Chapter
ELEVEN
Julia is a Latinate feminine form of the Roman family Julius. Julius is derived from the founder Julus, son of Aeneas and Creusa in Roman mythology. The name may also derive from the name of the Roman god Jupiter.
Interesting. Not mind-blowing, but interesting.
But considering Julia-derived-from-Julus had one week left before the Deck the Halls final performance and needed to finish the Jingle Belles’ dresses, she really didn’t have time to sit at the Wild Child bakery searching name websites on her laptop.
Although it was nice to be able to check another item off her Before Fifty list.
Julia put a blue checkmark beside #39—Learn the etymology of my name—and slipped the paper back into her handbag.
Conversation, music, and the scent of coffee drifted in the air around her. She sometimes came to Wild Child to work, both to get away from the office and because she enjoyed the comforting, bohemian atmosphere Polly had created with rustic tables, flowering plants, and local artwork.
She turned back to her laptop. Instead of opening her email, she found herself looking up “Rubik’s Cube solutions” and “vodka gummy bears” and “1000 piece puzzles.” Then, clearly because she was possessed, she placed overnight express orders for several items.
Tomorrow’s news headlines would surely read: Fashion stylist Julia Bennett Loses Her Last Thread of Sanity.
“Here you go.” Polly Lockhart, Luke’s wife and owner of the Wild Child Bakery, set a black coffee in front of her.
“Thank you.” Julia closed her laptop and picked up the coffee.
Polly pulled out a chair, which meant she was in a chatty mood.
“So whatcha doing?” She rested her chin on her hand and studied the designs on the sketchpad open on the table.
“Working on some new designs.” Julia attempted to close the cover on the pad, but Polly got to it first.
“Can I see?” she asked. “Hey, Mia, come and look at Julia’s new designs.”
Julia sighed as pretty blonde Mia sauntered over with a coffee drink topped with a pile of whipped cream so high it was lopsided. While Julia liked Mia, the sight of her was a sharp reminder that Warren had fired her from planning the Sugar Rush party and turned the job over to the other woman.
“Oh, I’d love to see them.” Mia sat beside Polly, eagerly scooting her chair closer. “Fashion is so much fun.”
Julia forced her mind away from Warren—again—and watched the two younger women study her designs. A few years ago, after Luke had been slammed with a damaging false paternity suit, Julia had eyed her nephews’ girlfriends—any woman who approached them, in fact—with deep suspicion and dislike.
So far, however, her wariness had proven unfounded. Luke’s wife Polly, whom Julia had wrathfully accused of gold-digging (not without reason), had not only earned her respect for having one hell of a backbone, but also her trust and affection. Polly’s sister Hannah had healed Evan’s heart in ways that went beyond the physical. Kate Darling, Tyler’s significant other, was even more efficient than Julia herself, not to mention highly intelligent and an excellent partner for the youngest Stone brother. Her nephews had chosen well.
“These are nice,” Mia remarked, though her tone was oddly subdued.
Julia frowned. “Just nice? They’re for young career women like you. You should love them.”
Mia closed the book and smiled. “Oh, sure. I love them.”
“She hates them,” Julia told Polly.
“Totally.”
“I don’t hate them,” Mia protested. “They’re just a little too… I don’t know. They remind me of stuff my mother used to wear.”
Julia bared her teeth in a forced smile. “Do you mean they’re old?”
“No!” A horrified look flashed across Mia’s face. “I didn’t say that. Did I ever tell you I want to be like you when I’m… er, a few years from now? I was only talking about the clothes. Oh my God, you’re going to put a curse on me now, aren’t you?”
Hah. Mia was so sweet that even a curse from Julia would probably come to a screeching halt in front of her and burst into a bouquet of flowers.
“No,” Julia said. “I appreciate your honesty.”
Polly blinked. “Wow. Have you been infused with the Christmas spirit?”
“I could use some Christmas spirits, if that’s what you mean.”
“Hey, come with us to the Tipsy Angel tomorrow night.” Mia turned and waved over Kate, who was working on her laptop at another table. “Kate, come here.”
