Vamps: Human and Paranormal (37 page)

I looked like freaking Julia Roberts!  It was too skimpy, it was too short, and too tight -- but I looked freaking crazy gorgeous in it.

“That one too,”  Mother reported before I even turned around to look her way again.

Another trip into the changing room and I came out in the yellow print dress.  I spun around and looked in the mirror before I even let Mother pass judgment.  I looked great.  Sexy and feminine, and elegant.  And the skirt made my legs look great.

“I don’t know,”  Mother said to me.  “It doesn’t really do anything for your breasts.”

I spun around and scowled at her.

“All right, all right ... wrap that one up too.”

They whisked me into the changing room again but before I could throw my clothes back on a pink dress floated over the transom, my Mother’s manicured claws dropping it with pinpoint accuracy on a hook.

“Pink!”  I bleated.  “I’ll look twelve years old!”

“Some men like that in their women.”

I tried it on and stalked out in front of Mother.  I swear to god her eyes glazed over.  Thought for a minute she was going to start crying.  I spun around and looked at myself. 

The dress was a simple slip dress overlaid with a sheer sparkling wrap.  The skirt came up just above my knees and the waist fit snug and made me look impossibly thin.  I suddenly wished that I’d always had a dress like this, thought I’d never wanted a dress, not really, and I yearned for this one.

Mother was dabbing at her eyes when I turned back around.  “Allergies,”  she’d hissed when I gave her a worried look.  “Now, let’s start on shoes.”

“I thought we had to be somewhere in an hour?” I looked at my watch ... only twenty minutes had passed.  “Wow.”  I shook my head.

“We’ll have time, dear.  I’m a professional shopper.  I can make over a troupe of girl scouts before lunch.”

I had no doubt.

Shoes passed by in a flash.  She instinctively knew I couldn’t handle high heels, and told the sales girls a two inch heel.

I suddenly imagined shoes you’d wear as a bride’s maid.  Ugly pumps in revolving shades of puce.

But the shoes that paraded out of the back and slipped onto my feet were stunning.  Mother bought me nine pairs that ran the gambit from bitchy to demur ... even a pair that matched the pink dress perfectly.

*****

Chapter 14

After the shoes I thought we were going to head off to Elizabeth Arden’s, but then suddenly a flock of sales girls escorted us to the second floor dining room, where we were immediately sat at a great table.

I never put a lot of thought into how easily we were always sat whenever we went to lunch at one of these swanky places.  I’d always thought that Mother was just very efficient at making reservations.  But suddenly I started to see Mother for what she truly was.  A socialite of uncommonly high caliber. 

“Will we have time to get to that appointment?”

Mother scoffed and ordered for both of us from the rather dazzled waitress.  And she ordered me what I always ate when I was here.  Who knew Mother actually listened.  But since she knew all the wait staff at every restaurant we went to ... and the sales staff at Macy’s, I guess she did pay attention -- to everything.

After a seemingly unrushed lunch we finally immerged from the dining room and rode the elevator to the first floor.  There we were met by another platoon of sales people with their arms laden with what Mother had bought for me.  It looked like a lot.  As they escorted us to the door Mother handed one of the sales clerks a key and told her to have them delivered, and the address was my apartment building.

“Did you just give a stranger the key to my apartment?”

“You expect me to carry all those around?  And Juliet is hardly a stranger; she’ll bring the key back to me at Elizabeth Arden’s as soon as she’s done. ... and if you lived in a descent building she could’ve just left the thing with your door man!”

They had a town car waiting for us when we exited the building.  I inwardly cringed at how much my Mother must spend in these places to be treated to lavishly.

“So how much you worth, anyways?”

“Such a thing to ask your own Mother.”  But she was smiling.

“One of the sales clerks said you were the richest of the rich bitches.”  As soon as I said it I worried that she’d have the sales clerk canned.  But she surprised me, yet again.

“I guess I am.  The other women are on a budget, no matter who their husbands are, or how rich, the men in their lives set limitations.  I don’t need a man anymore ... at least not for that.”  She gave me a knowing look.  “So I spend whatever I want.”

“She said you’re richer than dad now?”

“I have a knack for picking good investments, something I used to share with your father ... how else do you think he became wealthier than all his siblings combined.  I helped him.  Luckily I paid attention during business school at Columbia.  And without me telling him where to invest anymore, I’m afraid he’s lost about a third of his fortune already.”  She sighed as she struck up a cigarette, cracking the window on her side for my benefit. “Where I’ve done very well for myself.”

She leaned into me and winked.  “I’d say I’m worth a little over twice what he’s worth anymore.”

This is why I hate money ... sort of.  I would’ve never known my father was dumb as well as a philandering jerk, and I’d never have known that Mother was a shrewd corporate baron, if it weren’t because of money!

*****

As soon as we walked into Elizabeth Arden the same thing happened as at Macy’s.  A half dozen women ushered us again into a private room.  They started in right away with a wash and a trim of my hair.  They asked if I needed some color, ”Maybe some highlights?”

I shook my head.  The beautician looked to Mother and she gave them a What can you do? Roll of her eyes.  As another woman came and started to flat-iron my hair, two others started to work on my nails.  I suddenly realized that Mother wasn’t getting worked on.  She sat there watching as she sipped champagne from a crystal flute. 

“So,”  she said as our eyes met.  “Tell me all about this man of yours.”

I had no intention of telling her.  It was none of her business, no matter how much she was helping me, or how much she was spending.  I had no intention ... but before I knew it I was spilling my guts to her, in front of the five or six people that were working on me.  I just jabbered on for what seemed like hours.

“I guess it’s a good sign that he wouldn’t sleep with you on your first date.  Men of this age are usually not so thoughtful.”

