Magnolia City by Duncan W. Alderson

Author:Duncan W. Alderson [Alderson, Duncan W.]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Kensington Publishing Corp.
Published: 2014-02-18T05:00:00+00:00

After lunch Monday afternoon, Hetty found herself being led by Lamar across Texas Avenue, the invisible border beyond which the dress shops waited. She was surprised there weren’t all kinds of red caution signs along the road as the streetcar rumbled by. Once they stepped up onto the curb, she knew she was past the point where she could fend off any fashion temptations. When they came in front of Everitt-Buelow, where she used to shop with her mother, there were embroideries on display of such haughty elegance they made her heart ache with deprivation: one-of-a-kind smocks across which delicate Japanese lilies shimmered in shades like lilac and teal blue. Lamar remarked on their beauty, but Hetty only shrugged and looked away, thinking to herself, It’s been so long since I could afford a dress like that. ¡Ay, dios mio!

As Lamar pulled her toward the entrance, she wondered how he planned to slip unseen by floorwalker Ellison. No sooner had they stepped into the fragrant first floor, then the gentleman appeared, tipping his hat and greeting them both by name.

Hetty avoided his eyes, but Lamar shook his hand warmly and said, “Afternoon, Ellison—has Miss Allen been in lately? Do you know what she’s been looking at?”

“Not lately, sir.”

“Then it’s up to you, Hetty. You’ll have to help me pick out a gown for your sister. You know me—all thumbs.”

Hetty smiled. “I’d be glad to, Lamar. I should know what Charlotte likes by now.”

Ellison waved them by. They kept the charade up as they headed toward the salon at the back of the second floor, the one appointed with couture gowns for evening. One thing unraveled into another; they were shopping their way along, trying on jewelry, sniffing perfume.

“Shopping for Charlotte,” Hetty told all the saleswomen and the customers they recognized.

After rifling through lush embroideries for spring, she turned. And spotted it. A dress slung across a mannequin in a halo of light. Her heart stopped beating when she saw it, and when the blood surged back into her ears, it thundered like the first chord on an organ in a church. A low-cut gown in black and red sequins. It was more black than red, and black was her color. The red ran down it here and there like a scandal breaking. Like melted roses. She took it into a dressing room and tried it on immediately. She looked at herself in the mirror, the spangles clinging to her like scales on a fallen mermaid, her white breasts exposed just enough over the extreme décolletage. She knew it was the right thing to wear. Black, for things hidden, for the night. Red, dripping through it. Just a little. Bringing in the warning, the ripeness, the burn. The blood. What they were doing wasn’t wrong. It was just risky. Very risky. As Lina liked to say, “Cria cuervos y te sacarán los ojos.” Breed ravens, and they will take out your eyes.

He bought her the dress. “Charlotte will love it,” he said.

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