“What’s going on?” Kate came over with her laptop and latte.
“We’re going to the Tipsy Angel tomorrow, and Julia’s coming with us.”
“Really?” Kate arched one eyebrow.
“I am not,” Julia said. “What is the Tipsy Angel anyway?”
“It’s legit the hottest club in town.” Mia pulled out her phone and scrolled. “The Blooming Onions are there tomorrow. Come with us and get your groove on.”
“My groove doesn’t need to be got on, but thank you for the offer.” Julia rose to her feet and zipped up her satchel. Much as she liked the younger women’s company, the thought of sitting in a crowded, smoky, noisy club while they fired off words like legit and hunty was… less than appealing.
“I have a great deal of work still to do for Deck the Halls,” she said by way of an explanation. “I hope you all got my email with your volunteer duties?”
“How could we miss an email with the subject line Open this or be cursed?” Polly asked.
“I’m glad it worked.”
Julia reached for her coat, catching the eye of a nice-looking man at least ten years younger than her seated by the window. He was staring at her with unabashed interest, which was not at all unpleasant. He lifted his coffee to her in a salute and winked.
She almost smiled. Almost.
She turned to pick up her handbag. All three younger women were watching her with raised eyebrows and knowing expressions.
“What?” she asked.
“He’s cute,” Polly offered. “You should totally have a Wild Child hook-up. I’ll get you a plate of muffins, and you can go over and say hi. Maybe he’ll show you his baguette.”
“Or you can ask him if he wants to bake you happy,” Mia said.
“Or tell him you like his buns,” Kate suggested.
They all giggled.
Julia huffed and buttoned up her coat. “As if I have time for that sort of nonsense.”
“I’m guessing Mr. Stone wouldn’t like it either,” Kate said.
Julia and Polly exchanged looks. Aside from the fact that Kate still had trouble calling Warren “Warren,” she never just randomly brought him into a conversation.
“Why would Warren not like it?” Julia asked, her tone clipped.
Kate shrugged and swiped her tablet. “I thought you two had something going on, that’s all.”
“I beg your pardon?” Julia swallowed, her heart thumping against her ribs. “Why would you think that?”
“Just a suspicion.” Kate took a sip of her latte, her expression totally uncalculating. “I’ve seen the way you two look at each other. Right, Polly?”
“Uh, sure.” Polly gave Julia a ‘Yeah, I didn’t get that at all’ glance.
Julia’s stomach tensed. Had she really been that transparent? She’d always kept tight control over her suppressed feelings for Warren. That was part of the reason she’d honed her cold reserve—the better with which to conceal her emotions.
But Kate had just said, “The way you two look at each other.”
Did that mean Warren had also been unable to hide his feelings for her? Exactly how had he been looking at her? Had anyone else noticed? And would he pass her a note in English class and ask her to sit with him at the cool kids’ table in the cafeteria?
For God’s sake. She was a fif—forty-nine-year-old woman who did not need to speculate about a ridiculous crush on a man she’d known most of her life. Even if that man had shot her clear up into the stars.
“Don’t be silly.” She picked up her coffee and placed a plastic cover over the top. “Warren and I have better things to do than sit around making goo-goo eyes at each other.”
“Well, if you’re going to make goo-goo eyes at any man, he’s certainly worthy,” Kate remarked.
“He is super-hot, right?” Mia agreed.
Julia gave an exasperated sigh. She really didn’t have time to sit around listening to younger women wax rhapsodic about Warren’s “hotness.” Even if it was the truth.
“I’ll see you all at Deck the Halls on Christmas Eve,” she said. “If you’re not at your stations at your allotted times, I’ll unleash my flying monkeys.”
“And how will that be different from any other day?” Polly asked sweetly.
“They’ll be wearing Santa hats and sleigh bells.”
