Bella Fortuna

by Rosanna Chiofalo

  I only walk three steps when one of the three clients who are waiting to be helped comes up to me.

  “Excuse me. I’ve been waiting for twenty minutes, and it doesn’t look like the two salesgirls in the back are going to be done anytime soon. Can you help me?”

  “Yes, of course, but I need to look at the guest book to see who signed in first. There are three other brides waiting. I have to take whoever has the first appointment.”

  “You don’t need to look at the book. I’m telling you I had the first appointment.”

  “Okay, if you’ll please be patient just one moment longer, and I’ll be with you. What is your name?”

  “Lea Stavros.”

  I’m not taking Lea’s word. So I head first to the alterations room to let Ma know she has some extra time finishing Ashley’s dress, since they’ve gone to Antoniella’s for coffee. Then I walk back to Melanie’s desk and pretend I’m asking her a question while I quickly scan the guest book.

  “I’m just making sure Bridezilla number two has the first appointment,” I whisper to Melanie.

  “Unfortunately, she does. But you’re right about her being a Bridezilla. She told her mother and sister that they can’t be honest with her if she chooses a dress they don’t like. She doesn’t want any negativity, as she put it.”

  “Oh, boy! This is going to be one of those days.”

  Melanie nods her head.

  “Oh yeah, you got that right. Good luck.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Lea, I can take you now. My name is Valentina, and if you decide to have Sposa Rosa make your dress, I’ll be your consultant for all of your fittings. Who do we have here?”

  “This is my mother and my twin sister, Laura.”

  “It’s nice to meet you.”

  “When is the big day, Lea?”

  “A month from today.”

  “Okay. We don’t have much time to work with. How long have you been engaged?”

  “For six months.”

  “Why did you wait to buy your dress?”

  I choose my words carefully. What I really want to say is, “What were you thinking waiting until a month before your wedding to buy a gown—no less a custom-made gown?” But I bite my tongue.

  “I have been shopping around the past month, but I haven’t seen anything I liked. Then a friend of mine told me maybe that’s because I have a vision. So she convinced me to get a custom-made dress.”

  “I see. So tell me, what does your dress look like in your vision ?”

  I have to fight hard to keep the sarcasm out of my voice.

  “I’d love a trumpet gown. I want to stand out and look very chic. I like those new crumb bodices. What are they called?”

  “A crumb catcher?”

  “Yes, a crumb catcher. I’d love one of those. I’m not sure as to the details other than that. I also want to wear a short net over my face. I think that along with the trumpet silhouette of the gown will definitely scream ‘This girl is one chic bride!’ ”

  I jot a note on my pad: Narcissist with grand delusions of herself. You might think I’m being mean scribbling these personality traits of my clients, but it actually helps me when I’m trying to decide what would be best for them. After all, we are striving to make our clients happy, and the only way we can do that is by catering to their personalities.

  “Okay, Lea. I think I have a good idea what you would like. Have you flipped through our portfolios? Did you see any dresses in there that were similar to what you had in mind?”

  “No, I didn’t see anything in there. But I don’t want to be swayed by something that exists already. I want this to be all my own. Something unique.”

  Yes, don’t they all, I think as I scribble another note in caps for emphasis. UNIQUE . . . UNIQUE . . . UNIQUE.

  “If you step this way, I’ll take some measurements. I am going to have you try on a few samples of trumpet gowns just to be sure the silhouette suits your figure the best before I begin sketching your design.”

  “Oh, it’ll suit my figure. I’m sure of it.”

  I bring out six gowns: two are trumpets, two are mermaids, and the last two are sexy form-fitting sheaths that I actually think will work better on Lea’s frame. Lea has a classic pear shape. I’m worried the trumpet would overemphasize her lower body in a very unflattering way. Of course, the mermaids can present this problem, too, but since a mermaid flares out lower, from the knee down, as opposed to the trumpet, which begins flaring out right below the hips, the eye won’t be drawn there. With the sheath, she’s still getting a body-hugging dress, but it will be more forgiving around her curves.

