Oh well. This is my brother, and men can be so naïve about women. They need their little sisters looking out for them, don’t they?
I walk up the stairs and into the guest room. This time Juliana’s room is pulled together, with everything properly in its place. The sight is quite a contrast to that of the chaos I encountered the evening of the party, when it looked as though a hurricane had blown through.
I open the door to the beautiful old mahogany armoire that stands opposite the bed. Juliana’s dresses, slacks, tunics, and jackets are neatly draped on cedar hangers. It’s now easy to see a common theme here—elegant clothing and not fussy—as if each item had been carefully considered, or curated, before purchase.
Some of the pieces are classic with famous labels that telegraph
expensive
, and they’re mixed in with several items from hip, cutting-edge designers. What surprises me most is that Pucci-like number she wore for cocktails a couple days ago. I can hardly believe it when I see the J.Crew label inside the dress. Not exclusive like some of the other clothing hanging in the armoire, which shows that Juliana has the confidence to mix it all up.
What catches my eye are her shoes, now neatly arranged in the bottom of the armoire—among them red-soled Louboutin high heels and apple-green suede Tod’s loafers. The Louboutins are so sky-high that just looking at them practically hurts my feet. The days of wearing sexy black heels like that are long gone for me, but, oooh, those suede Tod’s look so comfortable, and chic, too! My toes are almost wiggling with a desire to try them on, but I manage to control myself.
I walk into the bathroom, and my eyes sweep over the products she uses for skincare and her hair. All great quality, but not ridiculously expensive. I notice that this time the bottles and tubes are each wiped off, closed, and lined up on the shelf above the sink instead of scattered, smudged, and left open all around the bedroom as on the night of the party.
Her cosmetics are like everything else about this woman’s outward physical appearance—clean, elegant and understated. The neatnik in me feels no urge to fuss over anything, because everything is where it should be this time around.
Leaving the bathroom, I spot two books and a Kindle stacked on the nightstand next to the bed. Turning on the e-book reader as I put on my glasses, I see Juliana is in the middle of reading
The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao
. I turn off the Kindle and sit quietly on the edge of the bed thinking about her choice of this Pulitzer-Prize-winning book.
At the end of the day, before the lights go out, Juliana chooses to spend her time reading about New Jersey ghetto-nerd Oscar instead of dipping into
Vogue
or
Vanity Fair
. I kick myself for stereotyping her simply because she’s so beautiful.
I pick up the paperback book that was right underneath the Kindle—
The Sorcerer’s Apprentice
—and I discover it’s a well-used chess manual. So, Juliana plays chess? That I would also not have expected. I flip open the book and see the title page is inscribed
To a most talented future chess master! JP, 1999
.
The bottom book is another well-worn paperback with numerous folded page corners.
The Tender Bar: A Memoir
by J. R. Moehringer. I don’t know this one. The cover says it’s a bestseller, and an NPR review on the back reads:
A fierce and funny coming of age story about ambition and yearning…exquisitely describes every wince-making step of his class climb.
I may have to buy my own copy and read this one.
Even if she seems aloof, hidden, and not particularly warm, Juliana is turning out to be one very interesting lady.
I read an inscription on the title page of this book, too—
For the lovely Juliana, A little something to read and think back to your years at the Café Casablanca. It was always a pleasure watching my most gifted student develop her many talents and flourish into such a lovely woman.
I walk up the stairs and into the guest room. This time Juliana’s room is pulled together, with everything properly in its place. The sight is quite a contrast to that of the chaos I encountered the evening of the party, when it looked as though a hurricane had blown through.
I open the door to the beautiful old mahogany armoire that stands opposite the bed. Juliana’s dresses, slacks, tunics, and jackets are neatly draped on cedar hangers. It’s now easy to see a common theme here—elegant clothing and not fussy—as if each item had been carefully considered, or curated, before purchase.
Some of the pieces are classic with famous labels that telegraph
expensive
, and they’re mixed in with several items from hip, cutting-edge designers. What surprises me most is that Pucci-like number she wore for cocktails a couple days ago. I can hardly believe it when I see the J.Crew label inside the dress. Not exclusive like some of the other clothing hanging in the armoire, which shows that Juliana has the confidence to mix it all up.
What catches my eye are her shoes, now neatly arranged in the bottom of the armoire—among them red-soled Louboutin high heels and apple-green suede Tod’s loafers. The Louboutins are so sky-high that just looking at them practically hurts my feet. The days of wearing sexy black heels like that are long gone for me, but, oooh, those suede Tod’s look so comfortable, and chic, too! My toes are almost wiggling with a desire to try them on, but I manage to control myself.
I walk into the bathroom, and my eyes sweep over the products she uses for skincare and her hair. All great quality, but not ridiculously expensive. I notice that this time the bottles and tubes are each wiped off, closed, and lined up on the shelf above the sink instead of scattered, smudged, and left open all around the bedroom as on the night of the party.
Her cosmetics are like everything else about this woman’s outward physical appearance—clean, elegant and understated. The neatnik in me feels no urge to fuss over anything, because everything is where it should be this time around.
Leaving the bathroom, I spot two books and a Kindle stacked on the nightstand next to the bed. Turning on the e-book reader as I put on my glasses, I see Juliana is in the middle of reading
The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao
. I turn off the Kindle and sit quietly on the edge of the bed thinking about her choice of this Pulitzer-Prize-winning book.
At the end of the day, before the lights go out, Juliana chooses to spend her time reading about New Jersey ghetto-nerd Oscar instead of dipping into
Vogue
or
Vanity Fair
. I kick myself for stereotyping her simply because she’s so beautiful.
I pick up the paperback book that was right underneath the Kindle—
The Sorcerer’s Apprentice
—and I discover it’s a well-used chess manual. So, Juliana plays chess? That I would also not have expected. I flip open the book and see the title page is inscribed
To a most talented future chess master! JP, 1999
.
The bottom book is another well-worn paperback with numerous folded page corners.
The Tender Bar: A Memoir
by J. R. Moehringer. I don’t know this one. The cover says it’s a bestseller, and an NPR review on the back reads:
A fierce and funny coming of age story about ambition and yearning…exquisitely describes every wince-making step of his class climb.
I may have to buy my own copy and read this one.
Even if she seems aloof, hidden, and not particularly warm, Juliana is turning out to be one very interesting lady.
I read an inscription on the title page of this book, too—
For the lovely Juliana, A little something to read and think back to your years at the Café Casablanca. It was always a pleasure watching my most gifted student develop her many talents and flourish into such a lovely woman.
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