New Uses For Old Boyfriends

by Beth Kendrick

  “Yeah, because I don’t want to be the placeholder again. Maybe I am, though. Maybe that’s my destiny: Lila Alders, permanent placeholder.”

  Summer thought this over for a moment. “Nah.”

  “No, I’m serious!” Lila really warmed up to the topic. “When I was on the shopping channel, I couldn’t get out of the late-night slot. I did my best, I worked really hard, and I loved that job, but it just wasn’t enough. They let me go, and now I can’t even get a callback on an audition. Maybe I’m just not prime-time material, on TV or in real life.”

  “Or maybe that wasn’t the right career for you,” Summer countered. “And your ex-husband wasn’t the right guy. And neither is Ben.”

  Lila was horrified. “What if there is no right guy for me?”

  “So you’ll be single. Calm down.”

  “Calm down? You listen to me, Summer Benson: My ex-husband cannot be the last person I have sex with. I cannot go to my grave knowing Carl McCune was the last man to touch me.”

  Summer made a face. “These are your options? Shackled to your soul mate or celibate forever?”

  “Easy for you to say. You have a soul mate to be shackled to.”

  “Yeah, I do. But you know what? For years and years, I didn’t. And you know what I did all those years? I lived.” Summer’s eyes lit up at the memories. “I got up early and stayed out late and had adventures and saw the world. I made friends with all kinds of women; I dated all kinds of men. And I learned something from every single one of them.”

  “So what are you saying? I should go be the female equivalent of Jake Sorensen?”

  “God, no. Do you think Jake Sorensen is happy or well-adjusted?”

  Lila nodded. “He’s rich and good-looking.”

  “Oh, my child, you have so much to learn.” Summer crumpled up her M&M’s wrapper and stashed it in the side door cup holder. “Stop with the soul mates—figure out what you want. Live your life. Make mistakes. Don’t worry about destiny.” Summer folded her hands as she concluded her sermon. “Besides, it could be fun to have Ben as a friend.”

  “That’s true.” Lila clambered into the driver’s seat, managing to avoid the treacherous running boards. “We can hang out, drink scotch, talk trash about the funnel cake corporations of the world. I can give him decorating advice, and he can remind me to get my car fixed every time I see him.”

  “What’s wrong with your car?” Summer asked as she climbed in and buckled up.

  “A better question would be, what isn’t wrong with my car?” Lila started the ignition and glowered. “Now, where are you taking me, again?”

  Summer made herself comfortable in the cushy leather seat. “To a treasure trove of vintage clothing.”

  “And why is this so cloak-and-dagger?”

  “Because everybody talks in this town, and we need to keep this quiet.”

  Before Lila could put the car in gear, the front door to the house opened and Ingrid dashed down the stairs, waving both arms.

  Summer sighed and cracked the window. “Here we go.”

  “Where are you going?” Ingrid demanded.

  “I already told you—none of your business.”

  Ingrid craned her neck, trying to peer into the backseat. “Think about what I said at breakfast. Only twenty-three days until graduation. That’s barely a month. Tick tock.”

  “I heard you,” Summer assured the mussy-haired teenager.

  “Well, then . . .” Ingrid pulled a glossy bridal magazine out of her tote bag. “I thought you should start looking at dresses.”

  Summer turned to Lila. “Floor it.”

  “Just look at them!” Ingrid implored.

  “No.”

  “Yes!”

  “You’re eighteen years old! You’re not the boss of me!” Summer closed the window.

  Ingrid strode around to the other side of the car and appealed to Lila. “She’s impossible. What could it hurt to just take a peek?”

  “I’ll take a peek,” Lila volunteered.

  “Thank you.” Ingrid gave Lila a world-weary, mom-to-mom look as she passed the magazine through the window.

  Lila examined the wedding gown Ingrid had marked with a yellow sticky note. “Oh, that’s lovely.”

  “I know.” Ingrid fumed. “No lace, no big skirt, no bows anywhere. It’s got gold edging! She likes gold.”

  “You have great taste,” Lila assured the high schooler.

