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Authors: Carole Nelson Douglas
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casual.”
Temple eyed Molina's jeans, moccasins, gauze cotton top, and suede bag. "I guess! Your cop shop pantsuits won't cut it either. And I don't suppose you want to trot out Carmen"—she cut off as Molina glared from Mariah to her—"a Carmen Miranda ensemble."
“ Who's Carmen Miranda?" Mariah wanted to know. Trust kids to sense when adults were getting their lies and deceptions in a wad.
Temple vamped expertly into a diversionary path. "Oh, an old-time performer. Wore these tall, tall headdresses of tropical fruits. Sang, danced. One hot Hispanic cha- cha chick. The movies in the forties were big on Latin music and performers."
“The forties?"
“During World War II."
“Latin was in?"
“ Ole! There were some great, fun movies, all black and white. You should rent a couple."
“Sounds coolio."
“As coolio as Julio Iglesias.”
Mariah frowned. "Don't you mean Enrique?" she said, mentioning Julio's cleft-chinned singer-son in the sexy chip commercial. "To die for!" Nauseating sigh.
“Right," Templebackpeddled. "Enrique.”
Molina feared that Temple's love of vintage anything was giving away her age. This was definitely not an Igle sias, Sr. crowd. Molina would have to warn her about that.
Temple turned a sharply focused eye on her. "Now. What does Mama Bear need? Something not too casual, not too formal but just right. For what reuse once the show is over?"
“I don't know." Molina did know but she wouldn't say that. "Something suitable for dinner at one of the big hotels. Maybe.”
Temple reared back, obviously daunted by the challenge. "Let's hit Ladies' Dresses."
“ I'm not much for dresses," Molina objected. "They're always too short."
“ Not with long skirts so hot right now." Temple did the teen eyeroll like an expert. "If I don't buy petite sizes I have to roll up the waistbands until I look like I'm pregnant.”
Mariah giggled hard at this notion that her mother had hoped would never cross her mind under any circumstances, except when saying no to boys, until she was in college.
What have I done!
The stroll through Better Dresses was agonizing. Molina understood for the first time her Jekyll/Hyde clothing phi losophy: slacks and jackets, jeans and tops for on- and off- duty. Vintage velvet for Carmen, a distant star who was seldom coming out at nights to sing these days. And in be tween these two extremes lurked a jungle of fussy, expen sive clothing that did not scream "date" with a maybe man.
Temple Barr , however, obviously relished the extreme challenge of making over Molina. TempleBarr thrived in the messy middle ground. She and Mariah ravaged the racks, then pushed Molina into the dressing room with armloads of improbable clothing.
She ended up with an outfit chosen by their mutual consent.
“ Car-wash skirt, definitely," Temple told Mariah. "Very cool," Mariah concurred.
“ It looks like Jack the Ripper's been at my hem from the knees down," Molina grumbled.
“ Dangerous," Temple said. "Ideal for a law- enforcement type. And not black. Deep, dark plum. Good contrast for your eyes."
“My eyes don't need contrast."
“Absolutely right," Temple said. "Just a little mascara—you do use mascara? No! Makeup counter's on the way out, Mariah. Take that down. Lash Out, just the thing.”
Mariah meekly wrote that at the bottom of her clothes sheet.
“An eyebrow waxing would be a gift from heaven," Temple mused.
“I'm not going to go through that sort of ridiculous assault in the name of female exploitation."
“ Too timid for a little pain in the name of self- improvement, Mariah. So like a guy! Add a Tweezerman to the cosmetic counter list. You might be able to sneak up on her when she's asleep and pluck."
“Scratch that!" Molina ordered. "Or I cancel the credit card charges.”
Mariah did as told.
But Molina had been conned into the skirt with the shredded hem, $128.00. A black sleeveless top shaped from bands of ribbons. And a net shawl of purple, black, and
Temple eyed Molina's jeans, moccasins, gauze cotton top, and suede bag. "I guess! Your cop shop pantsuits won't cut it either. And I don't suppose you want to trot out Carmen"—she cut off as Molina glared from Mariah to her—"a Carmen Miranda ensemble."
“ Who's Carmen Miranda?" Mariah wanted to know. Trust kids to sense when adults were getting their lies and deceptions in a wad.
Temple vamped expertly into a diversionary path. "Oh, an old-time performer. Wore these tall, tall headdresses of tropical fruits. Sang, danced. One hot Hispanic cha- cha chick. The movies in the forties were big on Latin music and performers."
“The forties?"
“During World War II."
“Latin was in?"
“ Ole! There were some great, fun movies, all black and white. You should rent a couple."
“Sounds coolio."
“As coolio as Julio Iglesias.”
Mariah frowned. "Don't you mean Enrique?" she said, mentioning Julio's cleft-chinned singer-son in the sexy chip commercial. "To die for!" Nauseating sigh.
“Right," Templebackpeddled. "Enrique.”
Molina feared that Temple's love of vintage anything was giving away her age. This was definitely not an Igle sias, Sr. crowd. Molina would have to warn her about that.
Temple turned a sharply focused eye on her. "Now. What does Mama Bear need? Something not too casual, not too formal but just right. For what reuse once the show is over?"
“I don't know." Molina did know but she wouldn't say that. "Something suitable for dinner at one of the big hotels. Maybe.”
Temple reared back, obviously daunted by the challenge. "Let's hit Ladies' Dresses."
“ I'm not much for dresses," Molina objected. "They're always too short."
“ Not with long skirts so hot right now." Temple did the teen eyeroll like an expert. "If I don't buy petite sizes I have to roll up the waistbands until I look like I'm pregnant.”
Mariah giggled hard at this notion that her mother had hoped would never cross her mind under any circumstances, except when saying no to boys, until she was in college.
What have I done!
The stroll through Better Dresses was agonizing. Molina understood for the first time her Jekyll/Hyde clothing phi losophy: slacks and jackets, jeans and tops for on- and off- duty. Vintage velvet for Carmen, a distant star who was seldom coming out at nights to sing these days. And in be tween these two extremes lurked a jungle of fussy, expen sive clothing that did not scream "date" with a maybe man.
Temple Barr , however, obviously relished the extreme challenge of making over Molina. TempleBarr thrived in the messy middle ground. She and Mariah ravaged the racks, then pushed Molina into the dressing room with armloads of improbable clothing.
She ended up with an outfit chosen by their mutual consent.
“ Car-wash skirt, definitely," Temple told Mariah. "Very cool," Mariah concurred.
“ It looks like Jack the Ripper's been at my hem from the knees down," Molina grumbled.
“ Dangerous," Temple said. "Ideal for a law- enforcement type. And not black. Deep, dark plum. Good contrast for your eyes."
“My eyes don't need contrast."
“Absolutely right," Temple said. "Just a little mascara—you do use mascara? No! Makeup counter's on the way out, Mariah. Take that down. Lash Out, just the thing.”
Mariah meekly wrote that at the bottom of her clothes sheet.
“An eyebrow waxing would be a gift from heaven," Temple mused.
“I'm not going to go through that sort of ridiculous assault in the name of female exploitation."
“ Too timid for a little pain in the name of self- improvement, Mariah. So like a guy! Add a Tweezerman to the cosmetic counter list. You might be able to sneak up on her when she's asleep and pluck."
“Scratch that!" Molina ordered. "Or I cancel the credit card charges.”
Mariah did as told.
But Molina had been conned into the skirt with the shredded hem, $128.00. A black sleeveless top shaped from bands of ribbons. And a net shawl of purple, black, and
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