Chapter 17
The Fifth Avenue department store had an extravagant festive window display that I could only describe as ‘North Pole meets KPop Demon Hunters’.
Walking into the shop was the first time I’d felt the need to wear my noise-cancelling headphones since the morning I’d met Ethan – a new record?
– but I’d left them in the hotel room so I had no choice but to make do.
The store was rammed, but Anneka and I kept heading upwards, with each level getting progressively less busy until we emerged onto the fourth floor, which appeared to be dedicated to designer labels and formalwear.
A feeling of dread pumped around my bloodstream.
‘Anneka, this stuff looks out of my price range, plus I really want to wear something simple so I don’t stand out.’
She whipped her head round to look at me. ‘Please, Flo. Just trust me.’
I sighed in resignation, and we kept walking until we reached the furthest corner of the floor – a quiet and understated section called Local Makers’ Pop-up.
The lighting in this corner of the store was much less harsh, with around half a dozen market-like stalls featuring a non-overwhelming array of clothing from ‘New York State’s most exciting up-and-coming designers’.
I was officially intrigued, and Anneka detected as much.
‘Me and Mum saw this section yesterday morning and thought of you straight away. And there’s one brand in particular I think you’ll love.’
She guided me to the very furthest stall, which was called Jumping Attire. It took me a few seconds of browsing through the clothing rail for the significance of the name to click.
‘They’re all jumpsuits!’ I exclaimed.
‘They are,’ Anneka said, beaming at me while I rifled through the rack at a more enthusiastic pace.
I stopped at a jumpsuit that felt deliciously soft between my fingers and extracted it from the rail.
It was jet black, but had an electric-pink lining that peeked out cheekily from all the edges and pockets, with a matching bright pink zip down the back.
The capped sleeves with the slightest frill and V neckline made it look like an elevated version of my regular outfits.
I checked the handwritten label: $189. I swallowed – it was a fair price for what it was, but it would be by far the most expensive item of clothing I’d ever bought – and that included my wedding dress, which had been a simple white number I’d found on Vinted.
I held the jumpsuit against my body and turned to face Anneka.
‘That will look amazing on you,’ she said. ‘And the way it hangs, it’ll probably look like a funky dress once you’re wearing it.’
‘Shall I try it on?’
‘Obviously!’
There were a couple of secluded fitting rooms in this tucked-away corner, and – after checking with the bored-looking sales assistant – I took the stretchy one-size jumpsuit into the cubicle, pulling the thick velvet curtain closed behind me.
I stepped into it and it immediately felt like an extra layer of my own skin.
No annoying seams or scratchy labels, just buttery smooth, crease-free fabric that – as Anneka had predicted – floated to the ground in a way that resembled a loosely tailored, floor-length dress.
The flashes of pink that made themselves known whenever I moved added a unique twist to the outfit, which I loved.
The only downside was that it was, quite obviously, a few inches too long for my legs.
‘C’mon then, don’t leave me on a cliffhanger!’ Anneka called from outside.
I stepped out like a bride-to-be on Say Yes to the Dress, and Anneka gasped just like the mothers did on the show when they all knew they’d discovered ‘the one’.
‘It’s perfect!’ she said.
‘Yeah, I like it,’ I said, trying to sound casual when, in fact, I was stupidly and uncharacteristically obsessed with this outfit. ‘Shame it’s too long. Oh well.’
‘Hmm…’ She stepped closer and kneeled to judge how much fabric was pooling around my feet. ‘Heels would help.’
‘Tell that to my weak-ass ankles.’
‘Can I help you at all?’ The shop assistant’s perfectly reasonable question made me jump out of my skin to the extent that I accidentally whacked Anneka in the face with my knee.
I replied automatically. ‘No, we’re fine tha—’
‘Yes!’ Anneka interrupted me, looking up and rubbing her bashed nose with the heel of her hand. ‘My sister has to get this jumpsuit for a wedding in a couple of days, but the legs are slightly too long.’
The assistant crouched down next to Anneka to examine the material. ‘Seems like a simple job for our alterations department up on ninth. But you’d need to know what shoes you’d be wearing so they could measure it accurately.’
‘Ooh, fantastic. And they’d be able to do it before Tuesday?’ Anneka asked.
‘Shouldn’t be a problem, but I’ll give them a call to check.’
The assistant made her way to the nearest counter while I stood in the middle of the shop floor like the world’s most awkward mannequin.
