“No biggie,” Gillian said. “Both of you are going to Chinatown, too.”
“What for?” Carly asked. “We’re looking for dresses, right?”
“Right. And the kind I want isn’t in stuffy old Neiman-Marcus.”
“You’re getting your dress in Chinatown?” I needed to clarify. Surely she wasn’t going to pull something off a hook outside a street vendor’s display. Street chic was one thing, but you didn’t take it literally. “Do you know a designer there or something?”
“No, but my aunt does.”
“You have family here?” Carly looked almost envious. “I wish I did. Everyone I love is either in San Jose, Texas, or Mexico.”
“My dad’s sister lives on the Peninsula with her husband, my two cousins whom I haven’t seen since they were eight, and her mother-in-law. My dad told them I was going to school here, and we’ve been talking over e-mail. She knows this great designer called Tori Wu and she’s driving up to take us to her shop. We’re supposed to meet her at three.”
Since it was eleven fifteen now, that didn’t leave much time to find a dress that would take Callum’s—and everyone else’s—breath away on the big night. But Rome wasn’t built in a day, now, was it? This was just a fact-finding mission. I still had time.
“Why are we going to department stores, anyway?” Carly asked, a little diffidently. “We’ll only wind up with clothes that everybody else has. We should go to the garment district.”
“Which is where?” I’d been to the garment districts in L.A. and New York, and Carly had a point. Who wanted to turn up in a Chloe chiffon one-shoulder that two other girls had? Scooping everyone with a hot, as-yet-undiscovered designer could be fun. Especially since the samples on the racks were one-of-a-kind.
“Third and Brannan.”
“And you know this because . . . ?”
“My sister went to the School of the Arts here. She took me one time when I came up for the weekend.”
“I never knew you had a sister,” Gillian said.
Carly shrugged. “She’s a lot older than me. She’s in Austin now, doing sound production for a recording studio.”
Cool. The things we find out about people when we hang out with them.
The garment district in San Francisco looks like any off-downtown industrial neighborhood, with little studios tucked into upstairs lofts, and street-level shop fronts in between dry cleaners and parking garages. I had to hand it to Carly, though—she really had a nose. Like my mom in a Hungarian village, Carly could look at an inconspicuous doorway with a hand-lettered sign directing fabric deliveries around to the back, and somehow decide that we should drop into this or that one as opposed to some other one.
And when I saw her in the curtained-off space that passed for a dressing room, in a pale pink silk corset with a floating, transparent overskirt trimmed with miniature razor ruffles, I converted completely.
“Wow,” Gillian breathed. “That’s The One.”
“It would look fatal on me. But you’ve got the body to carry it, Carly,” I agreed.
Twisting to see the back, Carly made a face at us in the mirror. “Thanks a lot. The corset is squishing everything out the bottom. Don’t you think it makes my butt look huge?”
“It does not. It looks sexy. And your waist looks microscopic.”
“How much is it?” she whispered.
“Only seven hundred for both pieces,” Gillian whispered back.
Carly’s shoulders drooped, and she considered her reflection. “Maybe if I just get the corset, I can put a skirt I already have with it.”
“Don’t you dare,” I said before she talked herself into it. “The contrast between the corset and the skirt totally makes the whole outfit. It’ll make a fabu entrance.”
“It’ll make Brett sit up and beg,” Gillian put in slyly.
“Tell you what.” She was weakening, I could see it, so I moved in for the clincher. “I’ll buy the skirt and you can pay me back. Or not. I don’t care about that. I just care about you looking beautiful at the ball.”
She blinked rapidly, and her eyes got that glassy look mine do when I’m trying not to cry. “I can’t do that, Lissa.”
“Of course you can. Come on. Let me unlace you. We only have two hours left and I haven’t found anything yet.”
Designer corset: three hundred fifty dollars.
Micropleated chiffon skirt: four hundred dollars.
Making a friend so happy she cries: priceless.
