In her mind, Casey was filling in the blanks with words she’d picked up over the years working retail and from the dressmaking classes she’d taken during the summers at FIT: ivory satin silk, portrait neckline, A-line bodice with princess seams, tapered sleeves, no train, hem trimmed with seed pearls. Sounded all right. Just all right, however. Casey paid attention to Ella’s tone of voice—brimming with a fear of rebuke.
After living with Ella for a month, Casey knew her host’s safe wardrobe: Talbots, L. L. Bean, Lands’ End, Bass Weejuns. Ella dressed like a beautiful preppy nun—Peter Pan–collared blouses, dark A-line skirts or pleated-front pants, Hanes nude stockings, boxy Shetland cardigans, stacked heel pumps with tassels. But Miss Zero Fashion Sense had screwed up the courage to ask Casey for help because she was terrified that Ted, a dandy extraordinaire, wouldn’t approve of her dress. For fancy parties, Ted bought dresses for her. But neither felt it was right for him to help with her wedding dress.
The attractive women got off at five. As they left, Casey caught a whiff of Eau de Camille, a favorite scent of hers.
Then she got an idea. There were other ways to discern a shy customer’s preferences. “You don’t wear perfume, do you?”
“No, Ted doesn’t like perfume or makeup.”
“Really?” Casey said skeptically. “But do you?”
Ella shrugged.
“Okay. Think of smells you like.”
Ella wrinkled her brow. Casey reached over to smooth the little V in Ella’s forehead with her fingertips. “Don’t do that.” This was something Sabine had taught her to be conscious of—to prevent wrinkles.
Ella thought about it. “Oranges. And cinnamon.”
Casey smiled. “Food. Colors.”
“What does that mean?”
“Comfort, pleasure, warmth. Those come to mind. Yes?” Casey tried to look patient. “This isn’t a science. I just try to associate ideas with whatever you choose. Then I wonder if that’s how you want others to see you. If that’s how you see yourself. Then, how do you put that onto something you want to wear? Do you understand me?”
It made little sense to Ella, but she was intrigued. “Maybe you can help me choose one. A scent, I mean.”
“We’re searching for a dress, darling.”
Casey gave her one of her shop assistant smiles—full of courtesy and innocence. She felt like giving up. In her mind, she could hear Ella asking her to tell her who she was. How was she supposed to do that? How could anyone tell you who you are? The elevator stopped at six.
“What scents do you like?” Ella asked, exiting the elevator.
“Tuberose, gardenia, lilies.”
“And that means what?”
“Knowing my preferences won’t help you know yours,” Casey replied, her annoyance undisguised. The bridal department was not ten yards away from the elevator. Casey slipped her hand in the crook of Ella’s arm to keep her from walking ahead. She motioned to the empty camelback sofa parked opposite the lingerie department.
“Sit,” she said, and Ella sat down. “Let me see the receipt.”
Ella withdrew it from her purse and handed it to her. She stared at the mirrored surfaces of the elevator doors, fearful of Casey’s response. The dress had cost eight thousand dollars.
Casey nodded impassively. This was her inured response to having been surrounded by the wealthy for so many years. She would never have asked the price, except that she had to know Ella’s budget. Obviously there was none.
Casey read the back of the receipt carefully. “May I?” she asked before tucking it into her skirt pocket. “Now, for the last time.” She took a breath. “How would you like to look at your wedding?”
“I never thought much of it, you know?”
“Again with the you-knows. You’re giving women’s education a terrible name.”
Ella laughed. “What kind of dress would you wear, Casey?”
“I’m not the one getting married.”
“Do you want to get married?”
Casey frowned, irritated by Ella’s inability to stay on point. Virginia had often remarked that Casey thought like a man. It was Virginia’s argument that women thought in branches and men in trunks. Ella’s distractible nature made Casey feel masculine.
“No. I don’t want to get married. I’m twenty-two years old.”
“I’m twenty-one,” Ella said.
Casey whistled. “I know.”
Ella twisted the gold braid strap of her Chanel handbag—a birthday present from Ted—her slim white fingers fluttering across its quilted leather body. The girl needed comforting. That was obvious. Casey tried to think of what she should say. Ella had everything. Absolutely everything. Now she wanted Casey to assure her that she was making the right decision about her marriage. It seemed to Casey that despite Ella’s bountiful generosity, she was almost greedy in wanting her approval, too. How was it possible to give affirmation to the winner when you were so clearly the loser?