Austensibly Ordinary (3 page)

“Um, no. I just know I want it.”

The look she gave me confirmed that I sounded as ridiculous as I looked, kneeling before a mostly obscured, plastic-wrapped dress with an I'm-not-worthy attitude.

She stepped forward, stared down at me until, resigned, I unhanded the dress and scooted back on my knees. As she pulled the relevant hanger off the wardrobe rack and proceeded to unveil the rest of the dress, I stood up and tried to regain my composure, distractedly dusting off the front of my trousers.

The top was just as lust-worthy as the bottom. There was a fitted, strapless satin bodice with lingerie stitching, a wide patent leather belt, and a flirty transparent chiffon wrap that tied in the front, all of it deep, dark, lustrous midnight blue. It was perfect. I had no trouble imagining the cool and composed Eve Kendall from
North by Northwest
sashaying through train cars in this streamlined number.

She'd always been my favorite Hitchcock blonde. Partly because we shared the same last name; partly because she was sensible and savvy, not to mention sexy enough to end up with Cary Grant.

I stared at the dress and smiled. All that was left was to wonder whether I could fit into it and fill it out. And whether my mother would let me have it.

I turned to look at her, certain there was desperation in my eyes. “So, can I have it, Mom? I'll buy it from you.”

Her eyebrow went up and she eyed the dress she was still holding.

“I plan to invoke the ‘Thou shall not make a killing off your daughter' commandment.”

“Huh. I hadn't heard of that one.”

“It's lesser known.” I was twitching, my eyes moving back and forth between the dress and my mom. I definitely wasn't playing it cool. Closing my eyes, I took a slow breath. Opening them again, I tried to keep the pleading desperation carefully banked.

“You can have it. But I want to know where you're going in it. A date? With Ethan?”

“No, Mom, not a date per se, and not with Ethan. Just a Halloween party—one of Syd's things. It's sort of a costume party. I'm going old-fashioned.”

“Okay, well, it's yours. Consider it my contribution to the Cate Kendall Happily-Ever-After Fund.”

Nice. “Thanks, Mom. Okay, I'm just going to leave this back here and get busy on the shop. Is Dmitri working today?” Mom considered Dmitri one of her best finds. He was a fashion major at UT who could turn a canvas tote bag and a skein of yarn into something wonderful. Mom already had him on borrowed time.

“It's Thursday. He teaches Pilates at that men's spa. You'll be on your own—at least for a little white—the computer guy is coming.”

“What computer guy?”

“The Nerd Squad or the Geek Freak . . . something.” She moved to a little vanity table she kept in the corner and used occasionally as a desk. As I watched, she pulled out her powder compact and a lipstick and touched everything up.

“Uh-huh.” If I thought it odd that she felt compelled to refresh her makeup for the Geek Freak, I didn't mention it. I chose to make my escape riding the high of mom's largesse. And nearly barreled into someone barging in.

“Cate?” A familiar blonde blocked the door to the storeroom.

“Hey, Court!” I leaned in for a quick hug and got thumped hard on the back.

“Sorry!” She grimaced and held up the one-pound bag of Brach's Autumn Mix in explanation, and my eyes glazed over. Courtney and I shared so much good taste.

I'd been her devoted fan since the minute I discovered she carried candy in her bag. Not Altoids—that was for amateurs. This chick packed the good stuff. For pity parties she had European chocolate bars; for gossip fests, she brought Hot Tamales; and for all-night study sessions, it was licorice. I held up the bag of candy corn and Mellowcreme pumpkins.

“Significance?”

“It's Halloween!” She glanced at me askance, clearly baffled by my ignorance. I didn't even bother to explain.

“What are you doing here?” I asked instead, wondering if it was too soon to bust open the bag of candy.

“I need clothes! One of the law firms is hosting a costume party at the Driskill with a Roaring Twenties theme. I was hoping your mom had something perfect for the occasion.” As the event coordinator for the Driskill Hotel in downtown Austin, Courtney was able to seamlessly mesh her two interests: party planning and ghost stories. The Driskill was certifiably haunted, with the history to prove it, but much to her chagrin and utter frustration, Courtney had yet to see a ghost.