Julia crossed her arms and tapped her fingernails against the sleeves of her Dolce & Gabbana suit jacket. The Jingle Belles stood in a row in front of her, each woman clad in a deep red, matte dress that Julia had designed in record time. She’d then mobilized every person on her staff to help get the dresses made. Though the color was the same, each dress had a different cut and length depending on the woman’s figure—empire waist, sweetheart neckline, tea-length, A-line, and a sheath for Gail, whose work as a personal trainer accounted for her toned figure.
“Turn,” Julia ordered.
The women, having become accustomed to obeying in the course of numerous hasty fittings, rotated in slow circles. Julia ran a critical eye over their hips and rear ends, assessing the fall of the skirts, the straightness of the hems, and the narrowing at the waist. She moved closer to ensure that the seams didn’t pucker, the necklines lay flat, the fabric didn’t sag or bulge anywhere, and that the slit on Gail’s skirt was perpendicular to the floor.
Finally, she stepped back and gave a short nod.
Behind her, Enzo and Anisa breathed out audible sighs of relief.
“I can’t believe it.” Sharon stared at herself in the mirror on the opposite wall. “I mean, I really can’t believe it.”
“You’re a miracle worker.” Connie ran her hands over her skirt. “I’ve never worn a dress like this.”
“I’ve never been able to find a dress like this,” Beverly said. “It’s like it was made for me.”
“It was made for you,” Julia reminded her.
“Thank you so much,” Sharon said. “But… er, this all must have been terribly expensive.”
“I told you there’s no charge.” Julia eyed the other woman’s hair. “However, styling is not only about the clothes. We need to work on the rest of you as well.”
Sharon touched her hair, faint worry appearing in her eyes. “What are you going to do?”
“Don’t even ask,” Enzo advised. “Julia is at her best when she does whatever she wants.”’ “Which is, like, always,” Anisa muttered.
Julia slanted the younger woman a mild glare before turning back to the Belles. “Let’s get to work on your hair and makeup. Then my assistants will be ready to recreate the looks for your Deck the Halls performance.”
The women changed back into their regular clothes—the sight of which still made Julia’s nostrils flare with their boxy, unflattering cuts. Enzo and Anisa got the women situated at dressing tables, and a flock of hairstylists and make-up artists entered.
“You know, there are plenty of places where you can find nice, ready-to-wear clothes that suit your body type.” Julia stepped back to let the hairstylists do their work.
“I’ve tried.” Connie shrugged. “So many clothes for women our age are just frumpy.”
“I’m not that far removed from your age,” Julia said, not that she enjoyed disclosing that fact. “And I would never wear frumpy clothes. I don’t even like saying that word.”
“Well, look at you,” Sharon muttered. “With your figure, frumpy isn’t an option. Unfortunately, for the rest of us…”
“It’s not that hard to find clothes that fit well,” Julia said.
The women laughed, almost startling her.
“In the real world, it is,” Connie said. “The regular retail world, not the world of designer stuff and special alterations that none of us can afford.”
“If you’re over fifty, forget it,” Sharon said. “Welcome to baggy shirts and pleated pants with elastic waistbands. Next stop, orthopedic shoes and girdles.”
The other women chuckled in agreement.
“Not to mention, get used to black and brown,” Beverly added.
Julia, who was standing behind Sharon, looked in the mirror above the other woman’s head. Compared to all four women, she looked perfect—well-dressed, her hair a shining honey-colored waterfall to her shoulders, her features artfully enhanced with subtle cosmetics. She worked hard to look like this, and she made no apologies for her belief that the right clothes, hairstyle, and make-up could increase a woman’s inner power. She saw it all the time in the wealthy women she styled—the socialites, politician’s wives, corporate CEO’s daughters, heiresses.
So who did “regular” women like Sharon and Connie go to for help bringing their interiors to the surface, like Julia had done with Polly and Kate?
Old. Tired. Passé.
Longevity is power.
Her thoughts continued working as the women were transformed with flattering haircuts and highlights, and their features accented with perfect color tones. They stared at themselves in the mirrors as if they couldn’t believe the reflections matched who they were. It was an expression Julia often saw on her clients, and one which she always enjoyed the most.
