Operation One Night Stand (19 page)

W
ith my gym bag slung over my shoulder, I pulled my scarf tighter around my neck.
It was a pleasant hour of stretching and clear-headed focus followed by a ridiculously long shower that worked out the rest of the tension that weighed me down.

Knowing I needed a dress, according to Michael, for the dinner the following week, I left the gym and made the brisk walk to the department store.
Pushing through the revolving doors, I was reminded of my need for a few items from the makeup counter.
I busied myself with the saleswoman discussing the benefits of an eye cream that hid visible lines, something I hadn’t yet had the opportunity to discover, but she swore that early prevention was the best policy.
I was about to lay out the arm and leg it cost for a tube the size of my pinky, but instead decided on purchasing a new tube of mascara, a new tinted lip gloss, and facial cleanser.
As I handed the girl my card I spotted Yolanda.
I dropped to the floor in a squat.
It wasn’t that I didn’t like her.
I really did like her, when she wasn’t in full-on work mode.
I just wasn’t in the mind-set to deal with her outside the office.
She was judgmental enough about my work; I didn’t need her beady eyes perusing my latest purchase.

Looking up, I saw confusion spread across the saleswoman’s face as she turned to hand me my card and receipt.

“Psst.”

She looked down.
“What are you doing?”

“My boss is over there.”
I pointed, feeling like a complete ass.

“Where?”
she said a little too loudly as she whipped her head around to look.

“Just hand me my stuff and I’ll get out of here.”

“You get a free gift with your purchase.
What would you like?”

“I don’t care.”

“Well, we have a free makeup bag with some samples.
The bags come in a variety of patterns and colors.”

I rolled my eyes when I saw her lift herself onto the counter and look down to where I squatted.
“I don’t care.
You pick.
Please.
Just give me my stuff and let me get out of here.”

“Caroline.”

The hair on the back of my neck stood on end and my shoulders involuntarily tensed.
So much for yoga and my hot shower.

“Yolanda.”
I busied myself with my shoelace before standing up.

“In a hurry?”

“Well, not really.
Just had to pick up a few things.”
I turned to the saleswoman, who looked more confused than she had when I disappeared.
“Thank you.
I’ll take the pink bag.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.
Yes.
Thank you.”
I took my bag from her and stood in front of Yolanda.
I don’t know what it was about her, but I often felt as though I were about to be disciplined for something.

“Well, dear.
Do you have something to wear for the dinner next week?”

“Um, well.
That’s one of the reasons I’m here actually.”

“Good.
I will help you find something suitable to wear.
Heaven knows what you youngsters think will pass for suitable dinner attire.
I mean, look at what you’re wearing now.”
She laughed but I wasn’t sure how to take it.

My stomach sank to the soles of my new running shoes as I looked down.
I was wearing leggings and running shoes.
My hair was in a messy, almost dry pony bun and I had no makeup on.
She was wearing perfectly tailored pants, smart flats, and an ivory turtleneck sweater that peaked out from the collar of her navy peacoat.
I wrung my hands together.
“I just came from the gym.”

“You should always take pride in your appearance, Caroline.
Even if you are running to the grocery store for milk, you should always present yourself as you want others to see you.
Let’s go.
Third floor.”

With my head down, I followed Yolanda to the escalator.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the saleswoman mouth, “I’m sorry.”
Yeah,
you’re
sorry.

Yolanda didn’t look back at me the entire way to the third floor.
She walked swiftly, weaving in and out of racks until she stopped in front of a section of cocktail dresses.
I watched as she methodically began sifting through the dresses.
Stopping for only a moment to scan me from head to toe, Yolanda tossed dress after dress in my direction.
Just as I thought I couldn’t hold any more, she turned on her heel, crooked her finger at me to follow, and headed toward the dressing rooms.

She spoke quietly to a saleswoman; they both turned their heads to look at me before continuing with their hushed conversation.
I stood there feeling like an awkward outsider.
It seemed like hours before they included me in their little chat.

“Size two, that’s just what I thought, Kelly.
Thank you.”

“Anything for you Ms.
Page.
Caroline, please step in here.”
She took the items from my arms and motioned for me to enter an open dressing room that was roughly half the size of my bedroom.

Surrounded by mirrors, I saw my mouth drop open when Yolanda’s reflection entered the room with me and took a seat on a plush white chair in the corner of the fitting room.

“Don’t look so surprised, my dear.
It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.
Drop the unsightly gym bag.
Don’t you have anything less tattered?
No matter.
Try on this one first.”
She handed me a black beaded, sleeveless number that looked entirely too small.

I shyly undressed, attempting to keep myself covered at all times.
It was not an easy task and I thanked goodness for all the time I spent at the gym.
At least my body wasn’t—couldn’t be—something with which she could find fault.

Keeping on my bra and giant cotton panties—thank God they were clean—I slipped the slinky material over my head and felt the light material skim down the rest of my body.
It fell a couple inches above my knees.
Sleeveless and fitted at the top, I admired the soft A-line of the skirt.

I was slowly running my hands along the fabric when Yolanda cut in.
“No.
Next.”

