A Dangerous Dress

by Julia Holden

  I said, “Well of course you looked for it. You couldn’t have found it without looking for it.” That might have sounded a little bit bitchy. Which must have confused him. Especially considering the kiss I just planted on him. And those hugs. But as I said, my feelings for Josh are complicated, and it was then that I realized that some of my unresolved feelings did involve my being mad at him. “First you are going to tell me why on earth you told them to throw my suitcase away.”

  “What?”

  “That big pink suitcase. Celestine and I saw you. You talked to the guy at the front desk, and then they tossed the suitcase in that old truck and took it away. Just like you told them to.”

  “What are you talking about? I told them not to.”

  “You did not.”

  “I did so.”

  “You did so what?”

  He crinkled his brow as he spoke. “I did so . . . not . . . tell them to get rid of your stuff.”

  “I saw you,” I said again.

  “I guess you didn’t hear me,” he said.

  Which was true. “So what? I saw what happened.”

  “So did I,” he said. “But I didn’t tell them to do that.”

  “And why should I believe you?”

  “I brought your dress back,” he said.

  Which was also true. “So what were you doing there?” I asked.

  “I came back to the hotel to talk to you. Only Gerard Duclos was in your room.”

  “He was attacking me.”

  “I know,” Josh said. “I mean, I read what you wrote. You should have asked for help.”

  “You didn’t wait for me to ask. Besides, I’ve never been attacked before. You just make it up as you go along.”

  “I’m really sorry,” he said.

  I kind of shrugged. “I guess it might have looked like something else.”

  “It did.”

  I have given that episode a lot of thought. And it has occurred to me that Josh might honestly have thought Gerard and I were . . . well, you know. Yuck.

  “Anyway,” Josh said, “once I finally cooled off, I decided to come talk to you.”

  “What were you going to say?”

  “That Gerard was an old womanizing pig. That you didn’t belong with him.”

  “Anything else?”

  For a few seconds, instead of talking, Josh rocked the glider with his foot. Then he said, “That you belong with me.” Oooooohhh. “Only I came back and you weren’t there. They told me you got fired, you skipped out on your room, and they were going to get rid of your stuff.”

  “They did not.”

  “They did,” he said. “So I told them that was illegal.”

  “You did not.”

  “I did,” he said. “I told them I was a lawyer. They asked if I was a French lawyer. When I said no, they laughed at me. That’s when I offered to pay your bill.”

  “You did not.”

  “I did,” he said. “And they said no, they were instructed by Monsieur Duclos himself to dispose of your things. So they did. Right there in front of me. I’m sorry I couldn’t stop them.”

  “Wait a second,” I said. “I did hear you. After they threw my suitcase in that truck. You thanked the bellman. You said, ‘That’s great. Thank you very much.’ ”

  “I was being sarcastic,” Josh said. “You do have sarcasm here in Kirland, don’t you?”

  I felt like a dope. Not a total dope. If you had seen what I saw, you probably would have thought what I thought. But it turned out I was wrong. Extremely wrong. Life-alteringly wrong.

  “By the way,” Josh said. “About all those other Miss Fireworks?”

  I think I flinched. I was afraid of what he might tell me.

  “There were no other Miss Fireworks,” he continued. “I knew the Tower sparkled, and I always wished I could find the perfect woman to kiss in the perfect spot. But I never found her. Until you.” He smiled. “You were my first. And last. My only.”

  Searching his eyes, I knew he was telling the truth. I felt so bad for misjudging him. I wondered if he could ever forgive me. I didn’t know how to ask. Fortunately, eventually Josh spoke up. “I could not believe,” he said, “how many vintage clothing stores there are in Paris.”

  I just looked at him.

  “After I read what you wrote,” he said, “I went back to Paris. I found Irene. She told me they didn’t throw your stuff away. They gave it to some guy to sell. To pay your room bill. I asked her for the guy’s name, but she said it was no use, he had moved to Las Vegas.”

