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I glanced over my shoulder at the mirror. I looked like a Coke bottle that had been attacked with a glitter gun. I looked back at Bubbe and started to shimmy toward her and Jane.
"I can't even walk in this, Bubbe," I said, nearly falling off the platform as I moved to the dressing rooms. Thankfully, Jenna was there to grab my hand to steady me. "Thanks," I said, gratefully as she steered me back.
"Hold on here, hon," she said as a phone call rang in the back room. "I'll be back in a sec to help you out of this thing."
I stood in the small, mirror-lined room awkwardly while I waited, wondering how many more of these things I was going to have to try on today. Gloria was clearly getting impatient, and I was running out of patience myself. Maybe today just wasn't going to be the day I found my dress.
"God, and did you hear her grandmother's accent? She sounds like an impression from SNL or something. They should just go with that tacky beaded one. It would fit the family."
The voices fluttered over the tops of the curtain. There were two other shop girls working here––I saw them briefly when they'd helped Jenna bring out some of the gowns.
"What's that saying? Lipstick on a pig?" the other one whispered loudly.
The first girl snorted, and the two of them tittered for a bit. It was obvious whom they were referring to. I clenched at the five-thousand-dollar beading, suddenly wanting to tear every bit of the finery off.
"Isn't the wedding in, like, four months or something ridiculous like that?"
"I bet she's pregnant again. That's the only way someone like that would land someone like him. Have you seen his picture? OMG, he is gorgeous."
That was it. Something in me clicked at their voices, and I swept back the curtain dramatically and stepped out, tacky beading and all. For the first time, I was actually glad I was wearing the ugly dress my grandmother had picked out. I needed to channel her attitude.
The girls froze like deer. Petty, stupid, self-absorbed deer.
"To start," I said more calmly than I felt, although the Brooklyn accent that I usually managed to keep repressed was shaking through. "The only lipstick-wearing pigs in this shop are you sorry bitches."
One of the girls opened her mouth. "Oh, we weren't talking about––"
"Yes, you were," I interrupted with a finger held up. "Just like you were talking about my grandmother, who has more character in her finger than you do in that anorexic body of yours."
The girl opened and shut her mouth while the other stepped forward, hands held up in surrender.
"Ms. Crosby," she said weakly, "I don't know what you thought you heard, but––"
"Uh-uh," I said, waggling my finger in a way that mimicked Bubbe perfectly. Her particular brand of no-bullshit was coursing through me, and I felt stronger for it. "Don't fucking lie to me. I heard every word."
"Is everything okay here?"
The three of us turned around to see Jenna, who had appeared from the front room with a concerned look.
"It could be." I looked down at the ugly dress I was wearing. "I'm done here––these ladies thought it was appropriate to make a bunch of derogatory comments about me and my family when they thought I couldn't hear them. Unfortunately for them, I could. Loud and clear."
Jenna's face immediately clouded as she shot murderous looks at her employees. "Oh, goodness. Skylar, I am so sorry. I assure you, this will be dealt with."
"It will," I said with more authority than I felt. But it felt good to take charge of something. "I'll take the first Vera Wang, the one with the train. But only if these two are done working here, starting now."
It was a twenty-thousand-dollar gown, which would fund the shop for months. I could barely remember what it looked like, but I knew that Gloria approved because it came with a shawl, and that I'd liked it because it was so simple. It certainly wasn't worth the paltry salaries of these two employees.
"Done," Jenna said without hesitation. She turned to her stunned now-former employees. "Get your things and go. I'll send your pay in the mail."
I looked to the girls with a smugly raised brow.
Don't fuck with me, I thought, surprised by just how good it felt to take back control of something in my life.
~
