“Louise, please don’t twirl your hair at the dinner table,” her mother finally replied. Louise dropped her hand into her lap midtwirl, not even realizing she was doing it.
“How am I going to find Stella?” Louise asked into her oversize red lip phone.
“That girl I met at the last vintage sale?” Brooke asked.
“Yeah, I have a few questions I was hoping to ask her. About… this thrift shop in New York that I wanted to check out,” Louise said, not able to tell her best friend the real truth. “I can’t remember the name of it.”
“Lou, the rest of us do live in the twenty-first century. Use the Internet. You can find anyone.”
“Right, of course.” She had kind of fantasized about getting on the Metro North train and heading to Manhattan to track down Stella in person. But she hadn’t exactly thought through the part of what would happen once she arrived at Grand Central Terminal.
“Oh, wait, Kip is on the other line. Can you hold on?”
“I’ll see you tomorrow. I have some detective work to do anyway,” Louise replied, not quite able to hide her annoyed tone. I better find Stella, she thought, as her current best friend seemed to be drifting further away from her by the second. She was secretly starting to hate Kip.
As soon as Louise hung up the landline, which her parents insisted she use to prevent too much radiation from entering her ear canal, her cell buzzed with a text message. Maybe Brooke had realized how brushed off Louise was feeling after all. But, surprisingly, it was a text from Todd!
Meet us at food court tmrow?
Louise paused, unsure of what to do.
Why can’t you just ask me on a normal date? She wasn’t really up for hanging out with Todd and his skater friends, and particularly not Tiff. The insecure voice in her head made her feel silly to have imagined it was even a date in the first place. And she didn’t want to be a total hypocrite and miss swim practice after giving Brooke such a hard time yesterday.
She finally responded: Srry can’t make it.
Todd immediately answered: :(
She could not date someone who communicated with emoticons, but still she felt a pang of regret. Maybe she should have said yes. Maybe it would have been fun. But she also wanted to see what happened with Peter. It was probably good to keep her options open for a while anyway.
For once, she had more important things to distract her. Louise opened her computer and Googled “Stella New York City.” She got a page of random results: Stella Adler Acting Studio, Stella Bistro, Stella’s Pizza, Stella Management Co.… Okay, it was time to get a bit more specific. “Stella New York City Vintage Fashionista.”
And there it was—Stella had a vintage-fashion blog! Stella’s Vintage Style Files. Of course, Louise thought, shaking her head. Why didn’t I think of that earlier? Louise clicked on the “About Me” tab, and a photo popped up of a girl who looked vaguely familiar, wearing a white-and-black tweed vintage Chanel jacket over a white T-shirt, blue sailor jeans, and funky brown leather platform shoes, and smiling a mouthful of braces. Louise zoomed in—those looked like little pink elastics. This had to be the right Stella!
MY BIO:
I’m a vintage-obsessed fashionista. I love searching through thrift stores for the perfect vintage outfit and getting to experience different histories through clothing—or at least in my imagination.
She eagerly started reading Stella’s latest post:
Hey, Vintage Fashionistas! Sorry it’s been so long since my last post—I guess you could say I was held up in customs from my last trip to Paris, which was inspired by my fixation on all things French—French movies, French music, French boys, and, most importantly, French fashion. From my great-great-aunt twice removed Coco Chanel’s awesome quilted bags to Yves Saint Laurent’s covetable color-block jersey minidresses, I can never get enough of French style. This photo shoot will let you know where my head (and wardrobe!) was. Bon Voyage!
Louise began clicking through the slide show: Each photo was an image of Stella in some posh New York City apartment posing in different French-themed outfits while eating croissants and macaroons. The last picture showed her sitting at a grand piano wearing a pale pink corseted ball gown with white bows running down the bodice, like something Adelaide could have worn.
My new obsession, the blog continued in the next post down the page, are vintage military jackets. You can wear them casually with skinny jeans or over a thrifted Betsey Johnson baby-doll dress. I am going to test-drive some this week and report back. Stay tuned, fashionistas! XOXO, Stella
Louise immediately subscribed to the blog and sent her a message.
