Spotlight

by Melody Carlson

  Finally, I stop at my favorite import store. I’m not even sure what I’m looking for exactly, but I’m hoping for a few items that will cheer up the basement. I stick to my pastel color scheme and emerge from the store with some lamps, a large watercolor print that I think Mollie’s going to love, a soft pink throw, and some candles and other accents. As I drive toward Mollie’s house, I’m becoming more and more excited at how cool that basement could end up being. At least that’s what I’m hoping for.

  I carry some things down to the basement to discover that Blake’s paint crew consists of Blake and Lionel. As surprised as I am to see Lionel there, I’m thankful for his willingness because there are a lot of walls to paint. I put the bolt of striped fabric on the couch and think maybe it can work. Then I take the other bolts of fabric upstairs to Mollie. Fortunately, she knows how to sew and seems to understand as I explain my general plan to make seat cushions for the wicker and some pillows. “But you are banned from the basement,” I firmly tell her.

  “I told the guys I’d order some food,” she says as she rolls out some fabric, smoothing her hand over it. “I like this.”

  With that encouragement, I head back down to the basement to attack the couch and chair, which I plan to “slipcover” with the help of scissors, a lot of strategic folding, and a big box of safety pins.

  “You guys are doing a great job,” I tell them. “The paint looks awesome.”

  “This is some really good paint,” Blake says as he dips his roller into the tray.

  “The guy promised me it would cover in one coat,” I tell him.

  Lionel nods. “It’s a real time saver.”

  By the time we break for dinner, the basement is about two-thirds finished, and the section where I want to start arranging furniture into a living space is completely done. But when Mollie begs to see it, I tell her to forget it. “You can’t go down there until tomorrow.” I plan to spend the night to make sure she doesn’t—and to make sure I complete this project.

  The guys finish up the painting around ten. “Thank you so much,” I tell them. “I think this is really going to encourage Mollie.”

  Blake looks around the room. “Yeah, it’s a huge improvement.”

  Lionel nods over to where I’m now setting up the living area. “Looks like you have a knack for this, Erin. Maybe you should take some set design classes when you come back to UCLA.”

  “That’d be fun.”

  “You mean if she goes back to school,” Blake teases. “From where I’m sitting, Erin’s got a pretty good setup without college.”

  Lionel looks skeptical. “But that gig won’t last forever.”

  “You’re right,” I tell him. “It won’t.” I thank them both again and invite them to come back tomorrow if they want to see the finished product. But I’m barely back to work when I hear their voices again.

  “We thought we should move Mollie’s bedroom stuff down while we were still here,” Blake tells me. “Those stairs are kind of scary.”

  It takes them less than an hour to finish, and I go up to check on Mollie, who has now taken over her parents’ bedroom. I can’t help but laugh when I see her parked in the middle of their king-sized bed with a bag of microwave popcorn. “Oh, if your mom could only see you now,” I tease.

  Mollie laughs. “Yeah, she’d have a fit. But don’t worry, I’ll clean it all up before she gets home. She’ll never know.”

  “I’m going to keep working downstairs,” I tell her.

  She frowns. “It’s kinda late, Erin.”

  “I’m spending the night.”

  “Oh.” She pats the bed. “Feel free to join me if you like.”

  “Or I’ll just sleep down there.”

  She makes a face. “Ugh. That sounds horrible.”

  “It’s steadily getting better,” I assure her.

  And by the time I call it quits, it really is better. Much, much better. It’s also around three in the morning when, feeling like a zombie, I put fresh sheets on Mollie’s bed. Then I crash.

  It’s around nine when I wake up, and it takes me a moment to figure out where I am. Then I make the bed and putter around and finish up a few things. I finally look around the basement with a very pleasant sense of accomplishment. The striped couch and chair are actually pretty cool. I’ve combined some of Mollie’s interesting antiques and things with the wicker chairs and cushions and some of the new accent pieces, and it really does look like shabby chic. And, with the windows being open all night, I think the paint smell is pretty much gone too. It’s time, I decide, to bring in Mollie.