  “Why aren’t these all trumpets?” Lea quickly scans the dresses after I hang them in her fitting room.

  “I’d like you to try a couple of other silhouettes just so you can get a feel for what they look like as well.”

  “Are you NOT listening to me? I told you I wanted a TRUM-PITTTT !”

  Lea’s eyes are shooting a thousand needles into me, but I don’t back down.

  “I hear you perfectly well, Miss Stavros. You’re just trying the dresses on. It doesn’t mean I’m forcing you to buy a dress in another silhouette.”

  “Sweetie, it’s good to try on dresses in different shapes. This way you’ll be all the more sure that the trumpet gown is really right for you.”

  Mrs. Stavros has come to my rescue.

  “I know what I want, and I don’t appreciate someone, especially a salesgirl, trying to convince me otherwise. This isn’t a used car I’m buying.”

  That’s it. She’s just hit a nerve with me. I absolutely hate it when clients refer to my family and I as salesgirls. No doubt it’s an easy mistake to make, but it’s always bothered me. We work too hard at designing and sewing these dresses not to receive the respect that we deserve. I’m tired of these spoiled, condescending Bridezillas treating us like we’re hired help.

  “Excuse me, Miss Stavros. First of all, I am not a salesgirl. My family and I design and sew all of these dresses, but even if I were a salesgirl, that doesn’t give you the right to treat me the way you are. Secondly, we take our work very seriously here at Sposa Rosa, and for you to liken it to a used car lot is insulting. I am more than happy to help you, but I will not help you if you continue to disrespect my family, me, and our shop.”

  “She’s sorry, Miss DeLuca. She didn’t mean anything by her comments. She’s just nervous with her wedding being only a month away.”

  Lea’s twin, who seems to only share DNA and looks with her sister, speaks up. She appears very shy and timid.

  “Shut up, Laura! I don’t need you speaking for me. I am NOT sorry. She’s the one who should be apologizing to me. I’m outta here! You guys are making a big mistake buying your dresses from this joke of a shop!” Lea screams out to the other brides in the shop as she storms out.

  “I’m so sorry, Miss DeLuca!”

  Mrs. Stavros and Laura can’t meet my eyes as they walk out after Lea.

  “Are you okay? I heard all of that.”

  Ma holds out a glass of water to me. I take a quick sip.

  “Of course. It’s not the first time we’ve had to deal with the likes of her.”

  “Valentina, I think you should go home. It’s too crazy here today. Why don’t you come back on Monday when it’ll be quieter? You can ease into things again.”

  “I’m fine, Ma.”

  I walk away and over to the next bride who’s waiting for a consultation. They can’t all be Bridezillas today.

  Stacey whatever-her-last-name-is can’t stop talking. I’ve made the mistake of asking her how long she’s been engaged and that sets into motion her long story of telling me how her fiancé has proposed to her. I feel like I have to be extra polite after she’s witnessed my scene with Bridezilla #2. But I’m not listening to Stacey. The moment she starts to tell me how she was at the top of the Empire State Building when her fiancé proposed, my mind wanders to that night when Michael had surprised me with
his proposal at Central Park. It was the best night of my life. Fighting back tears, I congratulate Stacey and quickly interrupt her as I take her to the back to try on a few ball gown samples. I don’t even bother bringing out samples in different silhouettes this time. I don’t have the energy after my last battle to lock horns with another bride-to-be, though Stacey seems worlds apart from the last two Bridezillas I’ve dealt with today.

  Stacey proves to be as easy as I knew she’d be, choosing the second sample I’ve pulled for her but requesting that I make a few swaps with other gowns she’s seen in our portfolio. She wants an unadorned tulle skirt, but instead of the lace strapless bodice the sample she tried on sports, she wants a bodice she’s seen on an Am-sale knockoff in our portfolio. The bodice is covered in Swarovski crystals and has two spaghetti straps, which are also covered in Swarovski studs. Stacey has a good eye. And she’s even taken my one suggestion of adding a very pale pink sash to the dress that ties in the back, giving her a princess ballerina look.

