Her Winning Ways by J.M. Bronston (17)

 

Annie was usually an early riser, but when the morning call came she was barely able to open one eye. A reluctant hand came out from under the sheets and fumbled for the phone.

A mechanical voice spoke.

“This is your call for seven thirty a.m.”

“Mmmmm.”

She fumbled some more, replacing the handset into the cradle.

The phone’s ring had interrupted her dream. She could still hear the rustle of breeze-stirred leaves, and she was riding through a dense forest, bareback on a beautiful palomino; the foliage parted and a big bay horse came toward her, and his rider was a man wrapped in a dark blue cape. The forest was dark, but a strong sunlight filtered through in random shafts and she was sure there was a woodsy scent wafting around her. It was a dense dream, with many levels, and she didn’t want to wake up.

But the other eye opened, and she was forced to realize it was Wednesday and a car was coming to take her to Lady Fair in an hour.

She shook off her dream, slipped out from the sheets, and into the shower.

Room service brought breakfast to them—a good, hearty breakfast. Sausages and eggs and hash browns, toast and jam, and plenty of coffee.

“So,” Liz said, “tell me about your date last night.”

“Oh, we walked. We talked. Nothing much to tell. He was on duty, so we just—rambled—a bit. He bought me a hot dog.” She paid attention to her sausages as though they were especially interesting. She concentrated on her eggs. She broke off a bit of toast and buttered it. With her head still lowered, she looked up at Liz, a little mischievously, with a tiny smile.

Liz examined her sister’s face with an experienced eye.

“Hmmm. So?”

“So?” Annie was all innocence.

“Oh, come on, Annie. You’re looking all sly. You had a good time with this policeman?”

“Yes, Liz. I had a good time. He’s still sort of officious, but there’s more to him than that. He has a nice, protective quality. I like that part. And he is kind of cute.”

“And he kissed you, didn’t he?”

“How could you tell?”

“Annie, how long have I known you? All your life, right? So I can tell. He kissed you and you liked it.”

“Okay, Liz.” Annie’s smile was now totally open. “Yes. It was nice. Only—”

She paused, holding her toast halfway toward the next bite.

“Only?”

“Something happened right then. I think he saw something in the trees. And then he was all anxious to get me gone. Actually rode me right out of there—on his horse! And sent me home before I could even figure out what was happening.” She ate the toast. “Funny about that. One minute, it was all sweet and just the two of us. And then, suddenly, he was all business, like he had to get back to work.”

She took a last bite of breakfast, a last gulp of coffee, and got up from the table.

“But he said he’d call. And if he does, I’m definitely willing to see him again.”

 

They were waiting for her at Lady Fair. A team of elves with magic fingers, working the fabrics with pinches and stretches, a basting stitch here and a couple of pins there, a push and a poke and a “How about this—?” They worked with a focus and intensity that made her think of a roper tying down a calf for branding. No nonsense, no daydreaming. But here, she was the calf. And, instead of down in the dirt, they had her up on a pedestal—an actual pedestal!—and they moved around her murmuring to each other, slipping each item on, doing mysterious things with chalk and pins and quick consultations, then off with the garment, then on with the next, repeat, then off—

The leader of the elves was a slight, fortyish woman with dark hair in a messy chignon and great dark-rimmed glasses riding low on her nose. “I’m Dvorah,” she said, her voice raspy with years of cigarettes, “and oh, honey, you just don’t know how interesting it is to work on a body that’s not all bone. At least you have a little bit of natural, womanly body fat on you.”

“What?”

“Oh, you’re not fat, dear. Not at all. Not the least little bit. But be glad you’re not a stick. You’ve got a nice shape—like a real person. The models here, they can’t wear anything right off the rack. We need to take everything in to practically a minus zero size. Tailoring your things will be a snap. We’ll just be sure the seams drape at the right spot—at the point of the bone here,”—her finger touched Annie’s shoulder—“and the neckline here”—she traced an arc along Annie’s clavicle. “And it’s nice to fit a real bust for a change. You do have a real bust, dear. Be glad of that. We have girls who would kill for a real bust.” She took the dressmaker’s tape measure that hung round her neck and wound it around Annie’s chest. “Oh, God,” she said, “I haven’t measured a real bust in ages. Thank you, dear. You’ve made my day.”

