Cinderella's Dress

by Shonna Slayton

  She glanced at her mother, wondering if now that she had the dresses, she’d be able to keep them a secret from her. Two dresses. So much history. So much strife.

  Miss Lassiter called her back in. She held out a sundress with a full skirt. “Kate dear, I want to get a jump on this trend. Please put on this outfit and run up to the Art Department—do you know where that is? Tell them you are the model from the Teen Shop. I want this ensemble going in the paper this week. Oh, and this hat. Hurry, please. Meanwhile, I’ll gather some dresses for the new window. I’m going to pull our fullest fashions. Try to stay ahead of everyone else, shall we?” She tapped her lips. “I hope he doesn’t get too irritated with the change.”

  Kate smiled to herself as she took the elevator up to the Art Department. Perhaps Miss Lassiter wanted to irritate Mr. G every so often, especially if they’d had a past romance.

  The Art Department was in a bright corner room with plenty of natural light. Here, the artists drew the ads for every department in the store. Kate had never modeled for them before. When she stepped in the room, there were several artists hard at work sketching everything from cookware to the latest men’s ties. A little boy dressed in a suit was posing with a little girl in a cute frock in front of a woman who had a pencil tucked behind her ear and another between her lips.

  “Excuse me,” she said, unsure of who was in charge. “I’m here from the Teen Shop. Miss Lassiter sent me.”

  An older gentleman with graying hair looked up from his china pattern. He pointed to a raised platform. “You can stand there,” he said. “Hey, Johnny,” he called out. “Your Teen Shop outfit is here.”

  The butterflies in her stomach took flight. Johnny? Not her Johnny. She couldn’t stand still and model while Johnny sketched her. Not after what she said.

  She watched him get up from a drawing table. His back was to her, so he didn’t know she was the model. She turned around on the platform, looking outside at the cars driving by. Maybe she could do one of those poses looking down over her shoulder. She tilted her hat low, covering as much of her face as she could. She waited while she heard him drag a chair over and settle into it. And she waited. Had he started drawing? Did he recognize her? Was he refusing to draw her?

  She risked a peek. He was hunched over his drawing pad, turning pages to get to a blank one.

  “Uh, could you turn around, please?” he said.

  Kate slowly turned, keeping her burning face tilted.

  “And look up, over my shoulder like you’re watching a balloon or something in the air.”

  She raised her head and watched her dreams floating away. He had to recognize her now. She should say something. But what? Sorry? That wasn’t a strong enough word. And she couldn’t speak anything personal in this quiet room. Everyone would hear, and she had already embarrassed both of them too much. She should quit. Quit her job and never come back.

  Sweat began to trickle down the back of her knees. She couldn’t blame the heat because the store had finally installed central air-conditioning. It would be the place to be this summer to cool off.

  She kept her head straight but lowered her eyes to see Johnny. He wouldn’t look at her. Sure he was looking at her because he was drawing her, but he wasn’t looking at her. His clenched jaw revealed just how much he wasn’t looking at her.

  Finally, he stood, closed his drawing pad, and walked away.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Feeling rightly rebuked, Kate fled the room. Fifteen minutes later, she was making another trip down to the workroom and bracing herself for a confrontation with Mr. G. Although, after the silence she experienced with Johnny, she welcomed a confrontation.

  She tapped lightly on Mr. G’s office door. He was sitting at his desk, gripping his hair with both hands. It was the first time Kate had ever seen someone look like he was literally ripping his hair out.

  He glanced up with a sour expression.

  Kate squeezed her hands together as she announced in a tentative voice, “Miss Lassiter wants to change the dresses.”

  “Of course she does.” He waved his hands for her to wheel in the cart.

  Kate positioned the rack to the side of his design table. “Is there anything else I can help with?”

  “I’ve got to get these preliminary sketches out to Staples & Smith today, and our couriers are all busy. I can’t do it because, ouch.” He groaned, holding his hand to his mouth. “This toothache is killing me. I need to get to my dentist.”

  “I could be the courier. Miss Lassiter lets me run packages out to my uncle for Alterations.”

