“No one is Dolly, dear.” He pats my shoulder.
The ice-blue is pretty but it reminds me too much of the dress Glenna Wilson wore to the Small Screen Awards. That’s all I need, people thinking I’m copying that wench.
“Let me try the gold one.”
Clifford pulls it from the rack with a flourish, directing me behind the screen. I brought my favorite spanky-undershorts with me to smooth out any bumpy spots, but I think this dress might require more sophisticated shapewear than my Walmart knockoffs.
Clifford’s still standing there waiting and I shoo him away. “I’ll call when I need ya.”
He dashes off with a hmph. On the other side of the screen, he starts describing the dresses he’s chosen for Angelina.
I twist and turn the hanger, peering at the dress. The back of my dress—well, there isn’t a back. There’s a glittering, satin string below my shoulder blades that holds the dress in place. Several thin, beaded cords running from the strap at the top to the fabric above my butt form an elegant cage. I carefully slip into it, trying not to get my arms tangled in all the fine little strings.
Phew. Sweat mists my forehead. These dang lights are awfully bright. I arrange the gown, pleased the front seems high enough to keep my girls contained. The skirt’s so long, it pools at my feet in a sloppy way. Guess that’ll need to be shortened. When I step forward, my leg peeks out. A closer inspection reveals high slits on both sides. Lordy, I’m gonna need to wear a bathing suit under this thing. How can I feel so naked wearing a dress with so much fabric?
“How’s it going in there, Shelby?” Angelina calls out.
“Okay.” I can’t seem to work the tiny zipper hidden under my armpit on my own. I step out from behind the screen and lift my arms. “Clifford?”
He glides over and zips me into place. “Perfection.”
“There’s a lot of dress here.” I scrunch the fabric at my hips and swish it around. “Yet, I feel awfully naked.”
Angelina’s shoulders shake with laughter. “You’re so modest to be in the entertainment industry.”
I shrug. Not the first time someone’s said that to me. Probably won’t be the last. “My bits are for my viewing pleasure only. Well, Rooster’s too,” I add with a giggle.
“I want to embroider that on a T-shirt.” Angelina trails her fingertips over her chest. “‘My bits are for my viewing pleasure only.’ It’s got a real inspirational feel to it.”
We both laugh so hard, I bump into her. She wraps her arms around my shoulders, keeping me upright, while we giggle into each other’s hair like little kids.
Clifford’s heavy sigh finally breaks us apart. A few stray giggles escape my lips. I’m so happy I didn’t have to dress shop alone.
“A backless dress requires excellent posture and the ability to pose in an alluring way,” Clifford lectures. “You’ll want to stand tall and coyly look over your shoulder for the cameras.”
I step onto the dais and execute a half twirl. The intricate beading catches the light, throwing off sparkles as I move. When the ties at the back stop swinging, I practice hooking my chin over my shoulder and posing.
“It’s really pretty on you, Shelby.” Angelina steps up behind me.
I smooth my hands over my hips that somehow look even fuller in the slim-fitting dress. “You sure? I usually go with stuff that kinda hides my hips.”
“Why?” She skims her hands in the air around my body without touching me. “You have a lovely shape.”
“Thanks.” The dress does seem to flatter everything I’ve got, even if it’s a little different from what I’d usually choose.
“I like this one, Clifford.”
“You don’t want to try the pink one?” he asks.
“Nope. This is it.”
“Excellent.” He gently bumps Angelina out of the way and squats next to me with his tape measure, pins, and pencil, marking all the spots he plans to alter.
An assistant I didn’t even realize was in the store whispers over the carpet, depositing a tray with a large pitcher of what looks like fresh minty lemon iced tea, a bowl of strawberries, and a plate of some kind of peanut butter drop cookies.
How cruel.
My mouth waters. Dress or not, I am so stuffing one of those cookies in my mouth when Clifford’s finished with me.
Angelina plucks one of the strawberries out of the bowl, munching on it while she watches Clifford work. “You have to wear your hair up to show off the back of the dress. I don’t think you’ll need any jewelry either. Maybe a bracelet.”
“Oh, jeez. Dawson brought me the prettiest diamond choker to wear to the SSAs. It even came with its own bodyguard for the night.” I chuckle remembering how serious dear old James was about protecting that dang necklace.
“Rooster didn’t mind Dawson giving you a diamond necklace?” she asks with a raised eyebrow. “Wait, why’d you go with Dawson, anyway?”
“It’s…a long story.” I wave the question away. “Rooster didn’t mind. Dawson didn’t give me the necklace. He borrowed it for me to wear for the show.”
“Oh.”
“Stay,” Clifford orders.
There’s a dog joke in there somewhere.
He returns with several shoe boxes. Ugh. All heels. I choose the lowest pair. They’re a shimmery gold with sparkling embellishments, a little bow in the front and a zipper at the heel. I try them on and stand still for Clifford to measure and adjust the dress.
“All set.” Clifford stands and has me turn for him one more time. “Take it off very carefully.”
“I will,” I promise, then scurry behind the screen.
When I emerge, Clifford’s moved on to Angelina.
“And you.” He rests his knuckles under her chin and tips her head back, then angles it to the side. “Thank heavens you ended up with your mother’s lovely bone structure.”
Angelina’s eyes bug. Apparently, Mr. Holtzclaw did his homework before accepting this assignment. Although did he just insult her dad?
“I chose deeper jewel tones to compliment this magnificent curtain of dark hair you have.” He fluffs her hair away from her face.
The assistant returns with gowns instead of cookies this time. One a deep crimson and the other a vibrant purple.
“Oh my.” Angelina’s gaze pings between the two dresses. “Let me try the red one.”
I plop down on one of the chairs and snag a peanut butter cookie or two.
“You all right back there, Angelina?” She hasn’t made a peep yet.
“Almost done!”
A few seconds later, she slides out and poses for us.
“Dang, girl.” I whistle. “That’s stunning.” The dress is both sexy and elegant on her tall, curvy frame.
“I really love it,” she says, moving forward. The long skirt swishes around her ankles like rolling lava.
“Oh, I can’t wait to take pictures together,” I gush. “The dark red and pale gold will look really pretty next to each other.”
“No one’s going to want pictures of me, Shelby. I’m only there as Dawson’s random arm candy.”
“Pssh.” I wave that off.