She took the Vera Wang from the hanger and slipped it over Annie’s head. The exquisite light wool floated down over Annie’s body like a gentle waterfall, and the mirror on the opposite wall showed her an Annie she’d never seen before. Sophisticated, elegant, graceful.

“This one’s perfect,” Dvorah said, taking a couple of pins from between her lips and sticking them into the pincushion strapped around her left wrist. “This one was made for you. It doesn’t need a thing. And that color is exquisite with your hair and your eyes. Just a tiny hint of seafoam in the weave. You’re going to live in this one.”

Annie smiled at the thought.

But with a variety of accessories, it definitely would be a favorite for many occasions. “I do like it,” she said. “I can see that I’ll be wearing this one a lot.”

And as they slipped it off, over her head, and the whisper-soft fabric brushed along her bare skin, so luxuriantly sensuous and comforting, she felt as though she couldn’t possibly be anything but perfect in this perfectly beautiful dress.

Next it was the long tweed coat from Finland. She hadn’t realized, when she grabbed it from the rack, that she’d picked an excellent complement to the Vera Wang dress. Woven of yarns of gold and green and gray with a thin strand of maroon, it made a subtle frame for Annie’s hazel eyes.

“Look,” said one of Dvorah’s helpers. She held up a large mirror to show Annie. “The color match couldn’t be better. Look what it does for your eyes. Brings out all the complexity of the hazel coloring—the green and gold and brown. And with your hair, corn-silk blond, with those nice lowlights, sort of caramel. No, not so dark, more like butterscotch. I love it!”

Caramel? And butterscotch? Where had she heard that? Oh, yes. Bart had said—

Her cell phone rang. She signaled one of the elves to retrieve it from her bag and it was handed up to her on her pedestal perch. While adjustments were being made to the set of the sleeves at the shoulders, she answered and heard Bart’s voice. Magic, as though her thought of him had summoned him by wi-fi.

“Hey,” he said. “Are they finished nipping and tucking yet?”

“I think it’ll be about another half hour.”

“Great. Because I got the day off. Did a little wangling with Max and we swapped some days. Call me as soon as you’re done. I’ll pick you up downstairs. I’ve got everything planned. You’re going to see this city like no one gets to. Dress casual. See you soon.”

He didn’t wait for her to say good-bye. She was holding a silent phone in her hand.

“Well, that sounds like—”

She was going to say “a great idea,” but realized she’d be talking into the air. She handed the phone back to the waiting elfette who dropped it into Annie’s bag.

Dvorah was making chalk marks at the shoulder seams. “It needs a little more room here,” she said. “No problem. Plenty to work with. And I’m going to move this button—” She made another chalk mark. “It drapes perfectly down the back. You’re going to wear this for years.”

After that it was quick work of the Chanel blazer (“It’s perfect—just a tiny tuck here at the side”) and the camel hair coat (“I don’t like these buttons. A little bigger, I think.”) followed by some rummaging in one of the notions drawers built into the wall (“there, that’s better, don’t you think?” as though Annie would have dared question Dvorah’s judgment), and then the parka, a simple design from Austria, with useful inner cuffs and a neat built-in gaiter at the throat. Nice and practical, Annie thought, with a fur-trimmed hood and inner closing under the zipper. And then she glimpsed the price tag and gulped.

“Six thousand and eighty-three dollars!”

She took a better look and realized not only was the parka extremely well made, but the fur trim on the hood was sable!

“Well,” she said, “I guess at that price, it should include these accessories clips and the ski pass pocket.”

Sable didn’t impress Dvorah at all; the outrageous prices were old hat to her. “But the hood is a bit too big at the back. We’ll just nip it in a bit, and it’s perfect.”

The biker jacket was too broad across the back—that would be a major alteration, but the elves assured her that it—and all the rest—would be ready in time. And with kisses all around, she put high fashion behind her and hurried to the elevator, texting as she went: