Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
Betsy
“This is so fuckin’ stupid,” I mutter for the thousandth time in the last twelve hours.
I had to park on Saint’s Row, which is the street in the square opposite of Golden Halo.
Normally I wouldn’t mind the short walk to Mary London’s boutique, but it’s already sweltering at ten in the morning.
I’m also a Doc Martens girlie for life, but I may have to rethink wearing these things in the summer.
No one likes to slide around in their boots due to sweat. Ew.
Mary London’s place is a bit more modern than Silas’s, with the trim so bright white I have to squint my eyes.
The front door has more swirly trim on it than the Victorians in San Francisco.
No bell rings out when I step inside, but even so, Mary London calls out a greeting from somewhere in the back of the store.
Ornate gold mirrors decorate the walls. Racks are stacked with golden metal hangers and clothing galore.
I’ve never seen so many ruffles in one place before.
“It’s Betsy!” I call back, head swiveling to take in the display of jewelry closer to the register, along with a seating area that looks a lot like a posh club one would find back home.
Mary London comes out from the back with her arms full of shiny white bags with handles, her Golden Halo logo in embossed gold in the middle. She’s also beaming at me, like the idea of me being in her store all day is the best thing she’s heard lately.
“I’m so glad you’re here!” she calls out, dropping the bags behind the counter and coming around to pull me into a perfumed hug.
She rocks me back and forth like I’m a long-lost friend.
My arms are pinned to my side, my hands flapping like a fish.
It’s awkward, but also kind of nice. Back home, no one hugs each other, and until this very moment, I didn’t realize that maybe my peers and I have it wrong.
As Mary London pulls back, her hands still gripping my arms, I see that her brunette hair is perfectly curled and styled.
The makeup she’s sporting looks like one of those beauty pageant girls I’ve seen on television.
Wow. That much makeup on a random Thursday in the summer?
Gosh. I feel woefully inadequate.
“We’re going to have the best day!” she gushes, releasing me to rush to the front and flip the little gold plaque hanging on the glass portion of the door to open.
I wave the clipboard Silas gave me, trying for a smile to match hers.
I have a feeling I look ridiculous, even though I wore the incredibly short sporty dress she gave me.
Mary London pauses in front of me, her hands on her hips, looking adorable in a brightly colored floral-print dress with a ruffle around the neck, sleeveless, and a belt around her tiny waist. The belt has a huge flower made out of tulle or something.
Her heels are strappy and match the gold earrings dangling from her ears.
The whole outfit is fancy, yet perfect for the summer weather.
“That deep blue perfectly matches your eyes, darlin’. I knew it would!” She pauses, taking in my black boots and the black velvet choker necklace around my neck. “Not necessarily the accoutrements I would have gone for, but it’s so you.”
She bustles around me, while I stand there awkwardly.
I don’t know if me being me is a good thing, but the way she says it makes me think that it might.
I’ve noticed that both Mary London and her brother are eternal optimists, which I find kind of strange.
I don’t know that I trust people who smile so much.
“All right. So we’re going to be a team today, Betsy. I’ll take the young girl under my wing, which will free up the mama for you. Sound good?” Mary London pulls out a vase of fresh flowers and places it on the counter right by the register.
“Um, sure. Should we have a signal or something?”
Mary London fusses with the flowers, tossing me a curious look. “A signal? What for?”
I look at the questions printed on my clipboard. “Well, in case I need rescuing?”
Mary London bursts into laughter. It’s so cheerful, like a waterfall under a rainbow, that it makes me want to join in, even if we’re laughing at me.
I don’t get a chance to tell her I’m serious about the signal because the door swings opens and Mary London jumps into action.
I watch her turn that blazing smile onto a young woman and what appears to be her mother.
I see the two of them get sucked into her vortex, shaking my head at someone actually possessing that type of magnetism.
The younger girl follows Mary London to a rack of skirts. I take a deep breath and inch toward her mother, who has a Louis Vuitton bag over her shoulder and a rock on her left finger that might need its own zip code.
“Hey,” I begin lamely. The woman lifts her head from where she’s been feeling up a silk dress that would be a nightmare to get armpit sweat stains out of.
“Hi,” she says tentatively. Her smile is genuine but a bit reserved. Mine probably looks like I’m trying to dry my teeth.
“So, I work for Harp and Hemline across the square.” I wave my clipboard in the air. “Would you mind answering a few survey questions for me?”
The woman turns fully toward me now, nodding, her smile growing warmer. “Sure thing. What can I help you with?”
I swallow, looking down at the first question. “What outfits are you looking to purchase for this year’s football season?”
The woman starts talking, babbling really. I scramble to take notes, though I don’t even know some of the words she’s saying. Beaded straps. Pleated bust. Smocking panel. Scallop cut. Bell shaped. Flared maxis. Polka dot. Well, that one I know. The rest are basically Greek, but I write them down.
My hand starts to cramp before I even get to the third question.
I feel like this woman is offering me golden nuggets, the type of answers Silas desperately needs.
She gets distracted when her daughter comes out of the fitting room with the first of what might be fifty outfits Mary London has her try on.
Another duo has entered the boutique, so I make my way to the mama.
She’s also happy to divulge her favorite styles and fabrics for my survey.
