Catholic.”
“I am,” Judith said, “and I think it’s a lovely habit.
Very graceful. You’ll look terrific.”
Winifred gave an indifferent shrug. “Whatever. Dirk
Farrar symbolizes the early Renaissance while showing off his manly physique in that silver-and-goldslashed doublet and tights. Tyrone Power wore it, I
think. The less lavish doublet and the fur-trimmed surcoat came from an MGM historical epic. Or maybe it
was Fox. Dade Costello’s wearing that for the era of
the printing press. The nineteenth-century frock coat
and top hat belong to Ben Carmody. The industrial revolution, of course. And Chips Madigan gets to dress as
the computer whiz kid.”
Judith smiled at the suntan pants, the flannel shirt,
the horn-rimmed spectacles, and the box of Twinkies.
Living in the land of Microsweet, she was familiar
with the outfit.
“What about the rest of the movie company? What
will they wear?” she asked.
“Whatever suits
“We left everybody else pretty much on their own.
They’ll conform, of course.”
The statement seemed to reflect the general attitude
of Bruno Zepf’s circle. Winifred had no need to add,
“Or else.”
Pointing at a stack of garment bags that lay on the
living-room floor, Winifred commented, “We’ll put
them in those. Remember, they have to be back by four
o’clock. The premiere is at six.”
Carefully, Judith picked up the Scarlett O’Hara costume. “I understand that the ball is at ten. What time do
you think you’ll be back here for the midnight supper?” She dreaded the idea of putting on such a late
event, but Bruno had consented to pay an extra two
grand, and Judith couldn’t refuse the money.
“A midnight supper is just that,” Winifred replied,
tucking her nun’s habit into one of the garment bags.
“We should return shortly before twelve.”
Judith gave an absent nod as she fumbled with the
silks and taffeta that made up Angela’s post–Civil War
era gown.
“Careful!” Winifred cried. “Watch out for the decorative trim!”
“Right, okay,” Judith agreed. “Maybe I should turn
it over to protect the front of the outfit.”
Since Winifred didn’t argue, Judith did just that.
And stared.
The long black-and-white silk skirt and taffeta petticoat had been slashed in a half-dozen places from the
waist to the hem.
