“Mama, are you gonna be a star?” Annie asked.
“Not a star, but I will get a nice bonus for working the show, and with Christmas just around the corner the extra money will come in pretty handy.”
“Actually, you are going to be a star.” Ginger’s words had the sound of jealousy sticking to them. “This event draws close to 200 people.”
She was in the middle of telling how the spotlight was focused on each model as she walked across the stage then swept through the room gathering oohs and ahhs from onlookers when she gave a sudden squeal and jumped up from the table.
“Good grief, my water just broke!”
Ida grinned. “Well, Edna, it looks like you’re going to be a grandma sooner than you thought.”
In the flurry of activity that followed, she never noticed the worried look that had settled on Suzanna’s brow.
Suzanna
Foolish Fears
THE THOUGHT OF 200 STRANGERS attending the fashion show was something Suzanna hadn’t taken into account. She’d naively imagined it to be a gathering of silver-haired ladies sipping tea, asking if this or that outfit came in a larger size. It was sheer stupidity on her part. She should have known. With Colette ordering a special pair of silver sandals for her to wear with the evening gown and paying her an additional $100 to work the show, how could she not have realized the event was going to be really big?
Up until now she’d played it smart and kept a low profile. She’d wisely avoided any situation where someone might speak up and say she was not who she claimed to be, and it had worked. With Ida squarely behind her, no one had even raised an eyebrow at the thought of her being Darla Jean Parker. They’d all, every last one, taken her at her word and she had foolishly allowed it to lull her into a false sense of security.
Now she was going to risk everything, and for what? A pair of silver sandals? An extra $100? A moment of glory? All of it was meaningless compared to what she had: a home where Annie was happy and thriving, a grandmother who loved her, and quite possibly a future with Gregg.
After a worry-filled night of tossing and turning, Suzanna woke Friday morning with dark shadows beneath her eyes and her stomach twisted in knots. She patted a bit of concealer beneath her eyes, dressed for work, then hurried downstairs to grab a quick cup of coffee.
“No breakfast for me today,” she said, then filled a mug and sat at the table.
Ida looked up. “Are you sick?” Setting the platter of scrambled eggs back on the counter, she came across the room and held a hand to Suzanna’s forehead. “It doesn’t feel like you’ve got a fever.”
“I don’t,” Suzanna replied, “but I’m worried that agreeing to be a model in Colette’s show was a big mistake. I honestly don’t think I’m up to it.”
“Nonsense, you’ll be great. You’ve got the looks, and she obviously believes you can do it or she wouldn’t have asked.”
“I’m not good in front of a crowd. And the thought of all those strangers—”
“If that’s what has you upset, then you’re worrying about nothing. The women who go to the holiday fashion show are the same ones who shop at Cavalier’s. The only difference is that for this event, they have their hair done and get gussied up.”
“What about newspaper reporters? And out-of-towners?”
“Imogene Cranston, the woman who does the social events column for The Town Crier will be snapping some pictures, but she’s the only reporter. A few of the ladies invite a cousin or friend from nearby, and some coerce their husbands into coming along. But they’re locals out for an afternoon of fun, not people you have to worry about impressing.”
Searching for what would sound like a reasonable explanation, Suzanna said, “It’s not that…”
She stopped, her breath caught in her throat. There was no logical way to explain her fears; she was stuck in a lie with no way out. Her voice quavered as she forced the words to come.
“It’s the thought of being up there in front of a crowd of strangers.”
Ida pulled her into a hug. “Darla Jean, you need to stop thinking of them as strangers. Sure, they’ll be dressed up, but underneath the ruffles and feathers they’re the same women you’ve waited on for the past two months.”
“You really think so?”
“Yes, I do. If you doubt my word, ask Colette. She’ll tell you the same thing.”
“But Ginger said—”
“You’re not Ginger. She never modeled for the show, and judging from the way she talked about it I’m guessing it was something she really wanted.”
“Maybe so, but that doesn’t change anything. It’s still a big crowd and—”
“It changes everything,” Ida said. “Ginger’s outside looking in; when you want something you don’t have, it appears bigger, better, more impressive, something to stand in awe of. But you’re on the inside, so you should be able to see the reality of what it is.”
With a puzzled look tugging at her face, Suzanna said, “I don’t get it.”
“Ginger was standing on the edge of the show, so she saw the gathering as one huge and very impressive crowd. But as you’re walking through the room, you’ll be able to see those people as they really are: ordinary, everyday individuals. Mothers, daughters, sisters, friends, just women out to have a good time.”
In an odd way, Ida’s words began to make sense. Suzanna thought back on all the times she’d stood on the outside looking in: the father/daughter dance, graduation day, countless Christmases. The happiness of those events had been beyond her reach and she’d viewed them as bigger than life, so perhaps with the fashion show there really was nothing to fear.
By the time Suzanna left for work, she was feeling a bit better about
