Your Desire (10 page)

AWARDS NIGHT

by

Dee S. Knight

CHAPTER ONE

Allison Hayes berated herself for the millionth time as she hurried up the street. Spending her lunch hour shopping wasn’t her greatest desire, but she had little choice.

Why had she agreed to help at the reunion yet again? Hadn’t she been masochistic enough when they’d celebrated being out of high school five years? She’d handled all of the arrangements then. And when the tenth anniversary arrived, hadn’t she accepted the tasks of tracking down everyone in their class, bringing in the entertainment and setting up the welcome dinner?

As the third reunion approached, she’d determined to stay out of it. Yet here she was, sucked in again. At least this time she only had responsibility for handling the welcome table for the mix-and-mingle dinner on Saturday. The opening ceremonies, as it were.

“And I think that will be the extent of my appearances, too,” she mumbled. Why emphasize the chasm that existed between her and her classmates one more time?

The first reunion hadn’t been so bad in that respect. Everyone either had recently graduated from college or was trying to establish their place in the world in some way. She’d felt on equal footing. At the next, she had been among the few who weren’t married, one of only a handful who hadn’t left the
Lexington area. This year, she knew she would be almost alone in her single status. Probably a few of her classmates had been divorced and remarried, even, sampling two or three times what she hadn’t known at all. She would feel odd and provincial, still being unmarried and never having left their small hometown.

Walking with purpose down
Main Street
, she headed for the Belk’s department store. The reunion committee, in its infinite wisdom, had decided to make the introductory party a retro theme.

“So much more fun,” her friend Mary had explained on the phone last week.

“Fun? But I don’t have anything I can wear to a retro party. I’m not even sure what retro clothes are,” Allison had complained.

“Sure you do. Now look, Allison, you
must
be there. I’m really counting on you. It’ll be fun, you’ll see. Have your hair styled in a flip and find an old bridesmaid’s dress somewhere. Somehow they always look like they’re from the fifties.” With that bit of sage advice she’d hung up to take care of some child-related disaster in the making.

So here Allison was, on her lunch hour and only a few days before the event, trying to find something that filled the requirements. Tugging on the door to Belk’s, she saw the sign posted on the glass: “Closed due to broken pipe. Please visit us again later this week.”

“Great.” Heaving a deep sigh, she wondered where else she could find the kind of dress she needed, in—she glanced at her watch—thirty minutes. Nowhere. She groaned, knowing she’d now have to do more shopping than could be handled in a lunch break.

Viewing her reflection in the glass, she noted the lines of fatigue already there, and the week wasn’t over yet. Leaving her plain face starkly exposed, her brown hair was pulled back in a bun, its luster normally hidden under a nurse’s cap. She looked tidy and efficient in the white uniform. But she hurt from the hours on her feet combined with the walk uptown, making her lean to the right in order to take weight off of her left leg. The ache added to her weary expression. The last thing she needed in her week was to go shopping.

“Damn!” She hadn’t wanted to go to the reunion in the first place and now she had to rearrange her schedule in order to find a dress she really didn’t want to buy. She turned to trudge back up the street toward the hospital.

Suddenly, a noise caught her attention and she glanced up to find the source, a sign hanging over the sidewalk, squeaking on its hinges.
Your Desire
, the sign said in fine script.
Vintage Clothing
. An arrow pointed up the alley where Allison saw another, smaller sign hanging over a doorway. Puzzled, she looked up and down the street. She’d never noticed this sign before. She hadn’t especially noticed this alley, to tell the truth.
Vintage Clothing.

“What do I have to lose?” she murmured, dragging herself up the alleyway.

Pushing open the door, she experienced a rush of anticipation, a tingle up her spine. She walked into a store surprisingly different than what she’d expected. From the outside, the storefront appeared tiny. Inside, shelves and racks spaced on each wall extended far into the back, making the shop very deep. She supposed because the windows fronted the alley, the natural light that filled the space seemed filtered, creating a hazy, gauzy ambience.

She stepped farther inside. Background music was loud enough to be heard but not overwhelming. A song by a swing band ended and a Hit Parade ballad by Perry Como began. To her left she saw a Victorian wedding gown hanging on the wall. To her right, a flapper era dress, complete with fringe and sequins. Surely these were reproductions. No one store could have such a wide range of exquisite originals.