‘This is sounding expensive, Anneka. The jumpsuit alone is pricey as it is.’
Anneka grabbed the label to take a look.
‘That seems like a reasonable price to me. We’ll just have to see if we can make some savings elsewhere.
But first things first, we need to find you some shoes.
We passed footwear on the way up – stay right here and I’ll see what I can rustle up. You’re a size 5, right?’
I nodded, surprised that Anneka had retained this fact about me. ‘Anneka, I—’
‘Do I really have to tell you to trust me again?’
‘No. I trust you. I just wanted to say – thanks. This is actually… enjoyable?’
My sister took three giant paces in my direction and threw her long arms around me.
‘You’re doing great, Flora,’ she whispered into my ear, before shouting, ‘but I must go on a shoe mission!’
Anneka arrived ten minutes or so later, a tower of shoeboxes piled from her hands to her chin, to discover me standing in exactly the same spot.
‘Wow, you really took my instruction to “stay right here” to heart, didn’t you?’
‘Yes.’
She set down the boxes and removed the lids one by one to show me the selection of footwear.
The first two pairs were standard black shoes – one pair had a slight kitten heel and the other had a slightly more ambitious wedge-style sole.
The third pair were cerise-pink stilettos with a diamanté ankle fastening.
‘Absolutely not.’
‘Can’t blame a girl for trying. Okay, now for the wildcard.’
She lifted the final lid in dramatic slow motion to reveal the most incredible shoes I’d ever seen – a pair of silver glitter Converse with a subtle platformed sole.
‘Omigod, these are incredible!’ I couldn’t get them onto my feet quickly enough.
They felt like home – but the New York Flora Bell version of it.
‘But surely I couldn’t get away with these as formalwear?
’ I asked, twirling this way and that to examine the shoes from every angle while hitching up the jumpsuit legs.
‘Drop the material down a little,’ Anneka instructed. ‘A little more? There. If we get the alteration just right, nobody would even know you were wearing them, unless you wanted to give them a cheeky flash.’
I gave Anneka a cheeky flash to test out her theory. An involuntary squeal erupted from my mouth when the experiment proved successful.
Anneka asked the most important question of all. ‘Does it all feel good?’
I nodded, grinning goofily, no longer bothering to disguise my excitement about the ease with which we’d found the outfit of my dreams. The sales assistant reappeared.
‘Looks like you’re all set for alterations?’
I looked at Anneka, who nodded at me enthusiastically, but left me to make the final call.
‘I think so! I’ll just go and take all this off.’
‘No, no – keep it on! Easier to measure that way. Let’s ring it up down here and then I’ll take you up to ninth.’
I put the purchase on my credit card, praying that my future efforts to ramp up my speechwriting business would be able to take the hit for this present-day extravagance.
Once I was all measured up – which involved having to stand on an actual plinth – I disappeared into the fitting room to get my regular clothes back on.
I reached around my back and grasped the clasp of the pink zipper and tugged.
Nothing happened. I tugged again. Nope. I swapped hands, hoping that tugging from a different angle might somehow work.
It. Didn’t. Work.
‘Umm, Anneka, could you come in here a sec?’
She appeared in the cubicle disconcertingly quickly.
‘I’m… stuck,’ I whispered, gesturing in the general direction of the zip.
‘Of course you’re not stuck. Here, let me…’ Anneka tugged on the zipper. There was still zero movement. She tugged harder. And then harder still.
RIIIIIIPPPPPPP.
‘Fuuuuuuuuuuuck!’ we both whispered, simultaneously.
‘How bad is it?’ I asked, trying to peer over my shoulder and angle my body correctly so I could see the damage in the mirror, but Anneka kept readjusting her position to block my reflection.
‘It’s… not ideal. But let me handle this.’ Anneka slapped on a smile and stepped outside the cubicle. ‘Cassidy!’ she called brightly to the sales assistant, with whom she was now on first-name terms. ‘We have a slight problem…’
Anneka’s voice faded to nothing as she steered Cassidy outside of the room to discuss what had happened away from the ears of the alterations team.
I finally caught sight of the damage to the back of the jumpsuit and gasped – the entire zip fastening was hanging off, the frayed edges of the stitches – and half of my back – exposed for the world to see.
I slumped down into the corner of the fitting room and put my head in my hands.
Of course this has happened – it was going far too well.
This situation was precisely why I hated clothes shopping – and one of the reasons why I’d avoided going wedding dress shopping earlier this year, despite Laurie’s pleas.