“Am I really a pain in the ass?” On the back wall, the ladder hung askew, dangling from one wheel.
“The biggest one I know. Now come look at your clothes.” She snapped her fingers. “Stop frowning! Adam’s going to fix that. And maybe, thanks to—” she bit her lip, eyes shining, “Just come over here and see!” As if to add emphasis to her excitement, a pinprick-sized white light burst into being over her left shoulder.
There you are! My angels hadn’t given up on me. This one jaunted about Maureen’s head with a festive flicker and I knew I was supposed to give her a chance. I drew a deep breath and resolved to be more open-minded. Well, to try to be more open-minded. No need to over-promise.
She’d pulled aside one muslin curtain and was waiting with her big reveal. Two outfits hung, waiting for adoration, each with matching shoes displayed beneath. She’d put a lot of thought into this. Of course the clothes were beautiful, since Maureen had excellent taste, but they were so . . . flashy? No. Ostentatious? Closer, but not really . . .
“It’s called color, Lila. Some people wear it.”
Ah.
Both outfits were gorgeous, one in shades of earthy green and bronze, and the other in . . . peacock blue silk? I focused on the green one. Thin velvet had been draped and sewn into a sumptuous blouse with a neckline that would just barely cling at the shoulders, and a matching sash that would gather the soft fabric at the waist. Tonally dyed, it reminded me of leaves in the shade.I fingered it gently before turning to thank my friend, but I wasn’t quick enough. Maureen waiting with one hand on her cocked hip—the very image of a ticked off Hollywood stylist.
“You have such good taste. They’re beautiful!” I could be enthusiastic when I tried. “I adore this one!”
She beamed. “I knew you’d love it! It’ll look so pretty off your skin and hair—and aren’t the pants precious?”
Upon closer inspection, the pants were a problem. Golden bronze capris with a satin sheen, they were the kind of pants that hugged your butt and wrinkled where no sane woman would want them to wrinkle. Sometimes Maureen forgot that I was a decade older than her. I moved on to the shoes. Open-toed brown velvet wedges. Sturdy but sexy, the kind of shoes you could sashay in without losing your balance. If I was inclined to sashay.
She gestured to the blue silk. “You haven’t even looked at this one! You have to at least try it on.”
“Why? I really love the blouse—and shoes. Thank you for thinking of me. You’re very sweet.” I hugged her, and her surprised smile spoke volumes. Guess I wasn’t much of a hugger except for Eileen. In fact, that might’ve been the first time in the three years I’d known Maureen that I’d actually touched her on purpose. What did that say about me as a friend? Or a human?
A summery yellow spark flashed just to the right of my line of sight, and I wished I knew whether the angel was chastising me, or assuring me that I wasn’t as bad a person as I feared. It was a relief to have them back again. I imagined that losing them completely would be like a normal person suddenly losing their sense of smell. It wouldn’t be a debilitating handicap, but it would make every experience incomplete.
Maureen started to pull the garments down, and I suddenly realized just how thoughtful—albeit silly and pushy—she’d been to buy me clothes and arrange a party. Just for me.
“Leave the silk. I’d love to try it on. It’s really beautiful.” Her face lit up, and I felt another surge of guilt. Her expression was a little too excited. “I don’t know where I’ll wear it . . . your party isn’t formal, right?”
Maureen pursed her lips. “This isn’t formal! It’s . . . ” My arched eyebrow was again sufficient to make her rethink her words. “Well, maybe it’s semi-formal . . . but it was gorgeous and I couldn’t fit into the sample size, so I thought I’d live vicariously through you.” Her petulant confession made me laugh. She was petite and slim, but well-endowed.
“Lucky me! I’ll model it for you before we start getting customers.”
“Maybe I should buy you more stuff and you can be my very own dress-up doll.”
“Ah . . . no. Helllll no,” I asserted in my best drawl.
“We’ll see!” she called back over her shoulder.
With a sigh, I adjusted the muslin for privacy and unbuttoned my blouse. Give ‘em an inch . . . I hefted the mass of dupioni off its hanger, lingering over the fine detail work. The dress had a wide boat-neck with subtle ruching at one shoulder, and a knee-length pencil skirt with an accordion kick pleat. It was a dress better suited for Audrey Hepburn than me. Then again, if memory served, Audrey and I shared a proclivity for neutrals.
I maneuvered the dress over my head and slid my pants off as the silk fell around my waist. Moving the curtain aside just enough to see the mirror, I concentrated on adjusting the skirt. The color next to my fair skin and reddish hair was overwhelming. It made my eyes look shockingly blue instead of their regular washed-out blue-gray. No way would I wear something this noticeable—but the dress didn’t deserve to be hidden away in a closet. Maybe Eileen could wear it to prom in a few years?
I was weighing whether the style would be too mature when the chimes rattled. A second later Maureen called out.
“Lila? Could you come help?”
Ah, Jesus. Really? I stepped into my taupe heels—which actually didn’t look too terrible with the dress—and ventured out. Two steps later, I froze. A muscular man in a light blue shirt was leaning over the jewelry case beside Maureen.
“Come here,” she
