Vintage (26 page)

Lane did her best to handle all the cast-related questions, but some of the models’ complaints still overflowed to Violet. While Violet ran around making sure that everyone knew where they were supposed to be and what they needed to do, Amithi took care of last-minute wardrobe mishaps backstage.

When April arrived with a box full of programs, Violet felt a wave of relief. “Oh, thank God. Another pair of hands. How were things at the store this afternoon?” She hugged April.

“It was a pretty good afternoon,” April said. “We made a ton of sales. Everyone was asking about the revue tonight, and some people were even shopping for outfits to wear to it. I think we’re going to have a lot of people.”

“I hope so.” Violet pulled back. “I was too distracted earlier to notice that you’ve gotten bigger in the last couple of weeks. In a good way, I mean. I hope I look half as cute as you if I ever get pregnant, which is a big ‘if.’”

Violet didn’t mention how much she’d been wrestling with that question ever since Sam told her he didn’t want kids. She had way too much to worry about with the revue to delve into such a complicated decision, so she’d been trying not to think about it.

“I feel huge, but thanks.” April patted her belly. “So what can I do to help?”

“The theater crew set up some tables in the back for the silent auction. Do you think you could arrange all the bidding forms and the raffle stuff?”

“Are the auction items actually going to be on the tables? You know, the clothes and things?”

“Yep,” Violet said. “The girls—and queens—have been instructed to bring their wardrobe items back there after they’ve changed and to place them in the same order they came down the runway. If you could set up some numbered signs or something, so they know where the items are supposed to go, it will make your life easier later, so you don’t have to answer a thousand questions.”

“Sounds good. What time do the doors open?”

“Eight.”

“I’d better get working, then.”

As April walked toward the auction tables, Violet noticed that her gait was slower and more deliberate than it had been a few weeks ago. She imagined it was getting difficult for her to move around.

Amithi came rushing up the middle aisle wearing a sari. A round, red bindi sparkled on her forehead. A younger version of herself trailed behind her.

“Violet, I would like you to meet my daughter, Jayana.” Amithi gestured toward the girl, who looked to be in her early thirties and had the same dark hair and vivid eyes as Amithi. That was where the similarities ended, though. Jayana wore jeans and a tank top, with no jewelry except for a plain gold wedding band.

“Nice to meet you. My mom talks about you all the time,” Jayana said. “I can’t believe you got her to help you with this.”

“She’s a talented seamstress,” Violet said. “I couldn’t have gotten all the clothing ready for the show without her.”

“I guess I just never pictured my mom sewing drag queens into their bustiers.” Jayana turned to Violet. “I don’t get it. My mom freaked out about me not wanting an Indian wedding, but she has no problem with gender ambiguity.”

“They are nice people, those drag queens. They make me laugh.” Amithi’s smile lit up her whole face, so that the red circle on her forehead was the rising sun and her cheeks were round hills bathed in pink light.

“I haven’t seen you in a sari since the day you first came into the shop,” Violet said.

“I couldn’t imagine a big event like this without one.”

“How are things going backstage?”

Amithi’s face turned serious. “Fine, but have you seen the man who is supposed to be running the lights and the sound system? Shouldn’t there be some kind of testing going on?”

“What?” Violet felt panic rise in her chest. “The tech guy should have been here hours ago. He’s not backstage?”

Amithi shook her head. “I thought he would be out here.”

Violet balled up her fists. “Fuck.” Then she realized that the elegant and composed Amithi would never say such a thing and added, “Sorry.”

“No, you’re right,” Amithi said. “Fuck.”

Jayana giggled, then said, “I know it’s not funny, but it’s just that I’ve never heard my mom swear. Okay, so what can we do? Do you have the tech guy’s number?”

Violet dug her phone out of the pocket of her red, bubble-hemmed dress—something she’d found in the store’s collection of 1980s prom dresses. Amithi had added the pockets for her. “I’ll call him,” she said. “But we only have forty-five minutes before the doors open, and an hour and fifteen before the curtain goes up. We need a backup plan in case he can’t get here. Do you know anybody else who knows how to do sound and lights for a theater?”