  My spirits soar a little when I see how happy I’ve made her with the sash. But then the jealousy begins seeping its way in again. Why isn’t it me getting married?

  I push my thoughts aside once again as I take the next client. Her name is Donna, and as the minutes tick by, I want to add “prima” before her name, for she acts like a prima donna, ordering me around to get her more and more samples. Brides like her get caught up in the pageantry of the dress shopping and never want the experience to end. I’ve brought out a dozen samples already. Fifteen will be my limit. No excuses. Of course, after dress fifteen, she requests that I bring out not one but five more.

  “I’m sorry, Donna, but you’ve been here for three hours and have still not made up your mind as to a silhouette. You’ve tried on fifteen samples. You’re more than welcome to come back and try on more dresses, but our time for today is over. I have a waiting room full of other clients who need to be seen.”

  “I decide when our appointment is over! My appointment was before these other women, and I am entitled to take my time. This is, after all, my wedding day we’re talking about. I can’t just rush through this decision. So I’d like to see a few more mermaid gowns.”

  Donna turns her back toward me and talks to her best friend, Tina, as if I’m not standing there.

  “Excuse me, Miss Foster.”

  Just like with Bridezilla #2, I now resort to calling Bridezilla #3 by her last name. But she continues to ignore me. I stand in front of her.

  “Did you not hear me, Miss DeLuca? I want to try on five more mermaid gowns. Why are you still standing here?”

  “You’re the one who did not hear me, Miss Foster. I said this appointment is finished for today. You can come back another day.”

  “I’m not leaving until I’m ready to.”

  Donna places her hands on her hips, tilting her head to the side. Her green eyes squint as she stares at me, sizing me up from head to toe. A smirk is on her face. She can’t be more than twenty-two years old, but she has the cocky confidence of a woman who’s seized the world.

  “Fine. You can stand there as long as you like, but I’m attending to my next client.”

  I start to walk away, but Donna steps down from the pedestal, almost falling as she trips over the cathedral train that’s attached to the Justin Alexander knockoff mermaid gown she has on. She stands in front of me, blocking my path.

  “I could slander your name and the name of this shop all over the Internet, damaging your business forever.”

  That’s all it takes for me to lose it.

  “Who do you think you are? Just because you’re getting married doesn’t give you the right to treat other people like your slaves! If you don’t leave right now, I’m going to—”

  Someone grips my arm, pulling me away from Donna.

  “Valentina, stop it!” It’s Rita.

  I don’t realize my hands have curled into tightly clenched fists. I’ve never lost control before. This isn’t the first time I’ve had to deal with a difficult client. I look at Rita.

  “Fine. I’m going to the back. You deal with her.”

  “I can’t believe how I’ve been treated. I’m planning on spending thousands of dollars in here today, and this is the treatment I get?”

  I overhear Rita and Ma trying to calm down Ms. Prima Donna, offering her bribe upon bribe.

  “Please excuse her. She’s going through a very difficult time right now. She’s never acted like this before. You can stay here until we close if you’d like to try on more dresses. Please don’t leave.”

  Ma is begging her, which sickens me. I hate this part of the business: kissing up to clients who don’t deserve to be treated well at all, especially after they’ve treated us so poorly. But it is a business, and the client must come first, as Ma always says. Shouldn’t there be a line? I’ve heard of businesses before that refuse service to customers who treat the employees badly. But this is different. I know that. And it’s a different time. The girl has threatened to slander us online. That’s all it takes today with the power of the Internet. I’d often consulted online reviews as well before deciding on a new hair salon or restaurant to try. And to Ma, reputation means everything.

  Suddenly realizing what I might’ve done by losing control, I regret my actions immediately. I wait just outside our alterations room and eavesdrop on their conversation to see the outcome.

  “We’ll give you fifteen percent off the dress.” Rita is bribing as well.

