Read Online Such a Pretty Face by Cathy Lamb - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Cathy Lamb
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gift.” Eileen’s voice dripped derision. “These clothes are for her.”
The saleswoman held up the shirts again, huge, billowy. “Oh, no.” She laughed. “Not for her. These are way too big. Honey, this isn’t your section. You’re in the wrong one. Let me help you.”
“We’re in the right one,” Eileen huffed.
“Not at all. She’s way too thin for this section. Are you a size 10, dear?”
I smiled back at her smile. A size 10! I had dreamed of being a 10! “I’m not sure.”
“I’m Phyllis. Come with me.” She turned and I followed, as if I were following the Pied Piper of clothing. I almost expected her to whip out a flute.
Eileen’s hand yanked me back, and she hissed, “Remember Mrs. Tomissan, the slut. Do you want to be a Mrs. Tomissan?”
“No, I don’t, but neither do I want to wear clothes that don’t fit, Eileen.” It was as if I’d told her she was uglier than Frankenstein. Her face grew mottled, her eyes narrowing into slits. Lately I had noticed how mean her eyes are. I glanced away.
“Here we are.” Phyllis beckoned us over with a wide grin, then threw out her arms. “Right here. This is your section.”
If horns had blasted, followed by a sweet trill of violins, and a ba-bong-bong on a huge drum, I would not have been surprised. I’d entered paradise. I admired the mannequins. The racks. All filled with finery and fluff and skirts with ruffles and pants with pizzazz and—
“I would look okay wearing these clothes?” I had to confirm it. Had to .
“Absolutely!” She tilted her head, quizzically. “Oh, I understand. You’ve recently lost weight, haven’t you?”
Eileen giggled. “She took the shortcut out. Bought into society’s twisted vision about how a woman has to be thin to be valuable, threw out her life savings, didn’t have a penny to her name, then saved all her money a second time to have another operation to cut off the loose skin and risked her life, all so she could be thin—”
“Yes, I have lost weight.”
The saleswoman studied Eileen for a second and then her mouth opened, a slight bit, and she nodded, as if to herself. She understood the situation, I knew it. She smiled at me. “Congratulations!”
Eileen snorted again. “Ask her how much weight she’s lost, why don’t you?”
“It’s none of my business,” Phyllis said, a slight edge to her voice.
“She’s lost 170 pounds,” Eileen said, as if I’d committed the crime of kidnapping. “She took the cheater’s way out, if you know what I mean.”
Phyllis stared at Eileen for long seconds, then, as if in dismissal, she turned toward me, a hand under my elbow, her back to Eileen. “Now, dear, what can I help you find?”
“Everything.”
“A makeover then?” She was delighted. I couldn’t blame her. She was probably on commission.
“Yes, you could say that.” I could feel Eileen’s seething anger.
“Rather a start-over,” Eileen said, her diamond bracelets flashing. “She has no fashion sense and—”
“Let’s go on over here and pull some jeans off the rack, shall we?” Phyllis grabbed my arm. As we were walking away, she said to Eileen, who started to follow, “There’s a chair by the dressing room where you can rest. We’ll meet you there in a minute.”
She hustled me off. I didn’t even dare sneak a peek back, I was so shocked. Someone had handled Eileen. Not me, but someone else, and she was off my back.
I almost skipped. I could hear the flute music trilling, tra-la-la. Phyllis and I dumped one outfit after another into our arms.
“Too tight,” Eileen barked as I came out of the dressing room to show her and Phyllis the jeans I was wearing.
“Perfect fit,” Phyllis said at the same time. “You look fantastic!” Eileen glowered at her.
“Do I?” Did I? There were violins and a cello!
“If you want every part of your butt to be outlined for men’s consumption, you do,” Eileen said. “Take my word for it. Those are too
The saleswoman held up the shirts again, huge, billowy. “Oh, no.” She laughed. “Not for her. These are way too big. Honey, this isn’t your section. You’re in the wrong one. Let me help you.”
“We’re in the right one,” Eileen huffed.
“Not at all. She’s way too thin for this section. Are you a size 10, dear?”
I smiled back at her smile. A size 10! I had dreamed of being a 10! “I’m not sure.”
“I’m Phyllis. Come with me.” She turned and I followed, as if I were following the Pied Piper of clothing. I almost expected her to whip out a flute.
Eileen’s hand yanked me back, and she hissed, “Remember Mrs. Tomissan, the slut. Do you want to be a Mrs. Tomissan?”
“No, I don’t, but neither do I want to wear clothes that don’t fit, Eileen.” It was as if I’d told her she was uglier than Frankenstein. Her face grew mottled, her eyes narrowing into slits. Lately I had noticed how mean her eyes are. I glanced away.
“Here we are.” Phyllis beckoned us over with a wide grin, then threw out her arms. “Right here. This is your section.”
If horns had blasted, followed by a sweet trill of violins, and a ba-bong-bong on a huge drum, I would not have been surprised. I’d entered paradise. I admired the mannequins. The racks. All filled with finery and fluff and skirts with ruffles and pants with pizzazz and—
“I would look okay wearing these clothes?” I had to confirm it. Had to .
“Absolutely!” She tilted her head, quizzically. “Oh, I understand. You’ve recently lost weight, haven’t you?”
Eileen giggled. “She took the shortcut out. Bought into society’s twisted vision about how a woman has to be thin to be valuable, threw out her life savings, didn’t have a penny to her name, then saved all her money a second time to have another operation to cut off the loose skin and risked her life, all so she could be thin—”
“Yes, I have lost weight.”
The saleswoman studied Eileen for a second and then her mouth opened, a slight bit, and she nodded, as if to herself. She understood the situation, I knew it. She smiled at me. “Congratulations!”
Eileen snorted again. “Ask her how much weight she’s lost, why don’t you?”
“It’s none of my business,” Phyllis said, a slight edge to her voice.
“She’s lost 170 pounds,” Eileen said, as if I’d committed the crime of kidnapping. “She took the cheater’s way out, if you know what I mean.”
Phyllis stared at Eileen for long seconds, then, as if in dismissal, she turned toward me, a hand under my elbow, her back to Eileen. “Now, dear, what can I help you find?”
“Everything.”
“A makeover then?” She was delighted. I couldn’t blame her. She was probably on commission.
“Yes, you could say that.” I could feel Eileen’s seething anger.
“Rather a start-over,” Eileen said, her diamond bracelets flashing. “She has no fashion sense and—”
“Let’s go on over here and pull some jeans off the rack, shall we?” Phyllis grabbed my arm. As we were walking away, she said to Eileen, who started to follow, “There’s a chair by the dressing room where you can rest. We’ll meet you there in a minute.”
She hustled me off. I didn’t even dare sneak a peek back, I was so shocked. Someone had handled Eileen. Not me, but someone else, and she was off my back.
I almost skipped. I could hear the flute music trilling, tra-la-la. Phyllis and I dumped one outfit after another into our arms.
“Too tight,” Eileen barked as I came out of the dressing room to show her and Phyllis the jeans I was wearing.
“Perfect fit,” Phyllis said at the same time. “You look fantastic!” Eileen glowered at her.
“Do I?” Did I? There were violins and a cello!
“If you want every part of your butt to be outlined for men’s consumption, you do,” Eileen said. “Take my word for it. Those are too
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