  I actually blindfold her before I slowly and carefully guide her down the stairs and into the basement. “Ready?” I ask.

  She nods and I remove the blindfold. But she just stands there. Without saying a word, she looks around. It’s like she’s not having any reaction. She just keeps looking and looking. Then she turns to me and I see there are two streams of tears pouring down her cheeks as she grabs and hugs me, sobbing, “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” Then she lets go and dances around the room exclaiming about everything and how much she loves it. Now that’s the reaction I was hoping for.

  “It’s so amazing,” she tells me. “I absolutely adore it. I could live here forever. My baby and me … forever.”

  Okay, I’m glad she loves it, but I’m not so sure about that last bit. I mean, it’s not that I don’t want her to keep her baby, but I don’t like feeling that I may have encouraged her to do something that’s not in her best interests. Then I remind myself—only God knows what’s in her best interests. I pray that he shows her what that is.

  “Now to thank you, I’m going to go fix us breakfast,” she tells me.

  We decide to bring our breakfast back down to Mollie’s basement and, as we eat, I point to the area by the bathroom. “Right where the washer and dryer used to be … wouldn’t that be a great place for a small kitchen?”

  “Yeah. Maybe I can get Dad to help me with it.” Then she points to an open area near her bed. “And the baby’s furniture could go right there,” she says happily. “Maybe I could get a rocking chair too.”

  I bite my tongue and nod. “You should be pretty comfortable down here, Mollie. I’m almost starting to feel jealous.”

  She laughs. “Yeah, right. I’m sure you’d love to trade lives with me.”

  “Speaking of lives, I should probably get back to my own.” I glance up at the French-looking clock that I hung over by the window and stand up to leave.

  “But what about practicing for your show?” she asks eagerly. “Don’t you want me to coach you?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “And, don’t forget, I still need to pay you back for the stuff you got. Did you save your receipts?”

  “I have an idea,” I tell her. “Let’s just call it an even exchange. You coach me for a while and this will be your payment.”

  Her eyes grow wide. “You’re definitely getting the short end of the stick in that deal.”

  “Not if you really help me.”

  “Okay.” She nods with a serious expression. “I’ll do my best.”

  So, for the next several hours, with my camera set on the tripod and running, Mollie plays director and I pretend I’m hosting On the Runway. We start with me doing a commentary on shabby chic and how it works both in the bedroom and on the catwalk. After this practice episode, we replay what we just filmed and Mollie gives me some fairly blunt but honest critique.

  “Pretend the camera is your best friend,” she tells me. “You need to relax and smile more.”

  “That’s easier said than done,” I point out. “My comfort zone is the other side of the camera.”

  “But how would you like to be filming someone who’s treating you like the enemy?”

  I consider this. “Good point.”

  “And quit taking yourself so seriously. Lighten up. Remember that anything can be cut.”

  “You’re really good at this,” I tell her. “Do you t
hink you’ll continue in film school after the baby comes?”

  She sighs. “That’s my plan … but sometimes it feels overwhelming.”

  Next I do a mock interview with Mollie’s old Barbie doll, which actually turns out to be pretty hilarious. I think it would be fun to try something like this when I do the show about fashion’s impact on body image.

  We watch this segment, and then Mollie makes me do it again. And then again. By the end of the day, I think I’m either getting better or I’m too tired to know the difference.

  As I’m leaving, Mollie thanks me again for her basement makeover and I thank her for coaching me. “We’re not done,” she reminds me. “But you really made some good progress.”

  The question is—am I progressing enough to make the cut and help host our show? I’m fully aware that I am not Paige. But as Mollie keeps reminding me, they don’t want me to be Paige. They want me to be me. But what if me is not good enough?

