Casey glanced at Ella’s defeated expression, and she tilted her head back. How little faith Ella had in her. Casey turned to Joan. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your title.” She smiled.
“Senior sales associate.” Joan was growing more detached. She just didn’t care anymore.
Casey nodded but said nothing for a few moments. Silence made people crazy.
“Would you like to speak to the manager? I’m happy to call her for you,” Joan offered. In these situations, it was better to leave the kitchen before the fire went out of control. Joan wasn’t actually afraid of the bride’s friend.
“No need, I think. Not yet. ” Casey wondered if she was angry enough to humiliate Joan. If Joan backed down, Casey would back down.
Ella then stared at Casey silently—her head lifted as if a string pulled it taut from the ceiling. She had no wish for Joan to get into trouble because she had picked poorly.
Casey pulled out the receipt from her pocket and glanced at the back of the sheet quickly, knowing full well what was written on the paper.
“There’s no carve-out for custom orders or bridals at Bayard’s. I know you must know that from your years here. We women, so fickle, shop at Bayard’s and pay its premiums precisely because we can return anything, change our minds, and be pleased ultimately with our choices. Don’t you think it is a privilege to see growth in one’s aesthetic point of view, Joan, even in a month? So why are we pretending that the sale is carved in stone? Even monuments can be broken. The alternative, of course, is to cancel the order entirely and go elsewhere. And you have already been so kind. I would hate to do that.” Casey smiled, not mentioning the commission, because it was implicit in everything she’d said.
“It was four weeks ago,” Joan said quietly. This felt personal somehow.
“Joan. Be reasonable. A bride should feel no less than thrilled with her dress on her wedding day. You know that.” Casey shifted her focus to the wall and began to point. “Ella, be a dear and try on those dresses over there.” Casey crossed her legs and said in Joan’s direction, “Yes?” She nodded once for emphasis.
Joan exhaled quietly, her contempt escaping her nostrils in small measure. She retrieved the samples that the friend had chosen and hung them up in Ella’s dressing room.
7 DERIVATIVE
MARY ELLEN CURRIE FOUND HER BY ACCIDENT. She’d taken the day off to work on her manuscript at the big library on Forty-second Street. Mary Ellen could never write in her house or at the Trenton Public Library, where she’d served faithfully as head librarian for nine years and staff librarian for an even dozen. At one o’clock, she’d strolled across the street—dreamy in her thoughts of Emily Dickinson, whom she referred to as “ED”—to the sandwich shop on Fifth, and there, seated on a stool reading the want ads, was Casey, her younger son’s girlfriend of three years. Her face appeared more drawn than usual, her shoulders thinner.
“Casey! Hullo, hullo, hullo!” Mary Ellen cried. She raised her arms and rushed toward the girl. “My sweetie, I haven’t seen you in months.”
Casey looked up and let herself be folded into Mary Ellen’s embrace.
“Where have you been?” She squeezed her again, then kissed Casey on the brow. “Never mind that. I wanted to go to your graduation, but Jay said he couldn’t go, either.” Mary Ellen chuckled. “I thought I’d hang back, wave from a safe distance.” She felt happy to see Casey so unexpectedly, and she kissed her again; her hands held on to Casey’s upper arms.
Casey burst into tears. It had been several weeks since anyone had actually touched her. The touch of a person she loved was almost too much to bear.
“What? What’s the matter? Oh, I’m so dumb.” Mary Ellen slapped her own forehead as if she’d forgotten something. “I know you wanted me to come. It’s not your fault. I understand. Truly. I do. Your family—it was their day.” Mary Ellen hoisted her knapsack from her sloping shoulders. She lifted Casey’s chin toward her own face with her square hands. She used to do this when she talked to her sons when they were young. They’d never let her do this now.
Casey pulled away as gently as she could. It was so good to see Mary Ellen’s floury face with its soft creases, her pretty hazel eyes beneath the pale, intelligent eyebrows. This face had welcomed her from the very beginning of her relationship with Jay, and his loss had been made worse because Casey had lost Mary Ellen as well.