by Solly, Clare
“Why, hello Murray. You meddler!” Dottie’s voice answered sugary, then icy cold through the phone.
“Dottie, howareya?” Murray replied as if she only weren’t throwing disdain at him.
“Murray!! I just can’t believe you!”
He started to chuckle to himself. “That is what my wife says all of the time. What did I do this time? Or what didn’t I do?”
“Murray, you know why I’m calling,” Dottie tried to finagle a confession.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said shutting up.
Dottie had a feeling he knew exactly what she was talking about, but she also needed a favor. “Mmmhmm. Alright,” she gave up and changed her directive. “Murray, so I need to call in that favor from you and Frank.
“I hope it’s not putting lights up on that museum roof. You don’t think you can beat me or Frank in decorating, now do you?” he joked with her.
Dottie laughed, “No. It’s not lights for the roof. I need a bookcase or five.” As she explained her plan and her vision, Dottie heard Murray scribble some notes. Pencil on paper makes a very distinct sound, it was one of her favorites. “So, do you think it’s possible?” She asked at the end of her explanation.
“I think so,” she could now hear the thoughts churning in his head, even though the phone. “As a matter of fact, I think we just got some premade book shelving in that we could snap together. It was for J—another customer, but I’m sure they won’t mind if it’s for a good cause. We will just say these came in damaged or something, and assemble them in the museum, and order him another set.”
“Amazing. You know where the spare key for the museum is, don’t you?” She said trying to see if she could catch him off guard and get a confession.
“Yup. I’ll see if I can get these over to you today or first thing tomorrow,” Murray said into the phone. Then to someone in the store he replied, “It’s Dottie. She, uh… is looking for bookshelves. I was thinking we could use the ones for …” she could tell he put his hand over the speaker, because the voice got muffled. “...has a clue but doesn’t know yet.” Murray said as he removed his hand.
“Who doesn’t know yet?” Dottie asked, pretty sure he was talking about her.
“Uh… Mrs. Barnes. She doesn’t know yet if she’s having a boy or a girl,” Murray said.
“I didn’t even know she was pregnant again,” Dottie said distracted.
“Shoot, I wasn’t supposed to say anything—” Murray said with a drop of worry.
“Don’t worry, Murray,” Dottie said soothingly. “Everyone knows that the hardware store is better than the beauty parlor for getting gossip. Plus, everyone knows that you can’t keep a secret. I’m sure she told you on purpose to let everyone know. It’s just like her!” A text message came in and took Dottie’s attention. It was Hetty replying about coming over and helping set up the beauty queen exhibit. “Hey, Murray, I’ve gotta get going. Keep me posted about those shelves!” Dottie shouted into the phone distractedly as she texted Hetty back.
“No problem, gal.” Murray said. “Oh, and you really should start locking your apartment door. Anyone could walk in and take things. Like, I don’t know, Christmas ornaments. Goodbye,” and he hung up before Dottie could ask anything else.
* * *
A few hours later Hetty and her husband Don caravanned to the museum with Frank. Don and Frank carried the bookshelf parts upstairs and started to assemble. Dottie and Hetty carried the dress forms and the garment bags of dresses upstairs in several trips. They laid the garment bags out on the floor in a sort of “V” formation in front of the rounded window.
“I’m so glad the roof damage was just in the corner and we can mask it with curtains and use the room still,” Hetty smiled.
“Me too. It’s really perfect for this,” she smiled back at her friend. “What should we start with first,” Dottie asked, ready to get to work.
“I’ve got a couple of hat boxes in the back seat on the floor. Those are the crowns,” Hetty said. “You go get them and I’ll start getting these dresses out and putting them on the forms,” Hetty instructed.
“Will do,” she said walking out of the Baker Room. Passing The Logan Room where Don and Frank were working, she heard a bit of a squabble, she popped her head in.
“Hey, guys! How’s it going over here?” Dottie asked.
Frank cleared his throat. His hands were on his hips and he had his back to the door.
Don looked over at her. “Fine, fine, Dottie. We were just—” Don said.
