The Dream Dress

by Janice Thompson

  “I’m not so sure about that.”

  “Puh-leeze. The man can’t make it without you.”

  “Of course he can. He’s got the Fab Five.” Tears trickled down my cheeks.

  “They’re not half as fab as you.” Scarlet gave me a winsome look and smiled. “You’re the best. And I’m sorry if I got carried away in front of that handsome reporter. Just couldn’t help myself. You don’t get enough credit for what you do. If they had any idea how good your designs are, you’d be on the cover of that magazine, not Demetri.”

  “Actually, I don’t think he made the cover. They’re doing a write-up about Nicolette’s dress.” I sighed. “Well, they were, anyway. Now it’s covered in chocolate.”

  “Chocolate washes out, no problem. Nicolette’s dress will be as good as new before you know it.” Scarlet grinned as if it were really just that easy. “Ooo, speaking of chocolate, I have an idea.” She snapped her fingers. “Come to the bakery with me and hang out for a little while. We can wash away your troubles with some sugar. You never got to taste those éclairs. I’m using a brand-new recipe, one I came up with to celebrate my new status as an engaged woman. I’m calling them the Wedding Belles. Did you notice they were bell shaped?”

  I shook my head. “No, I didn’t. Sorry.”

  “Well, they are. And I’m going to sell them two to an order. Isn’t that sweet?” She chuckled. “Sweet. Get it?”

  I got it, but I didn’t really feel like acting chipper right now. Not with my world imploding.

  Still, how could I ruin her day? The girl had a lot to be excited about right now, what with the diamond ring circling her finger and all.

  “I’m really happy about your engagement, Scarlet,” I said after a moment’s pause, “but I think I’d better just go home and skip the sweets.”

  Then again, if I went home, I’d have some ’splainin’ to do. Mimi Carmen would no doubt go into a panic once she heard I’d lost my job. She’d likely call Mama at the travel agency and tell her that the sky had fallen. This would be followed by a trip to her church, where she would light a candle for me. If she could afford a candle, anyway. I wasn’t sure about the going rate for plea-bargain prayers these days.

  No point in worrying Mama and Mimi just yet. Besides, cooler heads would prevail. Maybe Scarlet and I could come up with a plan of action. And drowning my sorrows with sugar did sound appealing.

  We got out of the car, and I trudged along behind my friend to her bakery, where I spent the next hour and a half nibbling on baked goods—first an éclair, then a banana nut muffin, and finally a macadamia nut cookie loaded with white chocolate chips. Turned out sugar really could wash away your troubles, or at least make you forget about them for a spell.

  By the time I reached the diabetic coma stage, I no longer cared that I didn’t have a job to go back to. Just one more of those Wedding Belles and I might be willing to forget the whole bride-covered-in-chocolate thing too.

  Around 11:30 Scarlet passed the reins to her mother, who worked as her assistant in the kitchen. The most amazing spicy aroma filled the air, and I rose in one fluid motion to figure out where it had come from. Parma John’s Pizzeria next door. Of course.

  “It’s the South of the Border special today,” Scarlet explained and grinned. “I love the South of the Border. Hot. Yummy. Taco meat. Cheese. Gooey.” Her eyes glazed over, and I felt myself swooning all over again. She peeked through the new opening between the bakery and the restaurant. “Bella’s there. Let’s go.”

  Scarlet grabbed my hand and practically pulled me into Parma John’s. Not that it took much doing. The delicious aroma drew me like the Pied Piper wooing the children into his lair. Until I saw Bella. At that point I erupted in tears. Couldn’t help myself. Bella was a wedding pro. I was a failed wedding dress designer. The contrast stared me in the face.

  “Gabi?” She drew near and put her hand on my arm. “What’s happened? Did someone . . . I mean, has someone . . .” Her eyes misted over. “Died?”

  “No.” I shook my head. Only my career.

  “What’s happened then?” She gestured for us to take a seat at a nearby table, and I leaned my head down on it. “You’re never off work this early.”

  “I’m off . . . period.”