“We’ll schedule appointments on the day of the performance so everything will be fresh,” she assured them. “You can leave the dresses here, and we’ll bring them to the dress rehearsal.”
She waved away their profuse thanks, telling Isabella to get them samples of all the beauty products. She checked her tablet, adding appointments into the schedule and double-checking the Deck the Halls line-up.
“We’re going to stop by that soup and salad place on Thistle Street for lunch,” Sharon said as she got up from the dressing table. “Would you like to join us?”
She should really put the Jingle Belles in a spotlight position, either right before intermission or, even better, as the grand finale before the fireworks.
“Julia?”
She glanced up at Sharon. “Yes?”
“Would you like to join us for lunch?”
Julia blinked. “You were asking me?”
“Yes.” Sharon’s forehead furrowed, and a sudden embarrassment flashed in her expression. “I mean, I’m sure you’re really busy and all, but you’ve been so generous that we’d at least like to take you to lunch.”
“Oh. I’m sorry, I… I would like that, but I have a business call in twenty minutes.”
“Too bad. Well, maybe another time.”
“Another time.” Julia watched the other women disappear behind the changing screens. A few seconds later, they started chattering and admiring their new looks all over again.
Julia returned to her office, oddly disappointed that she couldn’t join them for lunch. Not that she had anything in common with four women from regular walks of life. They’d sit at a table and talk about their husbands and children, their book clubs, the best place to buy groceries…
No, that wasn’t her kind of conversation at all. Then again, neither was the millennial talk she often heard from her assistants about the latest tech gadget and viral social media video.
She straightened her shoulders and went into her studio, where the youthful designs for her Appear line were scattered on the surface. Julia studied them, her mind shifting back to the idea of flipping her target demographic to focus on older women.
Women in their fifties, sixties, seventies who had seen and done a great deal in life. Maybe, like the Jingle Belles, some of them had lost a spouse or had children in college. Maybe they were still working or looking for a new job. Maybe they were librarians, grandmothers, personal trainers, business owners, professionals, teachers. Maybe they were seeking a change or entering a new phase of their lives.
She picked up a design of a flirty, ruffled miniskirt meant for a woman in her early twenties with an unrealistically perfect set of legs.
Her designs had always been about empowering women. Making them feel good, confident, strong.
Warren had pointed out the truth—young women had so many choices in fashion. Too many choices, in fact.
But older women? If the Jingle Belles were right, they faced racks of clothes that were either old-fashioned or too expensive. Drab, boxy, outdated.
And yet clearly those women were as active as ever with their work, families, clubs, community groups, volunteering…
They needed clothes that showed the world they wouldn’t be written off just because they were mature. Classic styles with modern touches. Vibrant colors, fabrics, textures…
Julia texted Marco and told him to cancel her scheduled call. She turned her sketchpad to a fresh page. A feeling rose that she couldn’t name, an instinct telling her when an idea was good.
She picked up a sharp pencil and set to work, envisioning classic looks whose conservative edge was softened by a sense of adventure and brightness. Fitted blazers, blouses in soft, vivid reds and greens. Silk, jacquard, linen, cashmere. Skirts of a flattering length, shirts with sleeves that showed hints of skin without being overly revealing. Pants made of a high-quality jersey fabric and tailored to fit, therefore eliminating the need for horrible “slimming” underclothes. Nothing baggy, high-waisted, or too long. Nothing frumpy.
By the time she was finished for the day, she’d filled her sketchbook and started to work out fabrics for prototypes. She uploaded her preliminary designs to her online portfolio and contacted a select few colleagues for their opinions.
A clothing line for older women. What could she call it? Terms for women over fifty were so unappealing. Matron. Spinster. Dowager. Or just… old woman.
She left her studios and drove downtown, where the lighting and stage technicians were doing a run-through on the Deck the Halls stage. Ocean Avenue was a nonstop bustle of shoppers and families trying to get in a last-minute visit with Santa.
“Aunt Julia.”
She turned, her world brightening as she saw Hailey coming toward her—a vision of Christmas cheer in a red coat and plaid scarf. She put down her clipboard and hurried to meet her niece.