We went on up the street, and even though she’d found what she needed, Carly’s nose didn’t take the rest of the day off. At the top of a third-floor walkup over a body shop, one of those weird coincidences happened that really makes you wonder.
The designer was a Hungarian girl named Maja Fortescu, who wasn’t much older than my sister, and with my mom’s nose for food still in my head, we got to talking while we looked over the rack. It turned out her older brother had got a bit part in the film Dad had shot in Budapest, and suddenly the designer was treating us like family.
She had someone brew us a pot of strong herbal tea, and went into the back. When she came back, my jaw dropped at the beauty between her hands.
“This dress brand new for winter.” She shook it out and Gillian drew in a breath. “You try on.”
I couldn’t get stripped down fast enough, despite the fact that the place was so small, there was no dressing room at all, just a mirror and some good lights.
Maja dropped it over my head, made some adjustments to the underpinnings, and when I faced the mirror again, I had turned into a princess. Or at the very least, a member of visiting nobility. A silver chain helped to hold it up, halter-style. A straight column of fragile white silk, beaded in silver so that it rippled and glinted like water, fell from the top of the bodice. Underneath, I could feel hidden bones snugged against my ribs, but to anyone looking on, it would just seem to be floating on my skin.
“Wow, Lissa,” Carly said. “You look like something out of a dream.”
Maja grabbed a bunch of my hair and pulled it straight back. “You wear hair like this, sixties-style. Silver or diamond clip, or silver band. You have such?”
“My mom does.” She could overnight my grandmother’s Art Deco diamond clip to me. “I’ll take it.”
While Carly’s outfit wouldn’t make Mom flinch, the bill on this one would. But it was all for a good cause. If I was going to be among the committee members leading off the ball in front of Angelina, the trustees, and the media, then it was going to be in this dress.
“I’ll make sure all the papers know the designer,” I told Maja as I signed the credit slip. “Can I have your card? I bet my mom and her friends would be interested, too.”
I was just full of good deeds today. Spreading the joy. After talking to Kaz, I could use a little joy, right? This field trip had been exactly what I needed. And it wasn’t over yet.
We grabbed a burger at Lori’s off Union Square and then headed into Chinatown to meet Gillian’s aunt. Gillian checked her iPhone as we dodged the crowds on the sidewalk, weaving around displays of fans and silk pajamas and lace collars and T-shirts that said “I ♥ San Francisco.” Grocery stores displayed their wares right on the sidewalk, with mountains of apples and kiwi fruit and baskets of dried things that I think were mushrooms. Tiers of chrysanthemums announced that there was a florist somewhere behind them, and old women presided over carts, cooking snacks that smelled heavenly.
“Did you grow up in a place like this?” I asked Gillian, charmed.
“Me? No.” She looked a little surprised, then ducked to avoid a porcelain doll swinging from the corner of a stall. “We live in an apartment on the Upper East Side.”
Oh. Rapid adjustment of preconceived notions.
“My aunt said to meet her at this corner.” She looked from the map on her iPhone to the street sign. “I guess we’re early.”
The words were no sooner out of her mouth than a woman waiting at the light waved. �
��Gillian!” She looked both ways and dashed across, ignoring both the red light and the fact that she wore four-inch Jimmy Choos. Ooh. From the fall collection, too.
“Sweetie!” She swept Gillian into a hug. “Zao! I’m so happy to see you. Wow, you’re as tall as me now. And so pretty. I bet your dad sleeps across the threshold with a rifle, huh?”
Gillian laughed and tried to stem the flow. “Aunt Isabel, these are my friends, Lissa Mansfield and Carly Aragon. My aunt, Isabel Chang-Zhuo.”
Each of us got a hug flavored with some exotic perfume I’d never smelled before, but that seemed to lie on Isabel like really expensive lingerie.
“Well, you guys are a bonus,” she said, beaming. Then she saw our bags. “You’ve found dresses already?”
I nodded. “Carly took us to the garment district and we totally cleaned up.”