“Hello, Courtney,” Mom said, leaning in for a cheek press and a squeeze. No doubt Courtney had gotten a whiff of Cover Girl pressed powder. Luckily Mom hadn't bussed her cheek, or it would have been necessary for her to refresh her lipstick all over again. For the Geek Freak. “I'm sure there's something here that would be perfect for your party—just look around. I'll make you a deal,” she offered with a wink and a smile.

When Mom was gone, I couldn't wait any longer and ripped a hole in the bag of Autumn Mix. I reached for an orange pumpkin and sank my teeth into the sugar rush. “I'm here for a dress too,” I confided. “For Syd's Hitchcock event on Halloween!”

“Ooh! I wanted to go to that, and would have too, if not for this party. Which reminds me, I need to find a date.”

“You don't have to work the party?”

She reached for a candy corn with a chocolate bottom. “Don't think so. At least not too much. The catering company is completely professional—I've worked with them in the past and been very impressed. Shouldn't be any heavy lifting.”

I nodded. “What about Ethan?”

“Your Ethan?” She shot me a look of baffled disbelief.

“What do you mean,
my
Ethan? We're not together, nor have we ever been,” I reminded her. I reached for a classic candy corn and popped it in my mouth. “We're not compatible like that.”

“Uh-huh.”

“He and I would never work,” I insisted. “Too many quirks. Besides, he's too bossy,” I finished, grabbing a handful from the bag and offering Courtney the chocolate corn. “But I am meeting him for dinner at Torchy's at six. Why don't you come? Scope out his potential. I think he could pull off a little Eliot Ness. . . .”

She stared at me for a long moment and finally said, “Okay, I'm game—for Torchy's, not for Mr. Ness just yet. It's been a while since I've seen Ethan, and I need to reassess.”

“Fair enough.”

Setting the bag of candy corn down on the table and sparing a glance for the rack that held my dress and the secrets of a few other dry-cleaning bags, I grabbed this year's decorating supplies and nudged Courtney out of the storeroom and back into the shop.

Courtney and I browsed the racks for clothes that could be transformed into flapper couture, and any she rejected, I pulled for the display.

“So what's going on with you?” she asked, draping a low-cut, feather-edged, ruby silk number over herself and sizing up its potential.

I thought of my recent, inspired decision to introduce my budding alter ego to a little corner of Austin and elected to fill her in. I bit my lip and swiveled my head to make sure Mom was still hunched over the counter in eager cahoots with the Geek Freak before confiding my big news.

“I'm planning a little masquerade.”

Courtney shot me a quizzical look, waiting for the details.

“I'm going to Syd's Hitchcock soiree, but not as myself.”

Courtney's gaze bounced up from the dress she was holding and her shoulders slumped in exasperated confusion. “I'm not getting any of this.”

I grinned, relishing this moment, thrilled to be sharing my pseudo secret. “Think alter ego. I'm still working out the details.”

“Wait, what?” Swiveling toward me, she lost her balance and fell sideways against a rack of clothing. We tussled for a moment to get her back upright. As it was, her hair got caught on some metallic military detailing on a black blazer.

“Basically I'm going as a modern-day femme fatale.”

Courtney blinked exactly four times before she came up with “Huh.”

My confidence faltered, just a little bit, in the face of my best friend's dubious stare.

“What? You don't think I can bring it?” I lifted an eyebrow and waited, an insecure wimp behind all the bravado.

Three beats of silence and she was singing like a canary.

“The idea of you as a femme fatale just doesn't click in my mind. You're so not that girl, Cate. You're a wholesome schoolteacher! You believe in happily-ever-afters, not . . . sexual conquests. You accessorize with your heart on your sleeve and an artless smile, not so much a mink stole and a revolver.” Her smile, when she finally aimed it in my direction, was rueful. “Just sayin' . . .”

“You do realize that one night as a Hitchcock blonde won't tarnish my reputation. In the morning I'll still be a card-carrying ‘good girt.'”

“Hmm. I suppose that's true.” Courtney bit her lip, still considering.

“Think Eve Kendall in
North by Northwest,”
I said, anxious that she get the sort of personality I was going for here. I wanted someone to assure me that as ideas went, this one was a zinger.

