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Shell pressed me to the wall of my safety. I had always admired her extroversion and how comfortable she was in her skin. She landed her dream job straight out of school because of that easiness. Partying and social outings didn’t slow her down, either. She was always on top of her stuff.
The dress choice was worth a shot, at the least. I needed to exit my comfort zone if I ever wanted more. Looking at the morning’s events proved it. And I wanted more now than ever; there was a lot on table.
Living life in my bubble was comfortable, and I rarely made a fuss. I was a quiet child, and a quiet adult.
Making a fuss gave people what they wanted. The squeaky wheel gets the oil, or so the saying goes. But could I be a squeaky wheel? Shell didn’t struggle to pull in jobs or men, and this scenario potentially offered both. If I could just wear the damn dress and strut like I owned it.
Inside the dressing room stall, I took a deep breath and slid the dress from its hanger. The fabric felt luxurious, not suffocating, and worth every penny.
“Shell, can you help me with the zipper?” I asked as I cracked the door.
“Absolutely, babe, here.”
Shell turned me, gripping my shoulder and closed the zipper. She pulled me out of the stall as soon as the final tooth found its place, letting out a delighted squeak and clasping her hands.
“You can’t tell me you aren’t obsessed with this dress! It’s perfect. Just look at you!”
Even the sales associate nodded her approval. I eyed myself in the huge mirror propped against the wall of the boutique, twisting and checking every angle. The dress fit like a glove. It drew attention to my femininity, my slight curves. It wasn’t nearly as ostentatious as I’d originally thought. I looked good. Better than good.
And if Raphael liked me in a sweater and pencil skirt, this would knock him out cold. And that thought sold the dress.
“You know what? You’re right. Nothing wrong with a little lapse on inhibition. Little Black Dress it is.”
No more second best, no more sidelines. All signs pointed to a big break; with my career, with a man sexier than any I’d laid eyes on. Signs didn’t get any clearer.
Raphael Teresse owned some well-known lounges in NYC, so the job opportunity was tremendous. I would do everything in my power to make this happen for him. For me. If I waited for Derrick to hand me the opportunity, it would never come.
Shell and I left Main Street after buying the dress, some shoes, two pairs of earrings, and having lunch at our favorite crepe place. My best friend was nothing if not the most supportive friend anyone could ask for. Always full of excitement, joy, and vivacious life. Without her, I wouldn’t be strutting into my maybe life-changing meeting with nearly as much style or confidence.
I had less than an hour to get ready when we got home. There was work to be done.
I put on the new dress, black patent stilettos, and silver and crystal chandelier earrings. A swipe of lipstick and another coat of mascara, and I felt polished. Professional, but provocative and compelling, too. Lia: new and improved. New Lia tossed away coy modesty, or at least hung it neatly in the closet with her other sensible things. It was still a substantial step in the right direction.
I pulled my hair free from its morning style and let it tumble over my shoulders and down my arms. That was the final touch. Literally and figuratively letting my hair down felt like the freedom I needed from my own strict rule. I felt powerful, sexy, glamorous.
My phone buzzed on top of the dresser, startling me from the internal pep talk. The name on the screen drew a groan from my lips. I so didn’t need this.
“Hey, Mom. How are you?”
“I’ve definitely been better,” my mom sniffed.
“I’d love to catch up, but now isn’t a good—”
“Oh, I should have known. Of course. The busy Amelia never has time for her mother. You never come home. You hardly give me the time of day. The woman who made you. I thought I raised you better.”
She continued the guilt trip while I tried to tune it out until it ended. The real reason she called still hung in the air like mysterious fog. As the tirade lengthened, guilt turned to annoyance. We seldom talked, but she preferred that as much as me. We didn’t get alone much when I was younger, and our relationship only grew more strained after Henry’s accident. We had counted down the moments until we could go our separate ways.
“I don’t know how much free time I have coming up, Mom. I have a meeting with a client tonight. I might get my first big job out of this.”
Mom scoffed. Scoffed. My shoulders drooped even though I should have been used to her blasé responses to my accomplishments.
“Did you have a reason to call? I’m not trying to brush you off; it’s just I really don’t have a lot of time. Do you want me to come home for a visit?”
“I shouldn’t have to ask, should I? Honestly, Amelia. You know my health has been worse. Do you check on me? No. Do you even call? No.”
“Okay, Mom. Okay. You’re right. I’ll come see you soon.”
“This weekend.”
