Shelby turned and gave the woman, who was now positively frowning, a little wave. “Yep, that’s my mama. Sharene Rosalee Jenkins. Wanna meet her?”
“Maybe another time. When’s your next day off?” Camellia thought it best to wrap up the conversation. She didn’t want to be the reason Shelby was neglecting the other customers. A good agent knew better than to get on the bad side of a model’s mom.
“Thursday,” Shelby sputtered.
The day before Valentine’s Day, Camellia thought. “Be at my house at ten,” she said, writing her address down on a slip of paper she pulled from her handbag. “We’ll begin model training then.”
Camellia left the diner, careful to nod pleasantly at Shelby’s mother, and turned right, heading four doors down to Lisa’s Designs, one of the two women’s boutiques in town. The opportunity she had found in Shelby had cheered Camellia enough to attempt shopping in an unknown store with a window of outdated clothing.
“Welcome to Lisa’s Designs. I’m Lisa! How can I help you today?”
Camellia eyed the owner, who was sporting a close-cropped cut and wire-rimmed glasses. Her clothing paralleled the items in the window: beige pleated pants, an off-white blouse, and an embroidered vest depicting playful cats. “I’m...just looking.” Camellia was regretting entering the shop but didn’t want to be rude and bolt.
“That’s just fine,” Lisa said, not appearing to pick up on Camellia’s hesitation. “Have a look around, and don’t miss our Panty Bonanza next to the register. All the undies you can fit into a Ziploc for only $9.99.”
“Uh, thanks,” Camellia said, stifling a laugh. “I’ll keep that in mind.” She wandered around, trying not to touch the racks of acrylic sweaters and polyester-blend pants. In the back corner of the store, she found was she was looking for. Sort of. The available lingerie wasn’t quite what she had in mind to surprise Henry for Valentine’s Day. The bras were heavy duty, with wide straps and four rows of hooks. Nightgowns were full length and made of flannel. Apparently all the underwear were participating in the Panty Bonanza, as there was no selection with the rest of the unmentionables. However there were numerous half-slips, all plain and either in white or cream.
Feeling particularly mischievous, Camellia pulled a few items from the rack, and then stopped at the Panty Bonanza – which was complete with a blue flashing police light – cramming four pairs of briefs into a sandwich bag before placing her finds on the counter.
“Ooh, this looks like a successful shopping trip!” Lisa exclaimed.
“It certainly was,” Camellia said, rolling her eyes as Lisa bent down for a shopping bag.
Lisa rang up Camellia’s items and packed them in a bright pink bag. She walked the bag around the counter and handed it to Camellia, just like a salesperson at a high-end boutique would, which caught Camellia’s attention. “Have you ever worked for Neiman Marcus or Bergdorf Goodman?” she asked.
“Nordstrom actually, just outside Detroit,” Lisa answered, her face puzzled.
“I could tell you were trained properly,” Camellia said, holding up the bag as explanation. “How did you get here?”
“My husband took the early retirement option from GM, and with the kids grown and living all over the country, we decided to sell the house and move to Paradise.”
“And your car broke down in Markleeville so you stayed?” Camellia blushed at her remark. “I’m sorry. We relocated here in January and I’m having some trouble acclimating.”
“Ah, no worries, honey. Markleeville certainly isn’t everyone’s cup of tea. You’ve got to love small-town living, because this is one small town. Where did you move from?”
“New York.”
“Oh, well, then you certainly are experiencing some culture shock, aren’t you?”
Camellia nodded, fighting back tears. “I didn’t pay attention to exactly where in Michigan we were going. I had some...things happening at the time.” She sniffed, her lower lip starting to quiver. Lisa pulled a tissue from behind the counter and handed it to her. “Thanks,” Camellia said, her attempt at a smile looking more like a pout. “I went online and found amazing shopping and dining in Michigan: Gucci and Louis Vuitton and beautiful wine bars. What I didn’t find was this.”