  He squinted through the pain. “Fine. But do not, do not lose these papers. Cece is doing a huge favor for me. I’m going to owe her all my business and my first child after this.”

  “Was she the one who was making the circus props for you?” What a thrill. Kate might even get to meet her.

  He nodded and tucked the papers into an envelope before handing her a wad of cash. “Take a cab. No sketch of mine is riding a bus.” He held up a finger. “One moment. I’ve got the icing on the cake.” He reached into his desk and pulled out a photograph of a dark-haired woman, her hair swept up in a regal chignon. She stood next to a stone pillar on a bridge and was gazing to the left of the cameraman. She had a look of whimsy about her, maybe from the smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “I took this picture before the war, on a trip to Europe. She will be our Cinderella. Tell Cece.”

  So, instead of lunch at the Automat with Johnny, Kate shared a cheese and jam sandwich with her mother in the back of a cab during the short trip to the studio. When Mrs. Allen found out where Kate was making a delivery, she had insisted upon coming.

  “Not in that part of town, you don’t.”

  “It’s not that far away.”

  “By the warehouses. I’m going with you.”

  Kate wadded up the wax paper and wiped her mouth with her handkerchief. It would never do to have a spot of jam on her lips when she met Cecilia Staples.

  “What was that I saw in your locker when you were getting your purse?” asked her mother.

  Kate’s face flushed. “Oh, it’s something Adalbert wanted me to hold on to for him. He was supposed to have space at a workstation, but someone took it over.”

  “What? After the visit we had with the FBI?” Mom whispered the letters FBI so the cab driver wouldn’t hear. “I don’t want him getting you mixed up in anything illegal.” She mouthed the word “illegal” this time.

  Kate laughed. “Don’t worry. Your aunt and uncle have more in common with the Grimms than with Al Capone.”

  “Al Capone?” Mom huffed and straightened her jacket. “Why would you say such a thing?”

  “Speaking of the Grimms, did Babcia ever tell the fairy-tale stories Elsie does?” Kate fiddled with the button on her blouse, not wanting to make eye contact. If she did, she might tell all in her excitement.

  “I don’t recall any. Mama didn’t get carried away with flights of fancy. She was plain and simple, down to earth. You’d be wise to be the same. Humor Elsie when you need to, but don’t get caught up in her dream world.” She took out a compact and touched up her lipstick. “I tell you what, I think she wishes our family were a little more closer to royalty than we are.” She rubbed her lips together and smacked them before checking her teeth for smudges.

  Kate raised an eyebrow. Now that was the pot calling the kettle black. For the duration, she had had to put up with her mother’s attempts to catch the eye of the society women at the fund-raisers, never mind all those awful auditions she used to go on. Mom once had her own dream of getting close to New York royalty.

  It was on Kate’s lips to ask about the dress—had Babcia ever mentioned a fancy dress that was a family heirloom?—but she quickly bit the words back down. It was best not to bring it up and make Mom too curious. Kate did wonder, though. Babcia may not have wanted to be Keeper, but Mom might have. She had wanted the amber necklace. Babcia might have told her more.


  After a short ride, the driver pulled up to a plain, six-story brick building. There was no sign out front, but the cabbie assured them it was the right address. He pointed to the name on a gold-and-white banner hanging from a pole on the second floor.

  After Kate asked to speak with Ms. Cecilia Staples, she was directed up to the sixth floor. From there, she and her mother were led through a showroom of colorful papier-mâché dancers, trees, flowers, and angels, into a dim corridor, and finally into a bright studio.

  The whole building was devoted to creating window trimmings, and it was like walking through a real fairy-tale land. Or someone’s imagination. Mom had to be impressed with window trimming work after this.

  Ms. Staples smiled and shook hands. She was a pretty blonde, dressed casually in work clothes like the other girls in the studio. Slacks and a plain shirt. A bit of green paint smudged her cheek. “Mr. G sounded in such a state this morning. Let’s see what he’s come up with.”

  Kate handed her the manila envelope. “He said those were preliminary sketches, since he is short on time, and that if you had more ideas, to add them.”