  Chapter

  6

  Fran schedules the Chanel boutique for our wedding shopping show at the end of the week. Because we shoot it early in the day, before the store opens, Mom is able to come too. But as we’re filming, Paige seems a little uneasy about the way that Fran is trying to bring me onto center stage. It’s almost like Paige didn’t really think we were going to go through with it.

  For the sake of the show, we’re pretending that Mom hasn’t already purchased her wedding clothes. I have a feeling Paige is hoping that she can get Mom to rethink her choice, as she leads her in a completely different direction.

  “Look at the soft, flowing lines of this design,” Paige tells Mom as she removes a pale peach chiffon number from the rack. “The tea-length skirt would be just perfect in a garden wedding.” She holds the dress up in front of Mom, like she’s wearing it. But as Mom studies the image in the three-way mirror, her expression is uncertain.

  “That doesn’t really seem like Mom’s style to me,” I say as I step next to her.

  “And I don’t really care for that color,” Mom adds.

  “Oh, we can see about a different color,” Paige insists. “But imagine this dress in a garden wedding. Isn’t it sweet and romantic?”

  “I don’t think I’m really the romantic type.” Mom chuckles. “I mean when it comes to fashion.”

  “I have to agree with Mom,” I say. “She’s more of a classic.”

  “Yes.” Paige nods. “I’m fully aware of this, but this is for her wedding. What better time to be romantic than at your wedding?”

  “But I’m so used to wearing suits and business wear.” Mom frowns. “I think I would feel a bit silly in a dress like that.”

  I pull out a satin two-piece ensemble in a silvery shade of white. “Now I can see you in something like this,” I say to Mom as I hold this dress in front of Paige’s recommendation. Naturally, Paige tosses me a look—like why are you showing Mom something that’s similar to what she already has? But I ignore her. “It’s sophisticated and classic,” I tell Mom. “But this beaded detailing gives it a soft feminine look too.”

  Mom touches the fabric and smiles. “It’s beautiful.”

  “Why don’t you try it on?” the manager suggests.

  Mom looks slightly uncomfortable.

  “It appears to be your size,” the manager tells her.

  “Yes, Mom,” I urge. “Go try it on while Paige and I look around for bridesmaid dresses.”

  After Mom goes into the fitting room, Fran suggests that Paige and I split up in the store, each with our own cameraman and doing our own commentary as we look for dresses. JJ follows me, and Alistair trails Paige. Remembering what Mollie said about treating the camera like my best friend, I pretend that JJ is Mollie and just start chatting away.

  “I know that Paige wants something softer and lacier,” I say quietly to JJ. “Something romantic. I realize that would look fabulous on Paige, but Mom and I would probably look silly. And since this is Mom’s wedding, I want her to look her best—and to feel comfortable too. You see, my mom and I are really more the classic type. We’re just not into frills or lace too much.” I finger through the rack, commenting on the various styles and fabrics and colors until I come to one with some good potential.

  I pull out the periwinkle satin dress, holding it up for the camera to see. It has cap sleeves and a gently scooped neckline. “See the simple lines, the princess seams … it’s a very classic style. Now some people might think that’s boring—kind of the way some people think vanilla ice cream is boring. But I happen to love vanilla ice cream. It tastes good with almost anything and it has a timeless appeal. Kind of like this dress.” I chuckle. “Of course, most people wouldn’t compare dresses to ice cream.”

  I go over to the three-way mirror again, holding the dress up as if I’m wearing it. “It’s really nice. And even though it’s a classic, I can imagine it in a garden wedding.”

  “Would you like to try it on?” the manager asks me.

  “Sure.” I nod and head over to the fitting room. Paige had us wear the right shoes today so that the dresses we tried on would look better. Before long I have the periwinkle dress on and zipped. It’s about a size too big, but close enough to get the picture. When I come out of the fitting room, Mom is dressed in the silver-white suit and standing in front of the mirror with JJ filming her.