  “Do me a favor and work on her, okay? If we’re going to have a summer wedding, it’s time to get serious.” Ingrid glanced at the field of roses in the backyard. “I guess we could clear out the yard and have the reception here, but Dutch is kind of attached to his garden.”

  “Bye, now!” Summer made shooing motions with both hands.

  After a flurry of meaningful glances, Ingrid went.

  “Here.” Lila handed over the photo of the gown.

  “Thanks.” Summer tossed the magazine into the backseat without even glancing at it.

  “What was that all about? Or should I even ask?”

  “Ugh. She’s trying to get Dutch and me married off before she goes to college.” Summer rolled her eyes. “She’s very old-fashioned.”

  Lila raised her eyebrow at the Jansen home’s traditional architecture and the conservative sedan parked next to the red convertible by the garage. “Dutch isn’t old-fashioned?”

  Summer threw her a saucy little wink. “Don’t let the cuff links and the blazers fool you.”

  Lila smiled. “You guys have quite the cute little family thing going here.”

  “That kid has been trying to get Dutch and me down the aisle since our first date, practically. And we might go ahead and do it one of these days; I won’t deny it. But if we do, I’m not wearing a gown that can be found in any bridal magazine, ever.”

  “It had gold trim,” Lila pointed out.

  “Is that supposed to be some sort of selling point?”

  “Ingrid seemed to think it was right up your alley.”

  Summer sighed, unbuckled her seat belt, and heaved herself over the console and into the backseat to retrieve the magazine. She flipped through the pages and examined the gown in question. “Dude. No. That shit has a train and costs three thousand dollars. If I’m spending three thousand dollars, I’m spending it on liquor for an open bar, not some twee little frock.”

  Lila nodded. “Got it.”

  “When Ingrid gets married, I’ll be happy to truss her up in a bustle and petticoats and a veil.” Summer shook her head. “But she needs to wait her turn.”

  “Well, let me know if you ever want help finding a fabulous, au courant, nontraditional wedding gown.”

  “I’ll be sure to do that.” Summer slid on her sunglasses. “Are we going or what?”

  “Yeah.” Lila rested both hands on the steering wheel. “But there’s not enough room here to do a three-point turn, so I’ll have to back up all the way to the street.”

  “Which requires superhuman spatial skills,” Summer finished for her.

  Lila jabbed her thumb over her shoulder. “It’s kind of a big car.”

  Summer peered back through the rows of seats and the windshield. “You’re not kidding. I think I can see the Pacific Ocean back there. It’s like the trunk is in another time zone. No backup camera?”

  “It’s broken.”

  “Well, there’s only one solution to this problem.” Summer stuck her head out the window and hollered toward the porch. “Dutch!”

  “You don’t have to call Dutch,” Lila admonished. “We can do this together.”

  “No way. I have a bad track record with those trellises.”

  * * *

  While the mayor of Black Dog Bay put himself to good use maneuvering the FUV back to the main road, Lila and Summer sat in the backseat, chatting awa
y and obstructing his view of the driveway.

  “Now that the boutique is really happening, I need to find a way to get the word out,” Lila said. “I’d hire a PR firm or something, but we have a very limited publicity budget.”

  “What’s the budget?” Dutch asked.

  “Zero point zero dollars.”

  “That is tight,” Summer agreed.

  Dutch didn’t even flinch as he missed the mailbox by millimeters. “It’s obvious.” He nodded at Summer. “You keep saying you want to organize a fund-raiser for the historical society.” He nodded at Lila. “You need to spread the word about a store that’s going to appeal to women with disposable income. You need to join forces.”

  Lila and Summer glanced at each other. “Yes. Yes, we do.”

  “Figure out your demographic and create a target-rich environment.” Dutch turned the wheel and angled the car to the side of the road. “Something like a fashion show.”

  “That’s genius,” Lila said.

  He put the SUV in park and got out. “I have to run. City council meeting.” He opened the back door and helped Summer out. “See you at dinner?”

  Summer gave him a kiss and sent him on his way.