“I thought you weren’t coming back until the weekend.”
“I was able to leave early.” Hailey hugged her tightly. “Dad said you’d probably be here, so I wanted to see if you needed any help.”
“Not until the final show.” Julia eyed her niece, noticing the faint worry in the girl’s brown eyes that were so much like her father’s. “Hey, let’s go get a coffee or hot cocoa. My treat.”
“Don’t you need to work?”
“They’ll be fine without me.” She waved a dismissive hand toward the stage. “In fact, they’ll probably enjoy being without me for an hour or so.”
A few minutes later, they were sitting at a window table at Wild Child, with two cappuccinos and a plate of Declairs. After chit-chat about Hailey’s work and her thoughts about graduate school, Julia sensed her niece shifting toward confidentiality.
Though it had taken some time for Hailey to trust her enough to confide in her, over the years Julia had learned to recognize the signs of Hailey’s need to talk about something specific. Julia had never wanted or tried to take her sister’s place as Hailey’s mother, but she had become the girl’s main confidante in a family full of boys. It was a role she both cherished and did not take lightly.
“Is everything all right?” she asked. “Is that break-up still bothering you?”
Hailey shook her head, lifting her cup to her lips. “Have you noticed anything going on with Dad?”
A humorless laugh bubbled in Julia’s throat. Had she not noticed Warren in recent days? He’d infiltrated every area of her thoughts.
“Like what?” she asked casually.
“Well, when I went down for breakfast this morning, he was sitting at the kitchen table, kind of… I don’t know. Slumped. I asked him what was wrong, and he got up really fast, like he didn’t want me to see him like that. Then he said nothing was wrong, he was going out for a run and would be back later.”
Unease pricked at Julia. “He might be a little discombobulated about retirement. He’s been acting like it’s no big deal, but of course it is. Maybe he didn’t want you to see him upset.”
“Maybe.” Hailey didn’t look convinced. “Adam told me Dad is doing a lot more climbing and bouldering, but do you think that’s good for him?”
“He wouldn’t do it if it wasn’t,” Julia said. “Your father has never been reckless.”
“Here you go.” Polly swooped over to deposit a plate of Declairs on the table. “Hailey, are you coming with us to the parade? We’re leaving around four.”
“Sure, I’ll meet you over at Luke’s.”
Polly turned to Julia. “What about you, sunshine?”
“Hah. I would rain on the silly parade.”
Polly cracked a grin and headed over to another table. Hailey ate a Declair and shook her head, as if ridding herself of worrisome thoughts.
“Well, I just wanted to ask,” she said. “I know I don’t live all that far away, but I kind of hate leaving Dad alone, you know?”
“Dearest, all of your brothers are at his beck and call, much as they would like to believe otherwise. He just needs to snap his fingers and they’ll come running.”
“I know, but I still worry about him.” Hailey shrugged, studying the design on the mosaic tabletop. “Evan thinks all of Dad’s modeling has been a way of isolating himself. I want him to retire, but not if he’s going to spend all his time holed up in his workshop.”
“I’m sure he has all sorts of grandiose plans,” Julia said. “And he would be dismayed to know that you were worrying about him.”
“I’ll try not to.” Hailey smiled and reached for her coat. “I’m so glad he has you, Aunt Julia. Not just to keep an eye on him, but as a friend.”
After they’d said goodbye, Julia watched her niece leave the café. Hailey still had a guarded way of moving through the world, as if she had an invisible shield in front of her.
I’m so glad he has you.
It had been an offhanded statement, but one that settled in Julia’s heart like a bird in a nest. Maybe that meant the idea of her and Warren as an actual couple wouldn’t be a difficult transition in Hailey’s mind.
Julia slid into her coat and stood. Hope and fear warred inside her. She’d lived long enough to know that fear seemed stronger. Sharp claws and gnashing teeth.
But hope, green leaves and star-sprinkled skies, was deceptively gentle. And it always stood an excellent chance of winning the battle.