  “What do you mean?” She paused from our conversation long enough to holler our order back to her brother in the kitchen, then she turned my way again. “Now, what were you saying?” She leaned in to whisper, “You’re taking the day off because of your period?”

  “No.” I fought the temptation to slap myself on the forehead. “I’m trying to tell you that I’m off because I don’t have a job anymore. I’ve been axed.”

  “No way. Tell me everything.”

  And so I did. Bella sat straight as an arrow, clinging to my every word until the pizza arrived. At that point she didn’t even give me a chance to grab a slice before taking one herself. She seemed lost in her thoughts. Or lost in the cheese, one or the other.

  “There’s got to be a solution for this,” she said after downing half a slice of the gooey pizza. “God will turn it around, watch and see.”

  “That’s what I said.” Scarlet nibbled on the corner of a slice of pizza and gave me a pensive look.

  I didn’t really need or want any of their religious talk today. If God cared about my career, why had he allowed this to happen in the first place? For that matter, if he really gave a rip about me, why did he let my dad walk out when I was just twelve years old?

  Ugh.

  I reached for a slice of pizza and shoveled it in, taking bite after humongous bite. It filled the gap in my soul, at least temporarily.

  After a few moments of silence, Bella finally spoke. “Well, let’s look at this as a blessing in disguise.”

  “A blessing in disguise? Losing my paycheck?” Had the girl lost her mind?

  “Well, not that part, but the obvious. I mean, think creatively, Gabi. This is probably just the opportunity you’ve been looking for to start your own line. Open your own design studio. You know? If anyone deserves the chance to be showcased, it’s you.”

  “R-really?” I sniffled.

  “Yes, really. Now, we’ll need a plan, of course, but I feel sure, if we put our pretty little heads together, we can come up with something. We’re smart, educated women.”

  I wasn’t sure a year and a half at the local junior college qualified me as educated, but I didn’t say so. Instead, I mumbled the only thing that made sense in the moment. “I need an income. I pay the rent on our house.”

  Not that someone like Bella Neeley could understand the financial woes of a girl like myself. She had a hardworking husband. Lived in a beautiful Victorian home in the historic district. Managed Club Wed, the island’s most successful wedding facility. In other words, she had the world on a string. Me? I couldn’t even afford a quality spool of thread.

  Empathy flooded Bella’s eyes as she leaned my way. “I get it, Gabi,” she said, her voice now lowered. “I know what it’s like to start your own business. It’s scary, for sure. But we’ll pray and go from there.” She sat up straight, now all business. “In the meantime, you’ll need a quick way to bring in money.”

  “Exactly.”

  After a moment, she snapped her fingers. “I know. The opera house. Mama was just telling me that they’re holding auditions for the Christmas production. She can help you get your old job back.”

  “Really?”

  “Sure.” Bella grinned. “I’ll talk to her later this afternoon. I don’t know where they stand on costumes, but I’m sure she would put in a good word for you. Before long you’ll be up to your eyeballs in costumes.”

  “You think?” I thought about it for a nanosecond before grief washed over me again. To go back to costume design would be fun, but it just wouldn’t be the same. My heart, my thoughts, and my imagination were all tied up in the wedding biz, not the theater.

  I’d just started to open my mouth to share this when the door of
Parma John’s opened and Demetri entered with the Fab Five in tow. A shiver slithered down my spine and I hid behind a menu, hoping to avoid the inevitable.

  “Wow.” Bella glanced over at my boss and must’ve noticed his sober countenance. “Someone’s knickers are really in a knot today. And the ladies don’t look much happier.”

  I peeked around the menu and gave the Fab Five a closer look. Strained expressions on most of their faces clued me in to the fact that they, like Demetri, hated my guts. Not that they could see me hiding behind the South of the Border special and all.

  I lowered the menu and caught a glimpse of Antonia, the baby of the group. Still in her early twenties, this recent import from Spain would surely empathize with my dilemma. She seemed nice enough. Not Beatrix, though. I shivered as I caught a glimpse of the oldest of the designers, the one who used every available opportunity to make me feel like a failure. She’d shoved her reading glasses onto the top of her head. They might as well have been horns. She, along with the other ladies, hovered around Demetri like a colony of ants giving reverence to their queen.