“But—”

“Trust me.
Next.”
She stood, took a cream-colored swatch of material off its hanger, and handed it to me as I gave her the black beaded dress.

For an hour I played dress up with Yolanda Page.
Every now and then, she’d sniff “maybe” and place the dress on the designated maybe hook.
More often than not, I was faced with a short “no” as I was handed another dress.
I lost count of how many I’d tried on, lost count of how often poor Kelly rushed in and out of the dressing room at Yolanda’s order.

And then it happened.
Over the top of the dressing room door, Kelly handed over a deep charcoal wool dress.
I stepped into it and pulled it over my hips.
Slipping my arms in, Yolanda zipped up the back for me.
The off-the-shoulder dress had a four-inch fold that lay nicely on my arms and a thick strip of fabric that rested above my breast.
It was fitted and fell mid-thigh.
Yolanda gasped when I lazily turned to face her, waiting for yet another veto.

“This is it.
This is the dress.”

I gave myself permission to look in the mirror, something I hadn’t done for the last forty or so dresses.
It seemed everything I liked, Yolanda didn’t.
I wasn’t expecting much.

“Wow.”
I whispered, turning around to check out all of the dress.
I was expecting the dark gray to wash out my pale skin and drown me in shadows, but something about the dress made me feel like I was in a spotlight.

“Kelly!”
Yolanda called.
“We’ve found the dress.
As we discussed.”

Busy admiring myself in the mirror, I barely felt Yolanda tug on the zipper.
I stepped out of the dress, careful not to wrinkle it, when I caught sight of the price tag.
It was more than I made in a single paycheck.
Of course, I could always charge it on Dad’s card, but I made a point to be as self-sufficient as I could.

“Yolanda, I can’t afford this.”

“Don’t be silly.
I am purchasing this for you.
It is a work dinner, after all.
Do not worry about it.
If you are going to represent this company, if you are going to represent me, you will dress as such.”

Kelly opened the door and handed Yolanda a few small items.

“Take off your bra.”

“What?”

“We need to see which of these undergarments fit you best.
We have two strapless bras and a body slimmer.”
She spoke as if I should know what she was talking about.

“A body slimmer?”

“Oh, dear.
There is nothing wrong with your body.
The slimmer will just make sure everything stays where it ought to at all times, as well as hide the lines from your other undergarments.
Now, it may be a tad uncomfortable in the beginning but trust me.
It will be fabulous.
I’ll be out here.”

I thanked God Yolanda stepped out as I dropped my bra on the floor and fastened the strapless bra that, surprisingly, fit better than most of the bras I owned.
Thankfully I was able to keep my own underwear on as I slithered my way into what must’ve been designed by a man, because I cannot for the life of me understand why any woman would invent such a torturous piece of clothing.

I was barely able to fit into the body slimmer without crying.
But Christ, I had a hard time breathing.
At least it was short enough to allow me to step back into the dress.
When Yolanda zipped it up and told me to take a step back, I realized she was right.
I couldn’t quite put my finger on what was different but the dress fit even better than it had before.

“Kelly!
Shoes!
What size are you, dear?”

“Um, eight.”

“Size eight!
Nothing too strappy.
Or shiny!”
Yolanda looked at me.
“Try sitting in that dress.”

I tiptoed over to the chair she’d vacated and sat.
The fabric moved with me and didn’t tighten or slide up as many other dresses would.
The body slimmer constricted me in a way I wasn’t used to but I didn’t want to say anything to her.
I looked at her expectantly.

“Good.
Do you have a proper coat?”

I mentally riffled through my closet.
“Yes!
I have a long red wool coat.
It has black buttons and an embellished collar.”

“It sounds like it would work.
Clutch?”

I nodded.

“Okay, let’s get some shoes and be on our way.
I have things to do.”
The almost friendly Yolanda that had appeared over the past hour and a half was disappearing and I wondered if I’d see her again.

Kelly came to the door with another saleswoman, their faces were barely visible over the stack of boxes they each carried.

“It would be better to try them on out here,” Kelly said as she lifted her gaze over the boxes.

I made my way to the small foyer of the dressing area and sat on the white linen chaise.
Looking around, I realized this was an area of the store where my mother would shop.
It wasn’t that I shunned my parents’ money.
They taught me to be self-sufficient and I think it made my father, at least, proud that I was able to fend for myself.
They, of course, never let me want for anything.
I just never asked for anything anymore.
I liked being a grown-up.
Then again, Yolanda was pulling me back into the world of having someone else provide for me.
I wasn’t sure how I felt about it.

After the sixth pair of shoes, I was sure I’d found the pair I was looking for.
I’d been so wrapped up in slipping my feet in and out of designer shoes that I’d failed to notice I’d been left alone.
I couldn’t figure out where Yolanda and Kelly had gone off to, so I took the opportunity to make my own shoe decision.

I stood in the four-inch understated black platform pumps and walked toward the three-way mirror at the end of the hall.
I was admiring my silhouette and how the heels helped my butt pop a little more than normal when I saw Brian in the reflection.
I spun around and almost fell, catching myself only when I shot out my arm and steadied myself on the mirror.