“Now it’s Gillian’s turn.” She tucked Gillian’s hand into the crook of her arm. “Come and meet my friend Tori.”
Tori Wu’s studio was the top floor of a warehouse a block over, with a dry cleaner and three souvenir shops on the bottom floor. The designer herself was tiny, shorter than Gillian’s five-two, but her talent was huge. I could see that as soon as we stepped into the airy space. She already had a couple of models on hand, as if we were getting a private showing.
Maybe it was for Isabel’s benefit, maybe not. As I’ve said, I’m no artist, but I sure know how to appreciate genius in other people. And Tori Wu had it. Another name I’d recommend to my mom the moment I saw her.
The two women embraced, and Isabel introduced us. Another pot of tea appeared on a low table, accompanied by tiny, translucent china cups. We got comfortable and the models got to work.
There were only six dresses, but if I’d been Gillian, I’d never have been able to make up my mind.
“This is impossible,” she moaned to us. “I want them all. Look at that lime green with the black beading. Doesn’t that knock you out?”
Isabel leaned over. “Who do you want to be at this event, Gillian? Asian Goth? The ingénue? Sixties starlet? Go with a look and Tori can work with you to get the right fabric.”
Gillian looked from me to Carly. “Well, these guys are doing the soft floaty look, so I should do something different. I really like that green and black, and the way everything flows out from the beading at the side of the waist. I even like the raggy edges.”
“Asian Goth it is.” She nodded at the model, who strolled over so we could get a closer look. “See? This is what holds it up.” The model turned so Isabel could unzip the back and show us. “This is Tori’s trademark. Construction becomes illusion.”
“Short skirt or long?” Tori asked.
“Long,” we all said together.
“I’ll take your measurements, and you can try it on.”
The model was taller than Gillian, and had fewer curves, but even so, the dress made us all sigh as Gillian pirouetted in front of the mirror.
“I’d go with a lighter green,” Isabel said. “She’s only sixteen, after all.”
Tori nodded. “And we’ll take off the sleeves. You have pretty shoulders. If I move this cap here”—she demonstrated with the shoulder seam—“it will show them off.”
“No décolletage,” Isabel said firmly. “She doesn’t advertise what she’s got.”
“Of course. When is your event?”
“The eleventh,” I said. A week away, and I still hadn’t heard from Angelina. Gulp.
“I will have it ready by the tenth, and delivered.”
“Thank you so much.” Gillian tried not to crush the skirt as she hugged the designer, but Tori didn’t seem to notice. She hugged her back as though Gillian were her daughter.
“That dress was meant for you,” Tori said. “It makes me happy that you like it.”
“Like it? I’m totally in love,” Gillian gushed in a way I’d never seen. She was not the gushy type, but hey, sometimes good clothes will do that to you. Or maybe it’s what the clothes represent—a beautiful face that you turn to the world, hoping someone will fall in love with you in return.
Or, I thought as we said good-bye, maybe I was just projecting.
LMansfieldMom, can you send me Grandma’s diamond clip for the 10/11 dance? I found the perfect dress.
Patricia_SutterOf course. Can’t wait to see it.
LMansfieldAny word from A?
Patricia_Sutter!! So sorry, Lissa. It’s been insane. She said yes.
LMansfieldWoooooohooooooo!
Patricia_SutterOne hour. We fly her in, she opens, dances, leaves. Okay?
LMansfieldPerfect. Major donation coming. Ten percent of the take.
Patricia_SutterShe has another engagement in L.A. that same evening so it will be tight, but doable.
Patricia_SutterAnd no B. Just A.
LMansfieldI’ll take her any way I can. I owe you. Thanks so much!
Patricia_SutterHeard from your dad?
LMansfieldNot in a couple of days. Why?
Patricia_SutterNo reason. I’ll be home Wed night. Love you.
LMansfieldLove you 3X.
LMansfieldWe got her! Angelina confirmed.
VTalbotCoooool! Props to you!
VTalbotThought any more about what we talked about?
LMansfieldYes. Been kinda busy dress shopping tho.