Hey, Stella,
OHMIGOD, can you believe that we met before the French Revolution? I am still recovering from those corsets! Those gowns were ah-mazing, and I kind of miss the croissants as well, but it seems like we escaped Versailles just in time. Where else have you traveled? Maybe we can go vintage shopping together sometime.
Louise paused and reconsidered. What if by some chance this actually wasn’t the right Stella? This girl would think she was a total lunatic. Louise deleted the message and thought for a moment about how to word it while still acknowledging their bizarre situation. She decided to take a slightly more subtle approach.
Hey, Stella,
I think we’ve met in the past! Are you going to the next Fashionista Sale this weekend? Would LOVE to catch up!
Your fellow fashionista,
Louise Lambert, age 12 years, 9 months, 6 days, 4 hours, 10 minutes, and 15 seconds
She impatiently refreshed her computer for the next thirty minutes, hoping for some kind of response from Stella, and then finally, when Louise could barely keep her eyes open for another minute, she shut down her laptop and reluctantly went to bed.
Each morning for the last few days, Mrs. Lambert had already left the house by the time Louise had woken up for school, and she’d somehow managed to change the subject or come down with a migraine every time Louise had attempted to bring up the poodle necklace or Fashionista Sale. Louise still hadn’t received an e-mail back from Stella, either, despite checking her Gmail about twenty times a day, and she was starting to feel nervous and insecure that maybe she had made a mistake in trying to contact her after all. When they’d met, Stella had made a point of telling Louise that she was thirteen years old and from New York City, as opposed to Louise, who was only twelve and from the suburbs, but didn’t she want to be friends anyway?
Louise reread the folded-up, handwritten note given to her by Marla and Glenda after the last sale: You have your friends, you have your family, and soon you will have your fellow Fashionistas.
But what if her own mother was also one of her “fellow Fashionistas”? It seemed as if the only way she was going to get any answers about how her mother tied into all this, and who exactly these other time travelers were, was to go the source—she was going to have to ask Marla and Glenda directly.
The few days leading up to the next Fashionista Vintage Sale that weekend were torture. It was as though time were stretching out like a grilled cheese sandwich. Days felt like weeks, and the week felt like an eternity. The only highlights were that she was getting to watch a classic Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton movie in history class and that she had run into Peter a few times in the hallway again. He already seemed to be getting the hang of everything, making new friends with eighth graders whom Louise didn’t know. In her seventh-grade insecurity, Louise found herself keeping her distance even though he would smile and wave to her no matter whom he was with. She was really excited about the Pattersons’ party next week and getting to spend time with him again outside school, hopefully in a newly acquired vintage dress from the next sale. Maybe she could learn more about the French side of his family. She just needed to make it through the school week.
Finally, the weekend, and the day of the much-obsessed-over Traveling Fashionista Vintage Sale, arrived. Once again, her uncharacteristically absent mother was already out of the
house and running errands, so at least, Louise rationalized, she wouldn’t have to explain where she was going or worry that her mother would stop her and drag her to the Stamford Mall instead.
She left a note on the pad on the kitchen counter so her parents wouldn’t worry.
Dear Mom and Dad,
Going to find a vintage dress for the Pattersons’ dinner. Be back soon!
Your only (and favorite) daughter,
Louise Ann Lambert
Grabbing a green apple from the wooden fruit bowl, she texted Brooke the address and took off with her backpack in search of her next exciting experience. On the walk over, Louise double-checked that she was still wearing her mother’s necklace and couldn’t help but imagine all the possible adventures that could be in store for her. What if she found a pair of bell-bottoms that took her back to Woodstock? Or a Mary Quant dress that would take her to London in the sixties! Or a Versace corset that would take her to a glamorous party in Italy. The possibilities were endless.
