by Sandra Cunha
I’d thought about including the original penny Aaron has been holding on to, but I want to auction off the dress after the film premiere and donate the proceeds to charity. So I’ve let Aaron keep it for future use and sewn the meaning of that penny into the dress, instead.
When I’d found it on the ground, not even a year ago, I’d been struggling with, well, my existence. When I saw my birth year on the penny, and knowing that they had been taken out of circulation, I realized that my time was limited, too. And that I needed to do something worthwhile with whatever time had been allotted to me on this Earth. I feel as though I’m finally becoming the person I was always meant to be. The dress is a symbol of that.
Along with the dress, I’ll be carrying my mom’s Chanel bag, which I’ve converted into a temporary clutch for the occasion. When I’d taken the bag out of the box Frankie gave me, I’d held it in my hands for a while before removing it from its dust bag. (I still get way too excited about dust bags.) I wanted to linger in that moment because it’d taken me so long to achieve this goal.
I know what you may be thinking: it’s only a silly bag. But not to me. It changed everything for me. So when I removed it from the dust bag, I held it close to my chest, as if I were hugging it, then I flipped it over.
The tiny snag was still there.
And I knew all was right in my world again.
The film premiere we’re attending this evening is Queen of Katwe. It’s based on a young girl, living in the slum of Katwe in Uganda, who rises up from poverty by mastering the game of chess. At first, I’ll admit, I was a bit disappointed I wouldn’t be walking the red carpet with big, Hollywood movie stars I recognize. But this is actually the perfect film premiere for me to attend because it’s about changing your life by believing in what you’re capable of achieving.
Whatever money is raised from selling The Penny will be donated to allow more girls (and boys) to try to change their lives, too.
“Lady B, the car is here. Are you ready?”
I come around the corner into the kitchen, then I pose against the wall, Marilyn Monroe-style, and whisper breathlessly, “I’m ready, Mr. Trader.”
“Wow, you look beautiful! Come here,” he says, moving closer.
“No! You’ll wreck my makeup—and hair! Do you know how long it took me to do this?” This, is a braided side bun, which had me watching a ton of YouTube videos to figure out how to do.
“I do know how long because I’ve been waiting the whole time.”
I ignore his comment. “Actually, you look very handsome yourself,” I say, as I take him in properly.
He’s kept the beard he grew in Africa, but he’s trimmed it so it’s neat and tidy. It has grown on me. He’s wearing a black tailored suit with a bow-tie that matches my dress. As his former office job was business casual, this is the first time I’m seeing him in a suit. And, well, I find it hard to resist a man who looks good in a suit. So I go over to him and plant a big kiss on his yummy, full lips.
When we pull away from each other, he makes a face.
“What?” I ask.
“I wrecked your makeup.”
“Aaron!” I run back to the bathroom.
When I return, it’s finally time for us to go.
I can’t believe I’m about to walk the red carpet!
It’s really all happening.
“Erin! Erin! Lady Bettencourt!”
Camera lights are flashing in my eyes, blinding me. I try to hold my smile and not turn away in reaction.
They know who I am. I didn’t think they would, but they do.
I look over at Aaron, who is standing a few feet away from me. He grins and comes to join me.
Wait a minute.
“Aaron, how do they know my name?” I ask suspiciously.
He shrugs his shoulders, but his grin grows wider.
I punch him playfully on the arm. But I’m grateful. It adds to the fun of the experience.
We walk the remainder of the red carpet together, stopping every now and again to pose for a photo.
It feels like I’m in a dream.
Am I dreaming?
I have to be. Why else would I, Erin Bettencourt, be walking the red carpet of the Toronto International Film Festival?
This can’t be real.
I pinch myself.
No, not dreaming.
We’re about to enter the theatre, Roy Thomson Hall, when an entertainment reporter who I’ve met before reaches out and grabs my arm.
“Erin?” She looks surprised to see me. “I guess I don’t have to ask who you’re wearing.”
I laugh. “No, but I’ll say it, anyway. My dress is a new design from the Lady Bettencourt line. It’s a special edition named The Penny. It’s made from old curtains! Oh, and my bag,” I pause to hold it up for the camera. “My bag is a vintage Chanel 2.55. Medium. Navy. It belonged to my mom.”
EPILOGUE
60 (or so) weeks later . . .
“ON THE COUNT of three. One, two, three!” I say.
Aaron and I jump out of the fitting rooms at the exact same time.
I burst out laughing uncontrollably.
“What’s so funny?” he asks, placing his hands on his hips and puffing out his chest.
“You’re—you’re,” I say, trying to get a hold of myself. “You’re wearing tights!”
“Every worthy superhero wears tights. It demonstrates our confidence,” he says in a superhero-style voice, then adds in his regular tone, “Besides, you designed this. You knew about the tights.”
“Yeah, but knowing and seeing are two different things.”
“Well, you look hot. I guess I finally owe you that bonus.” He winks at me.
“You don’t look so bad yourself. Maybe you should wear tights more often.”
