Your Desire

by Dee S. Knight

  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 n
ot 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.

  Tossing the end of a wool shawl over one shoulder, she’d confidently walked to her car and driven to the landmark hotel in town where the evening’s activities were taking place.

  The first hint something was wrong was the look on Mary’s face. The two friends hadn’t found time to speak earlier, so when she arrived Mary rushed to give her a hug. Then she’d stepped back and examined Allison.

  “I love the way you’ve done your hair,” she’d finally said.

  “Thanks.” Allison gave a hesitant smile, then twirled for Mary as she had for herself earlier that evening. Swish, crinkle, swish went the skirt. “What do you think? Isn’t the dress something?”

  “Yesss, it is. Nice… I like the shawl very much.”

  Allison’s smile disappeared. She took in the concerned look on Mary’s face. Her appearance was perfect. Long blond hair curled charmingly over her shoulders. The floor-length gown, white, scattered with sprigs of lavender-colored flowers, was a shirt-waist style with a short jacket to match. All of that, plus a petite frame and face with laughing blue eyes, made Mary the very picture of a young starlet from 1955, instead of the thirty-something widow and mother of two she actually was.

  Even in her normal role, Mary was beautiful and graceful, the opposite of Allison. Despite Allison’s self-consciously unfavorable comparison to her friend, she and Mary had always been close.

  “Oh dear, Mary. My outfit seemed just right when I got it. Do you really think it’s awful?” She held out her skirt and looked down, frowning.

  “No, no, of course it’s not awful. Don’t pay any attention to me, Allison. The dress is fine. There’s just so much to it and the color is a little dark. Reminds me of autumn in Scotland instead of spring in Virginia. Actually…” Mary took a longer look at the dress, frowning in her examination “—it reminds me of that autumn I spent in Scotland after college, sampling Guinness at every pub I came to. This is the way a good many mornings looked to me.” Shaking her head at the memory, she took Allison’s hand. “I’m sorry. Don’t worry, really, the dress is fine. Come on. Let me show you the table and what I’d like you to do.”

  That began the evening. Before long, Allison had endured enough long stares and quick embarrassed glances to last a lifetime. Although Mary had insisted that Allison sit at her table for dinner and drinks, when the nametags had been handed out and the hellos said, Allison slipped out and headed home.

  Twenty minutes later she turned from the dark county road onto her long driveway. The headlights swept the fence and pastureland as she made the turn, catching something out of place in their beams. She stopped and backed up. A man was rising from where he’d been sitting in her pasture. Not far away, the bumper of a light-colored sports car had made a good sized dent in one of her oak trees.

  “Good Lord!” She jumped out. “Mister! Mister, can you hear me? Are you all right?”

  He faced her, looking dazed but uninjured, from what she could see. He made no attempt to move toward her. “Hello? I’ve had an accident.”

  “Yes, I can see that.” When he still made no effort to move toward her, she got a flashlight from the glove box, heaved a sigh of resignation and gathered up the volume of skirt so she could climb the wooden fence, grateful for once that she was unable to wear heels. Then she cringed when she thought of how her beautiful velvet slippers would look by the time she trudged ac
ross the wet grass. They’d look like hell, and so would the bottom half of her dress.

  “‘Like hell’ can only be an improvement on the dress,” she muttered.

  Even with the flashlight, the headlights cast eerie shadows in front of her as she carefully picked her way across the wet, ankle high grass. Despite the dew-soaked hem, she sounded like an army of taffeta-clothed soldiers crossing the field. In the quiet, the scratchy, swishy noise of the stiff material rang through the night. Except for the sound of the car engine, her dress made the only noise, since the man had said nothing else

  “Are you hurt?” she asked when she reached him.

  A glance to the left showed a gaping hole in the fence that would have to be repaired very quickly. Lucky the sheep are in the lower pasture, she thought, then chastised herself for thinking about her sheep when something was clearly wrong with the man standing in front of her. The very handsome man, even with the sharp angles and dark shadows on his face cast by the unnatural lighting.

  “Who are you?” he asked sharply.

  His tone pierced her romantic examination of his face and raised her hackles. After the night she’d already had there was no way she felt like putting up with rudeness, even rudeness due to shock.

  “I’m the owner of the fence you smashed through and the tree whose trunk you gouged. Now would you mind answering my question? I’m also a nurse. I want to know if I should call 911 for an ambulance or only call the police.”

  He looked like he was considering her statement.

  “Is your car drivable? It doesn’t look too bad, actually, from what I can see. Better than my tree.”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t try.”

  “Well, at least you didn’t back up through the huge hole you put in my fence and drive off without a leaving me a note or anything. I appreciate that.” She looked him over as well as she could. No blood that she could see. He was standing and didn’t show signs of being in pain, or dizzy. His color was pretty good. So what didn’t seem right?