Georgia on Her Mind(46)
She waves her hands frantically. “Yes, now. They close at noon.”
I move slowly out of bed. “There’s plenty of time.”
“It’s almost noon now.”
“Really?” I didn’t sleep well. I dreamed I met with a boardroom full of Myers-Smith executives while wearing a pair of cutoffs. Ooh, shudder.
“Please, Macy, will you go?”
“Yes.” I brush my teeth and put in my contacts wondering what the big deal is. It’s a launch, I know, but at the core, it’s a good ol’ Georgia barbecue.
I ask Dad about it on my way through the kitchen for a slice of coffee cake. “The Food Connection is sending a camera crew for a live remote. Wherever Rhine Flagstone goes, so do the cameras.”
A live remote? I brought a nice pair of shorts and flip-flops, but not television nice. More like it’s-okay-if-I-get-barbecue-sauce-on-them nice. Now I’m going to have to run into Wal-Mart to get something to wear.
And all my recent QVC purchases sit at home. Considering my life lately, this does not surprise me.
Before I leave the house I dial the dry cleaner so they know I’m coming.
“Mr. Pong?” I say, starting to feel a little frantic myself. Live remote? Rhine Flagstone? Shopping at Wal-Mart?
“Yes,” he says, clipped.
“It’s Macy Moore. My mom left her dress at your store. She desperately needs it for Dad’s business party. Can I please pick it up?” I hold my breath, scrunch up my eyes and brace for a brisk “No.”
“Be here in five minutes.”
I exhale and smile. “I’m on my way.” I buzz across town on a stunning May day. Golden sun, white, wispy clouds and a breeze scented with freshly cut grass and pine.
Mr. Pong meets me at the front door with the dress in hand, lips pursed, brow creased. “Here are the dresses. Have your father pay me next week.”
“Um, okay.” Why are there two dresses?
“Next week.” He shoves the dresses at me again.
“All right, all right.” I slip my hand under the hangers and examine the dresses through the cellophane wrap. “Mr. Pong, there’s two here.”
He sighs. I know I’m irritating, but I can’t leave with someone else’s dress.
“Two Moore dresses—see the tag.” He raises the tip of the tag with his forefinger. “One for the mother, one for the daughter. See?”
I check the tags. One reads Kitty, the other Macy.
“My wife hemmed the dresses and I pressed them. These are the ones.” He regards me with his hands on his hips. He may be only five foot four, but he’s towering over me right now.
I gawk at him with my mouth dangling. He waits less than a nanosecond, then shoves me out the door. “Have to go home and get ready for the party myself.”
“Well, okay. Thanks for your help. See you there.” I think Dad invited all of Beauty to this barbecue hoedown.
At my car I pop the trunk and lay the dresses flat. They are beautiful midnight-blue poplin summer dresses. I slip behind the wheel, whip out my cell and autodial Mom.
When she answers, I ask, “Why are there two dresses? Exactly alike.”
“Oh, right, yes. Surprise!” Uh-oh. She sounds a little too English.
“Surprise?” Dread washes over me. I have a feeling I won’t be visiting Wal-Mart after all, but wishing I was.
“I wanted us to look smashing,” she says nervously. Occasionally English expressions fire out of her mouth and bewilder us all.
“So we’re going as twins?” Why do I keep having these Twilight experiences? I’m working my way through life and next thing I know, I’m on The Food Connection dressed as Mini-Me.
“Oh, I thought it would be fun. I found two Marc Jacobs dresses on sale, you see. I had your hem dropped a little, because you’re so tall, you know—” yes, I’m aware “—and mine taken up a smidge.”
Is she serious? Does she really want to show up at a Moore Gourmet Sauces whoop-de-do dressed like Barbie and Skipper? I don’t think she’s thought this through.
“Mom, I appreciate you thinking of me and all, but—”
“You’re welcome. And, oh, I forgot. You have a manicure appointment with Ling at one, so don’t dillydally.”
I glance at my watch. “At one? And the party starts at two?”
“Yes, but bring the dresses home first.”
“Mom, there’s not enough time.”
“Oh, quit your bellyaching and get moving.” Now she sounds like a true Georgian.
It’s well after two when I slip through the polished oak doors of Beauty’s country club wearing the blue poplin Mom bought. The dress is actually fabulous, but I’m terrified of being caught standing next to her.
Dad catches my eye and waves me over to where he’s standing with The Food Connection crew and Rhine Flagstone.
“Rhine, this is my daughter, Macy.”
“Very nice to meet you,” Rhine says. He’s pleasant enough, with incredible blue eyes and an overly white capped smile, but not as egotistical as I thought.
“She’s the one I was telling you about,” Dad says.
I eye my father. “Telling him what?”
“How charming you are,” Rhine answers, a sneaky twinkle in his eye.