“Did you ever notice that when you bite into raw almonds it sounds like the first few notes to the song ‘Build Me Up Buttercup’?”
It may have been one of the strangest questions I’d ever heard, but it made me smile. I’m a really good judge of character, and it didn’t seem like this man had any interest in picking me up. Not with a nutty line like that, I thought, making myself cringe at my corny joke. The twins called it “mom humor.” I asked him for another almond and thought about his question as I listened to the crunch. I agreed, and he seemed happy that I got it.
A saleswoman approached us cautiously. “Are you buying that dress?” she asked. But her tone was slightly off—it almost sounded like she didn’t want us to buy it. Maybe she wanted it for herself? I wouldn’t blame her.
“I’m not sure. Are we?” I asked the man, who I was starting to believe really was just looking for the perfect present for his wife. He explained to the saleswoman that he needed something silk for his twelfth anniversary. She discouraged him from picking out a dress as a gift, saying it was a known fail.
“Men rarely judge their wives’ dress size correctly, and there is nothing worse than that. Too big and it’s ‘You think I’m fat!’ Too small and they think they’re fat! Buy her a beautiful silk evening bag. It covers everything you want.”
This woman knew her stuff. I didn’t want to take the dress off. I spun around in it a few times. John stood up and thanked us both for our help and excused himself to look for a silk purse.
I knew I needed to follow him and keep at it. But seeing myself in the dressing-room mirror again made me stop.
“I wish I had somewhere to wear this dress,” I said, drawing the attention of only the saleswoman.
“A dress like that has no business waiting around for a chance to go somewhere.”
Neither do I, I thought as I motioned for her to unzip me. She did. So much for channeling Mata Hari.
“I’ll take it when you’re done,” she instructed. “I have to hold it for another customer.”
I knew I’d detected a hidden agenda—hidden agenda! I’d gotten so caught up in the dress I’d forgotten I was still on John’s trail. I threw on my clothes and caught up with him by the escalator.
“Want some help picking out a purse?” I asked, feeling more like a stalker than a seductress. He nodded. Actually it was more of a shrug, but I went with it.
We headed to the first floor to look at the purses, and he put a lot of thought into his choice. My gut was talking to me very loudly by this point, and I didn’t think there was any way this guy was cheating. If I had any doubt, it was obliterated when the salesgirl offered him one of those small free gift cards. He whipped a Hallmark-type anniversary card out of his pocket. On the soft pink envelope he had drawn a big heart. In my experience, these just weren’t the actions of a cheater. For the first time in a while, I felt a surge of optimism about the possibility of finding a good man. I couldn’t wait to tell Caroline the good news.
CHAPTER 16
How to Dress a Broadway Diva
By Her Frustrated Costume Designer
Age: Too old for this nonsense!
“How to dress a Broadway diva?” is a question I would have felt confident answering after the thirty-seven productions that have made up my reputable career as a costume designer thus far: eighteen Broadway, twelve Off-Broadway, and seven summer stock. But the current production I am working on, That Southern Play, has me doubting it all.
Set in the South, the play has been trumpeted as an homage to the works of Tennessee Williams, most evidently The Glass Menagerie and a lesser-known play called Suddenly Last Summer. Like That Southern Play, they both examine insanity. The insanity in this production, both on and off the stage, involved the lead character, Daphne Beauregard, being played by the Hollywood screen star Jordana Winston.
Being a costume designer for a period piece is usually my favorite kind of work; I enjoy the challenge of creating a past world. That Southern Play is set in that small sliver of the sixties before the hippies and the British invaded our culture. When people still dressed for dinner and things like white gloves and ascots were common accessories, especially in the South. As I sketched out my ideas and collected treasures from costume and vintage shops around the city, I felt lucky to be a part of this new production. Just like those unsuspecting proper folk in the early sixties, I had no idea what was coming.