I took his face in my hands and kissed him slowly, savoring the moment, and murmured with a grin, “Yes. I’ll go.”
Henry and I had just finished our cereal the next morning when a jaunty knock on the door made us both frown.
“Who’s that?” Henry asked. “It’s awfully early, Mama.”
I laughed. “Hey, don’t grow up so fast, okay?”
I was still smiling when I opened the door to see Merilee. She walked right in and turned around, leaning on the back of the couch, grinning from ear to ear. “So, looks like we’re going shopping!”
I blinked. “What?”
“For your date,” she said, her smile getting a wicked slant to it. “Whit asked me to help you out.”
“Thanks, Merilee,” I said, surprised that she’d been brought in our plans. “But I’ll figure something out. I don’t really have the money to go shopping.”
“Good thing we’re shopping in my closet,” she said. Before I could stop her, she called out, “Henry! Come on, little man. We’re going to go play at my apartment. Ms. Netty can’t wait to see you!”
Henry trudged into the room dutifully but looked less than thrilled. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Oh, don’t looktooexcited,” she teased. “Of course, if you don’t come with us, I don’t know who is going to eat all the cookies I baked this morning…”
This brought a light to Henry’s eyes. “Well, I guess I could help with that.”
“Good lord, Merilee,” I said as she grabbed my hand and pulled me into the hallway. “What time do you get up?”
“I can sleep when I’m dead,” she called over her shoulder to me. “Close the door, Henry!”
Before I could process what was happening, we were in Merilee and Ms. Netty’s apartment, Henry seated at their kitchen table, eating cookies and milk, chatting animatedly with Ms. Netty.
I took in the apartment as I followed Merilee out of the kitchen and down the hall to her bedroom. The place looked like it had been frozen in time in the 1920s or 1930s, the rooms rich with the opulence and vaguely futuristic décor of the Art Deco period—lots of mirrored or metallic surfaces and bold colors and scalloped designs and geometric patterns in the wallpaper and fabrics.
It was stunning.
When we entered Merilee’s bedroom, she flung open the doors to a massive wardrobe with a flourish like a game-show hostess revealing the grand prize. A ridiculous number of dresses hung inside. “Try on anything you like!”
Still confused, I said, “Thank you so much, Merilee, but I can’t imagine anything you have will fit me. I mean…you’re tall and gorgeous and…I’m sure you look beautiful in everything.”
She came over to me, lips pressed together, and took me by the shoulders, gently turning me around to face a full-length mirror. “Zellie Dupont, that woman right there is beautiful. All she needs is a little permission to feel it. And, Zellie-girl,Iam giving you permission to feel it.”
Emotion rose in my throat. I managed a grateful smile, not willing to trust my voice. I’d rarely experienced any sort of generosity, had no idea how to respond, how to accept even this small bit of happiness.
“So,” she said, returning to her wardrobe, “we’re going to find the perfect dress for you. And if you don’t find one here, we’ll check my other closet.”
Other closet?
Still too stunned to respond, I just stood in front of the mirror as Merilee pulled out more than a dozen dresses and held them up to me and studied my reflection, my skin tone, my shoulders, sizing me up to determine which ones were the most flattering.
By the time we’d gone through her selection, she had six of them for me to try on. To my surprise, it was more fun than I’d anticipated. As I tried on each dress, pretending to model on the catwalk, Merilee would either scrunch up her face to rule them out or love-bomb me with compliments on the ones she approved of.
The last dress I tried on slid over my skin, silky soft, as I pulled it on over my head and down my torso. It clung to my curves in all the right places, fitting as if made for me. The blood-red sleeveless sheath was overlayed with a filmy black material decorated with beautifully beaded patterns, striking without being gaudy.
“This one,” I whispered, staring at the mirror, finding it hard to believe that the woman I saw there was me.
Merilee handed me heels that looked like they might’ve come from the Art Deco period like the rest of the house. “Try these”
To my surprise, they fit perfectly, the soft leather molding to my feet.
“Hmm,” she mused, narrowing her eyes, studying me. “Something’s still missing.”
