The Time-Traveling Fashionista

by Bianca Turetsky

  Anna slid the elaborately layered gown over Louise’s head. The silky fabric swooshed down over her corseted body, and the tiny navy blue beads made a faint tinkling noise as they fell down around her. The gown stopped right above the floor, with a little beaded train trailing behind her.

  “Oh my,” Anna said with a sigh, shaking her head with disappointment. “You seem to have gotten a bit of sun today.”

  Like that’s a bad thing? Louise wondered, happy to have a slight tan in April.

  Anna covered Louise’s face and lips with a thick white pancakey foundation that came from a brass tin. Louise glanced in the antique mirror behind Anna’s shoulder and was once again startled to see herself, now pale as a ghost. She really hoped Anna wouldn’t turn around and see the real Louise under all that makeup. Anna used a dark kohl pencil to line her eyes and a brush to smudge it around. She then applied a creamy rouge to her cheeks, making them pop like candy apples. Apparently, in 1912, the clown look is in style?

  She blotted Louise’s lips with a creamy red lipstick. The color was amazing, like Old Hollywood in a golden tube. She sprayed her with a different perfume; this one was a little more floral than the last. Not only could Miss Baxter not wear the same thing twice, it seemed she also couldn’t smell like the same thing twice.

  Anna placed a delicate diamond tiara on top of her hair, which she had artfully twisted into a loose knot at the nape of her neck with a few strategically placed hairpins. Now she was truly a princess, or rather a glamorous actress, with the crown and all.

  Looking her over approvingly, Anna handed her a delicate gold mesh clutch to hold her lipstick and perfectly accessorize the look. Voilà.

  Of course, Louise had no idea how to find the first-class dining room by herself. Anna insisted on drawing her a map on a piece of White Line stationery from the writing desk so that she wouldn’t be late for dinner. Louise took the map and left the suite, slowly making her way through the grandiose corridors, teetering on Miss Baxter’s pinching blue satin high-heeled shoes. The carpeted hallways all looked the same, and she was relieved to have some direction.

  She nodded mutely in greeting to the other passengers she passed. The corset made it hard for her to breathe, let alone talk. It was strange; they all looked like they were cast as extras in a period film. Men were handsomely dressed in dark dinner jackets with top hats. Women had their hair in elaborate up-dos, and some wore floor-length skirts that looked like brightly colored lampshades and were gathered so tightly at the ankle they were forced to waddle down the hall like a flock of ducks. To her, it was a very peculiar style.

  “Isn’t it simply divine?” she overheard one woman gush. “Have you ever seen a ship so luxurious?” Everyone seemed to be in the best of spirits.

  After two lefts and a right, Louise arrived.

  Standing at the top of the grandest staircase she had ever seen, Louise basked in the natural moonlight that shone through the wrought-iron-and-glass dome above her head. She looked up in awe and saw a black night sky flecked with twinkling stars, flashing down on her like a celestial paparazzi. The staircase was constructed of polished oak and embellished with gilded bronze decorations. Ornately framed oil landscape paintings decorated the walls of the landing. A bronze cherub mounted on the center railing held up a lamp that illuminated the way. Walking down the wide sweeping stairs in Miss Baxter’s evening gown made her feel truly beautiful and special, like maybe she could actually be Miss Baxter for real.

  “Ahh, Miss Baxter!” Mr. Baxter shouted from the foot of the staircase. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?”

  Louise blushed as all eyes looked up at her. She heard a low whistle from a man in a black tailcoat passing by her on the stairs. Awesome, I’m a movie star! She wasn’t used to being noticed by men—or rather boys—for her beauty. She carefully made her way down the staircase, convinced she was going to wipe out in Miss Baxter’s unfamiliar high-heeled shoes and be totally humiliated. With a little patience, and some help from the smooth wooden handrail, she made it safely down to the ground level.

  Louise looked down at her hand on the banister and gasped. She was wearing a stunning diamond-and-sapphire ring on her right ring finger. She held the ring up to the natural light in awe of the stone’s glimmering beauty. Had she been wearing it all along? For some reason, she was a little freaked out that she hadn’t noticed it before, and now that she did, her hand felt heavy and weighted down. The ring was spectacular, but it wasn’t hers. She had the sudden realization that this wasn’t her life. But she quickly pushed those thoughts aside and instead took Mr. Baxter’s outstretched hand. He was all gussied up for dinner, wearing a formal tux with a white bow tie and black-and-white wing tip shoes. It looked as though he had greased his handlebar mustache for the occasion, which now turned up in two perfect points.

