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Giddy with possibility, Charlotte strode into the brightly lit department store. It was a dizzying blur as she passed a display of autumnal clothing. Beautiful, but it would never be cool enough in Miami to wear wool. A few breezy days in February were insu cient to justify the price tag.
Charlotte found a section with semi-formal dresses. She hunted through half a dozen options without a single strong candidate.
“Are you looking for something special?” a woman with the most fantastic salt and pepper bob asked as she approached.
Realizing she’d been frowning, Charlotte cleared her throat. She wanted to say she was just looking, but her lunch was running out and she had to admit she was far out of her depths.
“Actually, yes. Do you know what one wears to an evening party on a boat?” she asked, putting on the airs she thought befitted the occasion while o ering a playful smile.
The woman raised an eyebrow, but her narrow eyes registered amusement. She’d gotten Charlotte’s intent. “It depends on the size of the boat.”
Charlotte chuckled. “Fair enough. I’m not exactly sure.
It’s on Biscayne if that helps.”
Cocking her head to the side, the clerk chewed the inside of her cheek as she considered the information. “I’ve got something that works for just about anything.” She smiled.
“Come with me.”
Glancing at the time on her phone, Charlotte nodded and hustled behind her but resisted divulging that she was on her lunch break. She guessed the only places the Real
Housewives of Income Inequality were rushing to was hot yoga.
As they walked, the clerk pulled a few black dresses from various sparse wooden racks. The way she selected them with complete confidence was impressive, especially given that Charlotte had never told her her size.
With half a dozen options in her hand, the clerk stopped at a dressing room. “Try these,” she asserted. “My vote is for this one, but I gave you some choices. Do you have shoes?”
Charlotte shook her head.
“I’ll grab you a couple of options,” she said with a nod before glancing down at her feet but again neglecting to ask her size.
Alone in the private dressing room, Charlotte took a deep breath and started to undress. Six months ago, she couldn’t have imagined she’d be standing in such a bougie store shopping for overpriced clothes.
Checking the price tag of the first dress, her eyes nearly popped out of her skull. Jesus . Who the hell would pay a thousand dollars for a freaking dress? Charlotte set it aside and started with the others.
The clerk, who she learned was named Denise, returned in time to o er a lukewarm reaction to the first three little black dresses she tried. The fourth and fifth were okay, but not stunning.
“How important is this party?” Denise asked, crossing her legs from her seat on the tufted ottoman at the corner of Charlotte’s dressing room.
Charlotte looked at the mid-length black dress in the reflection. It was okay, but there was no wow factor. “I’m not sure,” she admitted, but continued to think about it.
“Best case scenario? It’s the night that changes the trajectory of my career.”
“I would say it’s a rather consequential event then.”
Denise’s eyes darted to the only dress she hadn’t tried on. “It might be worth trying that Carolina Herrera you skipped.”
Charlotte dropped her shoulders and confessed. “I can’t pay a thousand dollars for a dress.” She looked away from Denise and back toward the full-length mirror. “This doesn’t look bad.”
“No, it doesn’t look bad,” she agreed.
Denise wasn’t saying exactly what she meant. Charlotte guessed her thoughts were something along the lines of if my career was riding on it, I’d at least try the damn thing on.
Charlotte agreed with Denise’s imaginary advice. “Fine.
I’ll try it on.”
The black, short-sleeved dress fit like a glove until it flared out at the waist, ending several inches above the knee.