“Oh yes, I know the area that you’re speaking of. Unfortunately, it’s a good three hours from Markleeville.” Lisa’s smile was warm and filled with understanding. “What’s your name, honey?”
“Camellia.”
“Camellia, you know the first step in getting to like a new place?” Camellia shook her head in response. “Finding a new friend. How about you come by my house for lunch next week?”
Lisa’s attention was briefly torn away from Camellia to wave enthusiastically at a bundled-up woman scurrying past, her nose and a slice of cheek peeking out from a bulky hood trimmed in fake fur. “That was Tina, my scrapbooking partner,” she explained.
The thought of an afternoon filled with crafting conversation and peanut butter sandwiches snapped Camellia from her vulnerable state. “It’s getting late,” she said, backing away from Lisa. “It was lovely to meet you. I’m consumed with a large project at the moment, but perhaps after.”
“Sure,” Lisa replied, her dark eyes knowing. “Perhaps after.”
FIFTEEN
Shelby was prompt, an excellent quality for a model in training. Camellia greeted her wearing wide-legged trousers and a creamy cashmere sweater, her growing hair pulled into a messy chignon. She was embarrassed, to say the least, to have Shelby see where she lived, but she and Henry had agreed to wait until spring before they started looking for their own home – both understandably concerned about what might be hidden under several inches of snow.
“Your house is adorable!” Shelby exclaimed, looking around. “No way! We have the same couch!”
“Imagine that,” Camellia said, taking Shelby’s puffy parka and hanging it on the coat rack. “It’s a rental. None of the furniture is ours, actually.”
“Bummer,” Shelby said. She looked unsure of herself, standing in the middle of the living room, her hands intertwined as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “So, what do we do first?” she asked, cocking her head to the side.
“Let’s start with posture.” Camellia stood in front of the girl. “Stand up straight.” The young girl did as Camellia commanded, earning her a frown. “A model needs to stand with confidence,” she explained, pushing Shelby’s shoulders back and down, and lifting her chin. “You want to look strong, fierce, and in charge.”
Shelby nodded yet looked wary. “It doesn’t feel very natural.”
“With practice, it will become second nature.” Camellia floated gracefully into the kitchen and turned to face Shelby. “Now walk to me.”
Shelby took a deep breath and shuffled over, stopping just before stepping on Camellia’s toes. “How was that?”
“All wrong. Go back and watch me.” Shelby groaned. “Just watch,” Camellia said with authority, sending Shelby scurrying into the living room. Camellia stood tall; her head up and shoulders back. She took a light breath then burst forward, one leg quietly stomping in front of the other, her line perfectly straight. Upon reaching Shelby, she stopped, planting her left foot widely and leaning slightly from the waist in the direction of her planted foot, just long enough before pivoting on her right foot and marching back to the kitchen, her arms just barely swinging at her sides.
Shelby burst into applause. “Amazing!” she cried.
“Now you,” Camellia said, switching in a nanosecond from model back to model agent.
Shelby puffed out her bottom lip. “Camellia, I don’t know if I can do this.”
“Nonsense. You’re already two-thirds of the way to being a model. You have the look. You have the grace. Hell, you even dress like an off-duty model. Where do you shop, anyway?”
The pout was replaced with a wide grin. “Walmart!” she announced, sashaying about in her zipper-covered shirt, dark gray denim, and croppe
d motorcycle boots.
Camellia closed her eyes and pressed her fingers to the bridge of her nose, trying to ward off the sudden throbbing she felt in her head. “Anywhere else?” she asked hopefully.
“Nah, they pretty much have everything there.” Shelby dumped her long body onto the couch, sinking in. “Where do you shop?”
“Lately? Nowhere.”
“I’ll bet your closet is so amazing, you don’t need anything. Not a thing.”
Camellia perched on the arm of the big blue chair. “Needing and wanting are two different things entirely.”
Shelby leaned forward, her face bright. “Will you show me?”
“Show you?”
“Your closest. I won’t take anything. I swear.”