  “Las Vegas??”

  “She said he was a big CSI fan.” Josh shrugged. “I called directory assistance in Vegas. They never heard of him. Irene felt really bad. So she gave me her list of stores. The same list she gave you. Every store you looked at, I looked at. It took days.”

  I couldn’t believe it. He had taken all that time and trouble. Even more amazing, he had actually found it. “Which store had it?”

  “That’s the funny thing,” Josh said. “None of them did. So I went back to Irene. There was only one other place she could think of.” He paused. “She sent me to her mother’s store.”

  “You’re kidding,” I said. But I knew he wasn’t. “Was Françoise still watching that TV?”

  “With no sound. Yeah.”

  “And you had to go up the spiral staircase into that little room.”

  “That’s where the dress was,” he said.

  “Funny coincidence,” I said. Only I don’t believe in coincidence.

  “I don’t think I believe in coincidence,” he said. “So,” he said. “Can we take a walk?”

  “It’s gross and disgusting and humid out,” I said.

  “I noticed,” Josh said. “So, can we take a walk?”

  I went into the house, ran upstairs, hung Grandma’s dress in its spot, and ran back down.

  “Is everything all right?” my dad asked.

  “Yes,” I said. “Everything is definitely all right.”

  Dad smiled at that. He doesn’t say a whole lot. But he doesn’t miss a whole lot, either.

  57

  Josh and I walked to Kirland Park, on the shore of Lake Michigan. It’s an okay park, but I don’t go there much. In the winter, it can be awfully cold with the wind whipping off the lake, and on a hot disgusting June day, it can be . . . well, hot and disgusting. I didn’t care. It seemed even nicer than the Tuileries gardens in Paris.

  “I have something else to tell you,” Josh said. “And I think you’re going to like it. But I’m not sure,” he said. “Because it was a little presumptuous of me.”

  “What is it?”

  “It’s about what you wrote,” he said. “I . . . showed it to some people.”

  I felt my stomach flip-flop. “That was private.”

  “You asked somebody to read it.”

  “I asked you to read it. I didn’t say to show it to other people.” We walked a little way without saying anything. “What sort of people?” I finally asked.

  “My agent,” he said.

  I got this crazy idea. “Does somebody want to publish it?”

  “No,” he said. I felt . . . disappointed. Rejected, even. “They want to produce it.”

  “What does that mean?” I asked. I stopped walking. That flip-flop thing in my stomach really started to jump around something fierce. “Produce it, like, make a movie?”

  “No,” he said. “Produce it, like make a TV show.”

  “What???” There were no other people in sight. There were squirrels, though. I must’ve shrieked. Because the squirrels quit chasing one another through the trees. They stopped in their tracks and looked at me. “You’re kidding. The whole Paris-New York thing?”

  “No,” he said. “The Bumfuck thing.”

  I almost said “You’re kidding” again. But I didn’t. Because I could tell he wasn’t kidding.

  Josh had shown my manuscript—which was an awfully serious word for what I had done, but I guess that’s how wr
iters talk—to his agent. Who does movies, not TV, although why one agent can’t do both is beyond me. Josh’s agent did not want to show it to the TV agents at his own agency, because they would take the credit and get the commissions. Which does not sound like a healthy work environment. Anyway, Josh’s agent went to his health club, and this new guy started to hit on him. Which Josh’s agent was in no mood for, because even though he likes guys not girls, and even though the new guy was attractive, Josh’s agent just went through a bad breakup. But the new guy wouldn’t leave. He said Josh’s agent seemed tense, was anything wrong? Josh’s agent said Besides the bad breakup I went through? The new guy said, Besides that. Josh’s agent said That’s very perceptive of you, Yes, I have this great TV property, only I can’t show it to the TV agents at my own agency and I don’t know what to do with it. The new guy said Really, can I see it? And it turns out the new guy is a hotshot TV producer.