“May I help you?”

She started, slapping her hand to her chest. “Oh, I didn’t see you.” The man standing beside her looked like someone she thought she should know. An actor or something. That was it! One of those old actors. What was his name…?

He smiled and she forgot to remember.

“I didn’t mean to startle you. Are you looking for something in particular?”

“Yes,” she said, regaining her composure. “I need a dress for an event on Saturday. Do you carry anything fifties-like?”

“We certainly do, and I might have something in your size. Let’s see…” He cast a glance over her while tapping his lips with his index finger. “I believe you look about a size twelve?”

“You have a good eye.”

He smiled again. “Years of experience, my dear. Come this way.”

His walk was so smooth he almost seemed to glide across the floor. Following, Allison’s limp was even more pronounced. The ache in her hip had spread to her lower back and finishing her shift would be hell.

When the man stopped in front of a rack of dresses, she saw clothing from the right era. A gray poodle skirt and pink sweater set were displayed on a mannequin with bright, rosy cheeks and a long ponytail streaked with pink and green. Then the mannequin moved.

“This is my granddaughter, Edwina,” the man said by way of introduction. “And I do apologize. I’m Nigel Brown. May I have your name?”

“Allison Hayes.”

“Of course.” His eyes twinkled but not in merriment. More like in confirmation. Then he turned to his granddaughter. “Edwina, would you show Miss Hayes what we have from the fifties? The dress is for a dance, I believe?” He raised his brows.

“More like a cocktail party-slash-dinner. For a high school reunion.”

“Oh, what fun,” Edwina said, smiling.

Not!
“I hope so.”

“Now, Miss Hayes, why don’t you just have a seat and we’ll show you what we have. I’m certain we can find something magical for you.” He pointed to a chair Allison was fairly certain had not been there a short minute ago, and she gladly sank onto the seat.

“Not magical, Mr. Brown. I don’t believe in magic, I’m afraid. Just something to fit the theme so I can get through the evening.”

“We’ll just see, shall we?” He winked at her.

For the next ten minutes Edwina held up dresses, more for her grandfather’s inspection than Allison’s. He found something wrong with each one before Allison could voice an opinion. The gorgeous red chiffon was
too
red for her coloring, the white velvet, too small. An adorable satin jacket dress in lavender was too large and a strapless brocade, too old. “Edwina,
really
,” he’d said dramatically.

“This is the last we have, Gramps.” Screwing her face up in distaste, Edwina held up a ball length gown. Allison knew her mouth fell open as she examined the garment.

Gold, brown and dark green plaid. It was plaid
taffeta
. The skirt was overly full. Two straps extended from the sleeveless bodice to tie behind the wearer’s neck.

Nigel Brown cocked his head and a slow smile spread across his face. “Yes,” he murmured, as though to himself, “she’s an autumn, and these are the perfect colors for her. The size is exact—she won’t even have to try it on.” Beaming, he turned to Allison. “Didn’t I tell you we’d find exactly the right thing, my dear?”

She tried to keep horror from showing on her face. “But—but, Mr. Brown, this dress is…”

“Hideous?” Edwina supplied.

“Yes,” Allison grasped at the word. “Yes, it’s hideous. You can’t possibly think I should wear
this
to my reunion.” Her voice tapered to a whisper. “Can you?”

He stared at her with that same knowing smile and patted her shoulder. “You’re looking at the gown on the hanger. Most clothes aren’t at their best when they’re hanging up. They need the human form to give them character. And this dress will show real character on you, Allison. You can trust me.”

Standing, she walked to Edwina, who pursed her lips and raised her brows, openly showing the skepticism Allison wanted to show, but was too polite. Taking a piece of material in her hand, she stretched her arm to shoulder height. Volumes of material still fell in folds from the hanger.

“Mr. Brown, there’s so much here.
Too
much, and …
plaid
. You
do
see, don’t you? I can’t possibly wear this.”

Edwina heaved a sigh and looked to her grandfather.

“Allison,” his voice fell, became smoother, melodious.