  “You look beautiful,” I tell her as I go and stand beside her. Just then Paige comes back with another saleswoman. Paige is holding a white dress which resembles the earlier one she showed us with a flowing layered skirt, as well as several others in various shades of pink and rose.

  “You’re already trying dresses on?” she asks me.

  “Only this one,” I admit.

  “I thought you were going to get several,” she says as she holds the white gown up for Mom to see. “Now, I know you think you want to stick to classic,” Paige tells Mom. “But you should at least give this one a try.” She smiles brightly. “Just for fun and to make me happy.” Then she hands me a rose-colored dress, which again has the soft, layered, romantic look. I have to admit that it’s a beautiful dress, but I don’t think it’ll be beautiful on me.

  “What do you think of this one?” Mom asks Paige as she holds out her arms.

  “It’s nice.” Paige nods. “But kind of expected … a bit conservative. Plus it’s missing any wow appeal.”

  “Wow appeal?” I echo.

  “It’s a very safe dress,” Paige says with fashion authority. “It would be appropriate for the mother of the bride to wear … if she wanted to be cautious. But, Mom, you are the bride. Don’t you want to feel special? Like wow.”

  I can’t help but laugh. “What if Mom doesn’t want to feel like wow?”

  Mom laughs. “Okay, Paige, I’ll give your dress a try.”

  “You too,” Paige tells me. Then she’s literally pushing Mom and me back toward the fitting rooms. I want to protest and ask her why we can’t give these other dresses more of a chance, but it’s too late. For now that is. As I try on the rose-colored chiffon dress, I decide that I will insist we give the classic styles a second look. Then I get an idea. Maybe we can invite the viewers to vote.

  Before long the three of us are standing in front of the mirrors. Naturally, Paige looks stunning, although a bit too princess-like for my taste. But Mom and I both look uncomfortable.

  “See,” Paige beams. “Isn’t this a romantic-looking scene?”

  Mom looks like she’s trying to be a good sport. “I’ll admit the dresses are very pretty, Paige.”

  “But…?” Paige looks disappointed.

  “But this just isn’t me.” Mom makes a weak smile.

  “And it’s sure not me,” I add. “Although if Mom wanted me to wear this dress, I would do it. Remember, this is Mom’s wedding … not ours.”

  “Yes, of course.” Paige presses her lips together and nods. “If Mom wants to do classic, then classic it will be. But perhaps we can try some different versions of classic.”

&
nbsp; So Mom and I cooperate, trying on several more dresses, but we are running out of time and so far I haven’t seen anything that everyone can agree on. So, while Paige is out looking again, I decide it’s time to step in. “I think we should give the dresses we first tried on another chance,” I say to Mom. “The silvery two-piece for you and the periwinkle for me.”

  Mom smiles. “Yes, let’s do that.” She turns to the manager. “Perhaps you can find something similar to the periwinkle dress for Paige to try on.”

  “I know just the one,” she tells Mom.

  It’s not long before Mom and I are standing in front of the mirrors again. “This is more like it,” I say.

  “I really do like this dress,” Mom says as she examines herself in the mirror. She tosses me a glance like maybe she’s having second thoughts about the dress she has at home.

  “You should get married in the dress you like the most,” I assure her.

  She smiles. “I love that on you, Erin. It’s perfect. I know brides always tell the bridesmaids that they can wear the dresses again, but I actually think you could wear that one again.”

  I nod. “I think so too.”

  Paige emerges from the fitting room. Her dress is lilac satin and cut similar to mine, but not exactly the same. Wearing a hard-to-read expression, she joins us. “What do you think, Mom?”

  Mom is beaming. “I think it’s perfect.”

  Paige frowns slightly. “Really?”

  “What do you think?” Mom asks hopefully.

  “Honestly?”

  Mom nods. “Yes. You are, after all, the fashion expert, Paige. What do you honestly think?”

  “I think it’s a bit bland.”

  Mom looks disappointed. “Oh …”