of my life, or however long, doing things that made my stomach feel like unbaked bread.
Okay, I’ll do it. But I need a dress!
Wonderful. I’ll take you to Bergdorf’s tomorrow morning.
I winced. He would probably try to talk me into a fur coat and a diamond tiara. I texted him that I’d meet him at the store at noon the next day, and started getting ready for work.
The next morning, I set my alarm and took the subway to 59th Street. Midtown was packed with people doing their Christmas shopping. I walked the couple of blocks down 5th Avenue to the store, and waited for Carter beside the main entrance, where he’d said he would meet me.
The weather was warmer than it had been lately, and it was nice to be outside, even with people jostling past me on the sidewalk. I only had to wait for a few minutes before I saw Carter’s car pulling up to the curb, and he stepped out. He spotted me right away and waded through the crowds to reach me.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” he said. “Traffic.”
“I just got here,” I said. I glanced around, worried that someone would see us together and take pictures. “Are you ready?”
“Let’s—what’s the saying? Shop until we drop?” He took my arm, and we went into the store.
I realized very quickly that Carter wasn’t your stereotypical helpless male when it came to shopping. He guided me straight to the women’s department and snagged one of the salesgirls. “Is Betty here? I’m in need of a dress.”
The salesgirl did a double-take. She obviously recognized him, and it was funny to watch her try to pretend that she didn’t. “If you’re in need of personal shopping services, sir—”
“No, I want Betty,” Carter said. “Tell her it’s Carter. She’ll know who I am.”
The salesgirl compressed her lips into a thin line. “I’ll go find her, sir. Just a moment.”
Carter turned to me, looking satisfied. “Betty will find you the perfect dress. She’s been dressing my mother for decades.”
We waited for a few minutes, standing awkwardly in the middle of the store. Well, I felt awkward, anyway. Carter seemed perfectly at home, hands tucked casually in his pockets, his coat draped over one arm.
“You said it’s a charity ball,” I said finally, breaking the silence. “What charity?”
“Well, maybe charity was the wrong word,” he said. “It’s an arts fundraiser. Not my chosen cause, but my mother asked me to go, and I feel obligated.” He sighed. “She thinks that I’ll eventually get tired of supporting social justice organizations and devote myself to the arts.”
“I thought you liked art,” I said.
He smiled at me. “I do. I’d just rather invest my energy elsewhere. These galas are a waste of time. They serve no purpose but to impress rich people with their own magnanimity. The hors d’oeuvres are usually nice, though.”
Finger food didn’t sound like enough of a draw to me, but what did I know? “But I don’t have to dance, right?”
He laughed. “I was joking. There won’t be any dancing.”
“Well, I didn’t know,” I said, embarrassed.
“I know,” he said. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t tease you about things like that. There is dancing, sometimes. Just not at this one.”
A movement in my peripheral vision caught my attention, and I turned my head to see an elegantly dressed, silver-haired woman walking toward us. She was old— really old, definitely in her 80s—but she moved quickly and and with purpose.
Carter turned around when he saw that I was looking at something, and I watched as his face lit up in a huge smile. “The woman herself,” he said, stepping forward, and bent to kiss the old woman on both cheeks. “Betty, I hope I’m not taking you away from something important.”
“You are, but you’re worth it,” she said. “How is your mother?”
“The same as always,” he said. “You know how she is.”
The woman smiled. “Oh, I do indeed. And who is this lovely young lady?”
Okay, I’ll do it. But I need a dress!
Wonderful. I’ll take you to Bergdorf’s tomorrow morning.
I winced. He would probably try to talk me into a fur coat and a diamond tiara. I texted him that I’d meet him at the store at noon the next day, and started getting ready for work.
The next morning, I set my alarm and took the subway to 59th Street. Midtown was packed with people doing their Christmas shopping. I walked the couple of blocks down 5th Avenue to the store, and waited for Carter beside the main entrance, where he’d said he would meet me.
The weather was warmer than it had been lately, and it was nice to be outside, even with people jostling past me on the sidewalk. I only had to wait for a few minutes before I saw Carter’s car pulling up to the curb, and he stepped out. He spotted me right away and waded through the crowds to reach me.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” he said. “Traffic.”
“I just got here,” I said. I glanced around, worried that someone would see us together and take pictures. “Are you ready?”
“Let’s—what’s the saying? Shop until we drop?” He took my arm, and we went into the store.
I realized very quickly that Carter wasn’t your stereotypical helpless male when it came to shopping. He guided me straight to the women’s department and snagged one of the salesgirls. “Is Betty here? I’m in need of a dress.”
The salesgirl did a double-take. She obviously recognized him, and it was funny to watch her try to pretend that she didn’t. “If you’re in need of personal shopping services, sir—”
“No, I want Betty,” Carter said. “Tell her it’s Carter. She’ll know who I am.”
The salesgirl compressed her lips into a thin line. “I’ll go find her, sir. Just a moment.”
Carter turned to me, looking satisfied. “Betty will find you the perfect dress. She’s been dressing my mother for decades.”
We waited for a few minutes, standing awkwardly in the middle of the store. Well, I felt awkward, anyway. Carter seemed perfectly at home, hands tucked casually in his pockets, his coat draped over one arm.
“You said it’s a charity ball,” I said finally, breaking the silence. “What charity?”
“Well, maybe charity was the wrong word,” he said. “It’s an arts fundraiser. Not my chosen cause, but my mother asked me to go, and I feel obligated.” He sighed. “She thinks that I’ll eventually get tired of supporting social justice organizations and devote myself to the arts.”
“I thought you liked art,” I said.
He smiled at me. “I do. I’d just rather invest my energy elsewhere. These galas are a waste of time. They serve no purpose but to impress rich people with their own magnanimity. The hors d’oeuvres are usually nice, though.”
Finger food didn’t sound like enough of a draw to me, but what did I know? “But I don’t have to dance, right?”
He laughed. “I was joking. There won’t be any dancing.”
“Well, I didn’t know,” I said, embarrassed.
“I know,” he said. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t tease you about things like that. There is dancing, sometimes. Just not at this one.”
A movement in my peripheral vision caught my attention, and I turned my head to see an elegantly dressed, silver-haired woman walking toward us. She was old— really old, definitely in her 80s—but she moved quickly and and with purpose.
Carter turned around when he saw that I was looking at something, and I watched as his face lit up in a huge smile. “The woman herself,” he said, stepping forward, and bent to kiss the old woman on both cheeks. “Betty, I hope I’m not taking you away from something important.”
“You are, but you’re worth it,” she said. “How is your mother?”
“The same as always,” he said. “You know how she is.”
The woman smiled. “Oh, I do indeed. And who is this lovely young lady?”
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