  “Just fifteen after the way she talked to me? Come on, Tina.”

  “Wait! We’ll give you twenty-five percent off the dress, including alterations, and fifteen percent off your headpiece.” Ma has never bargained that much before.

  “Well, I guess I can reconsider.”

  “You’re getting a great deal. Please, why don’t you sit down and have a cup of coffee while we bring you your other gowns to try on.”

  Suddenly, Ms. Prima Donna makes up her mind.

  “You know what? That won’t be necessary. I love this dress I have on right now. I knew this was the dress, but I just had to be sure. That’s why I wanted to try on a few more. But I know it without a doubt now. All I need are my jewels and headpiece.”

  She walks toward our headpiece displays.

  “Tina, don’t just stand there! Come help me choose my headpiece and jewelry. Why else did I bring you?”

  I close my eyes. Disaster averted. I walk over to the little stove we keep in the shop’s kitchen and pour some espresso into a pan. I add milk and place the pan on the gas range.

  “Hey. Sorry that had to happen on your first day back to work.”

  Connie comes into the kitchen.

  “You weren’t the bee-otch brides I had to deal with. No need for you to apologize. If anyone should apologize, it should be me. I can’t believe I lost it like that out there. That’s all we need—to have our name run through the mud all over the Internet. With all the young brides who walk through our doors, our business could be cut in half.”

  “Oh, you’re overreacting, Vee. We’ll be fine. No one is going to go by one bad complaint. Haven’t you noticed there’s always a disgruntled reviewer or two on those online sites? You can tell they’re exaggerating and just want to get revenge on the business by posting such nasty comments. They’re not always accurate. Besides, look at all the glowing reviews we have on Citysearch. I was on there last week, and we now have two hundred plus reviews! And I can tell that beast out there isn’t going to say anything. She’s just a bully who needs to feel like she’s the center of attention.”

  Connie’s bending over in front of the kitchen counter, checking out her complexion in the stainless steel toaster. I give up on reprimanding her to stop obsessing over her oily skin. It’s no use.

  “Well, after the discounts Ma and Rita gave her, I know she’s not going to post anything bad now. That’s probably why she decided to stay after all. She knew she wouldn’t get discounts like that anywhere else, especially from
a custom-made boutique! I know it’s good business, but sometimes it angers me that Ma is always so accommodating to these Bridezillas.”

  The strong espresso is easing up the huge knot that’s formed in my right shoulder after the stressful day I’ve had.

  “Vee, I know you want to get back to your life and come to work, and I know you’re tired of everyone telling you what you should do, but I think today proves that you still need time away from the shop.”

  I don’t even try to argue this time. My behavior today is evidence enough that I’m not ready to be surrounded by happy brides-to-be and anything remotely wedding related.

  “Yeah, I can see that now. I just can’t take being cooped up indoors anymore. I need a distraction. I was hoping work would be it, but all day, I just keep thinking about how things didn’t work out for me.”

  “It’s understandable, Vee. Go easy on yourself for once! This was the week leading up to your wedding. You couldn’t have chosen a worse week to return to Sposa Rosa.”

  “I guess I have a sadomasochistic side and just wanted to make myself suffer even more.” I’m surprised I can still make jokes.

  “You need to get away from here. Maybe you and Aldo can go on vacation. He has the time since he’s not working.”

  “Not anymore. He sent a text last night that he got a job at one of the art galleries down in the Meatpacking District. Of course, he had to take a huge pay cut, but he’s happy to be back in the art world.”

  “Oh. Too bad.”

  We sit there quietly for a few moments. The thought of getting away is starting to tempt me. So what if I’m alone? I actually am not the best company these days with my surly mood swings. Traveling alone to wander among strangers who know nothing about me is feeling more and more enticing. But where would I go?

  I think about Venice. That’s the one place I’d longed to go to since I was a kid. But that’s out of the question now. After all, it was supposed to be the setting for my wedding and honeymoon. How can I go there now—and alone? I’ll just keep thinking how Michael is supposed to be with me.