by Susan Gloss
While Violet talked at a rapid pace about model auditions and renting theater space, April straightened a stack of vintage concert T-shirts on a table. She interjected as soon as Violet paused to take a sip of coffee. “I’m sorry,” April said. “But did I hear you say something about drag queens? Where are we gonna find those?”
“Oh, honey, if we need drag queens, I’ll get us drag queens. And good ones, too. Not just your cheap-wig-and-stuffed-bra variety.”
April felt a thump inside her and put a hand on her stomach. “Oh, my God, I just felt a kick. I mean, I’ve felt little flutters before and stuff, but nothing like this.” She looked at Violet. “Do you want to feel?”
Violet hesitated for a moment before taking a step forward with her hand outstretched. April placed Violet’s palm on the side of her belly and said, “Feel that?”
Violet nodded, and April thought she saw her eyes misting over.
But then Violet took her hand away and said, “So even she thinks the Hourglass Revue is a good idea.”
“I don’t know if it’s a she. I had an ultrasound a few weeks ago where I could have found out, but I didn’t want to.”
“An ultrasound? Was there a problem or something?”
“No,” April said. “I guess it’s just standard to check on things. I won’t be having any more, though. I have free insurance through the state, but it only covers one ultrasound, unless there are complications.”
Violet glanced at April’s belly. “Well, I think she’s a girl.”
“Based on what?”
“I just have a feeling.”
“We’ll see,” April said, turning her thoughts back to Violet’s fundraising idea. “Okay, so if we’re gonna do this fashion show thing, we’ll need to draw up a budget, get estimates on how much it will cost to advertise, print programs . . .”
“Maybe we should ask that actress who came in a while back with the costumes if she wants to get involved. I mean, I figure someone who has piles of theater garb in her closet probably knows a thing or two about putting on a show. Or at least more than we do. What was her name?” Violet asked.
“Lane,” April said. “I don’t remember her last name, but I know we have her contact information. I wrote it down in case we wanted to buy more costumes from her. And, for the record, I still think it would be a good idea for us to sell costumes in the shop.”
Violet seemed to ignore the costume comment. “Sure, I’ll give her a call,” she said. “For the models, we should make sure we have people of different ages. Not just young girls. Young girls aren’t going to be the ones with money to bid. I want the older women to be able to picture themselves wearing the stuff onstage, and that’s not going to happen unless we actually have people their age up there.”
April frowned. “They’re not going to be able to picture themselves in something a drag queen is wearing, either.”
“Oh, the queens are just for fun. Not many of them will fit into our sizes, anyway. We’ll have to improvise a bit with their outfits. We’ll go through all the stuff in the back room. It will be a good excuse for me to update my inventory records anyway.”
“About that . . .” April pulled her laptop out of her leather satchel, sensing her opportunity to talk about the progress she’d made with Violet’s records. “I downloaded some accounting and inventory software on my laptop that I think would really help you out around the store.”
Violet opened and closed her mouth. “You don’t have to buy things for the store,” she said. “I’m not even paying you, plus the baby is gonna cost—”
“Seriously, it’s okay.” April waved her hand. “The software was free. And anyway, it will make my life a lot easier. Your paper inventory system is stressing me out. It takes me forever to find any information in it. And, you know, my doctor tells me stress isn’t good for the baby.”
“How can I argue with that?” Violet’s eyes let go of a little bit of their edge, but her lips looked tight when she said, “Thank you. You’re gonna have to teach me to use it, though. And I guess I’ll need to set up my computer down here, if I can remember how to put everything back together once it’s all unhooked.”
“I can help you with that later,” April said. “In the meantime we can use my laptop.”
“Want to help me start going through stuff?” Violet asked.
April nodded and followed her to the back room, where they sat on the floor. The pile of empty canvas containers grew as the two of them sorted through their contents—chinoiserie robes in rich red and pink, Halston one-shouldered gowns, and pastel cotton circle skirts from the fifties. A floral, woodsy scent clung to the garments from the cedar planks and lavender sachets Violet stored with them to keep moths away.
