Deep Down True by Juliette Fay

Author:Juliette Fay
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Penguin Group (USA), Inc.
Published: 2010-12-01T22:00:00+00:00

When Nora opened the front door, she said, “They’re still sleeping, can you believe it?”

“What time did they go to bed?” asked Dana, still rattled from the conversation with Kenneth.

“Oh, who knows!” Nora fluttered her long fingers and started up the stairs. “Those two could talk the oxygen out of a spaceship.” She turned back toward Dana, still standing below in the foyer. “Well, come on,” she said, grinning mischievously. “I have a present for you.”

Dana followed her up to a large master bedroom swathed in hues of gold and cream: lemon- and butter-colored striped wallpaper, sheer ivory swag curtains, a king-size bed loaded with a satiny amber down comforter shot with threads of gold and mustard. Nora disappeared, apparently swallowed whole by her own decor, but then she emerged from a walk-in closet. She held out a gold- and black-checked shopping bag with PERFECTUA printed in red up one side. “Okay, it’s not a true gift-gift because I got it at work, but when I saw it on the samples rack, I knew it was meant for you.”

Dana carefully removed the tissue-swaddled item. It was a blouse, a creamy champagne color. The collar was wider than she usually wore and came to sharp points. The cuffs were long and tight, with three small, flat mother-of-pearl buttons at each wrist. Darts running up from the bottom hem to each breast emphasized a narrow waist and ample chest. The tiny tag inside the collar said simply PERFECTUA—SOIE.

“This is so . . . It’s . . . Are you sure?” Dana stammered.

“Sure?” said Nora, as if the word were unfamiliar to her. “Of course I’m sure. Try it on.” She crossed her arms over her narrow rib cage and waited.

For a moment Dana didn’t know what to do. Was she supposed to disrobe in front of Nora? Nora wasn’t moving, and she wasn’t offering the privacy of her bathroom, so Dana pulled her gray cabled turtleneck over her head, her upper half now clothed only in her worst, most stretched-out purple bra.

“You’d wear a different bra, of course,” said Nora, “but raw silk covers pretty well anyway.”

Dana put on the shirt, careful not to let her fingernails snag the delicate material. As she buttoned up the front, Nora adeptly did the buttons at her wrists and flipped the cuffs back. Squinting critically at the blouse, she adjusted the shoulders and fussed with the collar, sliding her fingers down the tips so they hung in perfect symmetry. Then she pivoted Dana until she was facing an enormous mirror hung over a low chest of drawers.

“Brilliant,” she breathed. Dana wasn’t sure if she was referring to herself or the shirt.

The two women spent several moments gushing to each other about the shirt’s utter perfection: how it could be worn with dressy jeans or a floor-length skirt, how its color accented Dana’s sandy blond hair, how its cut was so subtly flattering that no one would ever say, “How flattering”—people would simply think you looked that good.

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