“Well, maybe he’s not involved per se, but I am not interested in anything that Jack has not approved.” Jack was Mother’s investment guy who she sometimes slept with, not that I was supposed to know. I had once caught them coming out of a hotel in Bossier, both looking, well, very satisfied and loving toward one another. I had never told her I knew.
I shrugged. “I don’t know why Scott even asked you. I’ll see what’s going on when I talk to him next.”
“Don’t bother. Now, are you going to try on this dress Ruby made? I myself have settled on wearing the Ralph Lauren this year, but if I were younger and bustier, I might arm wrestle you for that dress.” My mother commandeered a small chair and sank into it. Had my mother ever arm wrestled? I couldn’t picture her even attempting it.
So, thing was, I didn’t really want to cram my PMS-bloated body into that tight dress right now, but Ruby looked at me with something I hadn’t seen from her before—hope. “I’m feeling fat today.”
“Oh, pish.” My mother waved her hands. “You need to switch from wine to vodka. And stop using salad dressing.”
“Sure, General.” I carefully took down the dress, admiring the waterfall of fabric. Maybe it was too young for me. It would show a lot of skin, and I may have consumed way too many carbs last week in my effort to comfort myself over losing my marriage. God, why couldn’t I be one of those tragic figures who refused to eat because they were so bereft? Instead I ate an entire hamburger-with-extra-olives pizza from Johnny’s Pizza . . . in one day.
I went to my office because even though it was the place where I had learned of Scott’s infidelity, it felt like my safe place. Cute note cards, my Lilly Pulitzer planner, the stack of detective books, the adorable paisley bulletin board, and an original oil abstract in soft blush, navy, and gold hugged me. I could ignore the marks and scars on the white walls because I knew what that felt like. I had them, too.
The dress fit me, for the most part—Ruby had a good eye—but it was tight in the bust and maybe a smidge tight in my waist, but I managed to zip it without busting the zipper. No mirror in the office, but I loved the swish of the skirt and the way it felt against my skin. When I reemerged in the room with the mirror and my mother （two things that always tell the truth）， Ruby assessed me with a practiced eye and nodded.
My mother tilted her head. “It works.”
Ruby hooked a finger in the back of the dress. “I can let it out so you can breathe.”
“Or I can stop eating Rolos out of Julia Kate’s Easter basket hidden in the back of my closet,” I said, turning to look in the mirror.
They were right—it worked. It worked well, and I wasn’t sure that I had ever felt so glamorous, except at maybe my junior prom and my wedding day. The dress played up my assets—my nice boobs, my curvy figure, the sweep of my shoulders （thanks, Gran!）， and my trim ankles. Most of Shreveport turned out in understated dresses for any gala, with the exception of Christmas in the Sky, the Shreveport Regional Arts Council fundraiser, which was scintillating and titillating and allowed for some sequins. Otherwise, most events required evening wear to be a tasteful background for Grandmother’s pearls or the jewels hidden during the War between the States. Yes, there were southerners who thought the term Civil War rather distasteful. Lord help us all if we were ever not tasteful, sold the family silver, or wore white shoes after Labor Day. Our grandmothers would turn over in their overpriced caskets.
But this dress wasn’t one of those sedate, ladylike ones. No, this one was not that.
If I were the same ol’ Cricket, I wouldn’t dare to wear it to Gritz and Glitz.
But I didn’t feel like that Cricket anymore.
Still, I turned to my mother. “Mama?”
Marguerite wasn’t one for shocking anyone with anything. She drove the speed limit, after all. But she nodded. “It suits you.”
Ruby nodded. “It does. I knew it would.”
I smiled at myself. “Then you need to tell me how much it costs because this is my dress for Gritz and Glitz.”
“Are you joking? I’m not charging you for that dress.” Ruby shook her head.
“Yes, you are,” Marguerite said, rising and giving Ruby one of those looks I was often the recipient of. Ruby blinked a few times and shot me a panicked look.
I gave the smile I used when Julia Kate had to get shots at the doctor. “She’s right. You are charging me.”
“But you’ve given me a job, and we’re . . . I don’t know, I just don’t feel comfortable taking money for this dress.”