My First Book--Scene Twenty-One

Instead of giving a long list of links for you to read the previous scenes in my book, might I point you to the "Categories" at the left? Mosey on down to "my first book--scenes", click there and scroll down to wherever you have to start. It's been a while since the last installment, so it might be helpful.

Go on. We'll wait for you.

Back? Okay. Without further ado, I give you Scene Twenty-One.
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“I know you’ll want to take Lela with you. She can drive you up to Dallas, right?” he asked as we walked towards the door. Despite the fact that both he and Mabel had both tried to teach me to drive, I still would not willingly take the wheel.

“Something can be arranged,” I said, not bothering to tell him that Lela had also been working on me to accept the money. He didn’t need to know everything, right? She would be on my doorstep at nine.

“Oh, by the way,” he said as he reached for his hat, “Waylon and I are having supper at the café. He told me you ladies were planning a day in Dallas, and neither of us can cook. We poor men have to eat, don’t we?”

With admonitions to mind their Aunt Emily and not break anything, Lela and I sent Ruth and Waylon Carl into the vastness of Dallas’s Neiman Marcus department store. The trio disappeared toward the children’s department, and I gawked at rack after rack of the latest fashions hung ready for anxious buyers.

I tentatively began searching the racks for just the right dress when a sales lady approached us.

“May I help you, madam?” she asked us politely.

“I’m looking for a dress to wear for a special occasion,” I said. I’d never been to such a large store and was more than a little unsure just where to begin.

“Cotillion or cocktail party?” the sales lady asked.

Cotillion? What on earth was a cotillion? I certainly knew my little Baptist wedding would not be a cocktail party, but was it a cotillion. Somehow, I thought probably not. What should I say?

“A small wedding,” Lela said, rescuing me.

“Ah, yes. Madam might like to look at these dresses, then.” She led us to a stand of dresses several feet away. We dutifully followed.

“Thank you. I believe I shall find something quite nice,” I said. I appreciated the assistance but felt uncomfortable with the woman.

“Very well.” The sales lady blended into the surroundings and once again disappeared.

Lela and I pawed rack after rack, searching for a dress. “You know,” she said, holding up a striped dress. I shook my head, and she continued, “after we’re done with this, we should go over to the lingerie department and find someth—”

“Shhh! Do you want someone to hear you?” I hissed, moving closer to her. “What about this one?” I asked, hoping to distract her. What was she thinking?

“Maybe,” she said. “Or this?” She held up another dress.

I took both dresses, and we headed toward the dressing rooms. Picking up the conversation once I made sure no one else occupied any of the dressing rooms, I said, “I might could understand paying for a nice dress, but it just seems a shame to spend a lot of money on something that’s not meant to be worn for very long.”

Lela snickered. “Chloe, honey, that’s the whole point. Besides, he gave you the money and told you to spend it on something special for the wedding. I think that qualifies.”

I stepped out of the dressing room to model the first dress. “What do you think?”

Lela eyed me speculatively. “It’s nice, but it doesn’t seem right, now I see it on. Try the other one.”

I nodded, completely in agreement after catching a view of myself in the mirror, and shut the dressing room door to try on the other dress. “Somehow, I think I could wear a potato sack to bed, and he’d still be interested,” I said, pulling the dress off over my head.

“No, sweetie, that’s for after the honeymoon,” Lela said, laughing.

“Stunning!” she said as I opened the door. “That dress is absolutely gorgeous on you! You just have to buy it.”

I twirled around. “Really?”

“That’s it, Chloe. That’s the one.” She was adamant.

I looked down, appreciating the small flowers on the fabric and delicate lace work around the collar. This shade of lavender was a particular favorite of mine. Still not a fan of the fashion trend toward drop waists in dresses, I had to admit this one looked nicer than most I had seen.

“It’s so pretty, but where else would I wear it?”

“Who knows? As a doctor’s wife, you might have all sorts of places to go where you could wear it,” Lela said.

I retreated into the dressing room a final time. “Okay, I’ll get it,” I said. I changed back into my own clothes and went to pay for the new dress.

Once we reached the lingerie department, I tended towards long, conservative gowns. Lela worked hard to convince me to buy something much racier, preferably with more lace than fabric yet not much of anything at all.

“You know,” she said as she held up a red silk teddy, “I wonder if Waylon’d go wild if I was to wear this to bed?”

I looked at it, and my eyes bugged. “Are you kidding? He’d likely never leave you alone!” She smiled, one corner of her mouth quirking up, and hung it back on the rack.

“What about this?” I held up a gown.

Lela frowned and shook her head. She leaned close and whispered, “His grandmother might wear that to bed, but if you actually want sex, I wouldn’t count on it. Not with that.”

“Potato sack, Lela. Potato sack. I could wear one of those, remember?” I said.

Lela had to laugh at that. “You know, I’ve seen the way he looks at you, and I’d have to agree. Still, you should drive him wild with anticipation. That’s why you wear one of these,” she said, holding up another garment. This one was, I had to admit, a reasonable compromise between her earlier offer of the red teddy and my granny gown.

She sighed, and half under her breath she said, “I wish Waylon still looked at me like that.”

I looked up at Lela, seeing a sadness quickly flash in her eyes before it disappeared again. “What’s going on?” I asked, taking a step towards her and wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

She shook her head and tried to turn away. “You wouldn’t have said that if everything was okay. You two still having problems?”

Lela had occasionally confided in me about the difficulties she and Waylon had experienced after the devastating stillbirth of their daughter almost two years ago. I leaned my head against hers and said, “Oh, honey, still?”

She looked around and pulled away. “Not here,” she said, wiping her eyes. “You’re getting married. It’s a happy time! Let’s get you something for that honeymoon.”

I gave her a pat on the arm and moved away. After more than an hour, I finally settled on three different items I liked and Lela approved. The sales lady wrapped my purchases in tissue and handed me the bag. Dan’s stack of bills significantly reduced, we set off in search of our children. I thought we could all do with a picture show before heading home.