Ruth appreciated the effort, thanking Shirley a dozen times. She imagined daughters attended fancy lunches like this with their mothers, something she’d never experienced, and it touched her. Made her feel a tad more like other girls. Girls who grew up with mothers.
Amidst the gratitude and richness of the day, Ruth had utterly failed to notice fashion. It never occurred to her that clothing could matter so much.
Unlike her mother-in-law, who was impressed, but not overwhelmed, by the restaurant, Ruth had been awestruck by the crystal chandeliers and yellow velvet chairs. She soaked up every detail, fixating on Shirley in order to mimic her nuanced affect and movements. The way Shirley folded her hands and flipped her hair. How Shirley ordered her meal, sipped her tea, placed her flatware.
While Ruth had hoped Shirley would love her because Asher did—the way her father had with her brothers’ wives—she would take no chances. For Asher’s sake Ruth hoped to develop a mother-daughter relationship, but she realized Shirley just wanted to mold her into a perfect housewife. She carefully stockpiled tidbits of information about the things that mattered to her mother-in-law—Shirley’s friends’ names, her favorite games, magazines, shops, food—all to be used to woo the woman, just in case loving Ruth didn’t come naturally to her.
Now she stood in her underwear in Saks with a secret and a husband who seemed to have forgotten his promise.
What looked best? She didn’t know.
Ruth clutched her own blue button-down blouse to her chest and pushed through the saloon-style louvered doors. She was surprised neither Lillian nor Maryanne were around to help her choose. No matter. She would ask Carrie, her new friend.
Her brassiere, garter, and stockings were on display as she tiptoed across the common area to Carrie’s dressing room and pressed her cheek to the door.
“Psst, Carrie, can you help me? It’s Ruth.” This is what girlfriends did, wasn’t it? They helped each other with outfits.
“I’ll come over in a minute.”
Not the response she’d hoped for. Ruth was surprised to realize she was dying to see what clothes hung in Carrie’s dressing room. She wondered if they would be much different from her own. Who was she—now wanting to study different outfits—and what had she done with Ruth, the studious one? She returned to her dressing room, hung her blouse on a hanger, and pawed through the clothes. Corduroy slacks with a matching jacket? Hmmm. Appropriate for apple-picking, not a tearoom. The next choice: a skirt and shirt set—alphabet print in Dacron polyester and pima cotton. Too whimsical.
Ruth slipped the gray dress over her head, buttoned up the double-breasted bodice, and smoothed the tiny, tight pleats before fastening the belt.
“Knock, knock.”
“Come in.”
Carrie walked through the door in a peach-colored dress. Peach? No, more the color of a pumpkin. With its wide neckline and collar, and two rows of matching buttons, the dress emphasized Carrie’s bust and hips, as well as her complexion’s warm glow. Very flattering. But even Ruth knew that red scarf Carrie had tied around her neck didn’t go.
Carrie leafed through the dresses before turning to Ruth and giving her decision. “I think you found the right one. You look stunning.”
Stunning. That word had never described Ruth. Especially in a gray dress. “It’s not a bit dull?”
“Dull? No, it’s the color of a mourning dove’s wings. It’s lovely. And it brings out the gray in your eyes.”
Really? Ruth removed a compact from her pocketbook, opened it, and looked in. She widened her eyes. No gray. Her eyes were light brown.
“Trust me. You might not notice it, but you have specks of gray in your irises. I noticed the first time I met you. It’s very rare. I can’t be the first person who’s mentioned it.”
Carrie was sweet but full of poppycock.
“You are.”
“Be that as it may, brown eyes are a sign of empathy, and gray eyes are a sign of wisdom. A powerful combination that just so happens to match the dress.”
Ruth looked at her feet, the dress, the wall, anywhere but straight at the source of such a compliment. She was accustomed to receiving accolades for her brain, not her looks.
“What would you call that color?” Ruth pointed to Carrie’s dress.
“Pumpkin, I guess.”
“Right.” Ruth slid back into her shoes and looked away from Carrie. “You don’t need the scarf. It’s lovely, don’t get me wrong—but they’re going to ask you to take it off.” Ruth rubbed the end of the scarf between her fingers. Carrie stepped backward, making the scarf slip out of Ruth’s hand.
“I have a scar I like to cover.”
Ruth nodded. So that was it. Now all of Carrie’s scarves made sense. They were more than a fashion trend. “Let’s ask Maryanne for one that goes better with that dress.”
“I don’t want to be a bother.”
“You could never be. Come on.”
Carrie’s dressing room doors rattled shut as Ruth walked out of the dressing area toward Lillian and Maryanne. Carrie must be too embarrassed to make a fuss. Ruth would handle this for her friend.
Before Ruth could bring it up, though, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Such a new image. She stepped on the platform to get a closer look and shifted at her waist. The skirt floated, the pleats fanning out like a ballerina’s dress before falling back into place.
Maryanne sidled up to Ruth. With firm but gentle hands Maryanne tugged at the shoulder seams, waist, cuff, and hem. Assessing. “It doesn’t need much.”
No, it didn’t. Ruth glanced at herself again and allowed a smile. She looked pretty.
“Good choice,” Lillian said. “I knew it would bring out the gray in your eyes.”
Did everyone notice the gray but Ruth?
Maryanne unlatched a glass box. “Try this.” She pinned a sparkly circle brooch over Ruth’s heart, making her immediately uncomfortable.
“Are those diamonds, because—”
“No one is suggesting you buy yourself jewelry,” Lillian said.
What a relief! Maryanne stepped away from Ruth, eyed her carefully, then moved in and repositioned the brooch. “This is only to show you how one small accessory can change your look.”
It did make a striking difference. Maybe her mother-in-law had a pin Ruth could borrow. Of course, it needn’t contain jewels. “Oh, I almost forgot! Carrie would like a scarf to go with the pumpkin dress.”
“That boat neckline doesn’t call for a scarf,” Maryanne said.
Maybe, but that wasn’t the problem, and it wasn’t Ruth’s place to tell them about Carrie’s scar. Ruth pursed her lips and looked at Lillian. “Carrie would like a scarf.”
Lillian nodded, making Ruth smile. She had fulfilled her promise to honor any dissent from the girls.
“I’ll join you in accessories, Maryanne.”
Ruth sat on a chair with her back to the mirror.
Lillian turned to her. “Be back in a jiffy.”
Ruth waved. “Okey dokey.” The expression caught on her tongue as the ladies left the dressing room. It was something Ruth might have said in law school . . . but she wasn’t in law school now. She wasn’t even in New York.