Jayana and Amithi stared back at her with blank expressions.

“Maybe Lane knows someone,” Amithi said.

“Good idea. Will you go talk to her while I make this call? And, Jayana, see that blond girl over by the tables?” Violet pointed at April.

Jayana nodded.

“Would you go ask her if she’s seen the tech guy and, if not, if she knows anyone who can help us out?”

“Sure.”

While Jayana hurried over to April, Violet dialed the number she had for the guy she’d hired to do the sound and lights. As the phone rang and rang, she chided herself for not having gone with the theater’s recommendation of whom to use. Instead, she’d hired a student to save a few bucks. She should have known that, like buying a vintage Burberry trench coat, sometimes it was better to spend a little more for the real deal.

Violet left an angry voice mail for the student. She stuck her phone back in her pocket and saw Lane, looking glamorous in a black shift dress, running across the stage. Her silver flats tapped against the wood floors, and to Violet’s amazement, she jumped off the stage’s edge instead of taking the stairs.

“You needed me for something?” Lane stood in front of Violet, breathless.

“Doesn’t that kill your knees?” Violet asked.

“Nah, I spend my days chasing after three little boys. They keep me pretty limber. What’s going on?”

“The tech guy isn’t here. I know, I know. I should have hired the professional that the theater manager recommended but I was a cheapskate and now I’m screwed because the student I hired hasn’t shown up and he isn’t answering his phone. Do you know anyone from your theater contacts who can run the lights and sound board?”

“It’s been so long. I honestly don’t remember any names.” Lane crossed her arms and appeared to think about it. “I used to know how to do the tech stuff, but it’s been years—I mean, decades.”

Violet perked up. “What?”

“When I was in the drama club in high school, I dated our stage manager. We used to, uh, hang out in the sound booth.” Lane blushed. “Anyway, I got him to show me how to work the sound and lights. I was curious.”

“That is so badass,” Violet said. “I’ve never seen a woman manning—or, sorry, operating a sound board.”

“I wanted to know everything there was to know about theater.”

“Do you think you can still do it?”

“I don’t know. I’m sure a lot has changed, technology-wise, since back then. I don’t know if I’d be able to figure it out.”

“Okay.” Violet went into director mode. “Lane, you go find the theater manager and ask him to show you the sound and light equipment. Take a look at it and see if you’re comfortable with it. Also ask him if he knows anyone else he can call at the last minute.”

“Okay.”

As Lane ran off in her shiny shoes, Violet’s phone rang. She answered right away, hoping it was the tech guy calling her back. “Hello?”

“Is this Violet Turner?” asked a man’s voice.

“Yes.”

“Violet, this is Officer O’Malley. We met at your store a couple of days ago.”

“Yes?” Violet gripped the phone with an unsteady hand. “Did you find Jed?”

“We received word from police in northern Wisconsin that they located the suspect and he’s being held on probable cause to arrest.”

“Really? Where did they find him?”

“He was picked up at a gas station twenty miles from Bent Creek. Must have been making his way back home.”

“So what happens now?” she asked.

“He’s at the police station up there. The DA’s office here in Madison will need to get him transported back here before we can pursue a criminal complaint locally. So we need to know if you want to press charges.”

“What happens if I don’t?” she asked.

“Well, without testimony or a statement from you, as the property owner, it would be pretty hard for the DA to make a winnable case, so he’d probably drop it.”

As Violet listened to the officer explain the process, conflicting concerns battled in her brain. She was glad Jed had been caught. She wanted him to be held accountable for what he’d done, but she also didn’t want him anywhere near Madison ever again.

“Would he have to go to jail?” Violet asked.

“Possibly. Vandalism convictions range from just a misdemeanor and a fine to a felony conviction with a prison sentence. It all depends on what the DA’s office charges him with and what they’re able to prove. And you can bet your insurance company or your landlord’s insurance will go after him with a subrogation lawsuit, too, to recover any money they’ll be paying out in claims to get the property repaired.”

“Do you need an answer from me right this minute? I’m kind of in the middle of something I can’t get away from.”

