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Authors: Tina Ferraro
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(Jacket? Check . Vest? Check . Cuff links? Check .), I tried to make the date sound pretty no-big-deal.
“What do you know,” I told him, lifting a purple tie toward the overhead light to inspect for hidden stains. “Looks like I’ve got a date to the Homecoming Dance after all.”
When he didn’t respond, I snuck a look out of the corner of my eye. To see his face slowly lifting.
“Surfer boy?”
I felt a laugh rise inside me—Adam and me, right!—then lodge inside my throat. “No,” I managed. “Randy Schiff, that guy who came in with his mother.”
“Oh, him. You like him?”
I shrugged. Randy had a football player’s bod and that rapper smile. What got my blood racing was fitter, blonder looks. Not to mention a persona so chill you could almost forget he was in the room. Or in the window.
“Could be fun, Courtney. As long as that mother keeps her distance.”
“Amen to that.” I bit down on my lip. “You wouldn’t mind me taking Saturday afternoon off for—”
“Take the whole day.”
“Really?”
“I’m sure it takes forever to make a helmet out of hair, and with those hard, springy curls hanging down.”
I laughed. “Oh, a salon updo. Yeah, I’m not going that far. Really, I only need the afternoon.”
He put up his hand in a STOP sign. Making me feel rather silly. Obviously, he’d run his shop long before I’d come along. “Now, what about a dress? What are you wearing?”
Giving a bow tie the a-okay, I worked it back on its cardboard holder. “I’m not exactly there yet. Since Jennifer is taking time off right now to get ready for the wedding, I thought I’d tag along on a shopping adventure. Nothing too fancy, of course. Or expensive. It’s not like I’ll wear it again.”
When I glanced back up, Phillip’s stool was empty. Then he lumbered out of the backroom, a long, closed garment bag in his hand.
“Back in the old days, I rented formal wear to females, too.” He stopped to hang the bag on a display rack. “I got rid of the gowns because they weren’t serious money-makers, but my wife told me to save this. Then I think she forgot about it.” Stepping in front of the bag, he gave the zipper a tug. “I’m sure it needs a good dry cleaning, and we might have to alter it. If it works for you, you can have it for the night.”
Everything inside me tightened. I was the first to admit that I bought what my friends bought and wore whatever happened to be clean, but still, styles were personal. What were the odds I’d do a face-plant for a dress his wife liked? Still, the last thing I wanted to do was offend him. Help!
He moved away. When I saw the sparkles, I first thought my anxiety had gotten the best of me, that I was seeing stars. But soon my gaze fell upon the entire form: sky blue, strapless, gathered at the waist, with a tea-length swishy skirt. It was like Giselle from “Enchanted” meets Christina Aguilera.
“Wow,” I heard myself murmur.
He chuckled. “I take it that’s a I-need-to-try-this-on.”
I hightailed it inside the dressing room, and traded my jeans and stretchy tee for The Big Time.
The material felt silky and delicious, and fit like it was made for me. I floated out of the dressing room and up to the alteration pedestal. With Phillip closing the top back hook for me, and the sun streaming down through the skylight, I took in my reflection in the full-length mirror.
S-curves ran down my sides. Body parts bulged where they should. But no place else.
Just for that one moment, I wasn’t simply Courtney Walsh, who had more questions about her life than answers, and who was simply stepping up to help some guy who needed a date. I was special. I was princess-y.
“Niiiice,” Phillip told me.
I just grinned.
“Do you want to wear it?”
“Yes, please!”
A grin tipped the edges of his mouth. “And have you noticed how the dress is cut to swish when you move?”
I rustled the skirt, feeling the silky material against my legs,
“What do you know,” I told him, lifting a purple tie toward the overhead light to inspect for hidden stains. “Looks like I’ve got a date to the Homecoming Dance after all.”
When he didn’t respond, I snuck a look out of the corner of my eye. To see his face slowly lifting.
“Surfer boy?”
I felt a laugh rise inside me—Adam and me, right!—then lodge inside my throat. “No,” I managed. “Randy Schiff, that guy who came in with his mother.”
“Oh, him. You like him?”
I shrugged. Randy had a football player’s bod and that rapper smile. What got my blood racing was fitter, blonder looks. Not to mention a persona so chill you could almost forget he was in the room. Or in the window.
“Could be fun, Courtney. As long as that mother keeps her distance.”
“Amen to that.” I bit down on my lip. “You wouldn’t mind me taking Saturday afternoon off for—”
“Take the whole day.”
“Really?”
“I’m sure it takes forever to make a helmet out of hair, and with those hard, springy curls hanging down.”
I laughed. “Oh, a salon updo. Yeah, I’m not going that far. Really, I only need the afternoon.”
He put up his hand in a STOP sign. Making me feel rather silly. Obviously, he’d run his shop long before I’d come along. “Now, what about a dress? What are you wearing?”
Giving a bow tie the a-okay, I worked it back on its cardboard holder. “I’m not exactly there yet. Since Jennifer is taking time off right now to get ready for the wedding, I thought I’d tag along on a shopping adventure. Nothing too fancy, of course. Or expensive. It’s not like I’ll wear it again.”
When I glanced back up, Phillip’s stool was empty. Then he lumbered out of the backroom, a long, closed garment bag in his hand.
“Back in the old days, I rented formal wear to females, too.” He stopped to hang the bag on a display rack. “I got rid of the gowns because they weren’t serious money-makers, but my wife told me to save this. Then I think she forgot about it.” Stepping in front of the bag, he gave the zipper a tug. “I’m sure it needs a good dry cleaning, and we might have to alter it. If it works for you, you can have it for the night.”
Everything inside me tightened. I was the first to admit that I bought what my friends bought and wore whatever happened to be clean, but still, styles were personal. What were the odds I’d do a face-plant for a dress his wife liked? Still, the last thing I wanted to do was offend him. Help!
He moved away. When I saw the sparkles, I first thought my anxiety had gotten the best of me, that I was seeing stars. But soon my gaze fell upon the entire form: sky blue, strapless, gathered at the waist, with a tea-length swishy skirt. It was like Giselle from “Enchanted” meets Christina Aguilera.
“Wow,” I heard myself murmur.
He chuckled. “I take it that’s a I-need-to-try-this-on.”
I hightailed it inside the dressing room, and traded my jeans and stretchy tee for The Big Time.
The material felt silky and delicious, and fit like it was made for me. I floated out of the dressing room and up to the alteration pedestal. With Phillip closing the top back hook for me, and the sun streaming down through the skylight, I took in my reflection in the full-length mirror.
S-curves ran down my sides. Body parts bulged where they should. But no place else.
Just for that one moment, I wasn’t simply Courtney Walsh, who had more questions about her life than answers, and who was simply stepping up to help some guy who needed a date. I was special. I was princess-y.
“Niiiice,” Phillip told me.
I just grinned.
“Do you want to wear it?”
“Yes, please!”
A grin tipped the edges of his mouth. “And have you noticed how the dress is cut to swish when you move?”
I rustled the skirt, feeling the silky material against my legs,
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