A Thread So Thin (2 page)

S
ince it was New Year’s and I wanted to look especially nice, I tried on all my jewelry before finally deciding to wear my new necklace to dinner with Garrett.

I make a lot of jewelry, but this was my best piece yet: five individual strands of slender silver beads that I’d joined into one necklace, twisting the strands together so they’d catch the light and make a statement. It would be perfect with the deep V-neck of the dress I planned on wearing. But when I was trying it on, I realized that the clasp was too flimsy for such a heavy necklace.

So I put on my winter coat and trudged ten blocks through the snow to the bead shop to buy a sturdier clasp. When I returned, I hadn’t even put the key in the lock when the phone started ringing. I dumped my bag on the floor, pulled off my gloves, and ran to answer it.

“Where have you been all afternoon? I’ve been calling you for hours!”

“No, you haven’t. I just went out to do some shopping. I’ve only been gone an hour.” Abigail has a tendency to exaggerate. I like to call her on it when I can.

“Well, it seemed like hours. Listen, darling, I’ve only got a minute. Franklin and I are going to a party at the Guldens’.”

Franklin Spaulding wasn’t just my mother’s lawyer, he was Aunt Abigail’s, too, for years and years. A few months ago, he became her husband as well. He and Abigail make an odd couple, but they are perfect for each other.

“I saw Garrett, and he told me where he’s taking you for dinner tonight.”

“He did? He hasn’t even told
me
where we’re going for dinner tonight.”

“I thought as much.” She harrumphed. “Men always think women like surprises, but they’re wrong. We pretend to like surprises, but what we really like is being prepared.”

“That’s not true. Women like surprises. I
love
surprises. Surprises are romantic.”

“Of course they are, darling, as long as you’re prepared for them. If you’re not, they can be simply awful. Which brings me back to the reason for this call: What are you wearing tonight?”

I wasn’t surprised by this question. Abigail is always quizzing me about my wardrobe. It’s really none of her business what I wear, but I decided to humor her.

“Since it’s New Year’s, I thought I’d dress up a little. I’ve got that black jersey wrap dress. It’s nice. Very New Yorky.”

“It
is
nice, darling, but not quite nice enough. Not where you’re going.”

“Abigail…”

She sighed impatiently. “I don’t have time to argue, Liza. Really, I don’t. In a little while a deliveryman will be knocking at your door. I called to make sure you’d be there to let him in. I’ve sent you a dress. It’s from my closet, but it should fit you perfectly.”

Abigail and I are the same height and wear the same size, but she’s sixty-five years old.

“Abigail, you’ve got to be kidding. You want me to wear one of your old dresses? On New Year’s Eve?”

“Yes, I do,” she said archly. “And you’re welcome. Do you have any idea how much it costs to hire a messenger service to deliver from New Bern to Manhattan on New Year’s Eve?”

I tried to interrupt, but she cut me off.

“Liza,
don’t
be difficult. I haven’t the time. Wear the dress, darling. Trust me. You’ll be glad you did.”

“But where are we going? Why would Garrett tell you and not me?”

She ignored my questions.

“Must run. Bye-bye. Have a wonderful time.” She made two kiss noises into the phone and hung up before I could say another word.

The new semester wouldn’t begin for a few more days. Two of my roommates, Kerry and Janelle, still hadn’t returned from vacation. I’d been home in New Bern for Christmas but had returned to the city early because Professor Williams—Selena Williams, who headed up the art history department—had asked me to help her do some research for an article she was writing about the influence of Clement Greenberg on abstract expressionism. She’s my favorite professor, so I jumped at the offer. Zoe, who slept in the bed next to mine, was the only other roommate in residence. She had gone home for Christmas, but Zoe’s relationship with her mother—and her stepfather, one in a series of stepfathers—is pretty rocky. Consequently, Zoe never stays home one minute longer than she has to.

When I told her that Aunt Abigail was having one of her dresses messengered to me from New Bern and wanted me to wear it on my date with Garrett, Zoe made a face, stuck her finger in her mouth, and pretended to gag.

“Is she serious? Isn’t your aunt older than the Chrysler Building? There is no way you can wear one of her old dresses out on New Year’s Eve. She’s probably worried you’ll go out on the town with—horrors!—a hemline that’s actually above your knees and that Garrett will be so senseless with lust at the sight of your bare legs that he’ll put a roofie in your drink and take advantage of you while you’re unconscious or something.” Zoe ambled over to the tiny, cube-shaped refrigerator that sat between our beds, pulled out a diet soda, and popped the top.

