New Uses For Old Boyfriends (18 page)

“Sounds like a realistic goal.”

He didn't crack a smile. “Allison's special. I don't know how to explain it, but . . .” He gazed down at Lila. “When you and I were hanging out, it was great. It was like old times. But also it made me realize how much I missed Allison.”

Lila tried not to flinch. “Oh.”

“What I have with her is so different from what I had with you. It's so much better!”

She flinched. “I think I liked it better when you didn't know how to explain it.”

He looked horrified as he reached out to her. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean—”

She waved away his apology. “It's fine. I know what you're trying to say. Besides, I could never stay mad at you.”

“You're not just saying that because I'm the landlord now?”

She threw him a little wink. “Ben Collier, you will always be more to me than just my landlord.”

He finally took a minute to look around the rest of the boutique. “The place looks great.”

“Your team did a great job.” She summarized all the work they'd done while he'd been gone. “And my mom fixed the bathroom faucet.”

His eyes widened. “Your mom fixed a faucet?”

“Mm-hmmm. Used a wrench and everything. She has many hidden talents, apparently. So you'll have to bring Allison by this weekend. I'm dying to meet her.”

Ben hesitated. “It won't be weird?”

“Don't be ridiculous! I think it's fantastic. As long as you're happy, I'm happy.” Lila tilted her head. “So what do you need help with?”

He looked determined and daunted all at once. “I want to get her something.”

“Like a present?”

He nodded. “Something really cool. One of a kind.”

“That pretty much describes everything in this store.” Lila scanned the racks and shelves. “Help me narrow it down. What's her style like?”

“Uh . . . she wears jeans a lot.”

“Fancy jeans or regular jeans?”

“Uh . . .” He was starting to panic.

Lila switched tactics. “What's her favorite color?”

He stared back at her like a job candidate who had just been asked to identify his greatest weakness. “When she's working, she mostly wears black and white. I think?”

“Okay, so classic.” Lila patted his forearm. “Simple. Understated. We can work with that.”

“We can?”

“Absolutely. Do you know her dress size?”

“No.” His expression segued from panic to guilt.

“All right, then we're probably better off staying away from clothes. Let's consider accessories. Does she like shoes? Handbags?”

“I don't know. She's not into all that stuff.” A sheen of sweat appeared on his forehead. “She's had the same purse the whole time I've known her. And she wears the same silver hoop earrings every day.”

Lila's ears pricked up. “She likes earrings?”

He nodded.

Before Lila could ask her next question, her cell phone rang. She glanced at the caller ID name and held up her index finger. “Hang on one second. I'm so sorry, but this is important.” She turned her back on Ben and answered with a husky murmur. “Proliferation.”

“Actually, this time, the password is Pucci,” Malcolm drawled on the other end of the line.

She frowned. “What?”

“Stand by. I'm sending you a picture.”

Lila held out her phone and clicked over to her texts, where she saw the photo: a rumpled cocktail dress beaded with abstract shapes of gold, magenta, and dark blue.

She raised the phone back to her ear. “What am I looking at?”

“I just left the thrift store in Lewes,” Malcolm said. “Some woman tossed that in the donation bin as I was walking out the door. Thought you might be interested.”

“When did this happen?”

“About fifteen minutes ago.” He paused. “Tag says Pucci.”

“And you just left it there?” She could feel adrenaline surging through her body. “You left
Pucci
to fend for itself?”

“I had to go. I'm on a tight work deadline.”

“Then why were you at the thrift store?” she demanded.

“None of your business.” His calmness only served to fuel her agitation. “If you want it, I'd get a move on. I saw a couple of old ladies eyeing it.”

She held out the phone again, scrutinizing the picture. “You're sure it's authentic?”

“Looked authentic to me. It's gonna go fast at fifteen dollars.”

“I'm leaving for Lewes right now.” She dropped her voice even lower. “And if someone else buys it before I get there, I'm going to come to your house and kick your ass.”

