Just This Once (27 page)

She was grateful that Kathryn had backed off so graciously,
and even more grateful that she had held firm. She shuddered at the thought of
shilling her products to Drew’s teammates. Ugh. She’d never make a saleswoman,
that was for sure.

Kathryn wasn’t quite done, however. “And of course, dear,”
she assured Hannah, “any time you want to bring a . . . guest to one of our
events, you’re more than welcome. Like the new shop launch in Hamilton next
week,” she suggested slyly. “You’ll be there, of course, and I could arrange
things so you could slip away partway through, if you wanted to make a day of
it. I understand Drew comes from that area. Perhaps he’d like the chance to
show you around?”

“Again, I think you may be overestimating my . . .
importance to the team, or to any members of it,” Hannah returned. “Of course,
I’m planning to be at the launch. It’s a big event and I’m excited about it.
But I’m afraid it’ll just be me.”

Kathryn recovered once again. “Well, any time, dear,” she
smiled. “You just let us know. We can always make a bit of a splash.”

Hannah could just imagine the “splash” they would make, of
her dragging Drew into an unpaid, unagreed-to endorsement. Over my dead body,
she thought.

“Thank you, Kathryn,” she answered coolly. “I don’t envision
that coming up, but I appreciate the thought.”

By the time Drew called her late that evening, Hannah was
fed up with the whole thing.

“How do you do this?” she exclaimed in frustration as she
told him about her day. “How do you handle people asking you about your private
business all the time? They called me a WAG,” she confided, outraged.

“Reckon you are a WAG, though,” he pointed out reasonably. “What,
were you thinking we were pen pals?”

“It just sounds so much like an . . . an appendage,” she
complained.

“Never mind,” he said soothingly. “I still respect you. But
I handle it the same way you did today. They can ask, but I don’t have to
answer. Men aren’t that interested anyway. They just care about the footy.”

“Then why did you make sure everyone went home on time last
night?” she asked shrewdly. “I don’t think any of the women in the bar would
have minded if the boys had stayed around a bit longer.”

“Maybe that’s why,” he admitted. “Don’t want the team to get
a bad name. The young boys—it’s all new to them. They can make mistakes. And
they have to be thinking about getting right for Saturday. Can’t do that if
you’re out getting pissed. Can’t keep them on too tight a leash either, though,
all season long. Better to be there, keep an eye on them.”

“Well,” she conceded. “I had a good time being a chaperone,
so I won’t complain.”

“Noticed you having a good time, didn’t I,” he agreed.
“Heard you, too.”

“Don’t you have some game strategy to plan, or something?”
she asked crossly. “Instead of embarrassing me?”

He laughed. “You have to let me have some fun, when I’m this
far away. Give me something to think about, get me through to Sunday.”

“There’s a gala dinner in aid of the Australasian Childhood
Cancer Foundation coming up next month,” Drew mentioned one evening in June, as
they ate a relaxed dinner at her apartment. “After the end of the season. Some
of the boys and I will be there. Would you come with me?”

Hannah looked at him speculatively. “Just how gala? What
does it involve?”

He shrugged. “Dress up a bit, get your photo snapped, chat
up the major donors, eat dinner, listen to some speeches. Not too bad.”

“Well, I’ll admit it’d be fun to see you dressed up. Not
that I have any objection to looking at you in your uniform. Just like every
other woman in Auckland,” she teased, laughing as he grimaced in disgust.

“I told you, I’m not the pretty boy. Nobody’s paying me to
get naked on the billboards. I’m not the one they’re looking at.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she mocked. “Tell it to the Marines. But when
you say get your photo snapped, you mean for the newspaper, right?”

“Yeh. And they may even call you a WAG again. Think you can
stick it? I’d like you to come. Keep me company.”

“I’ll admit I’m a little nervous about the publicity part,”
she said. “I’m not as used to it as you are, you know. But how fancy is it?
What kind of dress would I need?”

“Well, it’s quite posh,” he shrugged. “The men wear dark
suits, or dinner jackets. The women wear long dresses, mostly. Some short,
though.”