  “Spatial skills, resourceful, and able to chair a city council meeting?” Lila shook her head in amazement as she climbed back into the driver’s seat. “That’s why he’s the mayor.”

  “That’s why I’m marrying him.” Summer held up one hand. “Don’t say anything to Ingrid. Don’t say anything to anybody. And don’t get excited—”

  “Too late!”

  “—because nothing’s official. And nothing’s really going to change—it’s just a bureaucratic formality.”

  “Awww.” Lila batted her eyelashes. “You’re so cute when you pretend you’re not desperately in love.”

  Summer rolled her eyes while trying—and failing—to suppress a smile. “Stop harassing me and let’s brainstorm. If we’re going to plan a fund-raiser in a few weeks, we’d better get cracking. And we should probably stop and pick up your mom. She’s definitely going to want to see this.”

  chapter 18

  “Are you sure she’s not coming home soon?” Daphne whispered.

  “I’m sure.” Pauline Huntington, a plump, rosy-cheeked woman who lived in the fanciest, ugliest house in Black Dog Bay and apparently thought of Summer as her daughter, led the way up the mansion’s sweeping staircase.

  “You better be sure,” Summer said. “Because I know how that woman deals with surprises, and I’m all out of horse tranquilizers.”

  “And your sister and I don’t have the best history,” Daphne told Pauline. “There was a little, ahem, falling-out a few years ago at one of my holiday parties and I’m afraid Hattie’s held a grudge against me.”

  “You and everyone else in town,” Summer said.

  “Don’t worry. She’s meeting the senator in Dover for dinner, and she’ll be gone for hours. I swear.” Pauline opened a door and led Summer, Lila, and Daphne into a palatial bedroom suite with a coffered white ceiling, heavy damask drapes, and a massive four-poster bed made up with sunny yellow linens. “Hattie will never know about any of this as long as we all keep our own counsel. Pinkie swear?”

  “Pinkie swear.” Lila, Daphne, Summer, and Pauline gathered under the ornate hanging lantern and hooked their little fingers together. “Hattie Huntington will never hear a word about this.”

  “Good. Now let’s crack open the vault.” Pauline rested one hand on a set of double doors that presumably led to a closet. “Tell me a bit more about what you girls need.”

  “We’re putting on a fashion show,” Lila explained. “At the country club. To raise money for the historical society and get press for the boutique.”

  “I called the event coordinator on the ride here, and she booked us for Memorial Day weekend,” Summer reported.

  “But that’s only a few weeks away!” Daphne’s eyebrows shot up. “A few weeks to put together a fashion show is—”

  “Ambitious but totally doable,” Summer said. “The Huntington sisters have many minions at their disposal.”

  “Oh, don’t call them ‘minions,’ darling.” Pauline crinkled her nose. “They’re our trusted and beloved household staff. We consider them family.”

  “Excuse me? I know for a fact that Hattie treats the hired help a million times better than she treats her family.”

  Pauline smiled angelically. “Why do you think I’m donating all her old clothes?”

  “Anyway, I was thinking.” Lila turned to her mother. “Could you get in touch with Cedric What’s-His-Name?”

  “Jameson,” Daphne supplied.

  “Right. And ask him if he’d be willing to lend us some clothes or even make an appearance?”

  Pauline went all fluttery and fangirl. “You know Cedric Jameson?”

  “I was the love of his life.” Daphne fluffed her sleek black hair. “His muse.”

  Pauline clasped Daphne’s hands in hers and gave a little hop of joy. “I just adore his designs. I have several of his pieces from the late sixties. Of course, he didn’t do his best work until the eighties.”

  Daphne glowed. “That’s when I was his muse.”

  “Focus, ladies.” Summer grinned at Lila. “We need to figure out what kind of styles we need for the show. I’m thinking fun, fresh, and flirty.”

  “Well, the clothes are going to depend on the models,” Daphne said. “Where on earth are we going to book models on such late notice?”

  “We’re not.” Lila braced herself for her mother’s reaction. “We’re going to get normal women to walk in the show.”

