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As it happened, the stylist that Margie had sent came with a bounty of dresses that we laid out on the bed, and when Jane reemerged from Eric's room about an hour later, she was ready to drool with me over the sheer volume of couture I suddenly had hanging off a portable rack in my tiny bedroom.
"Feel this!" she said, fingering a long silk tunic. "Like butter."
The stylist, Mary, a middle-aged woman in all black who was probably the chicest person I had ever met in real life, just smiled.
"That's the latest Cavalli," she said. "Although to be honest, I wouldn't go with black for an event like this."
Jane and I both looked up from where we sat. We were both fans of the color.
"It's just that if you're going to be looked at like a political candidate's wife––"
"Which I'm not," I interrupted her.
Mary smirked. "Right. Well, I was given a specific brief. Let's just say black doesn't exactly scream out 'First Lady'. This was more something I brought for your friend here."
Jane and I both frowned at each other. I turned back to Mary. "What are you talking about?"
She pulled three papers out of her bright red purse and handed them to me. They were tickets for the dinner.
"I'm just a messenger," she said. "But apparently, Mr. Sterling thought you'd want your friends there tonight."
She looked at me sympathetically. Clearly, she had read the Globe article.
"Look, I've styled a lot of politicians and their, um, special guests," she said. "It will be nice for you to have your friends there if they can go."
I turned to Jane. "What do you think?" I asked. "Can you bear to spend your last night in Boston at this stuffy event?"
Jane squeezed my hand. "We'll be there."
I gulped and turned back to the clothes.
"Okay, Mary," I said. "You'd better show me just what does say 'First Lady'. Or, at the very least, what doesn't say 'sidepiece'."
~
With Mary and Jane's help throughout the day, I found a dress that made me feel like a million dollars. Or, in Brandon's case, a billion. It was a floor-length, sky-blue column dress with off-the-shoulder straps and a boat neckline. A modest slit up to one knee would likely appease Brandon's request that I show off his favorite part of my anatomy. It fit me like a glove, thanks to the last-minute alterations that Mary was able to pull off.
I stood in front of the full-length mirror in my room, going over my elegant transformation. Mary had also styled my hair, pulling it half up in a small bouffant with a French twist. I wore Brandon's cuff and a pair of diamond studs that were my college graduation gift from Bubbe, but otherwise kept the rest of my look simple, with natural make up and a bit of lip gloss.
"You look amazing, chick," Jane said as she came to stand next to me.
"You don't look so bad yourself," I said.
Jane patted her hands over her dress, which was a midi-length tea dress in a blocked red, white, and black pattern. Even though it was much more conservative than her usual Goth-punk style, she had still managed to maintain her edge with at least six different chunky silver rings and a pair of black Mary Janes that looked right out of a steampunk novel. She grinned and touched her bob, which had been tamed straight.
"Don't mind if I do," she said.
From where she was finishing packing up the rest of the clothes, Mary nodded satisfactorily. "I think my work here is done," she said.
"Thank you so much, Mary," I said, walking over to give her a brief hug. "We look amazing, and it's all thanks to you."
"Thank your man," she said with a grin. "Oh! That reminds me––I almost forgot. He told me to give you this and make sure you put it on."
She pulled a square velvet box out of her purse and opened it up for me.
"Holy shit," Jane breathed over my shoulder.
I couldn't even speak. Inside was a wreath of diamonds so bright I was practically blinded. The low lighting in my room flickered off the many facets, casting tiny rainbows all around the walls.
