“Melanie, could you zip me, please?” Do I think I’m in a boutique now? I open the door a fraction and she slips in.
“Boy oh boy,” she drawls loudly as she drags up the zip. “What a pair of knockers you got there. This dress does them justice.”
“Well, I’m not coming out now.” I press my hands to the hot-pink do
ts forming on my cheeks. “But you make a good point.”
Melanie checks the tag. “Four dollars. Sold. First date dress located,” she adds in a shout to the rest of our entourage.
“I can’t wear this.”
“Teddy, give us a guy’s opinion.” She turns the handle. He falls onto us; he was pressed against the door. She’s annoyed, they exchange a look. Their earlier argument still wafts in the air. “Ruthie turns up for a first date in this. The reaction from her date is . . . ?”
Teddy looks at me in the dress. He opens his mouth, sticks his fist into it, and bites.
“Okay, good,” Melanie says briskly, pushes him backward, and closes the door on him again. “Look at yourself, Ruthie. Really look. You can actually see your”—she struggles to find a word that isn’t knockers—“your outline.”
It’s true. I really can. And it’s not bad.
“I’m a guy,” Kurt says to us. “I held that dress for her instead of putting it out on the floor. Don’t I get a look?”
“You’re pushing my buttons, buddy,” Teddy snaps at him.
“I’m the official judge on this,” Renata says. “Let me in.” She is admitted by our bodyguard Teddy. The space is getting claustrophobic. I can’t believe I’m pressed in by people who care. “Yes, I think this could work. I wonder if they could tailor it higher on the calf. She’s on the petite side.”
Melanie sighs. “There is no on-site tailor, Mrs. Parloni.”
“Can I come in, too?” Teddy says through the door hinge.
“In your dreams,” Renata tells him.
“I’m going to need someone to leave, or I can’t get this off.” I watch as Melanie and Renata stare at each other. Who will assert their supremacy? To my surprise, Renata relents. “Actually, Mel,” I say, “you go out too. I’m your boss, you can’t see me in my underwear.”
Now that I’m alone, I can look at myself in this dress. I bite my own fist. Hot damn. I look exactly my age.
And after this amazing find, nothing quite compares, but between Melanie and Renata, a capsule wardrobe is building. The entire process is underscored by heated debate. “I’ll buy her new ones,” Renata argues from the denim rack when I poke my face out to see what’s going on. “No, I draw the line at used jeans. Look at this pair. There’s a hole in the crotch.”
“Stop thrusting your bony old fingers through it,” Melanie cries. “I’m having a nightmare tonight.”
“I’ve never heard the word crotch said with such violence,” I tell Teddy to make him laugh, but he’s gone all serious. I square myself back at the mirror to look at the pink dress I’m wearing now. Compared to the miracle dress, this one is a little lackluster. “Thanks for coming along to help me today.”
He’s dry. “I’m so selfless, coming along to watch you try on dresses. What a saint.”
“No, I really mean it. Everyone’s moral support has really made me . . . well, made me feel like I can do this. I can finally look at myself, and see something different, and I can put myself out there.” I smooth out some creases in the dress. He doesn’t reply and I feel a twinge of self-consciousness. “Was that too deep and meaningful?”
Melanie approaches, eyes critical on my dress. “Too short. I mean, it looks great, but you’ll never wear it.”
I confess to Melanie, “It’s stupid. I’ve always wanted to try on a jumpsuit, but I never had the courage.”
“Kurt. Jumpsuits.” Melanie actually clicks her fingers. He actually leaps to action. Renata toddles along behind them as they disappear, shouting about how Emilio Pucci does a nice silk one.
“Okay, these are the keepers,” I say to myself as I look at the garments hooked on the wall. “I’ve had my one miracle today.” I’m grabbing at my back for the zip, when Teddy slides through the inch of open door, walks me backward, and closes the door behind us.
“I can’t stand this.” He cups my chin with his warm palm, eyes on my mouth. “I can’t be out there while you’re in here. The worst part of this whole thing is, you don’t know the truth about you.”
I’m surprised by how wretched he sounds. “I don’t know what?”
“It hurts that you don’t know you’re lovely, exactly how you are. You don’t need to change. You don’t need to put on a dress, like it’s going to fix something. You don’t have anything that needs fixing.”