Quickly, Frank turned at the waist to face her. “We were just talking about where we thought the bookcases would go,” Frank spoke with intention toward Don and seeming to cover up what he was really going to say. Don also conveyed this by suddenly finding the carpet in the room extremely interesting.
“Oh?” Dottie said, “I thought that would be pretty clear from the drawings I left, and how I’ve lined the walls with the photos over there,” she said to Frank knowing he was up to something, but she just couldn’t put her finger on what. “They go over here,” Dottie said, pointing to the blank wall to her left.
“Great,” Don said as he leapt to one of the boxes and started pulling out the pieces. “We’ll get started. You… you don’t have to worry about a thing.” he said overly chipper.
Frank just shrugged, and then started to instruct Don on how to build the shelves. “Frank, you don’t want to read the directions?” Don asked.
“Listen, boy, I’ve built more shelves in my lifetime—” whatever Frank said next, Dottie didn’t hear because she was halfway down the stairs to go get the crowns. The tree in the ballroom winked at her on her way out and back in from Hetty’s car. She paused to look at it briefly both times. It made her so happy.
By the time she got back upstairs, Hetty had dressed three of the five dressmaker dummies with her stunning gowns. She was struggling to put the fourth on because it had such a full skirt, and she was drowning in it. Dottie set the cases on the ground and dashed over to Hetty, “How can I help?” Dottie asked.
“Oh good, you’re back,” Hetty said. “Here,” she said grunting and handing over a lot of tulle and beading, Take this. The bottom of the zipper is there,” she said pointing as she drew Dottie under the dress she held up like a tent. “If you can make sure that gets over the head and is centered on the back. This one is a bit tight. Had to lose a lot of weight for that one—there!” she exclaimed as they got the dress over the model. Hetty stood back and Dottie came around to look at it.
Sighing, Hetty continued. “I call this one ‘Love letter to all the pizza I missed’ because of the heart shaped neck. To fit in it, I didn’t eat carbs for months,” Hetty looked at Dottie, “And you know there are two things I can’t keep my hands off of: pizza and my husband,” she shouted the last part.
“Love you too, honey,” drifted from the Logan Room.
Both ladies smiled.
“Hetty, they’re all gorgeous,” Dottie said.
“Yeah, and they’ve just been sitting in bags in my closet. The crowns I can display all over the diner, but the dresses are a fire hazard,” Hetty replied. “Here,” she said unzipping the last garment bag, “Let’s get this last one on the form, and then we call for pizza.”
“Which one is your favorite,” Dottie asked.
“Dress or pizza?” Hetty joked. “No, but really. I couldn’t say, they’re all so beautiful,” Hetty replied distantly.
“Fair, but which one do you like the most?” Dottie tried a different direction.
“The most?” Hetty repeated.
“Yeah,” Dottie chuckled. “You’ve got to have a favorite.”
“Well, I mean…”
“Hetty,” Dottie said looking at her friend’s face, and seeing that it now resonated with angst. “Are you alright?”
“Kinda—I…” Hetty drifted off. “Well, asking me to pick a favorite dress, it’s like asking me to choose a favorite memory.”
/> “Favorite memory?” Dottie queried. “I don’t think I understand.” Her friend was always quick to disclose the work she had to do to fit into each outfit for every pageant. She would talk about moments from the pageants from time to time. But Dottie had not heard Hetty get this emotional over the dresses before. Usually she told the stories of the pageant and talked about the funny moments or the flubs.
“I can see how all of your pageants weren’t always great memories, especially the ones you didn’t win,” Dottie tried to ease her friend’s anguish. “But with all of these dresses, I can only imagine how great of a success you were. And the whole town knows that you did such great things using prize money. Like gaining scholarships for yourself and using some of your earnings to upgrade the children's center with new playground equipment and computers.”