“Well, that’s extremely helpful,” she sighed. “I can see I’m
going to have to get my information elsewhere.”

When she went online later to check out the prior year’s
function, Hannah found that the event was even dressier than she had supposed.
Red-carpet photos showed women in a variety of formal gowns, many beaded,
embellished, and low-cut. It looked like the Oscars, she thought in dismay. She
knew she had nothing remotely suitable in her wardrobe. Gala dinners and photos
on the red carpet had never been part of her normal routine. She would have to
go shopping.

But after a fruitless Saturday spent trying on and taking
off a succession of ill-fitting, slightly trashy, or simply unattractive
dresses in two department stores and several boutiques, she called Emery in
despair.

He was thrilled. “Girl, we are going to make you smoking
hot,”
he enthused. “You just leave it to me.”

“But Emery,” she objected. “How can you help? I know you’d
go shopping with me if you were here. Can you help me find something online,
maybe? And I don’t know about shoes, or what to do with my hair, or anything.
You know I’m no good at this stuff.”

“Honey, you don’t buy a dress like this online
,”
Emery
told her firmly. “But haven’t you ever heard of the Queer Fashion Mafia? We’ll
get you beautiful. Trust me.”

“Well, nobody knows more about fashion than you, and I
certainly haven’t been very successful on my own looking for a dress. So I’ll
have to leave myself in your hands, I guess. Too bad Drew isn’t taking
you
,”
she teased. “You’d know exactly what to wear.”

“You are so right.
However,
as you unfortunately keep
pointing out, I’m not his type. But I’d love to see
that
picture in the
paper.”

Hannah laughed and hung up, feeling comforted. Emery
wouldn’t let her down, she knew. Somehow, he’d help her find an outfit that
worked.

Sure enough, two days later, she got a call at work from a
man named Edward, who introduced himself as a personal shopper at one of the
city’s most exclusive designer boutiques. Hannah had never even considered
checking his store, as she knew it was out of her price range.

She hesitantly mentioned her concern to Edward, but he
overrode her smoothly. “Just come in,” he told her. “We’ll get you sorted, I
promise.”

“Best set aside three hours,” he said briskly, after she had
made an appointment to meet him that Saturday.

She asked him doubtfully, “Will it take that long, just to
find a dress in your store?”

“The
right
dress,” he corrected her sternly. “Shoes,
bag . . . Yes, we definitely need three hours.”

Well, she thought, she could at least give this a try. After
all, she didn’t have to buy anything if it didn’t work out.

She duly presented herself at the appointed hour, resigned
to yet another day of trying things on. She quailed a bit, though, on entering
the elegant store in Auckland’s most prestigious retail space. The clothes were
so exquisite, and the assistants so beautifully groomed, she wondered if they’d
even let her in. Suddenly, everything she was wearing felt just a little
scruffy.

But here was Edward—it could only be Edward, slim and
faultless in a black suit—coming towards her with a welcoming smile. He took
her into a large fitting room, complete with curtained-off changing area and
padded benches, and urged her to sit. Over coffee brought by yet another
assistant, he took her measurements.

“I brought out a few things already.” He showed her a rack
of short and floor-length dresses. “But after seeing you, we definitely need to
go with floor-length. Classic, Emery said, and he’s right, of course. But we
want a bit of flash to bring out that hair and skin.”

Hannah found herself dressing and undressing for yet another
Saturday. She had to admit, the choices were a lot better than those she would
have made for herself—
had
made, she reminded herself. The colors were clearer,
the fabrics more luxurious, the cuts more refined and closer to her body,
without being overly revealing.

And still Edward kept bringing them out, satisfied with
none. After an hour, Hannah was flagging.

“Maybe I should just choose one of these,” she suggested.
“They all look nice. Maybe this purple one. It’s pretty.”

Edward looked at her severely. “We aren’t after
nice,”
he
informed her. We’re after
stunning.
And we’ll know it when we see it.
The difference between pretty and beautiful is just attention to detail.” He
relented, though, and let her take a break. 