  “Ha! So it’s not only my creations he wants, but my design ideas, too. He’d never come right out and say it.” She flipped through the sketches, nodding. “This window will be just lovely. I can have a lot of fun with Cinderella.” She jotted some notes on the edges. “Might be one of my best.”

  While Ms. Staples looked over Mr. G’s notes, Kate studied the photographs on the wall displaying Staples’s designs: a straw ballerina, a royal procession, a whimsical caroler.

  Ms. Staples noticed Kate inspecting the pictures. “What we do here is applied art. My staff is equally capable of sculpting a piece for the Met as a piece for Miller & Rhoads. Only department stores run under tighter deadlines. Would you like a tour of the place? We’re making manikins today on the second floor. Third floor is scenery, but the good stuff, if you’re here for looks, is on this floor and fourth where we add the finishing touches.”

  Mrs. Allen, who had been quietly watching the exchange between Kate and Miss Staples, spoke up. “Maybe you could turn Kate into a manikin. Doesn’t she have a lovely face? She could be the new look of the Teen Shops.”

  Oh, no. Not now, Mother. Kate could feel her cheeks flush. She was working up the courage to ask about job opportunities for the summer—in case Mr. G ended up sending her back to Women’s Wear after all. She turned her body away from her mother, physically putting space between them, and focused on Mr. G’s sketches on the desk.

  “You do have a fresh face,” Miss Staples said graciously to Kate. “But I’m afraid, Mrs. Allen, that nowadays, the lead window designers are asking for movie-star faces.”

  “Oh, that reminds me,” Kate said, glad for the distraction. She dug into the envelope for the picture. “Mr. G especially wanted me to point out a photograph he included. He wants a new manikin with this face.” Kate handed over the black and white.

  “Who is she? An up-and-coming?”

  “No, it’s a snapshot he took in Europe. He thinks she will make the perfect Cinderella.”

  Miss Staples shrugged. “Whatever the boss wants. But he’s killing me with this timetable. I’ll have to pull in all the workers I’ve got.” She held up the picture. “And get started on this one myself. Whoever she is, she is lovely.”

  With a frown, Miss Staples glanced at the clock. “Stephanie will show you around.” She mimed pushing up her sleeves. “I’ve got work to do.”

  “Of course. Thank you so much for seeing us,” Kate gushed. “And for the tour.”

  Once they were back in the corridor, Stephanie, a young, curly-haired brunette in green checkered slacks with a mismatched shirt, led them to the elevator.

  Mrs. Allen adjusted her hat. “We need to get back to the store,” she said. “Please see us to the lobby.”

  Kate stared at her mother with pleading eyes. Surely they could spare fifteen minutes. When would she get another opportunity such as this?

  Noticing the exchange, Stephanie suggested, “I can give you a quick tour, if you’d rather. It’s not every day a window trimmer gets to see the studio.”

  Kate beamed. Stephanie had called her a window trimmer! No one at the store had given her that title.

  “You might like to see how the larger figures are made,” said Stephanie. “We start with a metal frame and cover it with chicken wire. Then we soak wads of paper in glue and use this as padding. We cover these with strips of paper, layer after layer until we have what we want.”

  “One floor,” Mother conceded, holding up her right hand in defeat.

  …

  On the ride back to the store, Kate’s imagination exploded, headed to the moon and beyond. From the dresses in her locker to the creations in the warehouse, she had seen more fantastical and amazing objects in one day than during any Christmas window season.

  “She looked awfully young to be head of all that,” said Mom.

  Kate smiled. That was what was so encouraging. “It’s like your factory work. Women are making inroads in lots of areas.”

  “I was glad to say good-bye to factory work.” She waved her hand dismissively. “Though you might be right about this window trimming. Ms. Staples’s studio was impressive.”

  Kate looped her arm through her mom’s. “It was amazing, wasn’t it?” Finally, there was a spark of understanding.

  Mom pinched Kate’s cheek. “But it still doesn’t get this face out in the public eye where it belongs.”