“Looking forward to it.”

“Oh, and Malcolm?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

“You're welcome.” She could hear the smile in his voice.

Lila clicked off the line and beckoned to Ben. “Walk with me.” She ducked under the counter and grabbed her keys. “I have to go on an emergency fashion rescue mission. Let's talk in the car.”

“Where are we going?” he asked.

“Lewes.” She hollered toward the back room. “Mom? I have to go. I'll be back in half an hour.”

Daphne emerged, wringing her hands. “But what am I supposed to do if a customer comes in?”

“Be your usual charming self. Talk about the clothes. Reminisce about your modeling days.” Lila started toward the front exit.

“You can't leave me here alone!”

“Thirty minutes.” Lila put one hand on the door. “Just don't let the place burn down.”

“But what if someone wants to buy something?” Her mother's voice shook. “I don't know how to work the cash register, or the credit card swiper thing.”

“I'll stay,” Ben volunteered.

“You're sure?”

“Go. Hurry back.”

Daphne visibly relaxed.

Lila waved as she stepped into the sunlight. “You're the best ex-boyfriend ever.”

Ben waved back. “I know.”

“Call me if you need anything, guys. And Mom, Ben needs a grand-gesture gift for his girlfriend. She likes classic jewelry. Help him out, and remember, he passed up corporate funnel cake money for us.” As the door closed behind her, Lila glanced down at the picture Malcolm had sent. “Hold on, beautiful. I'm on my way.”

T
hirty-five minutes later, with the fifteen-dollar designer dress purchased and locked in her car, Lila pounded on the door of Malcolm's house.

“Who is it?” he called from inside.

“It's your partner in Pucci.”
Pound, pound, pound.
Lila winced and shook out her hand. “Open up!”

“It's unlocked.”

Lila charged in, prepared to upbraid him for abandoning vintage couture in mint condition, and found him hunched over his sewing table while the Golf Channel droned in the background. For a moment, she hung back, admiring the view of his shoulders and his back and his forearms. . . . Then she spied the wedding dress.

She approached the sewing machine with mounting dismay, staring at the piles of shiny white satin. “What is that?”

His voice was nearly drowned out by the clatter of the treadle. “A dress.”

She clutched her car keys in trembling hands. “That's why you were too busy to go back for the Pucci this morning?”

“Yeah. I have to have this done by five.”

Lila couldn't hold back a little squeak of indignation. “How could you?”

He stopped sewing and glanced up at her. “Uh . . . how could I what?”

“How could you do this to me?” She planted her hands on her hips. “To Rosa?”

“For the last time, she doesn't have a name. I mean,
it
doesn't have a name.”

“Don't try to change the subject! I demand answers! Who is she?” Lila grabbed a handful of fabric.

A glint of amusement appeared in his blue eyes. “My sister's best friend. She needs an emergency alteration. My sister begged. Then she got my niece to beg. The kid can barely talk; it was pathetic. How could I say no?”

Lila scoffed. “A likely story.”

“It's true. I'm taking the hem up and lowering the neckline.”

“Oh really? And what's the rush?”

“She's eloping this weekend.”

“Dressed like Britney Spears at the VMA awards?”

“I don't ask questions; I just make the repairs.” Malcolm moved the scissors out of her reach. “What's wrong with you?”

Lila let go of the fabric with a dramatic flourish. “I'm in a jealous rage, okay?”

“I can see that.”

“Are you
laughing
at me? Well, I'm glad one of us finds this entertaining.” She clicked her tongue at the deconstructed dress. “Look at this! Cheap, tacky polyester. Stiff, scratchy lace. This is going to crease. This is going to stain. We both know it. How could you sully yourself with this when I've given you the very best? Silk thread and hand embroidery and generous seam allowances.” She had to stop to catch her breath. “You can't try to tell
me that
this
is in the same league as what I bring every time I see you.”

