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"I won't be long," He pulls out a credit card from his wallet and hands it to me. "Here's my card. Go crazy."
"Are you sure?" I turn the card over in my hand.Matthias Baxteris embossed on one side.
"Never surer of anything more in my life. I actually ordered you your own card, but it hasn't arrived yet."
He jumps out of the car before I can say goodbye, evidently already preoccupied with his issue.
I'm disappointed that he's not coming with me, but I know that he has spent so much time with andforme lately there must be so much he needs to catch up on. He's been basically clearing his schedule every night to be at the club, and wait there until at least two-thirty a.m. just to make sure I get home safely.
Kevin drops me off in front of the Ravel entrance and I get out, wiping my palms down the back of my pants. I don't know why I'm nervous about going in there.
A designer showroom is my domain. I've probably spent more time in one than in my own apartment. But throwing money around is apparently a muscle, one I haven't used in a while.
I step inside.
It's your standard showroom. By that I mean that there is nothing standard about it. Ravel has chosen a minimalist décor, a soft pink, allowing the sparsely displayed clothes to stand out.
In the back, there's a showing area. Giant gilded mirrors adorn three walls, with a stoop in the middle for modelling and taking measurements for tailoring. I spot a dress on a mannequin near the back, and I start to make my way over when a salesperson steps in front of me, essentially blocking my way.
"Hello, Miss," she says with zero warmth.
"Good morning." Show. No. Fear. It's one thing to walk into a store knowing that they know you can buy and sell them with a dial of the phone. It's another to prove to them that you belong there.
"I'm here to look for a dress for an event on Monday," I tell her.
She snickers.Snickers out loud. "Left it a little late, haven't we? We're not going to be able to do much with it," she sneers, looking me over.
No fear, Clarissa."That's fine. I can make it work."
"We'll see."
She eyes the loose thread on my sweater and it makes me painfully aware that this design was released two seasons ago. A little wave of her hand and another sales assistant comes walking over.
"Donna will help you. I need to return to my other customer." She gives me one more derisive look and stomps off.
Donna isn't any more thrilled to be serving me than the first woman. I ignore her as much as I can and walk over to the dress I'd eyed from the front of the store. "I'd like to try this one on please."
Donna smirks. "Miss, I think that's not going to really work for you."
"I'm sorry, did I ask for your opinion?" If she wanted to tangle, I was here for it.
The direct confrontation makes her blink. "Yes, miss. What size would you like? A size ten?"
There's nothing crueler and more passive aggressive like a sales assistant with a tape measure.
"I'm a size four."
The other salesbitch returns while her customer goes into her prepared fitting room, looking at me like I'm inconveniencing them. "Miss, we are actually going to be closing for a lunch event. Is it possible for you to come back later?"
Lunch event.
Lunch event is code for, "you're too poor to shop here, and we don't want to bother with collecting clothes for you and having to put them back."
The two of them step in around me, closing ranks.
And the last of the excitement I had about coming here disappears. This is not any fun, and I don't want to be here for another second.
But I'm not going without a dress.