“Yeah, well ‘Molding the Future for Our Children’ was my most successful platform,” Hetty said as she took the last gown out of its bag. It was a beautiful sapphire gown. Form fitting and beads only up around the bodice, with flowing silk chiffon as a frothy overlay for the skirt. Effortlessly Hetty took it out of the bag and as if she were a magician showing a trick with sleight of hand, tossed it onto the model and had the dress in place in seconds. She smiled but then sighed again. “Each of these dresses represents a sacrifice that lead to a memory. In fact, two of these were dresses I didn’t win in.”
Dottie said nothing. Hetty walked through the garments readjusting a strap or shifting a bead that seemed to be in the wrong place.
“You say there is history in everything,” Hetty said quoting Dottie, “Well the truth is that not all history is pretty. Even if it glitters and sparkles,” Hetty smirked, standing by a form. “Pageants are gritty and hard work. There are invisible and unspoken rules that we all adhere to. Some are good, and some… aren’t.”
“You’ve mentioned some of this before, but I’ve always wondered…” Dottie drifted off caught in Hetty’s musing.
“I was never unhealthy; I just want you to know that. I didn’t do… that,” she said directly. “But sometimes you lose a toenail and have to get one glued on. Or a strap breaks and you have to give an interview to someone who just looks down their nose at pageants. Or someone you think is your best friend just turns their back on you so she can win.”
“Hetty, I would never—wait, what?” Dottie said walking over to her friend who was now looking out the windows. “You had a best friend on the circuit? Why didn’t you ever tell me?”
“I… I just didn’t want you to think… I mean you and Joe… and then Harold—”
“Hetty, you can have other friends. And I didn’t ever mean to discard you or make you feel second to anyone. Especially not for Harold or Joe,” she put her arm around her friend’s shoulder.
Laying her head on Dottie’s shorter shoulder, Hetty explained, “It’s hard to explain the pageant world to anyone not in pageants. Sure, I can tell you stories, and everyone wants to hear the highs and the lows. But there are only so many times I can tell a story that starts with, ‘because I needed to tape my boobs together’ or ‘my shoes were too small, so I had to…’ ya know?” Sighing she continued as she drifted away down a river of memories. “And Jayden was always so seemingly helpful. She’s the one that suggested the pizza dress,” Hetty pointed at the red dress Dottie helped her put on the form. “I always said the night I won a national title. I would eat an entire large pizza by myself to celebrate. That dress was to win me the crown.” She sighed and petted the sleeve. “But Jayden kept me just close enough to get me trusting enough. That pageant,” she said pointing at the red dress again, “I was determined I would win so I lost as much weight as I could. And to add insult to injury, I tried waxing for the first time.” Hetty made a painful face.
“Oh Hetty, no! How old were you? Does your mom know?” Dottie asked.
“She does now, but I didn’t tell her at the time,” Hetty smacked her free hand to her face. “I was allergic to something in the wax and had welts all over my legs from it. I tried to cover them up with two pair of tights, but it was just bad. I stammered in my interview because the tights were chafing, and my legs burned. Obviously, I didn’t win that one.”
Dottie started to laugh. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t laugh. It's just so—”
“Funny?”
“Yeah, but in a sad way. And I get that it’s better to have someone with similar experiences or a similar past to share things like that with. I’m just sorry you had another woman you trusted treat you so terribly.” Dottie felt remorseful.
“So that dress, needless to say, is not a favorite, but it's full of reminders of what I went through, and although it seems like it should be my least favorite, I think I love it most. It reminds me of the competitor I could be.”
Smiling, Dottie felt prouder of her friend in this moment then when she knew she had won her first crown. “After that, losing a friend, my heard just wasn’t so in love with the crown anymore. I still competed, but it wasn’t as fun,” she looked poignant for a moment more, then a Cheshire smile broke out on her face. “And I wanted pizza back in my life.” They both laughed.
Hetty sat up and wiped the dripping tears and mascara from under her eyes with her pointer fingers, then wiped them on her jeans. She blew a big breath out of her mouth as to blow away the frustration she was feeling. “Now, enough of the tears, let’s get out the sparkles.” She walked over and picked up a case, handing one to Dottie, who followed behind her.
“Speaking of sparkles,” Hetty said with an agenda, as she opened the case and started taking the crowns out of their velvet traveling bags, “Tell me about the tree downstairs.”
“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that!” Dottie exclaimed louder than she meant to. “The thing just appeared.”
“What do you mean, ‘just appeared.’ And why didn’t you text me about it sooner?!?” Hetty raised an eyebrow.
“Well,” Dottie shrugged, “I meant to, I just went to the high school and then had the ideas about the exhibit and just started running with it. I got so absorbed—oh Hetty! The Logan Room is going to look amazing!” Then she veered from the subject, her brow drawn up in confusion, “I don’t even know when the tree got here, because I was out most of the day.”
“So, the tree just appeared?” questioned Hetty.
“Yup, and its someone who knows me, and I’m pretty sure who it is,” she squinted as if she had deduced everything.
“Who?” Hetty excitedly asked.
“Well, I’m pretty sure,” Dottie conspiratorially leaned in and lowered her voice to a whisper, “that our two favorite curmudgeons did it.”
“And why would it be them?”
“I called the store earlier today. Murray answered and I was trying to pull it out of him. He wouldn’t admit to it, but just before I hung up, he told me I needed to start locking my apartment door,” Hetty looked blankly at Dottie so she continued, “The tree has all of my ornaments from home. So, I think that Frank and Murray, feeling sorry for me and the way the museum is going, got a tree, snuck into my apartment and decorated for me.”
“You don’t think it’s a romantic gesture by Harold,” Hetty teased dripping with sarcasm.
“Ha. Nope. He thinks a romantic gesture is selling my cookies to a conglomerate. Oh! That’s another thing I have to tell you about!” Dottie remembered.
“Ok, wait. So you think that those two took time away from bickering at the hardware store, to sneak into your apartment, to take down the train set you put up in the last couple of days and grab your Christmas decorations, and know how to set it up exactly as you like it, with the angel ornament in the front and the store shops lined up in alphabetical order?” Hetty questioned knowingly and paused. “And what is this about selling your cookies???”
Distracted and guilty for not sharing sooner, Dottie shrugged, “Well, Harold said he had a plan to solve the museum’s problems. He said that if I sold my cookie recipe to one of his new company’s cl
ients then it would be enough money to help fix the roof and keep the museum running. But then he said we would move to New York to work on the cookie deal, so I just don’t know who would take over for me, maybe—” Dottie floundered.
“And you’re moving?” Hetty turned to face Dottie head on, “Girl, you really need to loop me in faster. Hello? Best friend,” Hetty waved her hand as she tilted her face in frustration.
Dottie sighed. “Yeah, well. Like I said, I was more focused on getting the museum exhibits going and I really haven’t had time. Plus, you’ve been pushing Joe at me—”
“It’s ok, Dottie,” Hetty waved her away.
“Don’t be upset at me. Please Hetty,” Dottie pleaded, changing her tune as she realized she wasn’t really mad at Hetty. “I am so overwhelmed. You know I am and I—” Dottie stopped when something clicked in her head. Something that Hetty said about the train set. “Wait, how did you know I had the train set up? Did you—?”
Just then Don walked in, “Looks nice in here, ladies! Shelves are all built next door. We took the trash out, too.” He looked at Hetty, “Oh and you and Joe did a really nice job with that tree in the ballroom, Hetty.”
Dottie turned to her friend and stared in disbelief. “You? And… Joe?”
Chapter Twenty
Heat rose up through her veins. Later, Dottie would realize in this moment she was totally irrational, but right now she was mad. She was more than mad she was vehemently angry. A raging bull was “happy” compared to the angst and irritation inside of Dottie. She started to walk toward the door.
“Dottie, where are you going?” Hetty called after her. This was the second time in a week that she felt betrayed by her best friend. It was a very odd feeling and she didn’t like it. But she would deal with Hetty later.
Walking to the front door, she grabbed for her coat from the hall tree. She heard steps coming down the stairs and she didn’t care. Suddenly, the front door opened, and Harold came through it. Wild with excitement, he threw his arms around Dottie in a giant hug. “We did it!” Harold exclaimed.