  Bella’s brother Armando seated the group on the far side of the restaurant, thank goodness. I breathed a sigh of relief and placed the menu back on the table.

  “I have a thousand questions about those women.” Scarlet’s nose wrinkled as she gave them a second look. “But I hate to be nosy.”

  “There’s not much to know,” I said. “Just call them A, B, C, D, and E.”

  “Huh?” Scarlet took another bite of the pizza. “What do you mean?”

  “They’re all letters of the alphabet—Antonia from Spain, Beatrix from the UK, Chantal from Paris, Doria from Greece, and Emiko from Japan. A, B, C, D, E.”

  Scarlet leaned my way and whispered her thoughts on the matter. “Well then, I predict that one day you will not only get your job back, but you will also join them. You’ll be the sixth in their little circle of champions.”

  “No way.” I released a slow breath as I thought it through. “My name doesn’t start with an F.” A weak smile followed. “But if it makes any difference, Demetri has probably given me a big fat F for my performance today.”

  “That would be my performance.” Scarlet groaned and took another nibble. “And just as soon as I finish off this pizza”—here she paused to ask Bella the calorie count of her slice—“I’m going to go over there to your boss and explain what really happened. Tell him that he needs to give you your job back. This is all my doing, not yours.”

  “No. Please don’t.” I felt a sudden urge to run. Still, I couldn’t be rude to Bella and Scarlet, so I finished my piece of pizza, then slipped out of the restaurant when Demetri’s back was turned. With my heart in my throat I raced toward the car, ready to put this awful morning behind me.

  They Can’t Take That Away from Me

  I cannot count my day complete

  ’Til needle, thread, and fabric meet.

  Author unknown

  I jumped into my car and prayed it would start this time. It did. Thank goodness. Something needed to go right for me today. I made the familiar drive to our little house on autopilot, unable to focus on anything but the events of the day. When I arrived home, I tiptoed inside, hoping not to wake Mimi Carmen, who usually napped at this time of day.

  After easing my way into the kitchen, I tossed my bag onto the counter. Its contents spilled out, makeup clattering to the floor below. Great. Just one more mess I needed to clean up. On the top of the pile, I caught a glimpse of the reporter’s business card with his name emblazoned across the top.

  Ugh. He could keep his article on Demetri. I tossed the card on the countertop, my thoughts shifting to the chocolate-covered gown once again. I shivered as the incident replayed itself in my mind, not once, but twice. Was it my imagination, or was this story growing with each new replay?

  “Home so soon, Gabriella?” Mimi Carmen’s voice sounded from the hallway.

  I looked up as she hobbled into the kitchen, her arthritic joints giving her fits, as always. Not that they stood much of a chance these days. Mimi was nearly as round as she was tall. Years of homemade tamales and enchiladas had taken their toll. Not that she was ready to give them up, of course.

  “Yes. I—” Tears sprang to my eyes and I could not continue.

  The soft wrinkles on Mimi’s face drew me in, the comfort of the familiar grabbing hold of my heart. I would feel better after confiding in her, no doubt about it. But still, I hated to burden her. I’d already interrupted her nap, and she looked exhausted. No, I’d say as little as possible and hope she wouldn’t press me on the matter. Not until later, when Mama arrived home. That way I could share the news with both of them in attendance. Between now and then I would figure out how to soften the blow.

  Mimi ran her fingers across her upswept graying hair and tried to fix the loose bun in the back. This wouldn’t be the first time she’d fallen asleep with her hair up, nor would it be the last. It also wouldn’t be the last time she’d doze off wearing the housecoat Mama had purchased for her in 1987 as a Christmas gift.

  “Did I wake you up?”

  “Oh, just dozing a little during the commercials.” She took a couple of slow steps my way and shrugged. “I was watching my story.”

  Her story was Doña Bárbara, her favorite telenovela. Classic Spanish soap opera. Loaded with drama, angst, and soured relationships—a lot like my life of late. Only, the people in that story received a decent paycheck for their drama.