I should probably back up a moment and explain.
Aaron and I are attending a Halloween party at Betty and Matt’s house tonight. I designed both of us superhero costumes à la the original Erin Girl flyer, complete with tights and capes—the works. Mine has a big ‘E’ on the front and Aaron’s (obviously) has a big ‘A.’ And I didn’t forget about little Coco; she has a ‘C’ on her cape. Together, we form: The ACE Team!
After all these years, Aaron finally gets to see me dressed up like the cartoon-version of myself I drew on the flyer, and I finally get to fulfill my promise of designing my first-ever piece of menswear for him. Although, this is probably not what he’d envisioned when he’d made that request.
I’ve also made Georgie’s and Charlie’s costumes. They’ll be dressed as leprechauns, and as there are two of them, they’ll be . . . Irish twins! Get it? Betty doesn’t know, yet. I’m pretty sure she won’t get it. Or like it. So I’m bringing a couple of backup costumes with me, just in case.
Before the party, we’re taking the twins trick-or-treating for the first time. We’ve been teaching them how to say it. Georgie has “trick” down, and Charlie has perfected her “treat.” It’ll be fun to go trick-or-treating after all these years. It’s almost like getting to be a kid again, but without the candy. Except, maybe there will be candy in my future. The twins are only fourteen months; they shouldn’t be eating that stuff. And if you’re wondering, would I really steal candy from a baby? The answer is yes, I would. From two babies, actually. (Double the candy!)
I’ve fallen in love with those two babies. I love being an auntie! I’ve always known I’m not mommy material—there are some things you just know—but I completely excel in the auntie department. With the exception of that one time, about a month ago.
It’d taken me a while to realize I’d lost Georgie. As the twins are identical and move around super fast now that they can walk, I thought I was seeing both of them—and not the same one in a new location. Anyway, I eventually found Georgie hiding inside the linen closet, fast asleep.
Needless to say, when Betty found out, she wasn’t very happy. She decided it’d be best if I had supervision whenever I babysat them in the future.
So now Aaron has to be with me before she’ll let me watch them for more than five minutes on my own. Sheesh. I mean, Georgie was never in any real danger.
And I would’ve gotten away with it, too, if Charlie hadn’t ratted me out when Betty got home, by saying, “Georgie lost. Georgie lost.” Betty was able to figure out what had happened based on that alone.
Even though the twins are barely past a year old, I can already see their personalities forming. Georgie is definitely an “Erin.” (Reference her love of hiding in small spaces.) And Charlie is totally a “Betty.” (Reference her need for law and order.)
But I love them both equally. They’re my future heiresses.
After her maternity leave, Betty decided not to return to the accounting firm. She said I inspired her to be her own boss. So she started a part-time bookkeeping business, and also works as a freelance photographer.
She realized she’d been suffering from impostor syndrome herself when it came to her photography. She thought it was something she could only do for fun and not make any money from. That she couldn’t be a real photographer because she’d never had proper training, but mostly because, she’d always thought of herself as analytical, not creative.
But she’s lucky because she’s both left-brained and right-brained. Whereas, I’m totally left-brained. Or am I right-brained? I’m whatever side is the creative one.
Her businesses are going really well; so well that I’ve had to keep Trendy and Leo on board the team.
Six months after the twins were born, I told her about finding our mom’s diary. I explained why I read the entries without her and apologized for what I’d done. And, of course, she forgave me. She understood that I’d need to read them, but she wished I would’ve told her from the beginning. She said she never would’ve prevented me from reading them.
As my penance, I’ve taken the “truth oath” with her, as well, with the additional clause that she has to be awake when I reveal these truths. We limited it to anything to do with our mom, which was kind of a relief. I’m definitely still working on adding “telling the truth” to my list of mastered skills. After I “lost” Georgie, she made me include the twins, too.
But every woman—every person—has to have some secrets.
Are secrets, lies?
I don’t know. Maybe they’re hidden truths waiting for the right moment to be revealed.
As for Betty, she decided against reading our mom’s diary. She said she didn’t need to. She wanted to keep her memory of our mom the way it was. I guess we both always had to choose for ourselves.
She does know I have our mom’s original Chanel bag and that one of the diary entries helped me find it. I’m glad because one day I hope to pass down the bag to the twins, and I want them to know the significance behind it. That’s a secret I don’t want to keep.
And she also knows about our grandmother’s grave being across from our mom’s. She admitted that maybe—just maybe—the universe had a hand in that happening.
“We should go; it’s beginning to get dark,” Aaron says, breaking through my musings.
“All right,” I say, heading for the door. “Oh, shoot! I forgot the twins’ costumes upstairs.”
“You forgot something? I’m shocked.”
I roll my eyes, even though I know it’s true. “Very funny, Aaron boy. I’ll meet you out front of the shop.”
Shop. My shop.
It’s still hard to believe I own this place—okay, lease. Although, in a few more years from now, that may be true, as well.