“What’s this?” April pulled a swath of midnight-blue taffeta from one of the boxes. She stood up and lifted the item higher, but the fabric kept on coming.
“That’s a Dior evening gown,” Violet said.
With careful hands, April spread out the cool, crinkly fabric on Violet’s worktable and straightened out its folds. The taffeta had a textured floral pattern on it, with black velvet and silver thread outlining the edges of each petal. A giant, sculptural bow adorned the strapless bodice.
“Where did you get this?” April asked. “And why isn’t it on the sales floor?”
“It was, for a while. I had it on one of the mannequins,” Violet said. “But no one was buying it, so I put it away. I got it from the wife of a former congressman. She wore it to a ball for Eisenhower’s first inauguration in 1953.”
“Why would she ever get rid of something like this?”
“It’s a pretty funny story, actually. Her husband was a heavy hitter in the Republican Party, and she was a staunch Democrat. When I bought the dress from her and asked her why she was getting rid of it, she said, ‘Because I voted for Stevenson.’”
“Well, it’s gorgeous.” April held the dress up to her chest. “Not that there’s any way I could fit into this tiny waistline, especially not now. I’m just shocked it never sold. Maybe people just need to see it on someone—not just on the mannequin. We should definitely use it in the show.”
“There should be black gloves in there that go with it, too.”
“Ooh.” April pulled a pair of long silk gloves from the box. She bent down toward her laptop and typed a description of the dress and gloves into her inventory program. She then moved on to the next box, where she unearthed a frothy, mint-green dress trimmed with white lace, as well as a nearly identical one in pink. “What’s the story with these? Nightgowns?”
“Bridesmaid’s dresses from the late seventies. Karen’s mom brought them in, believe it or not. The green one has a matching cape with a hood.”
“Are you kidding me?” April dug out the polyester cape and tied it around her neck. She walked over to the full-length mirror, with its spray-painted gold frame, and frowned. “I’m gonna say that capes are not a good choice for maternity clothes. I look like a hippo stuck under a giant tarp.”
“You do not,” Violet said. “You’ll never believe this, but Karen’s mom wore those dresses in two different weddings of the same friend.”
“I hope that friend had better taste in grooms than in bridesmaid dresses.”
“I don’t think so,” Violet said. “She told me both marriages ended in divorce. She found these in her attic.”
April felt her cell phone buzzing in her pocket. She pulled it out and glanced down at the screen. It was Charlie. She looked at the bridesmaid dresses in her lap, thinking about her own canceled wedding. Pain throbbed through her chest and she felt dizzy all of a sudden. Still clutching the phone, she ran to the staff bathroom and shut the door. She sat down on the toilet and put her head between her legs—or tried to. She couldn’t quite get it all the way there, with her stomach in the way, so she just leaned over, slumping her shoulders and hanging her head.
Her phone vibrated again, indicating that she had a new voice mail. She knew that lis
tening to it would only make her more upset, but her hand moved of its own volition, punching the message button and lifting the phone to her ear.
“Hey, it’s me,” said the familiar voice. “I’m back in town and just wondering if maybe you want to get together. I sent you an e-mail a while back. Maybe you didn’t get it? Or maybe you’re still mad at me. Either way, I really need to talk to you. I keep thinking about how today would have been . . . well, anyway, call me. Bye.”
She hadn’t responded to Charlie’s e-mail. She knew he was back in town—she’d been thinking about it all week, part of her hoping to run into him and the other part still raw and angry.
April exhaled, trying to slow her racing pulse. At her last prenatal checkup, her doctor had warned her about the effects of the stress hormone cortisol on a developing baby—how the hormone passes through the placenta and elevates the baby’s stress levels, too.