I shook my head. “She’s not like that.”

She isn’t. Actually, Abigail has very good taste in clothes. Unlike a lot of older women with money to burn, she doesn’t go around buying fabulous designer fashions that were created for twenty-five-year-olds but look ridiculous on a sixty-five-year-old. Abigail says that at her age, “Beauty is a ship that has sailed. The most I strive for at this point is to be clean.”

That’s silly. I’ve never seen her look anything less than beautiful. Her clothes are
very
fashionable, great fabrics, but always age appropriate. When I’m her age, I hope I look half as good as Aunt Abigail.

But that’s just it. I’m
not
her age. Abigail has great clothes, but I couldn’t imagine that anything in her closet was going to look good on me. Especially not for New Year’s Eve in New York.

“Just wait and see,” Zoe said between slurps of soda. “Aunt Abigail’s henchman is going to show up at your door with something that has long sleeves, a granny skirt, a turtleneck, and matching opera gloves. Something long and lumpy. Maybe a full-length snow parka. I’m telling you, Liza, she’s just worried about you showing off too much skin. When the delivery guy shows up, let me answer the door. That way, you can always lie, you can say you had to go out before he came and never saw the dress.”

Not so long ago I’d have had no compunction about lying to Aunt Abigail, but I like to think I’ve grown up a bit since then. Even so, when I heard a knock on our door, I let Zoe get to it first. I stood behind her, nervously eyeing the white dress box as she signed the delivery confirmation slip and closed the door.

Zoe carted the box into our room and tossed it on my bed. We both stared at it. “Well? Do you want to open it? Or should I?”

It was a big box, big enough to hold a lumpy, full-length snow parka. I hoped it didn’t.

“No. It’s all right. I’ll do it.”

Taking a deep breath, I took the box top off, pulled back the layers of white tissue paper, and gasped at the sight of the most exquisite evening gown I had ever seen in my life! The design was simple: a long, straight sheath of ivory silk, with a knee-high slit in one side. The fabric of the dress was covered with long, wavy lengths of thin silver ribbon, stitched with silver thread, making a subtle and beautiful pattern, like wind rippling over water. The ribbons ran vertically from the long hem up the full length of the skirt until they ended, cutting off at varying points along the tight-fitted, V-necked bodice, fading away one by one, so that the fabric at the shoulder seams of the sleeveless gown was a simple expanse of shimmering silk. It was the most beautiful dress in the world.

For a moment, we stood there, speechless, but Zoe found her voice first.

“Liza,” she said, “I take back everything I said about your aunt Abigail.”

“Yeah.”

“Well? What are you waiting for? Try it on!”

It fit perfectly. When I went to zip up the back I realized it didn’t have one. The fabric in the back of the gown scooped into three graceful folds that fell just to the curve of my hip.

Zoe whistled. “Liza, I’d kill to have shoulder blades like yours. They’re gorgeous.”

I turned around and peered over my shoulder to check out the view from the rear. “Thanks.”

Zoe picked up some discarded tissue paper and went to put it in the dress box. “Wait a minute, Liza. There are shoes in here too.” She held up a pair of four-inch stiletto sandals whose straps were strings of tiny rhinestones. They were perfect. I sat carefully on the edge of my bed, trying to slip on the sandals without wrinkling the dress. Zoe continued ferreting through the box.

“Oh, my gosh! And diamonds! Big ones!” I lifted my head and saw Zoe staring wide-eyed into a black velvet bag.

“Let me see that.” She wasn’t lying. I took the bag and pulled out an enormous diamond choker.

The dress and shoes were new to me—I’d never noticed them in Abigail’s closet—but the diamonds I recognized. It was the choker that Abigail’s first husband, Woolley Wynne, had given her as a wedding present. He died many years before, leaving Abigail a very wealthy widow. Abigail kept the choker in a safe deposit box and had shown it to me once when we were at the bank. Years ago, when she’d married Woolley, the choker had cost tens of thousands of dollars. I couldn’t imagine what it must be worth now.

“Are they real? Maybe we should hire a security guy to go to dinner with you.”

“Of course not,” I lied as I held the choker up to my throat. The thought of having something so expensive in our no-doorman, no-luxury apartment made me nervous. There was no point in making Zoe nervous too. The dress and shoes were beautiful, but the diamonds weren’t me. They were too much. Too glamorous. “Who’d be crazy enough to put diamonds that big in the care of some nameless delivery guy if they were real?”