She introduces me to other terms I’ll have to look up later: sweater vests, asymmetrical hemlines, flutter sleeves, and Charleston dresses.
I discover that I’ve inadvertently jumped feetfirst into an industry I know nothing about. Southern women are a different breed of woman altogether. And I will be of absolutely no help to Silas.
While I don’t care for the man, I can’t inflict my ineptitude on him without feeling terrible about it. I plan to leave here today, give him the survey results, and officially quit my job.
I’ve officially lost all ability to make my cheeks pull up into a smile by the time Mary London pulls me into another hug, looking oddly fresh like she hasn’t been working her ass off selling hundreds of dollars of outfits, and whispers in my ear that her assistant is taking over so we can grab lunch.
I let her pull me out of the boutique into the scorching heat.
My hand is spasming from all the writing and I drop my pen.
I leave it right there on the sidewalk outside the boutique, utterly unable to bend down and grab it in a skirt this short.
I already flashed Heaven two days ago. I can’t have a repeat this soon or I might be labeled the town flasher.
“You did great, darlin’!” Mary London crows, opening the door to Cloud Nine Coffee just two doors down. The scent of roasted coffee beans and homemade pastries assails my senses. My stomach lets out an unladylike rumble. “They have croissant sandwiches that are to die for!”
I feel like most of Mary London’s sentences end in an exclamation mark. I don’t know where she gets the energy.
“Are you married?” I blurt out as we queue in line.
Mary London’s smile dims by a fraction, and I feel like crap for being the one to make her less than ecstatic. “No, not yet. I’m a picky girl. Just waiting around for the exact right Prince Charming.”
I nod. “I hear you. The pickin’s are slim.”
Mary London laughs, putting her arm around my waist and resting her head on my shoulder. “Look at you, soundin’ all Southern.”
I don’t know what to make of all the affection she displays.
It makes me freeze in my tracks but it’s not unpleasant.
Just…different…than what I’m used to. It’s our turn to order and Mary London pays for my lunch, even when I try to argue with her.
She pushes my debit card away, dozens of bracelets pinging against each other on her wrist.
“It’s my treat. You’ve been so much fun at the boutique today.”
I snort as we move to find a table. “Yeah, I bet.”
Mary London tilts her head after she has a seat across from me. “I mean it, Betsy Mae.”
What is it with Southerners and their stubborn usage of middle names?
“You have a way with people.” She laughs but it doesn’t seem like she’s laughing at me. “You’re not even nice to the customers and yet they seem to like you. In fact, I had one mama ask me if we had any of your chokers in stock.”
“Really?” My hand flies to my choker, stroking the velvet ribbon absentmindedly. I’ve had this old thing for years.
The server drops off plastic baskets containing our sandwiches. There’s a juicy pickle on the side of mine which makes me like this place even more.
“How are things going with Silas over at Harp and Hemline?” Mary London picks up her sandwich and takes a bite. She watches me do the same and grins when my eyes go wide.
I enjoy my bite, holding up a finger. When I swallow, I wipe my mouth with a napkin from the holder on the table. “Wow, that’s good. Um, it’s going okay, I guess.”
Mary London frowns. “Well, you must love working with Silas. Isn’t he the best?”
Now it’s my turn to frown. For all his optimism, he hasn’t exactly been nice to me. “Um, no. He’s mean.”
She drops her sandwich on her plate, jaw dropping. “Silas Winthrop? My brother?”
I make a face and nod.
“How can that be? Silas is the biggest teddy bear in Heaven, Mississippi!” Mary London is now shaking her head vigorously. I’m afraid she’ll mess up her perfectly styled hair.
I think back to Silas making fun of my earrings. Or my personality. Or my outfit. “If that’s your teddy bear, I’d hate to meet the asshole,” I grumble.
Mary London stares at me for a beat or two, then throws back her head and laughs. Half the patrons of this coffee shop turn to look at us. When she brings her head upright again, she has to use her napkin to wipe the tears from her eyes.
“Wow. I’m shocked to hear that.” She swivels around to grab her phone out of the purse she hung on the back of her chair. “Give me your number so we can chat. If you have any more issues with him, you come to me, okay?”
Well, that’s sweet. I rattle off my number and she texts me hers. Once that’s done, she tucks the phone away again, studying her sandwich.
“I just don’t understand it. Silas likes everyone.”
If that was supposed to make me feel better, it doesn’t. It also doesn’t surprise me though. Again, I know my limitations. I know I’m not a ray of sunshine, but I do have my good qualities. They’re just a little more hidden.
“Thanks.”
Mary London lifts her head, eyes sparkling again. “I know! Why don’t you be one of my models at the Battle of the Boutiques!”
I lose my appetite in a split second. I’m shaking my head before my mouth is able to form words. “No. No, thank you. I’m good.”
“No?” Mary London cries, grabbing my hand.
“You’d be perfect! I won’t take no for an answer.
” Her grin turns a bit wicked, which is the only reason I don’t keep arguing about the modeling thing.
I’m curious to see what racy thoughts this angelic woman could possibly have.
“If Silas doesn’t see what a gem employee he has, then I’ll show him! ”
I shake my head, hating this idea immediately.
But what I find is that Mary London Winthrop is as stubborn as she is sparkly.
She really doesn’t take no for an answer.