Crystal sconces brightened the peach-colored dressing room with a flattering light. Casey slipped off her street clothes and let the suit cover her pale figure.
There was a large-size pair of high heels kept in the room to try on with the clothes. Her hat off, but her sunglasses still on, Casey saw an impenetrable young woman in her mirror reflection, utterly shockproof. She crossed her silver-cuffed arms with her hands fisted tightly against her chest to make an X, taking her Wonder Woman stance. This used to make Tina crack up, but Casey didn’t feel like smiling now.
The other pieces fit perfectly. Normally, she made a discard pile when she tried things on, but this time there was nothing on the dressing room floor. Each piece of clothing felt essential to her new life, whatever it would be. The least expensive of all was the shirt, and that was three hundred dollars.
With exquisite care, Casey hung each piece on its hanger, taking the most time with the brown suit, and she tallied the figures in her head. Not including tax: four thousand dollars. Among retail salespeople, of which Casey was a member in good standing, it was a point of honor never to pay retail—that was for the customers. The salesgirls at Sabine’s termed those kinds of customers “Wilmas,” short for willing mamas. You were supposed to look down on Wilma. You gave her your best advice, took her commissions, yet you hoped if you were ever in her situation, you would not be so foolish. But there wasn’t a girl working the floor who didn’t want to have Wilma’s choices.
Casey sat on the plush tufted ottoman. She couldn’t imagine starting her new life without these beautiful clothes—they were made for her. In the past, she had put items on hold, never to claim them. As she’d exit the shop, she’d think of who she was—the daughter of people who cleaned clothes for a living. She had no business at Bayard’s. Maud rapped on the door quietly. Casey put on her hat.
“Would you hold these things for me?” she asked.
Maud kept her expression blank, knowing what was up. “Your name and number?” she asked with a courteous smile.
Casey gave her name, then sputtered, “The Carlyle. . . Hotel.” She was looking through her handbag for the hotel room key—thinking there might be a phone number on the key folder—when she felt the tap on her shoulder. It was Ella Shim.
Ella was a girl she knew from her parents’ church. She and Casey were born almost a year apart, but they were in the same grade. Ella’s father, Dr. Shim, was an ophthalmologist at Manhattan Eye, Ear & Throat and a founding member of Casey’s parents’ church in Woodside. Once a month, Dr. Shim and Joseph Han, both elders, and Leah, a deaconess, served on the hospitality committee and visited bedridden and ailing congregants. Ella and her widowed father lived in a grand Tudor house on Dartmouth Avenue in Forest Hills. They played tennis Saturday mornings at the Westside Tennis Club, where he was its first Korean member. Ella had gone to Brearley with Virginia Craft, who thought Ella’s dullness was proportional to her exceeding beauty. Casey disliked Ella for no good reason and resented how she was always popping up. Ella had a bone white complexion, small, unpierced ears, Asian eyes with the desired double fold, dark curving eyelashes, and a deep pink mouth. She had a charming left dimple and the innocence of an infant. Years ago, during Sunday school classes, Casey used to stare at Ella’s long, tapered fingers. Ella’s hair was jet colored, and she was often compared with the Chinese actress Gong Li.
The women at church pitied Ella since her mother died in childbirth, and they admired Dr. Shim, who never remarried after his wife’s death—to them, he was a romantic ideal. At church, the mothers of sons rubbed their hands in anticipation of Ella’s graduation from Wellesley—hoping that the pretty, reserved doctor’s daughter might one day be theirs. But the sons did not feel comfortable around the silent beauty; in fact, few people sought her out. Hers was a beauty that alienated—she was not cold exactly, but she did not offer warmth or ease. She possessed a kind of eerie solitude.
“Hey,” Casey said.
“Shopping?” Ella said, her voice breaking. Casey’s face looked worse than it had from a distance.
“Seems that way.”
“That’s pretty.” Ella pointed to the suit on top of Casey’s hold pile.
“Yeah,” Casey replied. She drew a quick breath. If it were a bar, she would have lit a cigarette. “What are you doing here?” she asked curtly.
“I. . .” Ella hesitated. How was she supposed to talk to Casey, the girl she’d most wanted to befriend at church? “I. . . just ordered my wedding dress.” She cast her eyes down, not knowing what Casey’s reaction would be. Her fiancé, Ted, had convinced her that they should get married after her graduation, and she’d been swept up in his enthusiasm for their future. He was very convincing, and Ella loved him. She had never loved anyone else. Her father wasn’t against it but appeared annoyed—a look flickered across his eyes—whenever Ted expressed his ambition and well-laid plans. Ted had already written up a draft of their announcement to submit to The New York Times and to his alumni magazines at Exeter and Harvard.