“Try to avoid stressful situations if you can,” Dr. Hong had said. “And if you do find yourself in a stressful scenario, leave the room if you have to, or imagine yourself somewhere else.”
The problem with Dr. Hong’s advice was that whenever she tried to imagine herself somewhere else, she imagined herself with Charlie, tucked safely under the nook of his arm. This image only exacerbated her distress.
She heard a knock.
“Is everything okay?” Violet asked.
April opened the door and nodded, embarrassed by her emotional reaction. She was at work, after all, and wanted so badly for Violet to take her seriously.
Violet tilted her head. “Want to talk about anything? Part of this job is listening to people’s stories. I’ve gotten pretty good at it.”
“That was Charlie.” April was relieved to see Violet didn’t seem to be annoyed by her display of emotion.
“As in returning-your-wedding-dress Charlie?”
“That’s the one. The wedding was supposed to have been today.” April grabbed a piece of tissue paper from the table and tore at the edges. “I didn’t even want a fancy wedding. I just wanted to get married at a park. Have a barbecue afterward, invite a few friends. I couldn’t exactly send formal wedding invitations to my high school friends. I mean, that would be weird, right? And I haven’t seen my dad in years, so I wasn’t about to extend him an invitation. But Charlie’s parents hired this wedding planner. Booked the ballroom at their country club and invited a hundred of their friends.”
“I know how weddings can get out of hand,” Violet said. “If my parents had had the money, they probably would have invited the entire county back when I got married. It’s important to do what’s right for you, though. Were Charlie’s parents disappointed when things didn’t work out?”
April shook her head. “That’s the thing. They don’t even like me. They didn’t want us to get married. But somehow the wedding became not at all about Charlie or about me, but just a way to flaunt their money.” She looked down at her phone, still in her hand, and punched a button, deleting Charlie’s message. “Anyway, I didn’t answer his call. He wants to see me, but I don’t think I can do it.”
April was surprised when Violet, who was usually so guarded, opened her arms and hugged her.
A month earlier
Charlie stared at the student loan application open on his computer screen. “I don’t know how I’m ever going to pay back all this debt.”
“We’ll just have to figure it out.” April put her elbows on the kitchen table, thinking with a pang of grief about how many times her mom had sat at this same table, sifting through overdue bills and writing postdated checks. April and her mother had never had much more than the house, which was part of the divorce settlement, and each other. Their bond had been, to put it in algebraic terms, one of the few constants in an equation with many variables.
Charlie had never had to think about money, though, until now. April worried what it would do to him, to their relationship, on top of the demands that a newborn baby and the rigors of med school were sure to bring.
“Remind me again what the interest rates are for the loans,” April said, picking up a cracker and piece of cheese from a plate in front of her. She’d been so hungry lately. Forgetful, too. The fact that she wasn’t sleeping much and had to get up multiple times during the night to pee wasn’t helping her mental clarity, either.
“Don’t even try to start adding everything up in that calculator brain of yours.” A smile cracked through the strain in Charlie’s face. “Trust me, you don’t want to know.”
He rested his hand high on her thigh, and April sensed the heat of his skin through her leggings. She smiled back and said, “Let’s finish filling out this application, so we can move on to more . . . fun activities.”
He moved both hands back to the keyboard with a reluctant sigh. “I don’t get why my parents can’t just help me out with tuition. They have plenty of money, and all they ever spend it on is golf.”
The mention of Charlie’s parents killed the warm buzz that had been running through her body. “I know why they won’t help you,” April said. “Despite your mom hiring the wedding planner and all that, they still hate the fact that we’re getting married.”
Charlie twisted his mouth. “I don’t think it has to do with you, specifically. It’s just that a pregnant, eighteen-year-old girlfriend conflicts with their dream of me marrying a horse-riding, tennis-playing blueblood from Wellesley or Mount Holyoke.”
