Herbonus dad, as she calls him, taps his chin. “Hmmm, I’d have to see some color swatches, but we definitely want to play up her figure.” He reaches across and pats my knee. “Don’t worry, darling, you will be a goddess among mortals tomorrow night.”
I’m not sure about that, but I appreciate his confidence.
We arrive at the store, which has BOUVIER in large backlit letters over the top of the door. When we enter, I feel more like I’m in an art gallery than a clothing shop. High ceilings are embossed with an ornate design, and the honey-colored wooden floors are so glossy I could do my makeup in the reflection. Free-hanging Edison bulbs drape down, casting a soft glow against all the glass surfaces. The walls are a bold red, and a larger-than-life-sized photo hangs behind a reception counter.
“Oh my god, is that you?” I ask, nudging Gianna as I stare at the raven-haired beauty who is dressed in a red dress with so many rhinestones I’m surprised she didn’t slip a disk in her spine from the weight of it. She’s glaring fiercely at the camera.
Gianna rolls her eyes. “Yes, Auburn loves that picture and insists on hanging it in every damn store. I look like a serial killer.”
“Because you slaaaay,” Tora replies, snapping his fingers.
We’re greeted immediately, but it’s different than I thought it would be. I assumed everyone would be deferential and a little afraid that the boss’s wife was entering their domain, but everyone greets us with warmth and hugs. Gianna is just as genuine, asking about everyone’s families and partners, and I like her more by the minute.
We’re guided through the well-dressed shoppers to a door at the back and into a large round room with mirrors all around the perimeter wall. A circular, raised platform stands in the center.
A man approaches dressed in a three-piece suit and round tortoiseshell glasses that give him a refined air. He’s Indian, about my height, and appears to be in his forties.
He introduces himself as Tilak, the head stylist for the Palm Beach location. Tilak is more formal than the rest of the people I’ve met so far, greeting all of us with handshakes instead of hugs, but he’s friendly and has kind brown eyes.
“Tell me about the occasion,” he says in his soft-spoken voice.
I gesture to Gianna to take the lead since I have no damn clue what I’m doing. She fills him in on the event, and then they go to work. I’m urged to stand on the platform, and two women appear from nowhere with arms full of silky fabric in every color of the rainbow. Actually, that’s not accurate; not even rainbows can dream of this many colors.
They hand them one by one to Tilak, who stretches them out and drapes them across my front while Gianna and Tora stand back with crossed arms, giving their opinions.
They begin with every shade of pink, but most of them are tossed to the side, deemed “not in my color wheel.” Then come the beiges and browns, also mostly discarded. When we get to the greens, things start cooking. Gianna and Tora nod enthusiastically at almost every one, other than a garish lime green and a couple duller ones.
“Who knew there were so many colors of white,” I comment as Tilak holds an eggshell colored swatch beneath my chin. It’s tossed in the “no” pile while a bright white is added to the “yes” pile.
“It all comes down to the undertones,” Tilak explains as Torapretends to gag theatrically at the burnt orange now being draped over me. I have to agree with him on that one.
Everyone seems surprised that the reds look good, even with my red hair, though it’s mostly the deeper shades that are kept. Purples are also widely adored. Blues are a mixed bag, only the ones with a greenish hue gaining approval.
Once we’re finally done, I thank the two young ladies who patiently stood there during the entire bizarre analysis, and they scoop up all the discarded fabrics and retreat like a couple of fabric fairies. I wonder how one gets that job? Just apply and say, “I’d like to hold cloth all day and not say a word. Thanks.”
Tilak takes some measurements of my body, dresses are pulled, and then I’m led to a dressing room that’s approximately the size of my old apartment. Gianna comes in with me to be my fastener.
“There’s an actual damn chandelier in here,” I say, looking up at the ornate brass light fixture over us.
She giggles. “I know. Isn’t it bougie?” Pulling a deep-purple dress from a padded, velvet hangar, she holds it up. “Let’s try this one. All the bras you should need will be on that bench.”
She turns around to give me some privacy as I undress. Then I survey the selection of bras lined up on the wooden bench against one wall. The dress Gianna selected is strapless, so I choose the proper bra and put it on. It’s a simple beige but it fits perfectly.
“This looks good on you,” Gianna says, zipping me up and looking around my head to survey me in the mirror.
“I like it. Let’s get this one,” I say because that’s how I shop. If I find something that looks good and fits well, I don’t bother trying on a bunch of other stuff.
Gianna shakes her head with mirth. “No way Tora is going to let you get away with buying the first dress you try on. Come on and just have fun.” She takes my hand and pulls me out of the dressing room where Tora and Tilak are waiting.
They tilt their heads, surveying me like butchers with a side of hanging beef. “It’s nice,” Tora comments, and Tilak nods his head in agreement.
“So this is the one?” I ask hopefully, and they all laugh.
“Honey, please. Nice is good, but we want you to be a goddess among mortals tomorrow night,” Tora says, making an arc through the air with his hand. “Give me a green one this time.”
I come out a few minutes later in a green halter dress, and Tora immediately shakes his head. “No, it’s giving… aloe vera. Next.”
I don a red dress that I think looks perfectly acceptable, but neither Tora or Tilak are impressed. “I’m not a fan of your boobs in that one,” Tora says before shooing me back inside. Gianna was right. The man manages to be honest and straightforward without being rude.