She had to be careful with her selection, though. With her luck, a cute military jacket would place Louise on the front lines of the Revolutionary War, for all she knew! Of course there was always the slight possibility that after her last time at the sale, when she covertly tried on that robin’s egg blue ball gown while Marla and Glenda weren’t looking, she wouldn’t get to experience any more magical incidents after all. The shop owners were none too pleased that Louise had disobeyed their orders and consequently run into another Fashionista in the past, which was apparently against the rules. Not to mention that Louise almost lost her head in eighteenth-century France as a result—literally. She prayed Marla and Glenda weren’t the kind of people to hold a grudge. When she turned onto Gates Lane, she swore she felt some wispy fabric brush the back of her neck. But when she reached up, nothing was there except for the clasp of her necklace. It was probably a breeze.
Before she knew it, Louise had arrived. 303 GATES LANE. This had to be the place! She lived only a few streets away from here and had decided to walk instead of taking her bike. It was so close, and she didn’t want to risk another concussion from her clumsy riding. Louise stood in front of the deserted warehouse and triple-checked her invite. Weird.
It was funny how once Marla and Glenda discovered an address, it became exotic, but before Louise received the invitation, 303 Gates Lane had been just another boring one-story sprawling industrial complex on a typical Fairview street. She wouldn’t have looked twice at it, and, in fact, up until this day she hadn’t. They were continuing to make her see her small suburban town in a new and more enchanting light. She quickly walked across the deserted asphalt parking lot toward the main entrance, which had 303 stenciled in black numbers on the steel door. When she was only a few feet away, she felt an intense heat on her chest, as if the charm necklace she was wearing were burning. Then, almost as quickly as she had noticed it, the sensation went away. No sooner had she reached for the handle than the door flung open and a startled Louise was yanked across the threshold.
“Marla! She’s baaack!” a familiar voice sang.
“Fabulous, oh, this is simply mah-velous. We hoped a little guillotine wouldn’t scare you away from your destiny.”
A rather glamorous-looking Marla and Glenda immediately wrapped a neon green feather boa around Louise’s shoulders and hooked her into the shop. To Louise’s great relief, it seemed that all had been forgiven.
“And where’s your little blonde friend?” Glenda asked, poking her head of red hair out into the blinding sunshine, searching the empty lot for Brooke. “I suppose she’ll pop in later. We’ve grown quite fond of her as well.” She slammed the door firmly behind her. Louise squeezed her eyes shut, willing them to adjust to the dimly lit store.
“She said she’d meet me here. She’s hanging out with her new boyfriend,” Louise replied sadly. “Who knows if she’ll even show up.”
Marla and Glenda shrugged, each throwing an encouraging arm around Louise and guiding her into the newest version of their lively vintage shop. “That happens to the best of ’em. Trust us—she’ll be back,” Marla said.
Louise spun around in awe, trying to take everything in. She was once again overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of stuff. It was like the inside of her school locker taken to the nth degree. The sprawling, loftlike room had some of the same furniture as the previous sales: the ivory-colored wooden armoire and shabbily upholstered chaises with the springs poking out, even the old-fashioned dusty Victrola now pushed into the far corner, which was emitting scratchy piano music that sounded like a score of a silent Charlie Chaplin movie. There was definitely a Hollywood theme going on in the shop. She paused to check out framed black-and-white posters from classic films such as Casablanca and Breakfast at Tiffany’s, which were hung slightly askew on the roughly plastered white walls. She wanted to get one of those for her bedroom. The store now looked like how she’d imagine the wardrobe department of an old movie studio to be.
Marla and Glenda were wearing pink feather boas, with matching tortoiseshell, cat-eye sunglasses shading their iridescent green eyes, and looking pretty fabulous themselves compared with their usual drab black wool dresses. Marla was caked in heavy stage makeup, with a thick coat of powder and foundation almost masking the wart that was still slightly detectable on the tip of her pointy nose. Her chin hairs had been plucked, save for one lone straggler that remained on the left side of her lower lip. When Marla smiled, Louise could see that the bright red lipstick she was wearing was smudged across her two front teeth.