  “Is something wrong with your hip?” he asked, concerned as she held on to his arm for support and hobbled into the dining room through two open French double doors.

  “Oh no, my hip is fine,” Louise said quickly, embarrassed. “I’m just not used to these shoes or something.”

  How long would she be able to get away with pretending to be Miss Baxter before she was exposed for who she really was?

  The first-class dining room was crowded with hundreds of passengers, all dressed in their evening best. Dinner was clearly the most important social event of the day on this cruise. The ladies were wearing a rainbow of evening gowns, and the men were dressed in tuxedos or formal dark suits with vests, the kind they would put pocket watches into. The room sparkled as the elaborate crystal chandelier in the center of the ceiling cast a soft light that reflected off the women’s jewelry. Louise had never seen so many diamonds in her life. The enormous cream-colored room, which seemed to span the width of the entire ship, was strangely familiar. She felt like she had been there before.

  Mr. Baxter led her past the other tables, all covered in crisp, white linen tablecloths and set with fine white china with cobalt blue and gold borders. Big porcelain vases filled with beautiful yellow daffodils served as the centerpieces of the tables, as fresh as if they had just been picked. A string orchestra of violins and cellos playing in the corner serenaded the guests. The musicians were dressed in matching white dinner jackets and bow ties.

  “Lucy! Cosmo!” Mr. Baxter called across the dining room as he navigated his way through the crowd.

  “So nice to see you again, my dear,” Lucile exclaimed. “And Henry, you are looking quite well.”

  There was a flourish of air kisses as Lucy and Cosmo stood up to greet them. Lucy was wearing a white silk evening gown of her own design, embroidered with gold and jeweled dragons. It was spectacular. Her chestnut brown hair was pulled back in an intricate knot, held in place by a jeweled comb, with some curls framing her face.

  “Fancy strawberries in April, and in mid ocean. The whole thing is positively uncanny. Why, you would think you were at the Ritz,” she remarked.

  That would explain Louise’s feeling of déjà vu. She had stayed at the Ritz Carlton once with her mom in London, and this dining room was very similar to the restaurant in the hotel.

  “I went to the Ritz once with my mother,” Louise said to no one in particular, wishing that her mom could see this place, too. Somehow it seemed less special if she couldn’t share it with her. Like, how would she know if it had really happened?

  “Miss Baxter, that dress looks stunning on you. I need to use you as one of my models,” Lucile enthused, turning toward her.

  Louise smiled shyly. The Lucile was actually asking her—well, Miss Baxter, but still—to be one of her models. It was too surreal. “I love this dress. I’m such a fan of your designs,” she gushed, brushing her fingers over the beads.

  “Aren’t you a dear? You will have to pass by my new salon in New York. We’ll fit you for some new dresses.”

  “Really?” Louise asked excitedly. “Awesome.”

  Lucy cocked her plucked left eyebrow. “Is that
a new term? I am so out of touch these days. I hardly get out of the atelier.”

  “I suppose so.” Louise shut her mouth quickly, realizing her mistake; she’d have to be a little more careful with what slang she used.

  “Yes, I would be thrilled to create some more splendid dresses especially for you,” Lucile declared.

  “Thank you,” Louise called over her shoulder as Mr. Baxter continued leading her through the crowded dining room toward their table. Louise thought she might be the luckiest girl in the world at this moment. She just wished she had someone to share it with.

  “Mrs. Astor!” Mr. Baxter shouted to the woman Louise had met earlier on the deck, who was now wearing a floor-length salmon-colored evening dress with lace sleeves and waving enthusiastically from a few tables down. He grabbed Louise’s hand and hurried her over to their assigned dinner table.

  Louise spotted the captain’s table at the far side of the room. Captain Smith was seated at a round table with a woman who seemed to be his wife, the first officer, and some other uniformed men whom she didn’t recognize.

