is torn. She loves the movie business and the box from the department store, but she doesn’t approve of something here. We’re trained at the Big M to never show our disapproval of any client’s family, because grief does come out in strangeways sometimes and we are trained to offer comfort rather than criticism. But Miss Billings has a way of pursing her lips that lets me know when she doesn’t approve of something. Last week it was the new purple staples the supply store sent instead of the silver ones she ordered.
“I’m sure Mr. Malote will be back for the actual funeral.” I guess that’s what’s troubling her. I know it’s kind of troubling me.
Miss Billings shakes her head. “It wasn’t a love match, that’s for sure. Him up in Canada and her down here having to wait for a proper dress for her viewing.”
“But he sent a dress, just now.”
Miss Billings shakes her head. “It’s something her husband should have done—going through her closet, picking out a slip to go with the dress and maybe some earrings—that is the kind of thing that should be done by someone who loved the deceased. You don’t just ask someone to do that for you—I don’t care how important you are.”
“Maybe this Aaron guy is her brother,” I say. “Maybe he loved her, too.”
“I bet he forgot to send a slip,” Miss Billings says as she starts to lift the lid off the dress box. “A slip always makes the dress lie—”
“Oh.” Miss Billings stops talking and we both stare at the dress. It is fire-engine red and there isn’t much of it.
“I don’t think you wear a slip with that dress.” I finally find my voice. The material looks like silk and the neckline on that dress must plunge to the midriff. It’s a dress for dancing, not dying.
Miss Billings looks down the hall at Room B. “I can tell you one thing. That man’s not her brother. I’ll have to ask Mr. Z about this.”
“Do you think Mr. Z will be upset?” I figure there’s no reason to try and make sure Mr. Z is in a good mood when I ask him about using the place over Thanksgiving weekend. I know the answer will be no. But I don’t want him to think I don’t properly respect the Big M.
“Mr. Z has seen it all,” Miss Billings says calmly. “He and I have over twenty years in the business. I’ll just let him know so he can have something substituted for Mrs. Malote’s dress. He has a line in the contract that the family signs about suitable clothing. No one reads it, of course, but it’s there when we need it. We both feel a responsibility to the deceased to see they are treated with dignity.”
“I suppose they thought a picture of her in that dress in the casket would get them some publicity for the movie her husband is making,” I say.
“Probably,” Miss Billings says as she stands up and puts the lid back on the dress box. “But then, this is Hollywood. And tabloids love a death almost as much as they love a wedding.”
“I don’t suppose anyone has ever used this place for a wedding,” I say. Maybe I don’t need to bother Mr. Z. “There’s probably a policy against using the facility for anything but funerals, isn’t there? You know, because of the dignity and everything.”
Miss Billings starts to walk toward the door marked Private that is across from her desk area. She stops and looks back at me. “There’s no policy like that that Iknow of. Why? Are you thinking of getting married? I could do your makeup.”
“No, not me. It’s my cousin. I promised I would ask if she could use the Big M for her wedding. She’s run into some problems in finding a place and my aunt suggested maybe we could use the Big M. I said I’d ask even though I know it’s not possible.”
“Well, I’m sure Mr. Z would do whatever he could to help you. He’s been real pleased with the way you don’t complain about doing the filing.”
“I don’t mind filing.”
“You’re the only one of the customer service reps who
“I’m sure Mr. Malote will be back for the actual funeral.” I guess that’s what’s troubling her. I know it’s kind of troubling me.
Miss Billings shakes her head. “It wasn’t a love match, that’s for sure. Him up in Canada and her down here having to wait for a proper dress for her viewing.”
“But he sent a dress, just now.”
Miss Billings shakes her head. “It’s something her husband should have done—going through her closet, picking out a slip to go with the dress and maybe some earrings—that is the kind of thing that should be done by someone who loved the deceased. You don’t just ask someone to do that for you—I don’t care how important you are.”
“Maybe this Aaron guy is her brother,” I say. “Maybe he loved her, too.”
“I bet he forgot to send a slip,” Miss Billings says as she starts to lift the lid off the dress box. “A slip always makes the dress lie—”
“Oh.” Miss Billings stops talking and we both stare at the dress. It is fire-engine red and there isn’t much of it.
“I don’t think you wear a slip with that dress.” I finally find my voice. The material looks like silk and the neckline on that dress must plunge to the midriff. It’s a dress for dancing, not dying.
Miss Billings looks down the hall at Room B. “I can tell you one thing. That man’s not her brother. I’ll have to ask Mr. Z about this.”
“Do you think Mr. Z will be upset?” I figure there’s no reason to try and make sure Mr. Z is in a good mood when I ask him about using the place over Thanksgiving weekend. I know the answer will be no. But I don’t want him to think I don’t properly respect the Big M.
“Mr. Z has seen it all,” Miss Billings says calmly. “He and I have over twenty years in the business. I’ll just let him know so he can have something substituted for Mrs. Malote’s dress. He has a line in the contract that the family signs about suitable clothing. No one reads it, of course, but it’s there when we need it. We both feel a responsibility to the deceased to see they are treated with dignity.”
“I suppose they thought a picture of her in that dress in the casket would get them some publicity for the movie her husband is making,” I say.
“Probably,” Miss Billings says as she stands up and puts the lid back on the dress box. “But then, this is Hollywood. And tabloids love a death almost as much as they love a wedding.”
“I don’t suppose anyone has ever used this place for a wedding,” I say. Maybe I don’t need to bother Mr. Z. “There’s probably a policy against using the facility for anything but funerals, isn’t there? You know, because of the dignity and everything.”
Miss Billings starts to walk toward the door marked Private that is across from her desk area. She stops and looks back at me. “There’s no policy like that that Iknow of. Why? Are you thinking of getting married? I could do your makeup.”
“No, not me. It’s my cousin. I promised I would ask if she could use the Big M for her wedding. She’s run into some problems in finding a place and my aunt suggested maybe we could use the Big M. I said I’d ask even though I know it’s not possible.”
“Well, I’m sure Mr. Z would do whatever he could to help you. He’s been real pleased with the way you don’t complain about doing the filing.”
“I don’t mind filing.”
“You’re the only one of the customer service reps who
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