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She holds a finger up. “I’ll be right back. I might have just the thing.”
When she returns, she’s holding a black velvet one-shouldered gown, a sequined silver mermaid gown, and a strapless sheath in gold brocade. “Try the black first,” she suggests.
It fits. It’s elegant. It might do.
We look at me in the mirror. The attendant—Sarah is her name—frowns. “It’s…safe. It works, but I think you need something more—”
“Fabulous,” I tell her. “My date’s word.”
She hands me the silver dress. It should fit, but it squeezes my breasts until I look like I’ve got balloons shoved under my bodice. So that’s a big fat no.
I hold my breath as she hands me the gold brocade. It’s pretty over-the-top and not my usual taste, but it is gorgeous. I cross my fingers.
It fits. The material clings to my hips, but the internal boning in the bodice holds my boobs gently but snugly. It fits beautifully, in fact.
“Wow,” Sarah says admiringly. “Perfect. It’s a little long, but we should be able to hem that pretty quick. And you won’t need any other alterations, since it’s got some stretch. Really perfect.”
It really is.
I examine myself from all angles in the mirrors, but I can’t find anything to complain about. I feel voluptuous but elegant, sexy but classy in it. “You don’t think it’s a little much?”
Sarah considers me again. “For New Year’s Eve? Nah. It would be too much for a wedding guest outfit, probably, but for a fancy ball, it’s just right. Don’t go too heavy on jewelry—maybe just some earrings.” She winks at me. “It’s absolutely perfect. And Mr. Reese will love seeing you in it. You look great. In fact, I don’t think you could find anything nicer.”
I don’t think so either.
And so, I’m “dolled up” in my bedroom at Granna’s house on New Year’s Eve, waiting for Austin to pick me up. I had my hair done earlier, in an elegant swooping updo that’s both retro and modern, and Granna helped me put on my false lashes, which I’ve never worn before but she insisted the dress called for them. Understated makeup, except for the winged eyeliner. A discreet spritz of Armani Si perfume. A pair of gold lame slingback heels.
Granna offers me her strand of pearls, and I put them on with gratitude, only to find that the effect is not as pleasing as we’d hoped.
“No,” Granny says, musing. “Too prim.” She glances down my body, then back up to my face. “You need something sexier.”
My eyes go wide, and I clutch at the pearls at my neck, remembering what I was doing with Austin in this very bed not even a week ago. “Sexier?” my voice is squeaky, and Granna laughs out loud.
“For a date with that young man? Absolutely.” She turns to her dresser, rummages in her jewelry box, and then turns back to me with a pair of earrings in her hand. They’re dangly brilliants set in gold, and I can tell they’ll be—what’s that word again?—fabulous.
“Just cubic zirconias,” Granna says, “but that’s 18 karat gold, so they’re not too costumey-fakey. They’re as fabulous as your eyelashes.” She winks at me. “Now go have a marvelous time, and don’t turn into a pumpkin at midnight.”
Well, I hope not.
