The Time-Traveling Fashionista (8 page)

“Ouch!” she cried out, feeling a shooting pain with his touch.

“Well, what is it, Doctor?” Mr. Baxter asked anxiously. “What is all of the harrumphing about?”

Dr. Hastings stood up and looked down at the concerned uncle, who seemed like one of the seven dwarfs next to him.

“Fiber,” Dr. Hastings said.

“Excuse me?” asked an incredulous Mr. Baxter.

“She has a severe fiber deficiency. That would explain the tenderness of the stomach and the amnesia.”

“Fiber?” Mr. Baxter repeated.

“Yes. She needs to eat five prunes each morning and evening.” The doctor began rummaging through his black leather bag. “I’m
sure I have some in here.”

“Are you a
real
doctor?” Louise asked, rather rudely.

Dr. Hastings looked up angrily. “Of course,” he snapped.

As he continued to search his bag for the elusive fibrous fruits, Mr. Baxter stood behind the doctor and started flapping
his arms like a bird and puffing air into his cheeks like some bizarre combination of blowfish and chicken. Clearly Mr. Baxter
realized what a quack this guy was. Louise was turning bright red as she tried not to laugh, but she couldn’t help it. Her
eyes were tearing with the effort, and a few giggles escaped her tightly sealed lips.

The doctor emerged triumphantly holding a rusted tin can labeled
Pitted Prunes
. For the first time, there was a flash of life in his murky black eyes.

“This will do the trick!” he exclaimed. “I predict she will have a full recovery in two days’ time.”

“Pitted prunes! Perfect, my good doctor,” Mr. Baxter replied with gusto, patting him heartily on the back and winking at Louise.

Dr. Hastings grumbled one last time in lieu of good-bye and then slunk out of the room.

“Well, at least he didn’t try to cure you with leeches,” Mr. Baxter joked as he examined the tin of prunes left on the bedside
table.

“I guess,” Louise responded, not quite getting the humor. That doctor gave her the creeps.

Just then, a handsome man who looked to be in his twenties with slicked-back blond hair and dressed in an old-fashioned charcoal
gray three-piece suit poked his head into the room.

“Miss Baxter, my dear. I hear you weren’t feeling well this afternoon. I wanted to check in on you.”

“Benjamin,” Mr. Baxter greeted him curtly, extending his hand to the cute stranger. “She is doing just fine now. Thank you
for checking. Although I don’t think the timing to be quite appropriate, considering Miss Baxter is trying to get some rest.”

“Even when you are under the weather, you still look as beautiful as ever,” Benjamin said to Louise with a wink.

Louise blushed.
Did this guy just make up a poem for me?
Unless she was completely off base, totally hot Benjamin was actually flirting with her. And at a time when she must have
looked like a two-hundred-pound Little Bo Peep. Didn’t Anna realize that no one looks good in this shade of yellow?

“I hope I’ll see you both at dinner this evening. Please, Miss Baxter, don’t hesitate to call me if you need anything. Anything
at all.”

“Thank you.” Louise nodded and smiled after a long pause, still in shock.

Mr. Baxter hastily showed Benjamin to the door like an overprotective father. He seemed to want to get rid of him as soon
as possible. “Guggenheim, what a cad,” he muttered as soon as he left the room.

Guggenheim? As in the museum?
Louise definitely hoped she would be running into him again soon. Even though that
doctor was weird, Benjamin Guggenheim more than made up for it. Finally, she had met someone who was truly crush-worthy.

“Perhaps it would do wonders for you to get out of this bed and have a good meal tonight. They say the food on this ship is
second to none. We have a fabulous table in the first-class dining salon—Jacob and Madeleine Astor, Isidor Straus—I’m sure
his wife, Ida, has been worried sick about you. It would be good if you made an appearance. As they say in the biz, the show
must go on!” Mr. Baxter sang as he delicately dabbed his sweaty bald head with a bright pink pocket scarf he had tucked in
his jacket pocket.

“Yes, that sounds nice,” Louise agreed nonchalantly, trying not to show her enthusiasm, even though she was so excited to
get dressed up in Miss Baxter’s fabulous dresses and run into Benjamin again.