After signing the contract, getting the keys, and making the necessary renovations, my shop officially opened on my birthday. I figured it was a great way to kick-off another year in the life of Erin Bettencourt.
The shop looks completely different from before. We tore down a wall and replaced it with a window so customers can see the clothes being made. There’s a curtain, though, for when things get a bit crazy. The seamstresses don’t mind. They pretend like they’re putting on a show. (Gloria’s especially taken to giving her daily performance.) And when they want more privacy, they can always work from home.
Actually, it’s not all seamstresses anymore, we have a tailor named Bernard, too. (He refuses to let me call him Bernie.) He’d been a tailor for years when the place he worked at closed down. That’s when I snatched him up. He’s really good at making our more structured dresses and our coats.
Coats! We have coats! Well, cloaks.
Carol inspired the idea. As I couldn’t make her a dress with her daughter’s clothing, I made her a cloak-style coat, instead. I’d seen her wear one many times before, so I knew she liked the style. The one I made her had secondhand grey wool for the outer material, and I used her daughter’s clothing for the lining. I figured it symbolized Carol’s whole demeanor: stern on the outside, (possibly) warm on the inside.
But I didn’t tell her any of that. Nor did I make her pay for my work. I did, however, tell her I was adding a dress named “The Emily” to our new baby line.
We have a baby line of dresses!
That was obviously inspired by Georgie and Charlie, who have their own dresses named after them. There are mini-versions of some of our women’s dresses, too, so that mothers—as well as, aunties and grannies—can dress the same as their daughters. Sort of cheesy, but customers love it. I love it.
Our wedding and custom lines are a huge success. I’m easily making my monthly lease payments, which has been a great relief. And I like that instead of just carrying dresses with names like The Barbie or The Lucy or The Frankie (a princess-cut wedding dress), any woman can have her own custom-made Lady Bettencourt dress named after her.
Another cool thing is getting to work with Lizzie. I know she stayed on longer than she would’ve because of me.
But given that our staff does skew to an older demographic, one evening a week, when the shop is closed, I’ve begun training at-risk youths on how to sew. A skill they can use eventually to get a job, either with us or for themselves.
And, in the new year, we plan to launch a series of workshops, both in-person and online, for anyone who wants to learn how to make their own clothes. Mila is helping me organize those. She’s very multi-talented, kind of like Betty, but in her own (sometimes not-exactly-legal) special way.
Aaron will record the workshops and include parts of them in a short film he’s working on about me and the shop for one of his film classes. He’s really getting into it and developing his unique style.
With all of these changes to my shop and business, the name Lady Bettencourt didn’t fit anymore. Lady Bettencourt had become a division of something larger.
So what did I change the name of my business to?
House of Bettencourt.
That way, we can grow without worrying about having to stick to any one thing. (Although, having a menswear or dog-clothes line would be in the very, very distant future.)
I was hesitant to use the name Bettencourt again because of what I’d read in my mom’s diary. But I now understand that when she took on that name, it changed its meaning. It was no longer the last name of the father, who abandoned us. It became the last name of the mother, who stayed. She took it on because of her love for us.
“I thought you were going upstairs?” Aaron asks.
“Huh? Oh, yeah, sorry,” I say. “I’ll be right back.”
Zoning out: another mastered skill.
I turn and race up the hidden stairs to the small apartment above the shop, where I now live. It worked out because Betty wanted to sell the condo to help with her financial transition to becoming an entrepreneur, and I finally got a place that feels like my own. That feels like me.
The apartment is no longer minimalist the way Art had it. Although, he left behind the Egg chair and the bar cart. (Which may have had something to do with me gushing on-and-on about them when I came to sign the contract.) He also left behind a bottle of bourbon. I’ve learned a lot from him about the retail business in the last year h
e’s been mentoring me. And so far, the deal I made with him is working out for the both of us.
My redecorating of the apartment included painting one of the walls in the main room with colourful stripes, wallpapering the bathroom in a paisley print, and—
Focus, Erin. Focus.
Right, the costumes. I should probably get those.
Once I’m downstairs again, I pause near the front of the shop before heading outside. Through the window, out on the street, I see Aaron playing with Coco.
I’m reminded of everything that’s happened over the past few years, from that day when I was standing alone, on the other side of this window, looking in.
But I’m not alone anymore, my life is filled with so many people I care about and love. And without realizing it until this very moment, I know that’s what I’d actually been searching for that day, searching for this whole time.
A family.
I hurry out of the shop into the darkening evening.
THE END . . . MAYBE.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I’D LIKE TO THANK: Everyone I thanked in Erin, Girl and Lady Bettencourt.
To that list, I’d also like to add:
All the aunts (and cousins and friends) who act as mother substitutes when necessary. Especially, Tia Gloria and Tia Natalia, who were there for my sister and I after our mom passed away. (Our mom would thank them, as well.)
And to those of you who have read all the books in the Bettencourt Series. Thank you for coming along with me for the ride. I’ll miss writing these, but alas, there are other stories to be told.
I hope you’ll join me for those, too.
BOOKS BY AUTHOR