“No way,” I said softly. “You bought it?”
She grinned. “Yep. Signed the papers last week.”
Tiffany hit the clicker and the doors unlocked. I climbed into the passenger side, my body melting into the black leather. I had to stifle a moan of pleasure.
Tiffany turned the key and the car’s unique five-cylinder engine came to life. She grabbed a pair of black cat-eye sunglasses resting on the console, made sure they were clean, and placed them on her head.
She put the car into drive and wove her way through the parking garage at far too high a speed. Bright sunshine caressed my face when we got out onto the street, and I squinted at the change in light.
“There’s a pair of spare sunglasses in the glove box,” she said.
“Thanks,” I said gratefully.
They were a little big for my face, but I didn’t care. She pressed a button and a radio station playing jazz filtered through the speakers. I reached over and lowered the volume so we could talk.
“You’re doing really well, Tiff. Aren’t you?”
“I do okay,” she averred.
“I’ve been hiding away, and you’ve been buying cars and sending out for breakfasts…”
“I got a promotion. I want to enjoy it.” She turned up the music so we couldn’t talk anymore.
What the hell wasn’t she telling me?
I’d bared my soul to her and come to her for help, but clearly, it wasn’t a two-way street. It made me embarrassed that I’d been honest with her and she wouldn’t do the same.
The rest of the drive was silent and charged with tension. Finally, she turned into the department store parking lot. Tiffany cut the wheel and revved the engine loudly before parking the car directly in front of the Folson’s store entrance in the closest spot she could find, surrounded by other cars.
“Why didn’t you park farther away? Aren’t you afraid the car is going to get dinged?” I asked, as I grabbed my purse and opened my door to get out.
There was a whistle from a group of guys, followed by, “Sweet ride!”
Tiffany tilted her sunglasses down on her nose and then looked at me and said, “That is why I parked near the front.”
When we arrived at the entrance to Folson’s, a young man darted in front of her and held the door open, gazing at her with open worship. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he gave her a long, lingering look.
Tiffany smiled and blew him a kiss, and despite my uneasiness, I grinned in amusement.
We passed both the men’s and women’s sections and kept going until we found the back of the store, a secluded area with a small, clean desk. A female attendant with her hair pulled into a top bun watched as we approached. Her lips formed into a polite smile.
“Hello, how may I help you?” she asked.
“My name is Tiffany Bristol and I have a dress fitting at 11:45.”
The woman typed a few keys and then nodded. “Excellent. Would you follow me to the dressing room? I’ll have the gown brought to you.”
“Thank you,” Tiffany said.
I marveled at the expensive designer gowns on display and had to stop from running my hands over the gorgeous fabrics. The attendant showed us into a room with three mirrors in a semicircle around a small, elegant platform.
“May I get you something to drink?” the attendant asked.
“Two glasses of champagne, please,” Tiffany answered, as she began removing her heels.
The attendant nodded. “Deidre will be fitting your dress. Please don’t hesitate to push the buzzer if you need anything.”
The woman inclined her head and then shut the door. I looked back to Tiffany, who was watching me with an amused expression.
“Champagne?”
“You need it. You’re wound tighter than a spring.”
“No disagreement there.” I looked at the dressing room door. “I’ve never seen that kind of service before.”
“I love being waited on. I love people knowing I have money when I walk into places.” She paused. “I’ve gained so much from my time at The Rex. Confidence. Financial freedom…purpose. They’ve been good to me.”
“How did you get your job at The Rex?”
“You mean, what made a luxurious hotel take a chance on a high school graduate from a poor background?”
“I wouldn’t have phrased it that way.”
“Why not? It’s the truth.” She shrugged. “I’m not embarrassed about how I grew up. The Rex…they see potential. They’re willing to take chances. Even though they want the best, and demand the best, if they see someone they can mold into an ideal Rex employee, they’ll do it. That’s why they’re different than any of their competitors. They appreciate people who are willing to work hard.”
I took a seat in the chair that rested in the corner of the private dressing room. “It sounds like you found your dream job, Tiff. I’m happy for you.”
Smiling, Tiffany slithered out of her dress and hung it up on a hanger. She stood confidently in a strapless bra and white thong. A delicate golden key pendant on a fine gold chain rested against her smooth skin. She had no reason for modesty: she was tan, slender, and in-your-face beautiful. Stunning, really.
Tiffany had started her life out with distinct disadvantages, but she had managed to pull herself up from the bootstraps and make something of herself instead of falling into a life like her mother. Tiffany hadn’t settled, and for her it would’ve been so easy to settle.
There was a knock on the door and two people entered after Tiffany told them to come in. One woman held a tray with two champagne flutes, the other—Deidre—held Tiffany’s dress. It was an off the shoulder floor length, bright pink gown.
“That dress is Academy Awards worthy,” I remarked.
Tiffany laughed. “If only the kids from Holy Trinity could see me now.” She grinned. “Think they’d still call me names?”
“Kids are assholes,” I said.
“And yet they can do so much damage to your long-term self-esteem, you know?” She shook her head.
I held the two champagne flutes as Tiffany slid into the gown. It fit her perfectly, from what I could tell, but she immediately started directing Deidre to make alterations. She was polite, assertive. There was no small talk; it was all business.
“I’ll be in four-inch heels, so we should take that into account as well,” Tiffany said.
Deidre nodded and began alternating between pinning the dress in places and scribbling down measurements on a notepad. I got up and handed Tiffany her drink. She gently tapped her flute to mine and we both took a sip.
It was not cheap, hangover-in-your-teeth champagne. It was complex and crisp.
I wasn’t immune to the polish and luxury. It was seductive, to say the least. Especially after years of living modestly and memories of a childhood spent in rented apartments and bungalows with lawns that were more dirt than grass.
But I didn’t need a job that paid what Tiffany’s job paid. I just needed enough to live, enough to be comfortable, enough to be secure. I would take whatever job Genevieve offered me because it would give me a new identity, and that was my primary concern.
The fitting didn’t take long and we left the dressing room. I was feeling buzzy and bold from the glass of champagne as Tiffany linked her arm through mine. She all but dragged me through the women’s department.