Who? No one but Abigail.

“They’re cubic zirconia,” I continued. “Fakes.” I stuffed the choker back into the velvet bag.

Zoe twisted her lips doubtfully. “Well, they’re the best fakes I ever saw. Aren’t you going to wear them?”

“Uh-uh. I’ve got something better in mind.”

After helping me with my hair, Zoe headed off to Times Square to ring in the New Year.

“This is probably my last New Year’s in New York. I figure you gotta do it once, you know?”

I nodded in agreement, but I was glad I wasn’t joining her. I don’t like crowds. Standing for hours, squashed between hordes of howling strangers in the freezing cold, waiting for a glowing ball to drop was not my idea of a great way to spend New Year’s.

Garrett was right on time. I’d never seen him in a suit and tie before, let alone a tuxedo. He looked so handsome. I was glad Abigail sent the dress. And he was carrying not one rose, but an armful—two dozen long-stemmed pink roses tied with a white satin bow.

“They’re beautiful,” I breathed and buried my nose in the bouquet, the silken petals brushing against my skin.

“
You’re
beautiful,” he said. “You look like Keira Knightley. But taller.”

I lifted my eyes from the flowers. “Don’t tease me.”

“I’m not. You look amazing. Like a movie star. Better than that. You look like you. Exactly like you. The dress. The shoes. Everything. And the necklace. It’s beautiful.”

“Do you like it?” I asked, fingering the silver beads. “I made it myself.”

“I love it. I love everything I see,” he said.

“Thanks.”

Garrett and I’ve been dating for a long time, but I suddenly felt awkward. I went to find a vase so I could put his flowers in water.

“You look great,” I called over my shoulder. “Where’d you rent the tuxedo?”

“I bought it. Had it tailored.” He shrugged. “I figured I was too old to wear a rented tux. Who knows? Maybe I’ll be able to use it again.”

I laughed. “Planning on joining the country club, are you? Going to the charity galas along with Aunt Abigail and the rest of New Bern society?”

“There are other places to wear a tuxedo besides charity galas.” He looked at his watch. “Ready? Our reservation is for nine-thirty.”

“It is?” I plunked the flowers in water and grabbed my black wool coat. Not exactly the thing to wear with an evening gown, but it was the warmest one I had.

“You should have told me. It’ll take forever to hail a cab on New Year’s Eve. We’ll never get there on time. Not that I know where we’re going. Where are we going, anyway? Can we walk? If not, maybe we should take the subway.”

Garrett held out his arm like a courtier asking for the honor of a dance. “Transportation has already been arranged.”

My apartment is on the third floor of a five-floor walk-up on Eighty-eighth, between Second Avenue and Third. It’s not the kind of place you see a lot of limousines idling in front of, but that was exactly what waited for us as we came out the front door. Actually, it wasn’t quite a limousine, not one of those ridiculous stretch jobs they use for celebrities, weddings, or that groups of twenty kids pile into on prom nights. I’d have hated that. This was just a large and very shiny black sedan. A man in a black suit was sitting behind the wheel. He jumped out to open the door for me.

I looked at Garrett. “You didn’t have to do this,” I said, though I wasn’t sorry he had. Even if you’re not glamorous, every now and then it’s fun to pretend you are.

“I know. I wanted to. I want this to be a night we’ll remember. Besides,” he said, looking at my sparkling feet, “I couldn’t risk you wrecking those shoes.”

It was warm inside the car, so I slipped out of my heavy coat and scooted across the leather seat to be closer to Garrett. He put his arm around me. The chauffeur glanced in the rearview mirror and then pushed a button that raised a tinted glass window between the front and back seats.

I laughed. “That’s what I like in a chauffeur—subtlety. What does he think we’re going to do back here? Make out like a couple of high school kids?”

Garrett turned his body toward mine, running his hand under my hair, cradling my head in the hollow of his palm as I tilted my face up to his. The tips of his fingers were cool, but his lips were warm and soft and sweet. I liked the way they felt against mine, the way his bangs fell into his eyes and brushed my cheek as his head bent over mine, and the muscled weight of his body pressing me back into the smooth leather seat as we kissed and clung and glided silently through the streets of the city, past sidewalks full of smiling, laughing crowds, everyone happy and everyone hopeful, believing that maybe, just maybe, the best year of their lives was about to begin.