First Love Only Love (The Life 2)

“Only weak women do that. We didn’t tell our friends what to wear, just told them the theme and the best place to buy their gowns if they got stuck. What do we care what colors they wear? Besides, our yellow is much lighter.”

“Okay, that’s good then, because other than the color, I’m stuck. You two finish tormenting that idiot?” I looked back at the screen where it looked like the kids on the forum were instigating shit that was making Victoria mental.

“Wait, is she posting this on the forum?”

“No, her Twitter, which we do not have, so the girls are grabbing her rants and posting them in the forum for everyone to see.”

“Keep an eye on that. If she starts making threats let me know.” I left the room and went in search of some help. I wasn’t kidding when I said I’d switched gears, and right now, Victoria wasn’t even a blip on my radar. I literally have about ten days to find Gianna the perfect dress and all the accessories that go with it.

This time I’m not dressing her to torment anyone, just for herself. I want her to see how beautiful she is to me and everyone else, then hopefully, she’ll see it for herself and start believing. I think a confident Gianna would be one hell of a gorgeous package, and I can’t wait. A winsome smile broke out across my face before I could stop it as I imagined her the way she’d be then.

My mind keeps stubbornly going wherever it wants these days, and most of the time, it wants to go someplace where she is. I couldn’t think about that right now, though, because she’d be done on the phone soon, which means I only have a small window of time in which to act.

I knew since dinner was over, Pop would be in his home office working overtime on trying to legitimize his enterprise, which meant Ma was either in her craft room or in the entertainment room with Sheila watching something no self-respecting male would be caught dead watching, except for the rare occasion when they catch Pop slipping, and browbeat him into joining the fun.

Just as I thought, they were in there with glasses of wine and what looked like a marathon’s worth of DVDs, with nothing but over-exaggerated titles to sucker women such as themselves. I won’t be saying anything to that effect because I didn’t have time for a lecture on the culture and times of Hollywood’s golden age.

“Ma, I can’t seem to decide on a dress for Gianna to wear to the party.”

“Oh? Where have you been looking?”

“Nowhere, I don’t know where to start.”

“Come sit over here by us.” She patted the space between the two of them, and I walked over reluctantly.

Sheila rubbed my head like a toddler as soon as I sat down. “I heard you put on quite the show this evening.” I started to ask her where she’d heard that until I remembered the Fontane’s maid was now one of her best pals. It helped that Sheila genuinely liked the other woman and wasn’t just using her for my purpose. I imagine she’s a victim, too, having to deal with those two banshees.

“What did Ella say?”

“She said when you left the you know what hit the fan. She thinks the way things are going, she might be looking for another job soon. Fontane left out the house soon after you did without saying a word to either of them, which apparently is not heard of. The last thing she said was that Becky person was holed up in her room pacing and talking to herself.”

“Does she have any prospects for a job? Ma, why don’t you ask one of your friends if they’re looking for someone?” This wasn’t part of my plan, but any little thing that would make those two miserable is a bonus. Let’s see them go back to fending for themselves. I’m hoping they hang in there long enough for me to finish what I started.

Ma had already started scrolling through the page I had opened on my tablet while Sheila and I were talking. Maybe it’s because I wasn’t the one doing the scrolling, but after hours and page after page of looking, it took her only three scrolls. “That’s it. Who is that? Where is that?”

The dress was daffodil yellow, strapless with a court train. It had a sweetheart neckline, with appliqued flowers running down between her breasts, beneath the left one and down the side. It was floor-length, the skirt made in the quintessential princess style of miles of fabric with pick-ups on one side showing flounces of silk and tulle beneath. It was gorgeous.

“How comes I didn’t see this?”

“Because it’s only five hundred dollars. I keep telling you kids that everything doesn’t have to be designer to look good.” Says the woman whose cheapest handbag cost about fifteen grand.