “I don’t have a choice, do I?”
“You’re getting it.” She chuckles. “Now, shoo.”
It’s been over five years since I last wore a dress as nice as this, I think, as I stare at the material I’m holding. I used to wear designer clothes when I lived with Piero. I was the wife of an underboss, after all, and was expected to look the part. For a moment, history wells up in my mind. But then I look at the dress hanging on the hook, and realise, though it’s obviously designer, the style would not be seen in the salons of New York, expensive but not exorbitant. Deciding not to give Piero any more space in my mind, I strip out of my t-shirt and shorts, and I try it on. I smooth it down over my tits and tighten the belt around my waist. When I twirl, the skirt flows around me. Looking in the mirror, I see it really suits me. It’s not so flashy that it would be out of place in the clubhouse, and wearing it, I look nothing like a club girl. Would Freak like it? I grin to myself. He’d probably take one look at it and tell me it would look better on the floor.
“You ready, Trix? Come out and show us.” Pippa yells.
Sighing, I know full well that if they see me in it, they’ll probably persuade me to buy it. I have two choices – either tell them it didn’t fit me, or go out and be pressed into spending more of Freak’s money, which, to my mind, would be best saved for building our house. But hell, I do like it. So I pull back the curtain and step out.
Only to see the other two old ladies, both wearing dresses. Pippa’s is a plain baby-blue sheath. Somehow, she’s already returned to her pre-baby figure, and it really suits her. Bronwyn’s is mauve, cinched in at the waist like mine, but the skirt isn’t so full. The colours complement both their wearers and coordinate well with the flowers in my dress.
Pippa’s grinning widely. “I think these are the ones. The men won’t know what’s hit them.”
“No,” I say firmly. “It’s a barbecue. Shorts and t-shirts fit the part.”
“We’re old ladies,” Pippa insists. “This makes a definite statement we’re not club girls.”
I bristle, thinking she’s making a dig at me. “I’ll go take this off.” I turn.
“No, Trix. You’re going to wear it. That style suits you.”
“I like this dress, and Short will love it.” Bronwyn sighs. “But I don’t want to wear it if you aren’t going to wear one as well.”
“That’s fucking blackmail,” I tell her.