Glenda, whose towering height never stopped her from wearing high-heeled shoes, was decked out in a knee-length black sequined cocktail dress. Her flame red hair was done up in a fifties-style beehive that barely moved because of what must have been an obscene amount of hair spray. To Louise, who wasn’t even five feet tall, Glenda looked like a stylish giant. On their necks were the heavy gold chains with black poodle charms that looked exactly like the necklace her mother owned, which she now wore.
Louise pulled the necklace out from underneath her Laura Ashley blue paisley sundress, hoping to shock them for a change. The women glanced down at her throat and let out a long, deep laugh as though they were expecting this. “Welcome to the club, dahling. Our Fashionistas always did know how to accessorize!”
Louise swallowed her surprise at their casual reaction as they eagerly led her around the store, excitedly grabbing vintage clothes for her approval: plaid polyester bell-bottom pants that were strewn on a canvas director’s chair, a bohemian floral Chloé dress from the seventies, a Hattie Carnegie tailored suit, an Elsa Schiaparelli trademark pink hat in the shape of a shoe. Louise picked up the shoe-shaped hat in awe. She would be too shy to wear something like this, but it was awesome.
“You know, when Elsa was your age, she thought she was so ugly that she tried to plant seeds on her face and in her ears so that beauty could grow,” Marla said.
“Really?” Louise asked, surprised. She thought someone who made such bold pieces had to have been born confident.
“Yes, isn’t that such a sad story? What girl doesn’t think she’s beautiful?” Marla asked as a lone tear streaked down her makeup-spackled face.
“Sometimes I can relate,” Louise replied, putting the hat on her frizzy brown head. Marla couldn’t help but smile—after all, Louise had a shocking pink shoe on her head. It was hard to be sad when you looked so silly.
Signed and framed portraits of movie stars posing with Glenda and Marla hung in clusters on the wall. Piles of yellowing and curled movie scripts on the floor served as pedestals for worn leather tap shoes that looked as if they were from the Jazz Age.
Louise looked down and saw that there were stars on the floor like on the Hollywood Walk of Fame. She saw Audrey Hepburn, Marilyn Monroe, Elizabeth Taylor, Cary Grant, Marlon Brando… all of Louise’s and her mother’s favorite actors from bygone eras. She wished her mother were here now with her so that they could share this experience. She had inhe
rited her mother’s love for old movies—one of their favorite traditions was making popcorn on the stove with lots of butter and watching classic films. And now it seemed that maybe she had inherited a lot more than that.
Louise noticed that one of the photos on the wall was of a young version of her great-aunt Alice Baxter, looking exactly as she remembered her from the photo she saw on the vanity table on the Titanic during her first adventure. So they did know her after all! It was signed with a red lipstick smooch: To Marla and Glenda, Kiss kiss, Alice Baxter.
“You do know Miss Baxter!” Louise exclaimed.
“Now what are you searching for this time, dahling?” Glenda called from the other side of the room, her voice muffled as her head was stuck inside a large blond-oak wardrobe. She pulled out the same leopard-print coat she’d searched for the last time Louise saw her and triumphantly put it on over her black sequined dress. “How on earth did it get in here?” she muttered.
“How do you know Miss Baxter?” Louise repeated.
“As I’ve said before, we’ve worked with the best, and we know ’em all. Now, how can we help you today?” Glenda asked, modeling her coat with a dramatic twirl.
“Don’t you usually tell me that?” Louise asked jokingly, remembering that the last times she was at the store, they seemed to know exactly what she was looking for before she had mentioned her upcoming school dance or fancy-dress birthday party.
“Isn’t it time you start figuring that out for yourself?” Marla asked, tying a yellow Hermès silk scarf around her neck with a flourish.
“Well, there’s this dinner party at the Pattersons’ house that I’m going to with my parents,” Louise said pointedly. “I’m supposed to dress up.”
The Time-Traveling Fashionista and Cleopatra, Queen of the Nile Page 3