  Josh assured me that in Hollywood, deals get made like this all the time.

  So Josh’s agent showed my story to the new guy, who loved it, because apparently everyone in TV is desperate for programming that will appeal to Middle America.

  Kirland is not the geographical center of the United States. I think that is someplace in Kansas. But trust me. Kirland is as middle as America gets.

  The new guy loved the Nick Timko-cousin Mary stuff. Josh’s agent set up a meeting, and Josh pitched it as a dramedy, which is a made-up Hollywood word combining drama and comedy. Like Northern Exposure and Picket Fences, he said. Neither of which I have ever seen.

  And by the way, now Josh’s agent and the new guy are dating.

  “Can it be a reality show?” I asked Josh.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Reality shows are very popular,” I said. Not that I watch reality shows. Although the guy on the last Bachelor was awfully cute.

  “Reality shows don’t have writers,” Josh said. “I’m a writer, remember?”

  Oh. Well. Anyway, the new guy sold the idea to one of the networks. “As a dramedy,” Josh said. “They’re ready to commit to a pilot plus six episodes.”

  “Is that good?”

  “It’s amazing.”

  “What did you tell them?”

  “I told them you have to get ‘Created By’ credit. And executive producer credit. And technical advisor credit.” He smiled. “I also told them you’re my writing partner.”

  Wow. “Am I?”

  He took my hands in his, and it felt like his heart and my heart were beating together at exactly the same time. Maybe that was my imagination. But I hoped not. “Are you?” he asked.

  That is when I kissed him again.

  On the way back to the house, Josh told me they wanted to film in Kirland. Not all of it. The interiors would mostly be shot on soundstages in LA. But there would be a crew here, working half time. “So you’ll still get to spend plenty of time here.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “All those titles I gave you? Those are real jobs,” Josh said. “If you’re going to do this, you really have to do it. A lot of it has to be done in California.” He looked around. “Not here.”

  That is when I remembered Uncle John. And how I promised. “I can’t,” I said.

  58

  “Because of your uncle?” Josh asked.

  “How did you know that?” I hadn’t said anything to Josh about Uncle John.

  “I read your book, remember?”

  Oh, yeah. I could see that this business of writing about myself and actually telling the truth might be complicated. “They’ll still do the show without me, right?”

  “They’ll do it if I want them to,” Josh said.

  “And you want to, even if I can’t, right?”

  “I don’t know.”

  We reached the stairs in front of my parents’ house. It was three o’clock. Josh and I had walked and talked for two hours. Okay, maybe I kissed him a few more times, too. Okay, a lot.

  “You’ll get produced. A pilot and six episodes. So you have to do it,” I said.

  “I don’t know.”

  I stomped up the steps. At the top, I turned around and glared down at him. “No! You cannot make me responsible. Not after what happened with the movie. Not again.”

  He ran up the steps. And this time, he kissed me. Let me remind you, Josh is a very nice kisser. Better than that. The best. Ever. While he was kissing me, I sort of—how shall I say this?—melted. So, when we stopped kissing, I said, “Okay.”

  His face lit up. “You’ll do it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “But—”

  “Okay I’ll think about it,” I said. “I’m not saying no.”

  “You’re not saying yes,” he said.

  “But I’m not saying no.”

  “Okay.” Then he got shy, the way some guys get when they are about to ask you out. Which was quite the opposite of Reed. Although not even the tiniest thought of Reed came anywhere near my head at that moment. “Would you have dinner with me?” Josh finally asked.

  “Of course,” I said.

  “Tonight?”

  My heart fell. I know that is a cliché, but that’s what it felt like. Plop. “I can’t.”

  He looked like somebody hit him. “You have a date,” he said.

  “No,” I said. “Are you kidding? I have a prom.”

  He looked at me like I was a little bit nuts, so I explained to him about the whole Helen Klosek and cousin Mary thing. When I finished, he said, “Oh.” Then he said, “Can I come too?”