Courtney narrowed her eyes, I assume remembering the curvy, no-nonsense spy girl who was savvy enough to keep her head when alternately faced with murderous foreign spies and a flirty Cary Grant in her train compartment.

Courtney's words, when they came, quickly squelched my optimism. “It's just that you're so darn cute. When I look at you, it's not glamour I'm seeing—or even moxie. I see Hayley Mills in The
Parent Trap.
Ever since we met I've been waiting for you to break into a musical number.”

“Well, you can bet I'm not going to ask you to help me get rid of the body I have stashed in the trunk of my car,” I said, twisting the watch on my wrist in vague irritation. “I'm going for glamour and mystery, not bitch with issues, and I think I can pull it off. It's kind of like a dare.”

“Who dared you?”

“I did.” I shuttered my eyes closed, trying to imagine this conversation from her point of view. No doubt I sounded like a whack-job.

“Gotcha.”

“I just need a little somethin' somethin'. My life is way too tame right now.”

“Maybe you should talk to Ethan,” she said pointedly, turning back to the rack.

“I don't imagine he'd be at all encouraging,” I said.

“Oh, I think you'd be surprised,” she said, a smug little smile playing around her lips. “Just remember, I had a little somethin' somethin' too, and it turned into a whole lotta hell.”

“I remember, sweetie.” It was hard to forget—the silver-tongued, adorably dimpled little shit who had turned Courtney's world upside down had left a lasting reminder that still occasionally surfaced on YouTube.

Deciding it was best to drop the subject for now, I left Courtney to the dressing room and got busy with my afternoon project, relieved to have already found the perfect dress and sweet-talked Mom without having to come completely clean.

Moving back and forth through the shop, I passed the counter often and caught little snatches of Mom's curious chat with Geek Freak Brady. I had to assume that my position in the window created some sort of acoustic anomaly, because it sounded suspiciously like she was flirting with the guy.

Once I had the mannequins outfitted in ruffly georgette tank dresses, layered necklaces, and black tissue-paper turbans glammed up with sprays of cut-out bats and some sparkle, I posed them, palms up. I placed the newly 3-D frogs in their hands, attached the other ends of the ribbon tongues to the mannequin cheeks, and stepped back. I needed more color. Sparkly green tissue-paper scarves, anyone?

Brady was just packing up his things as I moved past the counter on my way into the storeroom for more supplies.

“This is your personal line?” Mom was saying, eyeing his business card.

I shot a curious look in her direction, wondering why she was teasing the poor kid. Her voice had taken on a throaty, husky quality, and from the looks of him, his voice was changing too. Seeing him push his glasses up on his nose put me in mind of Clark Kent, and I gave him a closer look from the storeroom doorway, suddenly wondering if I had cause to be jealous.

“Yes, ma'am,” he told my mom, zipping up his attaché case.

“Allison,” she corrected. “I suspect I'll be calling you.”

I was surprised she didn't tuck the card inside her bra.

“Anytime . . . Allison. Whatever it is, I'll work out the kinks.”

Ducking back through the doorway and out of sight, I barely stifled a fit of giggles. If this was Superman, then I was Marlene Dietrich.

Eager to stay away from the counter while Mom was making time with the computer guy, I took my time gathering up supplies. And my gaze strayed once again to the rack of new arrivals, the source of my new dress. With Courtney closeted in the dressing room with countless outfits and accessories and Mom oddly occupied, I was on my own—and eager for a peek at what was hiding under the other dry-cleaning bags. I checked my watch—still forty-five minutes till we needed to meet Ethan. Plenty of time to finish up the displays after a quick little reconnaissance mission.

I beelined and riffled through the plastic on the first bag to uncover a sweet little dress of gray linen with a pleated bodice, layered cap sleeves, and flap pockets under a banded waistline. It didn't exactly scream femme fatale, more efficient, albeit stylish, secretary—or English teacher. I held it up in front of me, my mind skimming through possibilities. Paired with some sexy pumps, a cleavage-dipping pendant, and some Lolita-red lipstick, it could be perfect—very
Mad Men.
As a disguise, it wouldn't fool anyone, but it would get me in the mood for a little scandalous behavior.