And that’s all she said.  After I purged all about the last week, all those phone calls and bad dates, and the only part of it she looked pained about was my ruining Bess’ Halston dress.  Not that Bess wasn’t returning my phone calls.  But the dress!

When the makeup consultant moved in Mother told her to show me how to apply the make up for myself, and she said to make up a kit based on my best colors. 

This part seemed to go on and on.  First there was concealer at a powder base and the mascara and eye liner and eye shadow and then came the lipstick.  By the time she was done showing me it all my head buzzed with information.  It felt like when I’d study for my physical therapy licensure examination.

And indeed, by the time we were out on the street again I was carrying a small briefcase that had enough beauty supplies to keep me done up for the next two years.   I caught my reflection in a mirror right before the doors.  I looked great again.  It just never stopped surprising me.

The town car was still waiting on us, and it swooped through midtown traffic like a hawk, and depositing me at my apartment building. 

I kissed Mother and thanked her.  She said it was nothing.  I heard her tell the chauffer an address as I vacated the car.  It was in a bad part of town, an even worse part than I lived in.  I was sure it was her new beau’s address.  The artist.

You had to hand it to her, she’s one hell of a woman.  Not even close to the spoiled trophy wife I’d always pegged her to be.

*****

Sitting there in my apartment, flanked by boxes of shoes, by dresses and underwear, and the now empty shopping bags they came in, I realized something: shopping is exhausting.

And even though my makeup and hair were done, the mere thought of trying to dress myself in one of these beautiful dresses made me want to curl up in the fetal position.  I took a deep breath and let it out.  Only one thing to do ... I knew there was a solution but my shopping ragged mind couldn’t catch the thread of it.

Then it hit me.  I could just call Dean and ask for a “casual” night... maybe pizza and jeans?

He picked up on the third ring -- to my relief.  Just the sound of his voice made something inside me quiver.  Suddenly I had that vision of him naked in my head again, and it made my tongue tie.

“You still there, Lucy?”

“Yep ... I was just thinking ... could we do something casual tonight like pizza and jeans?”

“Sure ... I’d love to see you in a pair of jeans.”  Damn, he had me going again, I could feel all this heat building up between my legs.

“I’d love to see you in jeans too.”

He laughed, quietly, and I could hear his breathing on the other end.  “I’ll pick you up the same time?”

“I’ll be waiting.”

Thirty seconds after Dean hung up I suddenly thought, do I even own a pair of jeans?  Mental head-slap.  I rushed back to my closet.  I hadn’t had occasion to don a pair since college.  This spoke to my humiliating lack of a social life.  I also had to realize that all this time I’d been best friends with Bess she’d never brought up the morbid fact I only wore old sweats and hospital scrubs ... not even the stylish kind with prints on them, just drab old blue or green.

I was concussed with the threat that I’d have to go shopping again, and I was bummed that I couldn’t just call Bess.  I missed Bess so freaking bad.

I flung open the door to my closet.  The first rack was filled with scrubs.  I parted this sea of blue and green cotton and found a rather barren wasteland.  A few old sweaters, the ugliest puce organza and lace gown ever created -- a remnant of being one of my Cousin Lily’s bride’s maids -- a pair of boxing gloves from an aborted stint at kick boxing -- it looked so sexy when I saw it in Kiss the Girls.  And there, nestled in the corner of my closet hanging on a wire hanger was a pair of jeans.  I pulled them out and looked them over.  They were my favorite pair from college.  Faded, lightly ripped and decorated with embroidery on the back pockets. 

Yeah, but did they still fit?

I pulled off my sweats and pulled on the jeans.  They were tight as I pulled them up my thighs, and tight as I hiked them over my hips, but they buckled without me having to lie on the and force them to through brute force.

Great ... now I had another problem.  What to wear on top? 

Suddenly my cell phone started chirping in the living room.  I bolted out and grabbed the phone -- it was Bess.

“Does this mean you forgive me?”

“I shouldn’t,”  Bess said cooly.  “But Mr. Sato called and told me the dress was as good as new.  He’s a fucking god!”

“So you forgive me?”

“You’re my best friend.  I would’ve forgiven you even if the dress was ruined ... well, eventually I would’ve.”

“Thank god, I’m having a major crisis here.”

“I talked with your Mother, she said you were good to go wardrobe wise.  What did she buy you anyways?”

“A bunch of dresses at Macy’s”

“What’s the labels say?”

I read them off, hearing her sigh with each name.  And then said Yugari.

“The pink one!”  She squealed.

“Yeah.  I really love this one.”

“Me too. And I just figured out what you can do to make up for almost destroying my dress.”

“Yes you can borrow it.”

“So I don’t see why you’re stressing out.  You should be in heaven.”

“Well, all that shopping and I’m suddenly exhausted, so I called Dean and now we’re going out for pizza instead, and the dress code is jeans.”

“Well, does that one pair in the back of your closet fit anymore?”

“You’re amazing.  How do you know this shit?”

“It’s a gift.  So do they fit?”

“Yep.”

“So what’s the problem?  Your hair’s done.  Your makeup’s probably perfect -- Trudy at Elizabeth Arden is a miracle worker.”

“I don’t have a top to wear.  All I have are scrub tops and old stained t-shirts.”

“Do you ever really look at what’s in your closet?”

Since I didn’t know I had the jeans in there, I had to say no.

“Well, I bought you this sweet little gypsy top last year.  It’s hiding behind that horrific bride’s maid dress.”

I ran into the bedroom and pulled the dress from hell out of my way.  There, waiting for me was a slinky, pretty little silk top with a sexily plunging neck line.  Bess, even when not here, was my savior.  “I found it.”