  “Why would anybody in their right mind want to do that?” Perhaps that was not the very smartest thing for me to say, but it was what popped into my head, and out of my mouth.

  “Because you’ll be there,” he said.

  “Oh.” That was so the right answer. “Yes. Absolutely.” I had no authority to say that, but if I had to pass up an actual date, and if Josh was actually willing to help me stand guard over a bunch of hyper-hormoned high school seniors, you’d better believe I was going to let him.

  “I know you have a dress to wear,” he said.

  I almost said “What dress?”—but then I knew exactly what dress. “You’re kidding.”

  “It’s perfect. Besides, how many occasions will you ever have to wear that dress?”

  He had me there. “Okay.”

  “Wow,” he said.

  Can you imagine that? Josh Thomas asked if he could help me chaperone the Kirland high school prom, and if I would wear my Grandma’s dress, I said yes, and he said “Wow” like I’d just agreed to marry him or something.

  Not that I was thinking any such thing.

  “Pick you up at seven?” he asked.

  “Sure.” I guess I might have come up with something more meaningful to say, but I was feeling fairly stunned. So I just gave him another little kiss and waved good-bye.

  “Oh,” Josh said, “I almost forgot.” He reached in his pocket and dug out a small package, wrapped in pink paper and tied with a bow. He handed it to me.

  “What’s this?”

  “I don’t know. Françoise gave it to me like that. She said it came with the dress.”

  I tore the paper open. Fortunately, I saw what was inside before Josh did. I immediately stuffed the package into my pocket.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “Nothing,” I said. But it was not nothing. It was my little teeny thong, which was in my mom’s suitcase when they took it away. I didn’t pack it together with Grandma’s dress, so don’t ask me what somebody was thinking when they sold Françoise the dress and the thong together. All I can say is, if you know who that person is, tell them thank you.

  “You’re not going to show me?” asked Josh.

  I thought carefully before I answered him. “Not right now,” I finally said.

  “Fine,” he said, and smiled. “Seven o’clock.” He ran to his rental car and drove away.

  When he was out of sight, I went back into the ho
use. Where I immediately panicked. Because I had only three and a half hours to get ready for the prom.

  59

  That may have been the most confusing and confused three and a half hours of my life. Which, if you take into account all I have been through, is saying quite a lot. Everything was running around and around in my head.

  I wanted to be with Josh. Desperately.

  I wanted to do the TV show.

  I really thought a reality show would be more fun than a dramedy.

  I couldn’t do the TV show.

  I promised Uncle John.

  All of which may not sound enormously confused or confusing. But you try to figure those things out while you have only three and a half hours to get ready for the prom.

  Of course, I wasn’t actually going to the prom. I was still just chaperoning the prom. Except now I would be chaperoning with Josh. And wearing my Grandma’s dress. Which as you know is the most amazing dress I have ever seen. Only now it was even more amazing, because it was the dress that Josh Thomas searched the entire city of Paris to find for me. Grandma had been right in the dream: The dress had taken care of itself. And everything really was coming together.

  All of which made it feel strangely like it was my prom. Not the uninspiring prom I went to, either. The best-night-of-your-life prom that everybody always talks about. Which made it quite a big deal.

  Here is the first thing I panicked about: Yes I had a dress. But I didn’t know if it fit. Because I had never actually tried it on.

  As you know, I have always thought of Grandma’s dress as some kind of holy artifact. And also as an incredible source of power—grown-up, sexual, dangerous power. Over the years, I think I was afraid that if I actually dared to put it on, I might just melt, like the bad guys at the end of the first Indiana Jones movie. And I certainly never felt like I had earned the right to wear such a special dress.

  Now I felt different, though. Not about the dress. If anything, it felt even holier and more powerful than ever, given the miraculous way it had come back to me. But for the first time, I felt like I had earned it. All on my own. I deserved to wear Grandma’s dress. My dress.