The mention of her name quickly roused Suzanna, and when she stepped from behind the partition the audience offered a polite round of applause. As she crossed the floor, her steps were tentative and her expression apprehensive. She turned on cue, slid the blazer off, and casually tossed it over her shoulder. It wasn’t the same one-fingered dangle Danielle used, but the jacket didn’t land on the floor. Her movements were reasonably close to the mark, but instead of smiling, her brows were knotted and she looked as though she might pass out any second.
When she began to circle the room, she spotted the table two rows in.
Nine people were crowded together: Ida, several of her friends, Gregg, Phil, Ginger, and, right there in front, Annie with a grin that stretched the full width of her face. She jumped up, started waving, and in a little girl voice that pierced the hush of silence, squealed, “Mama, you look soooo beautiful!”
A ripple of laughter rolled across the room, followed by a round of enthusiastic applause, and Suzanna’s look of apprehension dissolved into a smile. Not the stiff Mona Lisa smile she’d practiced but a soft curl of her lips that came without thought.
As she strolled past the tables, she saw a host of familiar faces, people who returned her smile and gave a wink or a nod of recognition. They were townspeople. Clients. Silver-haired ladies with teen-aged granddaughters; wives with husbands. Mothers and daughters. It was exactly as Ida had said.
Suddenly Suzanna realized there was no need for fear or pretense. They didn’t expect her to be anybody other than the person she’d become. They liked Darla Jean Parker exactly as she was.
When Suzanna stepped behind the partition, the stylist and her assistant were standing by with everything ready to go. Buttons were opened, zippers zipped, and in the blink of an eye the change she’d feared would be cumbersome was over. As the stylist smoothed the back of the jacket, Suzanna heard Colette at the microphone.
“The exquisitely tailored suit Darla Jean is wearing is the jewel of this year’s collection.”
That was her cue. She stepped from behind the partition and strolled to the center of the room. When she heard Colette describe the paisley silk accent, she loosened a button and fanned the jacket, displaying the lining just as they’d practiced. As Colette’s narrative continued Suzanna moved through the room, stopping in all the predesignated places, turning to follow the rehearsed route, and then circling back toward the dressing area just as Elise stepped into the spotlight.
The remainder of the show went as smoothly as the first two presentations with Suzanna wending her way down the main aisle, circling through the maze of tables, and turning on cue without a single hitch. Each time she passed Ida’s group, she gave Annie a wink. Twice she slowed as she strolled by, taking in the look of adoration she could see in Gregg’s eyes.
Suzanna closed the show wearing a gown of blue silk. It was the cornflower blue of her eyes with pinpoints of light that shimmered in the fabric as she moved. Never in all her life had she looked or felt more beautiful. Her step was as light as that of a ballerina, and her smile came not from practice but from her heart. It was all here, everything she had ever wished for. As she swept past Ida’s table that one last time she saw the look of admiration on Gregg’s face, and with a smile that was as intimate as a kiss she allowed her eyes to linger on his face for one sweet moment. Something good was happening, and this time she was ready for it.
——————
THE PROBLEM WITH HAPPINESS IS that it can sometimes blind a person to the reality of life. Had Suzanna not been dazzled by the brightness of Annie’s smile and the look of promise in Gregg’s face, she might have noticed the stranger sitting at Sylvia Monroe’s table. Maybe she would have recognized him; maybe not. It had been over eight years since she’d seen Bobby Doherty and even longer since she’d seen his younger brother. Eddie was fifteen years old back then, a pimply-faced kid with boyish features and a gangly stance. He looked nothing like he did now, so when Suzanna passed him by without a hint of recognition it was understandable.
To Sylvia Monroe the fellow wasn’t a stranger; he was her future son-in-law. Not a young man she was particularly fond of, but she had little say in the matter. Christine had met the lad at the University of Florida and, much to Sylvia’s chagrin, moved in with him six months later. To make matters even worse, here it was, two years post-graduation, and they were still living together without any mention of when the wedding might take place.
The situation was something Sylvia was forced to contend with, but the thought of Christine not coming home for the annual fashion show was something she simply could not abide. It was a mother/daughter tradition, one of the few things she could look forward to year after year.
This year they’d had a row over it, and Christine, who could be rather snippy at times, argued that Eddie had no interest in sitting through another fashion show.
“We came last year,” she said sharply. “You can’t expect us to make the trip every year.”
“I most certainly do,” Sylvia had replied vehemently. “I don’t give a hoot whether or not Eddie Doherty comes, but you’re my daughter and I expect you to be here.”
In the end Christine did come, and she brought the sullen-faced Eddie with her. He complained throughout the luncheon. The chicken salad was too dry, his chair had a wobbly leg, the waiters were too slow, and a host of other things. But as soon as Darla Jean stepped out wearing that first outfit, something