“Marvelous, I’ll leave you to get your beauty sleep. Shall you meet me at the Grand Staircase this evening at half past seven?”

“Sure,” Louise mumbled, trying to say as little as possible so he wouldn’t catch on that she wasn’t the real Miss Baxter.
She had no idea how she was going to continue fooling everyone into thinking she was this other woman. How the heck had this
happened again?

“Please, my sweet pea, please do try to bring a bit more
energy to the table,” Mr. Baxter said, exasperated. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you. You remind me of a sullen young
girl.”

Louise raised her eyebrow. He had no clue how right he was.

Mr. Baxter gave a dramatic wave with his flamingo pink handkerchief and left the room. Anna immediately began bustling about,
gathering clothes and stockings, and running the bath water. Louise climbed down from the raised bed and stood frozen, not
sure what to do with herself.

“Do you need any help?” Louise asked.

Anna stopped dead in her tracks, her arms full of shimmery evening gowns that needed to be hung and pressed.

“Pardon me, ma’am?”

“I said do you need any help? What can I do?”

“Are you still not feeling well, ma’am?” Anna asked, concerned.

“I feel fine. I just feel guilty standing here while you do all the work,” Louise replied.

Anna paused and gave her a long, inquisitive look, as
though she were looking at her for the first time. “No, I don’t need any help. Why don’t you rest? I’m drawing you a bath.”

“Can I watch TV?” Louise asked, eyeing the room for a television set or a flat-screen.

“What’s Tavee??” Anna repeated, confused.

“Right, never mind,” Louise said with a sigh, remembering what era she was in.

She had never rested so much in her life. It was starting to make her anxious. If she was actually lucky enough to be living
the life of a fabulous actress, she definitely didn’t want to waste it bored and hanging around her room.

“What exactly does Miss Baxter do? I mean, what do I do?” Louise asked, taking off her hideous nightcap.

“What do you do, ma’am? I don’t understand.” Her maid looked perplexed. Louise wanted to tell her they could be friends. Weren’t
Anna and Miss Baxter almost the same age anyway?

“Can’t we just be friends?” Louise tried hesitantly. Something about the girl’s striking blue eyes reminded her of Brooke,
and she suddenly wished that she could talk to Anna like she was her friend. It was too painful to think that Brooke wasn’t
with her on this adventure. They had done pretty much everything together up until this point.

“Ma’am?”

“You don’t need to call me that,” Louise moaned.

“Sorry, ma’am. I mean, Miss Baxter,” Anna stammered, confused.

“Arghh…. Not that, either. Never mind. Call me whatever,” Louise said, defeated. She dramatically threw herself facedown on
the featherbed, clenching her fists in frustration, like a toddler in the midst of a temper tantrum.

“Ahh, that’s more like it,” she heard Anna whisper to herself. “Ma’am, your bath is drawn.”

Louise stepped into the gilded claw-foot bathtub and submerged her head under the warm, soapy water. Ohmigod! Disgusted, she
shot out of the water spitting out a salty mouthful of suds. It was
seawater
! Gross.

“Anna, I hate to tell you, but the water in the tap seems to be coming from the ocean,” Louise called through the ivory-molded
closed door.

“Of course, ma’am!” Anna shouted back. “It’s supposed to be therapeutic.”

Of course?
Louise hastily stepped out of the tub and tried to dry off the sticky residue with the warm, fluffy white bath towel Anna
had laid out for her. She guessed there would be a few things that would take some getting used to. Then she had an idea.

“Anna, if you could have one day on this boat to do whatever you wanted, what would it be?” Louise asked, peeking her head
out of the bathroom.

“Anything at all?” Anna asked hopefully, fluffing a feather pillow as she expertly made up the bed.

“Anything,” Louise confirmed excitedly.

“Well, I suppose I would like to buy a ticket for the swimming pool. Can you believe there’s actually a swimming pool on this
boat? Wonders never cease.”

“Sounds fun,” Louise exclaimed, suddenly realizing that Coach Murphy was going to kill her for missing swim practice! She
hoped she hadn’t missed the Westport meet. She would
never
be able to explain her way out of that one.

