Just a Number(68)
For me, anyway.
The third shop I step into gives me hope. It’s not like the others—all crisp and formal, their walls lined with white bridal gowns—instead boasting a more modern feel in the rich colors of the tapestries, paint, and furniture. It’s not a large shop, and it doesn’t have nearly the number of dresses that the other two had, but what I’m seeing on the few mannequins that are scattered about draws me forward. These dresses are elegant, yet geared more toward my generation. They’re unique among the vast amounts of dresses that all looked the same in the other stores.
“Hello there,” a brunette saleswoman greets with a wide smile. She’s dressed in a pair of jeans and a white top with a gray blazer overtop—nothing like the pantsuit-clad women of the other shops. “What can I help you find today?”
Smiling, I regard her before glancing around the room again, hoping something catches my eye. “I’m going to a party tomorrow night—a masquerade ball, to be specific, and I need a dre—” I don’t even finish my sentence because all of my focus is on the mannequin across the room and the dress it wears. “That one,” I say softly, taking in the soft lines as I make my way toward it.
“Good eye,” the saleswoman says, following me.
I’ll admit, when I first started shopping in my mind, I’d imagined a corseted dress with elaborate beading or lace-work adorning it and a very full skirt. But this…this dress is exquisite. I reach out and run my fingers over the black lace that covers the white satin bodice, down over the fitted hips before tapering as the skirt flows out at the knee. More lace trims the hemline of the skirt, and I find myself unable to get over how beautiful and perfect this dress is.
“This is a one-of-a-kind gown by a local up-and-coming designer whom we have the pleasure of working with exclusively,” the saleswoman tells me, stepping around the mannequin and unzipping the gown. She removes the dress and leads me toward one of the fitting rooms. “I’m Jasmine,” she says, hanging the dress on an empty hanger and then putting it in my room.
“Amy,” I tell her, stepping into the fitting room and gripping the curtain. Hearing it’s the only one in existence worries me because what if it’s too big or too small? I won’t have time to get it altered before the party tomorrow, will I? It’s not something I’ve ever really had to think about or plan.
My pessimism is proven premature as I strip out of my jeans and long-sleeved shirt and slide the gown up my body, reaching behind me and pulling the zipper from the curve of my ass to where the dress dips into a deep V at the middle of my back. It fits like a glove, and I smile as I take in my reflection. Sure, my hair and makeup aren’t done, but it’s not hard to imagine how I’ll look on Owen’s arm tomorrow night.
“How are you doing in there, Amy?” Jasmine asks from behind the thick curtain as I run my hands over the fitted, lace-covered bodice, loving how soft it feels beneath my hands.
The dress hugs every curve, from the sweetheart neckline and low V-cut back, before it flows out at the knee. It’s the first dress I’ve even tried on, but I can’t imagine loving another as much. Instead of answering Jasmine from behind the curtain, I step out with a bright smile on my face. I need to know if someone else likes it as much as I do.
The look on her face is all the proof I need that this is the dress, and I bite my lower lip as I look in the three-way mirror positioned out here, turning and appreciating the back of the dress as well. “I’m afraid to ask how much,” I confess, not sure I can even afford this—even with my credit card that my dad funds since I don’t have a job. It’s not that I don’t want to work, but having gotten into school on a full scholarship, my parents had offered to pay for my apartment and anything I might need so long as I focused on my studies and kept my grades up. I worked all through high school and do have some money in my savings, but something tells me it won’t be enough for this dress, and that makes me feel pretty sullen. Perhaps I should have taken Owen up on his offer to help pay for my gown…
Jasmine is still beaming behind me, probably because she thinks she’s about to make a huge commission. “Actually, it’s on sale due to it being part of the old line.”
Oh, good. So instead of being three-thousand, it’s likely only two. Fantastic.
“Three,” she continues, and I choke on the breath of air I’ve taken in.
“Thousand?” I manage to squeak out, my fear coming true and suddenly feeling like the dress is constricting my airways. I look around, suddenly wondering if I wandered into one of those high-end specialty shops that those “Real Housewives” always shop in. My hopes of wearing this dress for Owen quickly slip away.