“Fine. I think we’re about finished.”
Nothing from her.
“What line of business is Rachel in, by the way?” I ask, curious.
“It’s her department store you’re standing in,” answers Selah. “Or rather, her family’s.”
Holy shit.
Everyone’s heard of the Mac Department Stores, though there’s only a few of them in the country. Mac is where the seriously rich shop. Before today, I’d never even bothered stepping foot inside one. A solid choice, considering the dress I’m wearing costs over five thousand dollars. The personal shoppers tried to get me to stop looking at price tags, but curiosity wins every time. And the running tally kind of makes me want to hurl, only I’d ruin my pretty shoes.
“Rachel wanted to make sure we’re covering all bases.” Selah walks around me inspecting the dress. I’m honestly not used to people caring about how I look to this degree. The level of attention is a combination of weird, kind of nice, and awkward. Though having it come from this particular perfect petite brunette doll is daunting. Don’t get me wrong; I have self-esteem despite my various neuroses. But I also have suspicions about where she fits into Beck’s life.
Which is when my cell vibrates from where it’s sitting over on one of the sofas.
Beck: Forgot to mention Rachel wants to take you to lunch.
Me: Yeah…
Beck: Sorry about that. Meeting ran overtime. Everything okay?
Me: It’s fine. Hope your meeting went well.
Beck: Tell you about it later. Lawyers up next. Wish me luck.
Me: Good luck. x
I’ll tell him about my day (and possible list of grievances against his family, society, and the patriarchy) later. He’s got enough to deal with right now.
“Hello! What do we have here?” Emma, Beck’s half sister, sweeps into the room. Privacy is just not a priority with these people. “Oh, I like that dress on you.”
“You do?” I check myself once more in the mirror. “It feels great.”
“Excellent.”
“The new Fendi Baguette came in, I see.” Selah gives the green velvet handbag on Emma’s arm a covetous look. “Very nice.”
“Isn’t it just? I’ve only been waiting forever.” Emma casts an eye over the collection of clothing hanging on the racks and packages spilling off the second couch and onto the floor. “Who’s been shopping?”
“I picked up a few things for her,” says Selah.
Emma snorts. “Beck is gonna regret that. Trusting the ex with your money…most unwise.”
“Speaking from experience?” Selah cocks her head.
Emma sits on one of the sofas, crossing her legs and swinging her foot back and forth. “I’ll have you know, Matías disapproves of my wealth. He said, ‘Only he who has spirit ought to have possessions.’”
“What?”
“Right? I hate it when he quotes Nietzsche at me.”
Selah wrinkles her nose. “Like nihilism ever made anybody smile.”
“This is my point,” says Emma. “But no, we’re all soulless capitalist scum addicted to material goods and out of touch with the common people, apparently.”
“Nietzsche wasn’t a nihilist,” I say, almost without thinking. My favorite English Lit professor had a thing for Nietzsche’s early period, and could quote the Birth of Tragedy almost verbatim. “And he didn’t care less about the common people. He just worried that people’s possessions would become their focus, instead of culture and spirit and the things that really matter. Art. Literature.”
There’s a pause as they both turn to me. Selah’s eyes narrow and there’s something new in her gaze. Like she’s looking at me for the first time. Really looking. Not that she approves of what she sees.
Emma smiles and shrugs. “Well, I don’t know about Nietzsche, but Matías was wearing a Brioni suit when he said it. So you’ll forgive me if I misread the context. There were some mixed messages coming through.”
I smile graciously and let them return to their conversation. Meanwhile, my head is busy. So Selah and Beck did used to date. Given the weird vibe and animosity between them (at least on his part) it certainly makes sense. And she’s obviously a part of, or still lurking on the fringes of, his family life and fortunes.
Interesting.
A man walks in with a tray of glasses and a bottle of something in an ice bucket and places it on a small table. At times like this, it feels a little weird not to be the one doing the serving. Another reminder that I’m not one of the rich people and do not belong here. No matter how great the dress. And the dress is really fucking great. When Beck is ready to replace me with someone his family finds more suitable, I’m taking the dress home to ease my heartache. The booties can come too.
Selah starts pouring the champagne. “Some Dom. Thought we might be in need of refreshment by now.”
“I think we’re done here,” I say.
Pausing her pouring, Selah inspects the racks of clothes. “Which ones are you keeping?”
I nod to the smallest collection.
“We might need to go further afield if that’s all you could find. I’ll reach out to some contacts at other stores and a couple of designers who are good at plus size.”
“No need. That’ll be plenty.”
Selah opens her mouth, then closes it. “All right. Tell you what, why don’t I finish up here while Emma accompanies you to the salon and spa?”
“You’re not cutting my hair.” This is not a suggestion. This is a statement.
“It won’t be me taking her, I’ve got a meeting. Someone else will have to wrangle the new girlfriend.” Emma sips at her champagne. “You do need a trim, though. I can see the split ends from here. And a keratin treatment and some highlights wouldn’t hurt you either.”
“Her skin is going to take some work,” adds Selah. “And those brows…”
Emma nods. “The ragged claws you’re calling nails definitely need fixing.”
“I’m not even going to comment on the length of her leg hairs.”
“You just did.” I frown. What a pair of assholes.
“C’mon, Alice,” says Emma. “I’m sure Mommy Dearest already gave you the lecture. You know, can’t embarrass the fam followed by you’ll still look like you—just the best most expensive version of yourself. That sort of thing.”
“Yep.”
Emma just shrugs. “What can I say? She’s mostly right. This is mostly for your own good. Not to be unkind, but people were asking who the hobo with Beck was yesterday.”
“What?” I ask. “Wow.”
“Yeah. It’s harsh.”
“Very.”
“And I kind of have to agree with them,” says Emma.
“I don’t think I like you after all.”
Selah laughs. “No one likes her.”
“Oh, my sweet summer child.” Emma’s smile is benevolent. “We’re not here to be liked. We’re here to get shit done. You think you’re getting new threads because Grandma actually likes you or wants you here? It’s because she wants Beck back under control. At least, I’m guessing that was her message to Mama yesterday. Best make the most of all of this while you can because you never know what tomorrow will bring. Now quit your whining before you give me a headache.”