“And then I’d like to go relax and take a steam in the Turkish baths. They say it’s just like a bath house in Morocco.”

“Cool.”

“No, they’re hot,” Anna corrected, still looking a little bewildered that Miss Baxter was offering her all of this.

“Right, that’s what I meant. And then?”

“I suppose I’d be hungry, so I’d like to have a meal at the Café Parisien. It’s supposed to be just like a real sidewalk café
in Paris. Even the waiters are French,” she added hesitantly.

“Wow,” Louise enthused. “I’ve always wanted to go to Paris.”

“You did a production there last spring,” Anna reminded her.

“Of course,” Louise responded quickly. “It seems as though my memory is still a bit patchy.”

“Perhaps next I would like to ride one of the mechanical
horses in the gymnasium or play cards or take a stroll on the promenade. Not that I’ve thought this through, of course,” she
added quickly. Clearly Anna had been thinking this through.

“Sounds perfect,” Louise said. “Miss Baxter, I mean,
I
am rich. So let’s have fun!”

“You mean we would actually do this? Together?” Anna asked, perplexed.

“Of course,” Louise said. “I mean, I’ve been fainting all day, it really wouldn’t be safe for me to spend the day alone.”

“Well, in that case…”

“It’s settled,” Louise said firmly. “Now, Anna, this might seem strange, but with this horrific case of amnesia I seem to
have caught, I need a little help in remembering how I talk and act. How does Miss Baxter, I mean, how do
I
behave anyway?”

“I can give you a lesson in becoming Miss Baxter,” Anna offered hesitantly.

“Please, maybe that will help spark my memory.”

“To begin with, you must flutter your eyelashes a lot. Especially around handsome men,” Anna began. “Call everyone ‘dahling.’
If you like something say, ‘It’s simply mahvelous.’ ”

“Mahvelous, dahling,” Louise echoed uncertainly.

“Very good,” Anna replied. “But you have to add a dramatic flourish to everything you say. Remember, you are an actress.”

“Simply mahvelous, dahling,” Louise said again, with a little more pizzazz.

“Much better. How do you do?” Anna asked in a posh English accent.

“How do you do?” Louise repeated like an aristocratic parrot.

“Perfect! You should be back to your old self before you know it.”

“Now the most important question, what should I wear? Will you help me get ready?” Louise couldn’t wait to try on another
one of Miss Baxter’s fancy dresses.

“I always do,” Anna replied, walking into the closet.

“Getting ready” was a process that bore no resemblance to Louise’s daily jeans, sneakers, and lip-gloss routine. She gripped
the bedpost with white knuckles while Anna strapped her into a corset. She was beginning to feel like an overstuffed Italian
sausage. Anna ignored her subject’s cries of pain and laced the bustier so tightly Louise thought one of her ribs must have
broken.

Glancing down, Louise realized that H&M was knocking off the same look one hundred years later (but a little less painfully)!
It was interesting to see how the designs she thought were modern were actually variations on older pieces. On closer examination,
she realized the delicate mother-of-pearl buttons and lace trim were unique to this piece and
couldn’t be mass-produced by any retail chain. She felt a little sad that the intricacies and specialness of the piece had
somehow been lost over the years.

Anna helped her into the beautiful violet chiffon tea gown Louise had seen earlier in the steamer trunk. It was accentuated
with a spray of hand-sewn grass green and raspberry pink silk flowers that were so delicate they looked like they could only
have been stitched by a doll’s hands.

“Oh my God, it’s a Lucile,” Louise whispered loudly while reading the pale green tag with black script lettering. “And it’s
in perfect condition.”

“It better be,” Anna replied, smoothing the wrinkles out of the fabric with her hands. “You paid a pretty pound for it last
week.”

“Oh right, it’s new,” Louise clarified quickly, realizing that in 1912 this would not be vintage.

“She’ll be thrilled to see you wearing it. You look absolutely radiant in her designs.”

“When I see her?” Louise asked, confused. “You mean Lucile is on this ship, too?”