Being Audrey Hepburn by Mitchell Kriegman

group is cheesecake. But next time I visit, I’ll check her mattress.” I was nervous with anticipation. “So where are the dresses?”
    Jess dragged a plastic-covered inlaid sectional table out of the way and was digging around in the back.
    “Oh … my … God!” she said. I scurried around the table and a few other crates to see. At the very back, stacked against the wall, were more than a dozen heirloom storage boxes, plus a couple of big plastic bins marked SHOES and HANDBAGS .
    Jess pulled a box off the stack and tossed it to me. I carefully lifted the lid. Inside, wrapped up in a see-through plastic clothing bag, was a gorgeous sky-blue taffeta gown. Jess unzipped the bag and lifted the dress from the box. It appeared as vibrant and spotless as if it were new. I went to touch it, but she stopped me.
    “Are your hands clean?” she demanded. Spoken like a true museum nerd.
    “Yes, Mom,” I said, holding my hands up for her to see. I lifted the hem and we both examined the fabric as the magnificent dress fanned out before us.
    “This is couture,” Jess said breathlessly. “ Vintage couture. I’d say this dress is probably worth thousands.”
    My heart was pounding as I dragged down another box. Inside was a silvery-gray tweed Chez Ninon suit with a pink collar.
    “I’ve never heard of this one.” I handed it over to Jess, her eyes wild and excited.
    “Wow. This is exactly the kind of suit Jackie Kennedy wore. You know, everybody thinks that Jackie was wearing a Chanel suit on the day that JFK was shot. It was actually a Chez Ninon line-by-line copy of a Chanel made with Coco Chanel’s approval, because Kennedy’s father didn’t want Jackie to appear to be wearing snooty French clothes. As if everyone didn’t think Chez Ninon was French. Of course, the jacket is a little shapeless and the skirt hits the knee. That’s the way they made them in those days.”
    We tore through the boxes like kids on Christmas morning. There were suits from Lilli Ann, Chanel, Nina Ricci, and even Irene. There was a midnight-black beaded art deco evening bag, gowns made by every designer you’ve ever heard of and some only Jess knew. I held up a gorgeous black organza cocktail dress while Jess inspected a red chiffon gown.
    “Oh my God,” she squealed. “This is a red Valentino. Red! Do you know what a big deal this is? And there’s a green one, too.”
    “Whoa, look at that plunging neckline.” Good ole Nan. She was the real thing to pull off a dress like that one.
    “Look at this boning.” Jess pointed it out on a gold brocade gown. “I mean, who needs to breathe?” The designer in Jess couldn’t be suppressed. With every dress she touched, she couldn’t help commenting on how fashion had changed over the years.
    “That History of Twentieth-Century Fashion class at FIT is really coming in handy,” I joked. She hardly heard me.
    “You know, I have a pile of Chanel buttons I found in the garbage on Fifth Ave. after work one day that would be perfect for this,” she said, holding up a dark red Chanel dress.
    I couldn’t stand it anymore. I stripped down to my underwear and pulled on an emerald-green cocktail dress with a fitted bodice and a full skirt.
    “What are you doing?” Jess asked. “Be careful!” She helped me slip into the green wonder, and her eyes lit up as she zipped me into the gown.
    “You look fantastic. It’s weird, but your body is made for these kinds of dresses.” She inspected the dress from every angle, turning over the hem and the sleeves. “Your Nan is a couple of inches shorter than you are, but you’re on the short-waisted side, so all your tallness is in your legs.”
    “Huh?”
    “It just means that the dresses will be a little shorter on you than they were on her, but bodice and hip-wise, you’re pretty close to the same size. Of course, her boobs are bigger than yours.”
    “Everybody’s are, but thanks for reminding me,” I said.
    “That’s what I’m here