VTalbotOoh fun. Find anything?
LMansfieldYes.
VTalbotJust yes?
LMansfieldIt’s hard to show fireworks and ecstasy on IM.
VTalbot:) Committee meeting Tuesday. Let’s talk after.
LMansfieldAny chance we can move to Monday? I have a commitment Tuesday.
VTalbotHm. Okay. Guess we shouldn’t keep the good A. news to ourselves. Monday same time, same place.
LMansfieldDeal.
Chapter 21
SUNDAY MORNING I planned to go to church with Gillian, so I was already up at eight thirty when the phone rang.
“Hey,” Callum said, and at the sound of his voice, my insides melted.
“Hey. You’re up early,” I said in my best morning-after voice, even though we hadn’t had a night before. Isabel had taken us to dinner after the shopping trip, and even though Callum had left a message on my iPhone, it was late when she dropped us off and I hadn’t talked to him until now.
“I have a nine-thirty tee time with the old man. Want to come?”
An opportunity to meet his dad, balanced against the sheer boredom of being the audience to a golf game. So not fair. But it was kind of moot.
“I’m going to church with Gillian.”
“Oh, right,” he said easily. “What about after? Want to go to the beach?”
Did I! That took no balancing of pros and cons at all. “I’d love to. We’ll be back by noon. Come and find me in the dining room, okay?”
“Will do. Wear a bikini.”
He was laughing as he hung up, so I had no idea if he was serious or not. Probably not. The skies outside our window were clear and sunny, but the coolness in the air told me there was probably fog on the ocean side of the mountains, dropping the temp into the high fifties and making a bikini not just dumb, but possibly life-threatening.
I may stink at genetics and trig, but when it comes to beach weather, I know my stuff.
While Gillian showered, I signed onto e-mail to see if Kaz had replied to the apology I’d sent last night.
To:[email protected]
From:[email protected]
Date:October 5, 2008
Re:Re: I’m sorry
You don’t have to apologize, L. I was out of line talking to you like that. I’m upset, I guess. The guy has to be a lowlife to put you in a position like this. Making you question your decisions, I mean. Or yourself.
Okay, not coherent. Just sincere.
Or jealous.
Incoherent. Need coffee before church.
Love, Kaz
I stared at the screen. Jealous? Had he even proofed this before he
’d sent it? In a pre-caffeine haze a guy could say anything and regret it later.
But it explained a lot.
Uh-oh.
Gillian emerged from the bathroom and I closed my e-mail. I was going to have to figure out how to handle this.
Thank goodness for church. Gillian had asked around and found one just one train stop from school, for those occasions when both my parents were out of town, and as we sang “Blessed Be Your Name,” my problems just seemed to fall away. Or maybe they got reprioritized, I don’t know. But as I listened to the pastor talk about the fruit of the Spirit, I realized that Kaz honestly cared about me, and instead of being something to “handle,” I should just be glad I had him in my life. I might not like it when he told me the truth, but I needed to be grateful he did. Kaz saw me as I was and cared about me anyway.
After all, the first fruit of the Spirit is love, right?
AS WE’D AGREED, Callum came to find me in the dining room. Let me tell you, there was more than one envious pair of eyes on us as we walked out of there together, off to do something fun. I’ll be honest and say it made me feel good, but what made me feel even better was the way Callum held my hand on the curvy drive over to the beach, only taking it away to shift gears. Sometimes he just took my hand with him, pressing my palm into the ball of the gear shift as he went from third to fourth on the straight stretches.
When we reached San Gregorio, I got out of the car and breathed in my favorite scent—kelp and wet rocks and spume from off the waves. The air was misty with it, and with fog. I’d been right about the weather, and my Aran cable-knit felt cozy and warm, especially since I’d layered under it with a T-shirt and my embroidered Roxy hoodie.
And—just in case—a bikini.
“Have you ever surfed?” I asked Callum as we followed the meandering carved track of a seasonal stream toward the water line.
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