April took a bite of cracker. Ordinarily, she treaded with caution on the tense topic of their different backgrounds. But today, she felt frazzled enough to push the conversation further than usual. She leaned back in her chair. “I bet if you broke up with me, your parents would write you a check for your tuition with money to spare.”
“I don’t care what my parents want,” Charlie muttered.
“Wait, did they actually make that offer to you?” April didn’t know why she asked. She was pretty sure she knew the answer.
“I don’t want to talk about it. Let’s just finish this form.”
April knew she was stirring up the embers of a fire, but she couldn’t stop. She didn’t know if it was from pregnancy hormones or sleeplessness, but the filter that usually kept her from snapping seemed to have fallen away.
“Come on,” she said. “We can’t keep things from each other if we’re going to be getting married.”
Charlie shut his laptop with a click. “Fine. Yes. My parents told me they’d pay for my med school if I broke up with you. Okay? Does that somehow help you, to know that?”
It didn’t, of course. Even though April had guessed that that was the case, it still stung to have her suspicion confirmed. She knew Charlie’s parents were far from thrilled about their engagement, but lately it had seemed like they’d begun to accept it. She wouldn’t classify her relationship with the Cabots as warm, exactly, but at least Judy had stopped looking like she was going to cry whenever April was around.
“Wow.” April let out a loud exhale. “And to think that just last Saturday your mom and I spent the afternoon tasting cakes and picking out registry items.”
“Why does that surprise you? My parents are always trying to control people with their money.” Charlie shook his head. “I guess sometimes I forget how young you are. You haven’t had a chance to realize yet what assholes people can be.”
“Oh, I’m learning, that’s for sure.” April’s cheeks flamed. “I know I’m young, but I’ve had to deal with a lot of problems you’ve never had to. So I don’t see what age has to do with anything.”
“Come on, I don’t want to play the ‘my problems are worse than yours’ game. You win, okay?” Charlie squeezed his eyes shut and pulled at the long strands of sandy-colored hair overlapping his ears.
He needed a haircut, April thought. Both of them had been so overwhelmed lately—with plans for college, grad school, the baby, the wedding—that even ordinary obligations took immense effort.
“We’re both stressed out,” Charlie said, as if read
ing her mind. “Let’s just focus on what’s important here, which is for us to be together, right?”
“Yeah.” April felt her shoulders relax a bit. She hadn’t realized how much she’d been tensing them.
“I’ll take out some student loans,” he said. “Lots of people do. Someday hopefully I’ll earn enough money to pay them back. It will be fine.”
April nodded. “You know, I was thinking, once my mom’s estate and debts are all settled and once this house sells, we could use whatever money is left over for your med school.”
“What about your own tuition?”
“I’ve got my scholarship money.”
“Yeah, but only if you go to the UW. What about when you transfer to a school out in Boston to be near me, like we’ve talked about? Then you’ll need to take out loans, too.” Charlie cocked his head to one side. “Anyway, it sounds like there won’t be much left over from the sale of the house, if anything, once your mom’s debts have been paid.”
“Yeah, but there’s a little bit of life insurance money, too.”
Charlie frowned. “I don’t think you should count on that money. Didn’t you say the insurance company is still waiting on more documentation from the coroner?”
“Yeah. The autopsy was inconclusive.” April’s shoulders tensed up again. “The coroner couldn’t settle on a specific cause of death because the wreck was so bad.”
She knew what Charlie was implying—that maybe it was no accident that her mother’s car had veered off the icy Beltline and over the guardrail. April had considered the possibility before. She couldn’t help it. On nights when she couldn’t sleep, it was hard not to think the worst. But thinking it was one thing. She didn’t think she could stand to hear it said aloud by the one person in this world who loved her as much as her mother had.
“I just meant the insurance claim could be denied,” Charlie said. “That’s all.”
“If you mean it could be denied because you think my mom killed herself, I’ve thought about that, too.” April’s voice came out sharp, defensive. “But I know she would never have done that. She may have had her problems, but there’s no way she’d have gone that far.”