Allison blinked, dropped the material and focused hard to hear him.

“This dress is the right time period, the right size, and absolutely right for
you
. You want this dress, you’re just not used to the style or the color. When you prepare for your evening, you’ll feel like a queen. Your world will change, like magic. I promise you.”

“You do?” A queen. Such a change would take magic, for she’d never felt like a queen. Well, maybe before the accident she’d been made to feel like a
princess
, but she’d been nine when the horse threw her, so that hardly counted.

“I do,” he confirmed. “Now, shall we wrap this up for you?”

“Yes, please.”

He smiled happily. “Oh, I’m so glad, my dear. You won’t regret this purchase. I can see you now, dancing across the floor…” he waved his arms through the air as though guiding someone in a waltz “—the skirt billowing behind you and the crinkle of taffeta emphasizing every graceful turn. You’ll be smashing!”

She hadn’t noticed Edwina slipping away but when Allison turned, she saw the girl at the back of the store, putting the dress in a box. She hurried to the counter. “How much is it? I didn’t even look at the price.”

“Thirty dollars. Does that seem too much?” Edwina sounded as though she thought any amount would be too much.

“Are you kidding? It’s far too little. I mean, this truly has to be vintage—surely no one would make a dress like this anymore.”

Edwina coughed out a laugh. “That’s true, surely no one would. Nonetheless, that’s what we’re charging.”

Allison looked for Nigel. He stood where she’d left him, watching her. “Mr. Brown? Are you certain of this price?”

“You really are a good woman, Allison. Thirty dollars, please, and you let us worry about our profit margin, all right?”

Shrugging, she dug out her wallet. “All right, I guess. Thank you very much.” Handing Edwina the money with one hand, she accepted the box with the other. “Well, if I ever need something old-fashioned again, I’ll be back.”

“Oh, I don’t imagine you’ll need us again,” Nigel said, suddenly standing beside her. He frowned. “Hold still, my dear. You have a piece of lint in your hair.” He reached his hand to her, letting his fingers linger briefly on her forehead. Warmth spread outward from his touch. The area around her hip and back felt hot. Her pain diminished and then petered out.

She felt her eyes widen in surprise. Twisting from side to side, she waited for the customary spasms to set her nerve endings afire, but nothing happened. “How did you…”

“There, I think I got it.” He held out his fingers, but she didn’t see anything.

Then it didn’t seem important to know how the pain had disappeared. Smiling at the two shopkeepers, she said, “Thanks. I’d better go now.”

“Have a good time at your reunion,” Nigel called as she went out the door.

With renewed vigor, she walked to the top of the alley and turned toward the hospital, certain she was late. Glancing at her watch, she was astounded to see that only a few minutes had passed from when she’d left Belk’s.
Belk’s?

She spun around, confused. A woman outside Belk’s pulled open the door and entered the department store. Another, holding a shopping bag with one hand and a child with the other, came out.

But I didn’t go into Belk’s—did I?
Frowning, she looked at the mouth of the alley.
There had been a sign, advertising a shop of some kind.
No sign hung there now.

However, there was definitely a dress box under her arm, marked Your Desire. A moment’s unease struck then faded to nothing. There was no place along the street except the chain department store where she could have gotten a dress.

Your Desire must be a new line at Belk’s, she told herself, at the same time marveling at how good she felt. With an actual spring in her step, she headed back to work.

* * * *

I was the laughingstock of the evening.

So went Allison’s thoughts as she drove the twisty road between town and her farm. She would never understand how she’d come to buy the dress she was wearing. The thing was horrid, awful,
hideous
. Yes. That was the perfect description.

Strangely, when she’d gotten dressed for the evening, she hadn’t thought she looked hideous at all. In fact, when she finished dressing, with her hair curled and held softly off her face with satin-finish gold barrettes, and light touches of makeup applied, she’d examined herself critically in the full length mirror. A smile had touched her lips and her eyes. She looked fine, she thought. In fact, she’d shyly admitted to herself, she felt just like Cinderella going off to the royal dance. Twirling, pretending she was in the arms of her Prince Charming, she’d closed her eyes, loving the feel of the stiff fabric as it moved, and the sound of the taffeta swishing around her legs.