“These are gorgeous! Look at these pants!” Stepping out of the dressing room, I extend a foot to show Jenna the wide expanse of black pant-leg. They’re high-waisted and the fabric is incredible, hanging the way only true quality hangs.

Jenna saunters out of the dressing room wearing a sexy, short red dress destined to be worn tonight. It looks fantastic against her tanned, olive skin and long dark hair. She throws her hands up high in the air and spins around, shaking her ample butt. “What do you think?”

My mouth is on the floor. “I love it. You look gorgeous! I’ve got the black one, but I need a jaw-dropping dress like that one, too.”

“Every woman needs a dress that makes her feel like this.” She spins around in front of the mirror. “Look at my ass. Man!” She runs back inside to try on the next item, calling out over the door, “Where’s that long, blue number I held up for you?”

Admiring the black pants in the mirror outside the dressing rooms, I say on a laugh, “I can’t. It’s too…grand. Can you imagine me in that? No way. I could never.”

Just as I’m about to go in to try on a yellow tunic dress I’ll probably hate with this new hair, I hear the click of a camera shutter.

Surprised, my head jerks to the right.

There, not twelve feet away, is a small man with a scarf and several layers of sweaters, snapping yet another picture of me–this time of a pissed off look on my face.

He drops the camera. It’s swinging from its strap as he ditches my questions and runs past the employee.

Aghast, she sees him escaping and makes an apologetic beeline for me. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t know you were famous or I would’ve paid more attention to who was coming into the store! We don’t tolerate that here. We’re very discreet with our celebrities.” Her hands are out in front of her like she’s trying to stop me from walking out, but I’m just standing here.

“It’s okay. I’m not famous,” I assure her, still staring toward the front door, wishing I could grab that guy’s camera and make him eat it. Jenna peeks with naked shoulders out of the dressing room. “Some guy just took my picture.”

“Again? That’s so weird! She’s not famous. She’s really not,” she half-lies, throwing me a helpless look.

“I guess you look like someone else. I’m Susan, if you need anything.”

“Thanks.” Her shiny black bob fans out as she spins to walk back to the sleek counter she was standing behind. She’s looking very Uma Thurman in Pulp Fiction, but I’m sure she hears that all the time, so I stick to the point. I’m angry and when I’m angry, watch out. “Oh, Susan? Can you please get me that blue dress, the drop dead gorgeous one in the window?”

She smiles and heads for it. “You got it!”

Gliding out of the dressing room minutes later, I emerge in the most beautiful dress I’ve ever seen. There’s a low cut V-neck dipped below my breasts with two sheaths of gathered fabric covering them. The full-length hem floats out like blue water when I walk. There’s something intensely satisfying about wearing this.

Jenna, with a pile of gorgeous clothes of her own in her arms, watches me, eyes brimming with awe. “Holy cow, Ruefus, you look like a star!”

Susan nods. “You’re stunning.”

“Really?” A thrill passes through me. I’ve never been called stunning before. Not ever. With them on either side of me, we gaze at the dress in the mirror. “It’s the dress. It’s not me. This dress is magic.”

“I hate to say you have to get it, because I don’t want you to think I’m just saying it for the hefty commission. But seriously.” She and Jenna both say it together: “You have to get it.”

I gather handfuls of blue and turn from side to side. It’s hard to believe that’s me in the reflection. A dress like this can really change a person. Is this how Cinderella felt? “I think you guys are right. I have to have it. How much is it?”

Casually, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, Susan says, “Sixty-five hundred dollars.”

Jenna and I both yell, “WHAT?!!” Susan tries not to jump in her skin but fails miserably. “I’m sorry,” I offer, holding out my hands as Jenna and I look at each other sheepishly. “That’s a lot of money.” I sigh, staring at the dress. In the mirror Jenna meets my eyes and her shoulder rises in a barely perceptible shrug, trying to tell me I can afford it.

An easy decision this is not.

Feeling like a fraud–and someone who should be ashamed of herself for even thinking of spending almost seven months of rent on a dress, magical or no, I head for the dressing room. I can’t meet Susan’s eyes as I say, “I’m sorry, I need to think about it.” As I swing the door open, I hear footsteps running in the store, the hurried sound echoing against the walls and ruining any surprise their owner may have intended. The three of us turn our heads and see yet another paparazzi motherfucker with a super long lens, snapping a picture of what has to be my flaring nostrils. Susan leaps in the air and rushes after him, but he takes off running and beats her to the door. Exasperated, she turns to us.

Now I’m furious. Really furious.

I yell over to Susan, with attitude, “I’ll take the dress!” My hand even flies in the air on a saucy neck swivel. “And the pants. And allllll this stuff, too.” Jenna squeals, and I shoot her a look. “Don’t ever make that noise again.”

She lowers her chin. “Yeah. I don’t know where that came from.”

Susan’s looking at me now like she knows I’m lying about not being famous. Still propelled by annoyance, I sigh and admit loudly, “Yes, They think I’m someone, but really I’m not. It’s stupid. I’m related to the Stone family. I’m Jack and Sean’s sister. Well, half-sister.”

Nearly falling out of their sockets, Susan’s big blue eyes get even bigger.

“The Jack and Sean Stone? They don’t have a sister!”

Jenna and I exchange a look.

“They do now.”