He started stitching again. “Not to be rude, but I have to keep working while we talk. Time is of the essence.”

“We had an understanding!” she cried. “And a nondisclosure agreement.”

“Yeah, but we don't have a noncompete clause.”

“So all that stuff you said about keeping your secret and taking it to the grave and death before dishonor? Those were just empty words?” She gritted her teeth.
“Stop laughing.”

He couldn't keep a straight face for more than half a second. “I've never seen anyone get so worked up about a little polyester.”

“Because I'm offering you timeless craftsmanship by Ceil Chapman and you throw me aside for some no-name, mass-produced, one-season wonder!”

“This from the woman who doesn't even remember our date.” He launched into that sardonic drawl again. “You completely forgot about me for over a decade.”

She threw out both arms. “Well, I remember you now! You want a do-over? You've got one. You fix that Ceil Chapman dress and I will put it on and we will finish our unfinished business!”

He lifted his chin to indicate a white garment bag hanging on the closet door. “It's finished.”

“Oh.” She unzipped the bag and looked over the side seam she'd ripped. The repair was masterful. Undetectable.

Flawless.

“Oh.” All her bluster disappeared as she realized how much time and care he must have devoted to the dress she would wear on their date. “Thank you. It looks great.”

He muttered something under his breath and resumed sewing.

She hooked her index finger under the top of the hanger, swung the garment bag over her shoulder like a cape, and got up
into Malcolm's personal space. “All right, then. Tomorrow night. Pick me up at seven.”

He gave her a curt nod. “See you tomorrow at seven.”

“Yes, you will.” She leaned down and whispered right into his ear, soft and sultry. “And by the end of the night, you won't be thinking about anybody's dress but mine.”

J
ust before lunchtime on Friday, a frazzled-looking pregnant woman walked into Unfinished Business with a zippered garment bag folded over one arm and a wriggly, redheaded little boy in each hand.

“Hi.” She flashed Lila a dazzling smile, then turned to her little boys with a dour, well-practiced “mom face.” “You two. I need you to be on your best behavior. We'll only be here for a few minutes, and I need to you to be
good
. Got it?”

The boys nodded.

“Let me be clear: no running, no fighting, no touching anything. I mean it. Now go sit in that chair over there.” She pulled a tattered picture book out of her bag. “You can look at this while you're waiting.”

The boys raced over to the upholstered chair and immediately started wrestling for prime position on the seat.

“Blake! Beckett!” The woman clapped her hands. “What did I just say? You are both—” She looked at Lila with a sigh. “Never mind. Let's just move this along as quickly as we can.”

“They're adorable,” Lila said, managing not to react as the
smaller boy started licking the Azzedine Alaïa sequined camouflage satchel hanging on the wall next to the chair.

“I know you have to say that.” The woman laughed. “But thank you, anyway.” She unzipped the garment bag. “I'd like to consign this evening gown, please, if you think you can find a buyer.”

“We don't typically do consignment sales, but let's have a look,” Lila said. “I take it you don't have much call for evening gowns at this stage of your life?”

“I'm having twins.” The woman rubbed her belly. “Twin boys.”

“Oh, congratulations!”

The woman nodded. “Blake and Beckett here are two and three. And before you ask, yes, I do have my hands full; no, I don't remember what it's like to get a full night's sleep.”

Lila could hear the frustration in the woman's voice. She smiled gently and urged, “Tell me about your gown.”

The woman immediately brightened. “It's custom-made. I wore it for the evening gown portion of the Miss America pageant.” She paused to let that sink in, the same way Daphne paused after she announced she'd been a model. “I was Miss Delaware. Fourth runner-up overall. I lost to Miss Texas.”