  She caught a glimpse of Dr. Hastings sitting at a nearby table with two female companions in broad-rimmed hats that shadowed their faces. He scowled at Louise and Mr. Baxter as they rushed by, visibly displeased to see his patient ignoring his strict orders. The fine hairs on the back of Louise’s neck prickled; that man gave her the creeps.

  “Don’t you look marvelous,” Mr. Baxter gushed to Madeleine Astor, kissing her on both cheeks.

  “Oh, Henry, you are too kind. I’m as big as this ship,” Mrs. Astor replied, patting her pregnant belly, eyes sparkling. “Miss Baxter, we’re so pleased you’ll be joining us,” she said, turning to Louise. “We were worried you wouldn’t feel up to it.”

  Louise smiled mutely. She still had no idea what to say to this woman.

  “Yes, she’s feeling a bit under the weather, aren’t you?” Mr. Baxter responded, giving her hand a painful squeeze.

  “Yes,” Louise whispered. Mr. Baxter pulled out a dining chair for her, and she took her place at the table in between Mr. Baxter and Mrs. Astor.

  “Mrs. Straus! Jacob! Benjamin! Isidor! Wonderful to see you all on such a fine night as we have here,” Mr. Baxter exclaimed enthusiastically.

  Louise turned bright red as Benjamin Guggenheim gave her a suave, conspiratorial smile from across the table. She had been looking forward to seeing him since this afternoon, and now she couldn’t think of a single thing to say. She gave a quiet “hello” and then shyly glanced down at all of the forks and knives lined up next to the china plate. For the first time in her life, she was grateful that her mother had insisted on their formal dinners in the dining room.

  “Champagne, madam?” asked a waiter in a white jacket, popping open a bottle.

  “No, thank you,” Louise demurred.

  “She’s only seventeen,” Mr. Baxter’s voice boomed, waving away the champagne bottle.

  “Caviar?” another uniformed waiter asked, holding a silver service tray piled high with a mound of black glistening fish eggs.

  “No, thank you,” Louise repeated.

  “She’s been ill,” Mr. Baxter offered, throwing up his hands in a gesture of defeat. He turned to Louise with a puzzled expression. “But you love caviar,” he remarked in a baffled voice. “What’s gotten into you?”

  “Not anymore,” Louise replied.

  He stared into her eyes for a moment, not quite able to place his finger on exactly what was different, and then hastily drank his champagne in one gulp.

  “Miss Baxter, isn’t this ship fabulous? Bruce Ismay has really outdone himself this time. Have you ever seen such luxury?” asked a sturdy woman sitting opposite Louise. Mr. Baxter had referred to her earlier as Ida Straus.

  “No, Mrs. Straus, I haven’t,” Louise agreed. And she really hadn’t.

  “We were just speaking about one of your productions,” Mrs. Astor said, turning to Louise, as the men talked about business among themselves. “Simply brilliant. You are a true talent, my dear.”

  “Thank you.” Louise felt strangely proud that she was apparently a famous actress. She was starting to take all these compliments personally.

  “Do you have anything in the works?” Mrs. Straus asked in a conspiratorial tone, hoping to get some juicy gossip.

  “I don’t know,” Louise answered honestly, picking up a glass of lemon water.

  “Well, it’s a tough business, but you have a good manager. It’s nice to keep it in the family,” Mrs. Astor interjected, nodding to Mr. Baxter.

  Mrs. Straus smiled warmly and raised her glass to Louise. “Cheers to that, darling.”

  Louise let out a yelp of surprise as she suddenly felt a socked foot suggestively touch her ankle. Was someone actually trying to play footsie with her? She watched in shock as everyone continued on with their conversation about American politics as though nothing out of the ordinary was happening. The sweaty foot was slowly making its way under her dress and up her calf. Disgusted and alarmed, Louise quickly and firmly stomped down on the offending foot with the heel of her shoe, and as if in a cartoon, Benjamin Guggenheim sprang out of his chair with a howl, knocking over his champagne into Mrs. Astor’s cream of barley soup.

  “Benjamin, what’s gotten into you?” J. J. Astor exclaimed while trying to help his wife fish the crystal glass out of her broth.