Attention to detail, she thought. Whatever. This was the
second Saturday she had wasted, and it began to seem a little ridiculous to
spend this much time choosing a single outfit, for an event she felt dubious
about anyway. But Edward wasn’t allowing her to quit. On and on she went,
pulling each dress over her body, watching him shake his head, and taking it
off again.

And then, midway through the second hour, when she was
having visions of herself eating lunch on the floor of the fitting room, they
found it. As soon as she pulled the gorgeous silk jersey over her shoulders and
the dress settled around her, she knew this was The Dress.

“But it’s red,” she told him doubtfully. “I never wear red.
It’s so . . . bright.”

“That’s not just red,” Edward assured her. “That’s
Valentino
Red. And it’s you.”

Somehow, the blood-red hue made her cheeks look pinker,
while the pale skin of her bare arms glowed in the reflected color. The cut,
too, was beautiful. Tiny cap sleeves embraced just the tops of her shoulders,
gathering at her collarbones and flaring into the neckline in a flattering,
feminine bow shape. The twisted bodice, with its wide V-neckline, was glamorous,
but didn’t show too much cleavage, while the diagonally shirred bodice made the
most of her curves and trimmed her waistline. The shirring stopped at the hip,
the gathered folds dropping from one side to the floor in a graceful, slim bell
with a slight train.

She turned to see her rear view. The V back wasn’t too low,
she saw thankfully, and the shirring was certainly flattering back there, too.
The cap sleeves gave the dress an elegant silhouette both front and back that
the sleeveless gowns she’d tried on couldn’t match.

She looked at Edward, her fatigue forgotten. “I think this
is it. Isn’t it?”

He smiled back. “This is the one,” he agreed.
“Congratulations.”

She sighed in satisfaction, and took a look for the first
time at the price. She had peeked at tags throughout the morning, of course,
and had been shocked but, finally, resigned at the parade of $1,500-plus dresses
she had tried on. This was a special occasion dress, she had told herself
firmly. She had never had a real evening gown, and this was an investment piece
she could wear whenever she was invited somewhere very special. If she bought
something classic, it could last for years.

But now she gasped and dropped the tag. “$2,500? I’m sorry.
I love this dress, but I can’t afford it.”

Edward smiled at her. “Did I mention we’re having a sale? Today,
that dress is $1,800.”

She looked at him in surprise. “I didn’t see any sale sign
in the store.”

“Oh,” she realized. “Did Emery say . . . who I was going
with? He shouldn’t have done that. I wouldn’t want to accept a discount under
false pretenses. I’m not in a position to be all that helpful to your store,
I’m afraid.”

He just looked at her, amused. “Emery told me you were in
marketing. Don’t you have a promotional budget? Trust me, we’re in this
business to make money too. You’ll have to believe me that when your photo
turns up in the paper and online, people will want to know where you bought your
dress. It’s in my best interests to have you out there, looking glamorous and
reflecting well on the shop—and, if I may say so, on me. And of course, I’m
hoping for your repeat business, though you’re under no obligation.”

She blushed. “I can’t promise anything,” she warned. “I
don’t know that there will be any . . . repeat business.”

He answered smoothly, “Well, whether or not that’s the case,
this is your dress. You want it, and I want to sell it to you for $1,800. Now
let’s get you some lunch, and then try on those shoes.”

When Hannah left the store that afternoon, she felt a little
sick at the hit her credit card had taken, but for once she felt confident
about how she was going to look. Edward had not only helped her pick out
strappy black high-heeled sandals and a small black clutch that were, he
assured her, perfect with the gown. He had also advised her on jewelry, hair,
and makeup. Who knew there was so much to getting really dressed up? She had
always thought she was doing well if she fixed her hair nicely and actually
wore mascara. But she apparently
absolutely
needed her hair, makeup, and
nails professionally done before the gala.

Well, at least she didn’t have to lug any packages.
Everything was being delivered to her once the dress was hemmed to her
measurements. That was what thousands of dollars bought you, she supposed. Delivery
service.

Grateful to be home, she took a long, hot shower. She hadn’t
realized trying on clothes could be so exhausting. She felt as if she’d run a
marathon. In her robe at last, with a comforting cup of tea, she called Emery
and told him how the day had gone.