“That is so cool.” Lila peeled back the flaps of the garment bag to reveal a one-shoulder column gown crafted of royal blue silk crepe over two whisper-thin layers of chiffon. The dress featured tiny clusters of silver rhinestones and a tasteful cutout shaped like abstract floral petals on one side of the waistline. It didn't really fit in, style-wise, with the other dresses in the boutique, but it had an allure all its own. This gown clearly had a story, and Lila had started to figure out that the story was really what sold customers on vintage pieces.

“Delaware almost never gets into the top five finalists.” When the gown's owner smiled, Lila could see a vestige of the glamorous beauty queen. “I'm Shannon, by the way.”

Lila introduced herself, then asked, “So, what was your talent?”

“I danced. Jazz
en pointe
.”

Lila ran her hand over the fabric's sequin detailing. “I used to watch Miss America every year with my mom.”

“Me, too. In fact, my mom grew up doing pageants. She taught me everything I know. She was Miss Maryland back in the day, but she didn't make it to the finals.” Shannon sighed, her eyes wistful. “We got closer to the crown with every generation, and the plan was, my daughter was going to win the whole shebang.” She patted her protruding belly. “Except it turns out I'm never going to have a daughter.”

“So you're not going to try again?” Lila asked.

Shannon stared back as if Lila had started speaking in tongues. “After four boys in four years? No. And I've informed my husband that he will be making a surgical appointment to that end.”

“Got it.” Lila held up the gown to admire the draping. “It's beautiful. Are you sure you don't want to hang on to it? I'm sure it means a lot to you, and who knows? Maybe someday you'll have a niece or a granddaughter who wants to wear it.”

“It's not about the actual dress,” Shannon explained. “It's more about the
idea
, you know? The idea that I could have a little girl who would care about all this stuff. Who would want to carry on our family tradition.” The former beauty queen smiled wistfully. “I know I probably sound ridiculous to you, and maybe I am. My husband says that even if we did have a daughter, she might be a tomboy who just wants to play baseball and go hunting.”

Lila nodded.

“It's not that I don't love my boys. I adore them.” She got a haunted look in her eyes. “There're just . . .
so many
Legos. And the Matchbox cars—they're everywhere.”

Lila tried to hand back the blue gown. “Are you sure you don't want to have this preserved and stored?”

Shannon shook her head, her lips thinning. “I don't want to stash it away somewhere. I want to share it. I want it to mean something to someone, the way it meant something to me.”

Lila reexamined the dress, exclaiming over the cutting and the stitching and the beadwork. “It's gorgeous.” She hesitated before continuing. “But it's going to take a very special woman to carry this off.”

“I know.” Shannon lifted her chin with an air of regal grace. “Being a pageant winner requires a lot of poise and confidence.”

“Right.” Lila was starting to understand how the salesclerk at the estate jewelers' must have felt when offering to buy her engagement ring for a pittance. “So we might have to hang on to it for a while, and we might not be able to get you what you think it's worth. I mean, pageant gowns cost beaucoup bucks, right?”

Shannon nodded. “This one was made in Philadelphia to my exact specifications. It cost . . . actually, I'm embarrassed to tell you how much it cost. But it was worth it.”

“You're
sure
you want to sell it?”

“I'm sure.” The former Miss Delaware leaned in and confided, “Now, the tiaras, I'm keeping forever. They can pry those out of my cold, dead hands.”

“Obviously.” Lila felt the same way about her homecoming crown. “Well, I'd be thrilled to put this out on the floor, but I can only give you fifty dollars for it.” She braced herself for outrage and protest, but the woman didn't miss a beat.

“Fifty is fine, as long as you find the right owner. Someone who will love it.”

Lila raised her hand and gave her word. “Now, while you're here, can I interest you in some fabulous handbags or maybe a necklace?”

“No, thank you. My last necklace ended up doubling as a
teething aid.” The woman eyed the camouflage Alaïa bag with interest. “Well, okay, maybe I'll take this. It's big enough to double as a diaper bag, right?”

“Heck, yeah.” Lila rang up the bag and found a padded hanger for the pageant gown.