  Mr. Guggenheim flushed a deep rose color. Finally Louise wasn’t the only one embarrassed. “Nothing, pardon me, just a bit of a foot cramp,” he said, flustered, giving Louise a humiliated look as he sheepishly sat back down.

  “How is dear Florette, Benjamin?” Mr. Baxter asked pointedly. “It’s a shame she couldn’t make it on this journey with us. Is she ill?”

  “Florette is fine,” Benjamin stammered.

  OHMYGOD. This guy has a girlfriend?! Or a wife? A Florette! What a creep! Now she was starting to understand what “we” meant.

  “Please give our best to your lovely wife. Have you sent her a telegraph yet? The technology on this ship is truly mind-boggling.”

  “You simply must come into the shop when we arrive in New York,” Ida interrupted. “Isidor and I would love to dress you for your next event!” she said enthusiastically, seeming to sense the uncomfortable vibe and trying to change the subject.

  “The shop?” Louise asked. Ida had found the one subject that could distract her from the horror of the last statement.

  “Oh, you know, Macy’s, our store,” Ida answered, as though Louise should obviously know that already.

  “You own Macy’s?” Louise asked incredulously while buttering a warm dinner roll.

  “Of course, sweetie. Did you hit your head this afternoon?” she asked, laughing.

  “I suppose so,” she answered. Brooke would be so jealous if she knew that Louise was having dinner with the owners of Macy’s! She couldn’t wait to tell her. She wondered if Brooke was at Macy’s at that moment trying to find a new dress for the dance on Friday.

  After that exchange, Louise hardly said a word during dinner. She was still totally hung up on the fact that the dashingly handsome man, the one who she had shared a boring but romantic walk with just a few hours earlier, was the biggest two-faced jerk she had ever met. Todd wasn’t the most charming or gorgeous guy in the world, but at least he didn’t have a secret double life! She was starting to wish she hadn’t run away from him in the hall the other day. He deserved more than that.

  When the rest of the table started talking about the Sherman Antitrust Act and the monopoly of Standard Oil, Louise tuned out. She hadn’t reached that chapter yet in Miss Morris’s history class and felt like she was stuck at a dinner party with her parents’ older friends.

  Her focus turned completely on the banquet of food that was practically spilling off the table. She had hardly eaten anything since her chicken salad sandwich that afternoon after swim practice. Did she really eat lunch in her Connecticut home earlier that day? It seemed like a lifetime ago. She was fa
mished.

  The next courses came out in rapid succession: ice-cold oysters that looked like slimy slugs but tasted like a burst of the sea, freshly caught salmon with cucumber and rich hollandaise sauce, filet mignon grilled to perfection and served with artichoke hearts and earthy mushrooms called truffles, lamb with mint sauce, creamed carrots, cold asparagus vinaigrette. Each course was delivered separately, by a constant parade of waiters. It was the most elaborate meal she had ever experienced; it was like going to the theater. These were by far the most scrumptious dishes Louise had ever tasted. Vegetables actually tasted delicious. Meat tasted tender and flavorful. There wasn’t a drop of malt vinegar in any dish; so much for her mother’s theories on English cooking. She ate with a greediness and hunger that she had never experienced in her previous life.

  “Quite an appetite my niece has worked up,” Mr. Baxter joked, trying to make light of an increasingly embarrassing situation, as the other ladies at the table delicately nibbled and picked at their food. He patted droplets of sweat from his head nervously with his damp pink pocket scarf. Louise had a feeling that Miss Baxter probably wouldn’t be pigging out like this, but she couldn’t help it.

  “Ooh, I’m going to save this for Kitty,” Mrs. Astor exclaimed, placing a lamb chop wrapped in a white cloth napkin into her silver beaded evening purse.

  “My dear, that is absolutely disgusting,” Mr. Astor said with a chuckle.

  “Who’s Kitty?” Louise asked, swallowing a mouthful of heavenly mashed potatoes.

  “Silly, she’s our Airedale. I’m sure you’ve met her before. How I love that dog,” Mrs. Astor gushed.

  “She eats better than I,” Mr. Astor joked, taking a bite of his own food.

  For dessert, yet another waiter rolled out a multitiered cart of sweets. There was no one to tell Louise that she should take only one little treat, that she had eaten enough already—only Mr. Baxter, who was staring in amazement at her display of consumption.