“You can think about it for a few hours or so, but don’t wait too long. Without any direction from the DA, the police in Bent Creek won’t be able to justify holding the suspect much longer than overnight.” He gave her the number of one of the assistant district attorneys so she could call when she’d made up her mind.

Violet thanked him and hung up. Before she could think about what the officer had said, Lane returned. Violet didn’t have time to explain what was going on with the police, so she tried to look as nonchalant as was possible with less than an hour left before the show.

“I have good news and bad news,” Lane said. “The bad news is that the theater manager called a couple of people and no one can do the tech stuff on such short notice. The good news, though, is that he showed me the sound board and it’s pretty old. It actually looks similar to what I used in high school. There are a few differences, of course, but I think I can figure out the basics.”

Violet looked at her watch—she’d chosen to wear her leather-strapped, 1950s Wyler because it looked so serious and official with its large gold numerals. It was quarter to eight. Apparently tonight was a night for quick decisions.

“Okay, Lane, barring any last-minute appearance from our tech guy, I think you’re it,” she said. “Get in there and run some tests. We don’t need anything fancy. We just need the microphones on and the spotlights functioning so the audience can see our models and, more importantly, their clothes.”

“I think I can do that.”

“I’m gonna need a better answer than that.”

“Okay, I know I can do it. If there’s anything I’ve learned from theater and motherhood, it’s that I can improvise.”

As Lane headed toward the sound booth, Violet climbed the stairs to the stage and poked her head through the curtain. A flurry of models and clothes swirled around backstage, and a pungent cloud of hairspray lingered in the air.

“Less than forty-five minutes ’til curtain,” she said. “How are we doing back here?”

Amithi looked up from sewing a button onto a blouse.

“Everything under control?” Violet asked.

Amithi took a safety pin out of the corner of her mouth. “Yes. Just a few final adjustments.”

A thin, panicked model wandered over to Amithi. “Do you think you can fix my dress?” she asked. A broken spaghetti strap dangled from the bodice of the black, 1930s trumpet gown the girl was wearing. She had to hold the dress with crisscrossed arms to keep it from falling down.

“Sure,” Amithi said. “Hold still, please.”

Violet saw Jayana sitting in a nearby chair, looking like an outsider amidst the hustle of activity around her. When she noticed Violet looking at her, Jayana said, “I wish I could sew. Or do hair or something so I could be helpful.”

“I tried to teach you, all those years ago,” Amithi said. “But you swore you’d never need to know how.”

“Yeah, when I was a kid, sewing seemed so antifeminist, so
retro
.” Jayana made a face.

“Who’s calling who antifeminist?” A black-haired model with nose and lip piercings, wearing nothing but frilly underwear and a pointy bra, turned to Jayana with her hands on her hips. “You say ‘retro’ like it’s a bad thing.”

“Yeah, what’s wrong with retro?” Violet asked, realizing that she should be insulted. This show—really, her entire career—was all
about
retro.

Jayana turned pink as she tried to recover from her blunder. “Oh, you know what I mean.”

“No,” Amithi said. “We don’t.”

“Well, it’s just—well, when I was kid, sewing seemed to be such women’s work. Now it’s getting cool again.”

“Maybe it always
was
cool, and you just didn’t realize it.” Amithi snipped the thread she was working with and tied it off.

INVENTORY ITEM
: cocktail dress

APPROXIMATE DATE
: 1960s

CONDITION
: excellent

ITEM DESCRIPTION
: Gold micromini dress with long sleeves.

SOURCE
: estate sale

April

“
LADIES AND GENTLEMEN AND
everyone in between, welcome to the Hourglass Revue.”

April stood behind one of the auction tables in the back of the theater and watched the busty and big-haired Ivanna Martini take to the microphone, gripping it with a white-gloved hand.

“We have a lovely show for you this evening featuring rare and beautiful clothing and accessories from Hourglass Vintage. All of the items you’ll see onstage tonight are for sale—well, except me, of course, but if you happen to be a millionaire, then maybe we can talk later.” Ivanna batted her fake eyelashes and shimmied her hips in her blue sequined gown. “Any millionaires out there?”