  “Normal women?” Daphne was appalled. “Why in heaven’s name would you do that?”

  “Because we want to involve summer residents like Mimi Sinclair and her fancy friends,” Summer said. “Memorial Day is the start of high season, and your clientele will be women like Mimi. Women who have sophisticated tastes. Women who will spend a lot of money at your store after they feel glamorous and special in your clothes.”

  Daphne paused. “I’m listening.”

  “So we need to find outfits in a variety of sizes,” Lila said. “Not just twos and zeros.”

  “Look no further.” Pauline flung open the doors to reveal a huge, climate-controlled closet. The word “closet” didn’t really do it justice—it was more of a vault.

  Daphne put both hands over her heart, too overcome with emotion to speak.

  “Hattie and I both have a weakness for beautiful dresses.” Pauline flipped on more lights, and the cold, cavernous space instantly filled with golden light. “I picked up some great pieces during my travels, but some of these are from my own wardrobe.” She cleared her throat. “And Hattie’s.”

  Daphne held up a beaded pink and white cocktail dress. “Look at the detail work.”

  “All hand sewn in Shanghai,” Pauline informed them. “Would you like to take this?”

  But Daphne had already abandoned the pink dress for a simple black sheath on the next rack. “Oh, my heavens. Is this what I think it is?”

  Pauline nodded with evident pride. “You have an eye for quality.”

  Daphne beheld the black dress with reverence, all but genuflecting as she motioned Lila over. “Come here and look at this. You may never see another one in your lifetime.”

  Lila studied the delicate lace overlay on the bodice. “Nice.”

  “Nice? Watch your mouth, young lady! This is an Adrian.” Daphne announced this as if she’d discovered a unicorn or a leprechaun.

  “He designed for old Hollywood back in the thirties and forties,” Pauline explained. “He started the whole wasp-waist and shoulder pads look. Think Joan Crawford and Greta Garbo.”

  “This is the holy grail of fashion,” Daphne breathed.

  Lila snatched her hand back. “T
hen I probably shouldn’t be touching it.”

  “Go ahead.” Pauline took the dress off the hanger. “It’s meant to be touched. It’s much stronger than it looks.”

  “Yeah, I’m still not touching it,” Lila said.

  “Yes, you are, because I’m donating it to Unfinished Business,” Pauline said. “It’s been tucked away in a closet for too long.”

  “Thank you.” Daphne looked longingly at the black lace. “But we can’t take this. It must be worth thousands.”

  “You’re taking it. Adrian deserves better than decades all alone in the dark. This dress is meant to be out in the world, stopping people in their tracks.” Pauline’s eyes lit up, and Lila could tell the older woman must have been a great beauty when she was young. Just like Daphne.

  “So that’s the appeal of vintage clothing.” Summer sounded delighted. “It’s not just Grandma’s dowdy old dresses. It’s what Grandma used to wear when she was a hot little vixen.”

  Lila held up a gorgeous crimson chiffon dress with intricate rhinestone beading accenting the Grecian-inspired neckline. “Ooh.”

  “Take it,” Pauline said.

  Daphne checked the label and shook her head. “I can’t in good conscience take a mint-condition Malcolm Starr and not give you anything in return.”

  “Oh, don’t worry—you’re not taking that.” Summer seized the dress. “I am. This dress and I were meant to be.” She held it up to her shoulders. “Baby, where have you been all my life?”

  “You can’t have that,” Pauline said.

  “What? Lila can have it, but I can’t?” Summer bared her teeth. “I’ll fight you for it, if necessary. I will bite, scratch, shank, and maim for this dress.”

  “But that was Hattie’s!” Pauline exclaimed. “What if she sees you wearing it?”

  Summer’s jaw dropped. “Get out. You’re telling me that Hattie Huntington used to wear this?” She reexamined the diaphanous material and dazzling beadwork. “Well, Hattie does a lot of things I can’t wrap my mind around. But whatever, it’s mine now. And don’t worry; if she says anything about anything, I’ll handle her. I didn’t get where I am today by letting that old bat boss me around.” She clutched the red dress to her chest.