  So much for understanding. “I’m not meant for the public eye. I thought we’d gotten past this,” Kate continued, feeling emboldened by her visit to the Staples-Smith studio. Six stories! A hundred craftsmen. Her world was opening up in ways she could have never guessed.

  “I hate knowing your other talents are going to waste. You see the models I have to work with for the upcoming fashion show. Plain girls, all of them.”

  Kate rolled her eyes. “That’s not true. You’ve still got Birdy and that Fran Marshall.”

  Mom frowned. “Yes, well, a lot of good Fran Marshall amounted to. She blossomed early and faded just as fast. You know, she only had that one advertisement and didn’t get another job. She’s lucky we’re keeping her for our fashion shows.”

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Nothing beat that earthy smell after an early spring shower. Kate breathed in the crisp wetness of rain on pavement. When she saw her bus coming down the street, she took off running, trying not to jiggle the meal she held in both hands. This was her mother’s first test of her new Tupperware. She had loaded the beef and noodle casserole that morning and sent Kate off, her desire to test the portability of a new product outweighing her concerns over any illegal activity by their relatives.

  Josie had stopped her in the hallway earlier. “Oh, no.” She pointed to the container. “Not you, too? That stuff is all over the apartment.” She gripped Kate’s arm. “My mom loves it. She even wrote to the company to tell them she thinks their selling model is all wrong. She told them they should hold parties to demonstrate the sealing lids! Can you imagine? Don’t let her talk your mother into it, too. Remind her she is all about fashion. Not plastic containers.”

  “Want to come with me? I’m dropping off supper for Elsie.” Her plan was to get Elsie alone today so she could ask about the dress. That meant she needed Josie to distract Adalbert. “You could bring your sewing.” Adalbert had found a willing pupil in Josie. He did what he could teaching Kate the basics, but Josie was a star. Kate was satisfied knowing enough to create draperies for store windows.

  Josie frowned. “When will you be back?” She held up the bag she was carrying. “More pictures for the scrapbook.”

  “This afternoon?”

  Josie looked away. “How about you come get me then.”

  “Are you sure? Weren’t you having trouble with that silk crepe?” Kate didn’t blame Josie for not wanting to go to the Oberlins’. The last time Josie went, Aunt Elsie began shrieki
ng and pointing at Josie, calling her Ludmilla! Ludmilla! and pleading, “Save the dress!”

  Now that Kate had seen the dress, she wondered who Ludmilla was and why Aunt Elsie would be so frightened of her. But she couldn’t convince Josie to come with her. She’d have to come up with another plan.

  At her stop, she carefully carried the casserole down the bus steps and over the curb. The trees lining the street dropped cold leftover raindrops on her head while she zigzagged to avoid all the puddles.

  Uncle Adalbert opened the kitchen door a crack, then, seeing Kate, opened it wide. The delicious smell of sweet bread burst through the door in a warm wave and lured her inside. Poppy seed roll! At least Aunt Elsie’s mind wasn’t so far gone that she forgot about Uncle Adalbert’s sweet tooth.

  “Prosze! Welcome in.” Uncle Adalbert smiled. He tugged at his burgundy knit sweater as if warning against the chill. He shuffled to the side, allowing Kate to enter.

  “How is she today?” Kate whispered in Polish, stepping directly into the kitchen.

  “It is good day,” Uncle Adalbert replied. He shut the wind outside the small town house. “We celebrate a good day.”

  Smiling wide, Kate handed him the casserole dish. She would stay and enjoy the visit like the old days. And if she could, get Elsie alone to ask her about everything.

  “Thank you.” He took the casserole and placed it in the refrigerator. “And how is your mother?”

  “Busy getting ready for the Fashion Show and Benefit.” Kate switched back to English.

  Adalbert looked over his shoulder. “And you?”

  Kate frowned. “Undecided. Mom made a big deal about not forcing me to do it, so now I feel like I should.” Kate hesitated. Should she ask him about the dress?

  “Who is that at the door?” Aunt Elsie shuffled into the kitchen in her apron, a dusting of flour across her cheek. Her white hair was pulled back in a loose bun and her eyes looked present today. “My best apple.” She wrapped Kate in a tight hug.