  “It’s been a hard day,” I managed. “I’ll tell you later, okay?” My emotions were still too raw to share.

  “You think your day has been hard!” she responded in Spanish. “You should see what’s happening with Cecilia on my story!” Mimi went into a lengthy explanation of the dilemma her favorite character faced, but she lost me about halfway into it. Who had time to talk about a fictional world when the real one presented so many problems?

  After a few minutes of rambling, she brought her story to its rightful conclusion. Her gaze shifted to the mess I’d made when my bag spilled onto the counter. “Don’t worry about this. You go soak in the tub.”

  As always, she knew exactly what I needed even before I voiced it. I gave her a hug and then headed for the bathroom. A long, hot bubble bath would wash away the pain of the day.

  The bubbly warmth did little to ease my worries, but it did help release the knots in my shoulders. If only my mind could relax as easily. As I rested against the tub, eyes closed, I replayed this morning’s nightmare scene over and over again. Éclairs. Chocolate. DDs. Demetri’s passionate “You’re fired!”

  Stop it, Gabi. Let it go.

  I couldn’t change the past, as Mimi Carmen would say. No point in trying. I just had to figure out a plan for the present. And the future. Without my income, we wouldn’t be able to make our rent. Mama’s paycheck—if one could call it that—hardly covered the utilities. No, her job at the travel agency didn’t even make a dent in the light bill, water bill, and groceries. I would have to come up with a plan—and quick. Looked like Bella’s suggestion that I apply for my old job at the Grand Opera Society was the only viable one. For now, anyway.

  I’d never been a pray-er. Still, I gave it my best shot. I wasn’t sure which way to go about it, though—Mimi Carmen’s “light a candle and tell it to the priest” way or Bella’s “just have it out with God and let him know how you’re feeling” approach.

  I opted for the latter and offered up an “oh, help!” prayer, followed by several frustrated rants.

  Having it out with God, it turned out, was a little frightening, especially when one was in such a raw and vulnerable state. Hopefully he could handle my tirade and not strike me with lightning. Not that I’d planned to confront him in full voice, actually, but I must have, because Mimi Carmen tapped on the door.

  “Gabriella? Who are you hollering at?”

  I groaned. “No one, Mimi.”

  “But I heard you. Something about life being unfair.”


  Well, it is.

  “Sorry,” I hollered out and then slithered under the water. If my grandmother responded, I couldn’t hear her.

  By the time I emerged from the once-warm, once-bubbly water, I felt renewed. Duking it out with the Almighty seemed to help, at least on some strange level. I climbed out of the tub, toweled off, and dressed in my workout clothes. Maybe I would go for a run later.

  Or not.

  As I passed by the spare bedroom, I caught a glimpse of the sewing machine in the corner. It seemed to call my name. I walked into the room, my thoughts immediately captivated by a dress design I’d sketched last night in the wee hours. At once I found myself transported to a happy place. I reached for my art pencils, then settled in to tweak the design, realizing it would be perfect for Scarlet. Yes, indeed. She would love this dress, no doubt about it.

  Around 4:30 or so, the doorbell rang. My heart shot to my throat. Had Demetri come to add fuel to the fire, perhaps? Would he confront me in front of my grandmother? The thought terrified me, for all our sakes. This story might just end up on the evening news, with my grandmother in handcuffs.

  NEWS FLASH: LOCAL SHOP OWNER TAKEN OUT BY ENRAGED GRANDMOTHER. STORY AT TEN.

  I pushed my sketchbook aside and stood. A peek out the window didn’t reveal much. I couldn’t exactly see the front door from here.

  “Gabi, can you get that?” Mimi Carmen’s voice sounded from the kitchen. “I’m up to my eyeballs in enchilada sauce and can’t stop.”

  “Okay.” In spite of my less-than-perfect appearance, I opened the door. My heart shifted to my throat when I saw—What’s your name again, handsome?—the reporter from Texas Bride standing there. I’d just started to work up the courage to stammer a hello when his gaze narrowed. I could read the confusion in his eyes.

  “It’s . . . it’s you.” He crossed his arms and leaned against the entryway.