Page 19 of Dante

“You must be a good customer.”

“Me? No. I couldn’t afford anything here. But Mary loved the fashions and dragged me here to shop with her.”

Mary!

“I don’t think this is the right fashion for me,” I say, eyeing the sexy clothing style. “I like to keep things simple …”

Even seeing them on the hanger, I know I’d never dare wear any of these revealing dresses.

“But you’re not a simple California Girl anymore. You’re the young, beautiful wife of the city’s mafia don. You have to play that role. Everyone expects you to look the part.”

Angie snatches a dress off a sleek rack.

“Try this on,” Angie says, giving me the dress while rushing me toward a changing room. “I’ll wait outside.”

I put the dress on. It’s one of those body-conscious styles that hugs your figure and shows everything.

“How are we doing?” Angie asks, pulling open the purple curtain.

"Man, it looks great on you,” she says, pulling the stretchy hemline up and the neckline down.

“No, no, the opposite way,” I say, wiggling around.

“Honey, when you go into that club, everyone is going to want to be on Dante’s arm. You’re going to have to show him, and everyone else, that you’ve got the stuff. You’re Dante’s woman. Say it after me.”

“Say what?”

“I’ve got the stuff. I’m Dante’s woman.”

“I’m not saying that,” I tell her. “And I’m not buying this dress either. It’s far too revealing.”

“Relax. You’re going to a club, not church.”

“Are you sure Dante will like it?”

She crosses her arms. “Of course he will. Especially since you’re in it.”

While I change, Angie goes over to talk to the saleswoman. When I emerge, she calls to me, “Let’s go.”

“Wait, don’t we need to pay?”

“Taken care of,” she says. “Had them put it on Dante’s account.”

A few minutes after we leave the shop, I’m struck by the image of a beautiful girl with long black hair in the window of an upscale beauty salon.

“She looks a lot like Mary, doesn’t she?” I ask.

Angie shrugs. “A little.”

“I’m going inside,” I say, swinging open the salon’s heavy door and walking up to the receptionist.

“Do you have a colorist who could color my hair black? And also add extensions, so it falls about here?” I indicate an area several inches below my shoulders.

“Of course we do. Would you like to make an appointment?”

Angie comes bustling through the door. “What’s going on here?” she asks, looking at the receptionist.

“Your friend was just asking for color and extensions.”