“I’m window-shopping,” Carrie said. “I hope that’s okay. I like Eli to choose my clothes.”
“He does a good job,” Irene said.
“Don’t fix what isn’t broken,” Harriet said. “I’m sure if my fiancé doesn’t approve, I’ll return it, even though I have my father’s check today.”
Ruth scoffed. Lillian gave her a hard look. That’s the way things were. Men—husbands—controlled the money.
“Whatever arrangements or understandings you have are fine,” Lillian said. “I’m here to make things easier for you, not harder.”
“We thought we’d have a little fun,” Maryanne said. “There are three suggested ensembles already in the dressing rooms for each of you. We’re going to play a little game.”
“To help you learn to choose appropriately for different occasions,” Lillian said, “we’d like you to select the right outfit for meeting your friends for lunch at Wanamaker’s in Center City. Not that there’s anything wrong with a picnic. We just weren’t thinking of a park when we chose the clothes.”
“A park is more realistic for me,” Irene said, a nod to her four kids.
“Well, yes. I imagine it might be.” Lillian had always made time for lunch. Weekend babysitters had been a sacred part of their lives. Peter had insisted, though it seemed like a luxury. “Just play along for today. Or imagine their father agrees to babysit.”
Irene cackled. “That’s a hoot.”
Ruth opened her mouth, then shut it as if she’d changed her mind, then opened it again. “My father raised me and my brothers. I don’t think he ever called it babysitting.”
Lillian had never thought to call it anything else.
“That’s different,” Harriet said. “If you’d had a mother, things would have been different.”
Lillian knew Harriet meant that for Ruth. But it also hit Lillian hard. Either way it wasn’t very nice.
Ruth crossed her arms and drew her shoulders up to her ears.
“Harriet!” Carrie said. “Shush!”
“That’s neither here nor there,” Lillian said. “The matter at hand is the clothes, not anyone’s family configuration.” Somehow what should have been a fun day had gotten derailed. She was determined to get it back on track. “Find your dressing rooms, girls.”
“Take your time,” Maryanne said, lightening the mood. “Ask one another’s opinions and talk it over. Remember, two heads are better than one.”
“We chose the outfits with the latest styles in mind,” Lillian said. Boldness coursed through her as she remembered her younger self, bopping around a dressing room, unaware of the social ramification of her choices.
Those were the days. Oblivious. And yet they’d given her a freedom that had drained away over the passing years.
“If there is an item or outfit not to your taste, speak up. Maryanne will find an alternative. You won’t hurt our feelings.” There. Lillian was offering them choices.
She wished someone had said that to her when she was in her twenties; instead, she mimicked others and adopted a popular style. Now the girls she taught adopted her style. She had always felt flattered, as if they’d been presented with options and they’d chosen her.
“I’m all for independent thought,” Ruth said. “But I don’t know fashion at all.”
In this moment, the leader wanted to follow. Lillian found that intriguing.
“You can trust our choices and still listen to your intuition. It’s important to look good but also to feel good in your clothes. That’s how you’ll find your own style.” This wisdom emerged from deep inside Lillian, erupted from a corner she hadn’t known existed. She wanted to jot down her own words so she didn’t forget them.
The girls scattered into the dressing rooms marked with their names. Maryanne straightened the chairs and moved the empty clothes racks into position. One for discarded items. One for purchases headed to the cashier and her commission.
Chapter 13
RUTH
Ruth pushed through the dressing room door that bore a clean, white paper with her name on its front. Once inside, she came nose to clothes with the outfits Lillian and Maryanne had chosen for her. Ruth stood there in awe, then swept her hand across the fabrics. So many different textures. Nubby. Scratchy. Slinky. Soft.
It had been a while since she’d enjoyed similar outings in New York with Dotsie. Those were always special because she was with her best friend. Now here Ruth was, with her new friends Carrie and Irene in the very next rooms. Of course, Harriet was there too. She was tolerable. Ruth knew she should be studying, but, darn it, she was having fun. She was afraid she was losing sight of her goal of trying to study.
Ruth didn’t know what to make of Lillian, upper crust and coiffed, yet not quite a snob. “I chose clothes for you,” Lillian had said. “But wear what you want.”
Was it some sort of test? A trick, perhaps?
Maybe Lillian didn’t truly know. Wouldn’t that be something. Ha. Ruth had gone and lost her mind among the mannequins. Women like Lillian and Shirley—even Harriet to some extent—stood steadfast, certain of everything.
Well, Ruth might not be certain of everything, but she was crystal clear on one point. Despite the promised transformative properties, these clothes wouldn’t magically appear on her body. She would need to choose.
Wearing only her slip, stockings, and brassiere, Ruth rifled through the clothes, serenaded by the clicking hooks of the hangers as they slid along the rack. While she might not have a sophisticated fashion sense, choosing appropriate clothing had elements of a grade school exercise. Common sense, not fashion sense, was in order here.
The too-small skirt and sweater had been placed among the selection as a trap, or rather a decoy, for sure. At first glance, they looked suitable, but on closer inspection, that low-cut neckline wasn’t right for lunch with the girls.
Another trap was that black dress. Ruth wouldn’t be fooled. Even she understood that black was for formal functions and funerals. She paused for a moment, wistful. If only she could benefit from the women’s combined expertise and find an outfit appropriate for eventual law firm interviews. She stopped herself from contemplating that further. Today wasn’t about the job Ruth wanted; it was about the life she desired.
She ran her hand along fabric-covered buttons. She turned over the tag on a gray dress that Dotsie, who favored green, would have dubbed “drab with a pleated skirt.” She checked the label.
Arnel acetate
$9.97
The whopping price tag made her decide this was the perfect frock. She should choose expensive clothes for a make-believe lunch at a fancy restaurant.
When Ruth and Asher had first arrived in Philadelphia, two naive weeks ago, the fancy lunch had been real, not imagined. Ruth couldn’t believe that, after the wedding blowup in New York, Shirley would treat her to a day out. A very special day.
The reality was, Ruth learned, that though the outing highlighted Independence Hall, the Liberty Bell, Betsy Ross’s house—even shopping at Wanamaker’s—it had been designed to assess Ruth.
Even lunch at the Grand Crystal Tea Room. Their visit to the largest, most elegant restaurant in Philadelphia （oysters!）， and one of the fanciest places Ruth had ever been, had been finely calculated. After the wedding outburst, Shirley claimed this treat was her attempt to personally share her city with her son’s wife.