Shannon gave the silk chiffon gown one last fond pat as she prepared to wrangle her boys back outside. “It just doesn't look quite as good when it's not in the spotlight.”

*   *   *

“Two days down, and we're still standing,” Lila said to her mother as they locked the front door and tallied the receipts.

Daphne collapsed into a plush purple velvet chair. “I'm exhausted, but it feels kind of nice. It feels like we're getting something done.”

“We are.” Lila opened the cash register and started counting the money. “We're rallying. Dad would be impressed.”

Daphne got back on her feet and started straightening the dresses on the rack. “I couldn't have done any of this without you. I never thought I'd say this, but I'm glad you forced me to sell all these clothes. I feel . . . lighter.”

“And think of the money we're saving on storage unit fees,” Lila pointed out.

“Wait. What happened to this jacket?” Daphne held up the black and pink Chanel suit. “All the buttons are missing.”

Lila glanced up from the cash register. “Are you sure? I double-checked everything before we put it out on the floor.”

“What do you mean, am I sure? I'm not blind, sweet pea. The buttons are gone.”

Lila inspected the jaunty wool blazer and skirt. Sure enough, the buttons had vanished, leaving loose threads on the black edging along the tops of the pockets and the front of the jacket.

Daphne checked the blazer cuffs, which had also been denuded of buttons.

“Why on earth would anyone cut off the buttons?” Lila asked.

“To sell.” Daphne rubbed her forehead. “Chanel pieces are worth a lot more if they have the original stamped buttons. There's huge demand for hardware and fasteners. Someone must have come in here with a pocketknife and cut them off.”

“Shut up; there's a black market for
buttons
now?”

“If it says Chanel, there's a black market for it.” Daphne fumed. “We're going to have to start keeping the really good stuff in a separate area. A VIP back room.”

Lila stared mournfully at the blazer. “So you're saying this suit is . . .”

“Worth about half of what it was worth when you opened the doors this morning.” Daphne raised her index fingers to her temples. “I need a drink. Let's stop at the Whinery on our way home.”

“You want to go to the Whinery?” Lila asked. “I thought you said that place was tacky and touristy.”

“Well, maybe it's time I stopped being such a snob. Every time I drive by, it looks like everyone inside is having fun.”

“They are.” Lila stopped fretting about button larceny for a moment. “There's free-flowing chocolate and a lovely chandelier and every breakup song you could think of. I'm sure they'd let you make a request.”

“Sounds delightful. Let's go!”

“Can't.” Lila studied the varnished hardwood floor. “I've got plans.”

Daphne pounced. “What plans? With whom?”

Lila couldn't suppress a little smile. “Remember Malcolm Toth?”

“The delectable ex-marine who dropped you off the other night?”

Lila shot her mother a look of reproach. “Don't call him the delectable ex-marine.”

“Why not? It's not demeaning; I'm merely stating the facts.”

“Once a marine, always a marine, Mom. He's a delectable marine, period. Now, I'm going home to get ready. Want me to drop you off at the Whinery?”

“No, no,” Daphne singsonged. “I can have a glass of wine in the comfort of my living room.”

“You just want to meddle in my personal life and scope out the delectable marine.”

Daphne pressed her hand to her chest. “You wound me. I'm going to help you get ready.”

“Thanks, but I don't need help.”

“I'll be the judge of that.” Daphne rubbed her palms together at the prospect of playing stylist. “Where are you kids going on your big date?”

“No idea.”

“Well, how can you get ready if you don't know where you'll be going?”

It was all Lila could do to restrain herself from flinging out her arms and twirling around the showroom,
Sound of Music
–style. “Doesn't matter where we're going. I already know what I'm wearing.”

“Don't be ridiculous; of course it matters.” Daphne frowned in consternation. “Your hair and makeup and outfit have to be just perfect.”

“It doesn't have to be perfect, Mom. It has to be
right
.”