Camellia laughed softly. “Of course. But I warn you, it doesn’t show very well. Closet space in this place is very limited. Two-thirds of my things are in storage and the rest is jammed into one rather unsatisfactory reach-in closet. It’s a struggle to find anything.” She led Shelby up the stairway, into the bedroom, throwing open creaky bi-fold doors. “Have at it,” she said.
Shelby gasped. “Oh Camellia, I could cry!” she gushed, taking in the closet’s contents, from the line of handbags on the top shelf to the three neat rows of shoes consuming every inch of the floor.
Camellia winced at the state of her wrinkled clothing hanging on top of one another. “Yep. Me too.”
“May I?” Shelby asked, her eyes filled with anticipation.
Camellia nodded, and Shelby began pulling out dresses, blouses, skirts, and trousers. Every item she took into her hands was met with a mix of whimpering and delight. “So beautiful!” she cried, pulling out a structured Prada dress and carefully hugging it, only to be distracted by turquoise snakeskin sandals at her feet. “No way – Fendi platforms!” Shelby bent down to get a better look, caressing the shoes as if stroking the fur of a cat. “Oh! Is that Valentino?” she asked, forgetting the shoes and reaching up for a red leather tote with an enormous matching leather flower that was tucked into a corner of the closet. She slid the handles onto her shoulder and stood to better admire the bag in a propped up full-length mirror set to the left of the closet. “It’s just the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen!” she exclaimed, turning in a circle to catch the bag at every angle.
It was fun for Camellia to observe Shelby’s fresh look at pieces she’d worn or carried dozens of times without putting much thought into them. Being constantly cloaked in designer goods had long been second nature. The clothing allowance she had while at Flair, along with regular gifts she received from top designers around the globe, allowed her to dress in the newest and most sought-after designs. She had forgotten what it was like to desire beautiful clothes that were beyond her budget. “Do you love it?” Camellia asked, nodding at the handbag.
“More than my own breath,” Shelby declared dramatically.
“Then it’s yours.”
Shelby froze. “What?”
“Valentino should only be owned by a woman who truly understands its magnificence.”
“Oh Camellia, I couldn’t.”
“You can. And you will. It’s a gift to mark your first day of your journey to becoming a model.” Camellia kicked the Fendi platforms back into the closet and closed the doors. “One day, when you’re getting booked for fashion weeks all over the world, you’ll have your own closetful of couture. Consider this bag a symbol of what that life has to offer you.”
Shelby scrunched her shoulders to her ears and smiled wide. “It sounds like a dream.”
“It is a dream. Now, back downstairs,” Camellia ordered, motioning with a graceful hand. “Your runway awaits.”
Henry cooked for Valentine’s Day, an impressive spread of roast turkey, brown sugar baked sweet potatoes, and a salad with toasted celery seeds. Camellia set the table, admiring the full white roses Henry had picked up after work. “I haven’t come across a flower shop around here, so I’m guessing the hospital has its own,” Camellia noted, folding cloth napkins.
“Actually, they were closed by the time I left. Luckily Walmart has a big selection.”
Camellia groaned, dropping into a chair at the end of the table. “Henry, does all of our shopping have to take place at Walmart?”
Henry set two shallow bowls filled with salad on top of their plates, then produced a folded piece of paper from his shirt pocket. “Not all our shopping,” he said, handing the paper to Camellia.
Puzzled, she unfolded the paper and studied its contents. Then she gasped. “You bought us lakefront property?” she asked, hopeful.
“It’s not a done deal yet,” he explained, taking the seat next to her. “After botching this place, I wasn’t going to sign anything without first getting your consent. Can I take you to see it this weekend?”
“Yes!” Camellia cried, throwing her arms around her husband. “Tell me more.”
“It’s a nice parcel of land on Parson’s Lake. Very picturesque.”
“I’ve heard that one before,” Camellia said, fetching a bottle of Cabernet from the counter.
“For real this time,” Henry assured. “There’s a tired old house there now, but we can have that torn down and then build whatever we want. In fact, about half the houses at the lake are new builds.”
“So we can make it whatever we want?”
“Pretty much. That’s why I wasn’t worried about waiting until spring. We’re going to bulldoze the current structure anyway. Once we have a deal we can meet with an architect and create the house of our dreams.”
Camellia held her wine glass up. “We need a toast.” Henry raised his glass as well, gazing lovingly at his wife. “To the best Valentine’s Day present ever.”
“Is it better than roses from Walmart?” Henry teased.
“Slightly. Now I wish I’d done more with your present.”
Henry’s eyes widened. “Dare I ask?”
“You’ll see for yourself after dinner.”
With a bottle of port and two glasses in hand, Henry led Camellia upstairs. “Enough anticipation,” Henry said breathily in his wife’s ear. “I’m more than ready for my present.”
“You better fill up your glass then,” she replied mysteriously, picking up the bright pink bag from the bed and slipping into the bathroom. She emerged a few minutes later wearing a red and blue plaid flannel nightgown with a ruffled collar and sleeves.
In mid-sip, Henry nearly spit out the port on the patchwork quilt. “What in the hell is that?” he croaked.
“This,” Camellia cooed, flirtatiously lifting the heavy gown to reveal her ankles then sashaying over to the bed, “is the hottest lingerie trend in Markleeville.”
“Oh, is it now?” Henry chuckled, grabbing for the heavy fabric.
Camellia slapped away Henry’s hand. “Please! I believe you are misinterpreting the trend.”
“And what is this trend, exactly?” He reached for her again, but this time was shut down by Camellia pulling the nightgown firmly over her knees and tucking the bottom under her feet.
“Why, schoolmarm chic, don’t you know?” She laughed, her eyes wide. “Oddly, I think you’re rather aroused.”
Henry tugged at the nightgown, freeing Camellia’s legs. He grabbed them and pulled her closer to him. “Maybe these Markleeville folks are onto something. And,” he said, reaching behind her to unbutton the back of the nightgown, “your newest claim to fame can be introducing the schoolmarm chic look to the masses. Designers everywhere will be kicking themselves that they didn’t come up with it first.”
Camellia giggled. “Yes, I can see Chanel doing it in a black and white tweed. It will be all the rage.”
Reaching his hands past her thighs, Henry suddenly stopped and lifted the nightgown, his expression perplexed. “Honey, your underwear are enormous,” he said matter-of-fact.
Camellia broke into a fit of laughter, rolling right off the bed.
SIXTEEN
That weekend, Henry drove Camellia
to Parson’s Lake, a ten-minute drive east of town. While the scenery along the way was just as woodsy and rural as the rest of Markleeville, upon reaching the lake, the real estate changed dramatically. The dwellings nearest to town were still small and shack-like, however, the houses bordering the far side of the lake were new and grand, with private docks and impressive multi-level decks. Camellia’s heart swelled.
Henry stopped the car about halfway along the west side of the lake, pulling into the driveway of a dilapidated wooden structure on a large, flat parcel of land.
“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’d much rather live in our cottage in downtown Markleeville than that rundown shanty, even on such a beautiful lake,” Camellia noted, frowning at the asphalt roof that was starting to cave in.
“Thankfully, you won’t have to do either. In less than nine months, we can have this shack knocked down and a gorgeous four bedroom, three bath home standing in its place.”
“I can barely believe it.”
“Come on.” Henry shut off the car, and the pair trudged through the snow around the back of the structure. The view was breathtaking, even on such an overcast day: the expansive water partially frozen and Zen-like, a gaggle of geese in flight overhead. The backdrop of fine homes was proof that civilized life was possible high up in Michigan’s mitten.
“I don’t get it,” Camellia said. “All these amazing homes. How come I never run into these people in town?”
“Because a number of them are summer homes,” Henry reminded. “Just wait. Once the weather warms up, it’s going to be a different world here.”
“Hmm.” Camellia wasn’t as worried as she once was to find people more like her in Markleeville. She had Shelby now. She had purpose. That was all she needed at the moment. That and the promise of a new home with Henry.
The Makeover Page 10