Nine Women, One Dress(16)
We bought the shoes, and I convinced her to let me take her to the first floor for a makeover. By now I could have convinced her to get an I ? Artie tramp stamp. At the makeup counter, in between pursing her lips and widening her eyes, she finished the story of the Labor Day debacle. She walked in, cake in hand, and was greeted very warmly by Arthur’s daughter. She thanked her for the cake and took her aside.
“Felicia, I know my dad is devastated by my mother’s death and it will take him a while to come out of that. In the last weeks of her life my mother confided in me that her greatest fear wasn’t dying. It was that my father would be alone. She asked that I guide him toward a wonderful woman. She specifically said, ‘Someone like Felicia.’?” Felicia had been so taken aback that tears had formed in her eyes. As she blinked them away, Arthur walked in with a scantily clad and overly perfumed young lady, who he introduced as Sherri. (Only a gem would describe that harlot as a young lady.) “My heart broke,” she said. “My hands began to shake and I had to give the cake to Jessica, as it was now shaking too.” Jessica was utterly gracious—she had learned from the best. She welcomed Sherri and introduced her to Felicia. When Arthur and Sherri were out of earshot she whispered, “I’m so sorry, Felicia, I had no idea.” Felicia smiled and assured her that she was okay. But of course she wasn’t.
So tonight, Arthur inviting her for dinner at the Four Seasons—well, this was the most promising thing to happen to her in like…ever. The makeup artist turned Felicia toward him to concentrate. As I watched her take herself in in the mirror, my mind was beginning to fill with dread, thinking of the possibility of her evening ending poorly. I vowed never to butt into other people’s business again. My thoughts wandered to what God and Ruthie would have in store for me as a punishment when “Voilà!” The makeup artist spun Felicia around. She looked beautiful. All my worries melted away. If Arthur Winters could not see the jewel in front of him, so be it. It was time for Felicia to move in or move on. I told her exactly that, and she left Bloomingdale’s with renewed confidence.
There’s a good chance I’ll never know what happens tonight. That’s one of the more unfulfilling parts in the life of a salesperson. Everyone comes in searching for the perfect dress for her big day, whether it’s her high school prom or her fiftieth high school reunion. The dress needs to match more than just the shoes. It needs to match her hopes and expectations. It needs to remove all worry and doubt about looking good from the equation so that everything else can fall into place. While I’m 100 percent in on the groundwork, I rarely get to hear the outcome. This time I was overly invested and would be thinking about Felicia long after she left the store.
As promised, I hid the size small Max Hammer she had returned in the back room for Natalie to wear to her photo shoot with the movie star. I also promised her that I would not hit on him if he ever comes into the store again. In return she promised that when he officially comes out she’ll fix us up!
CHAPTER 8
The Hundredth Client of the Ostrich Detective Agency
By Andie Rand, Private Detective
Caroline Westmont entered my office at three o’clock sharp, dressed impeccably in Chanel from sunglasses to shoes. She looked completely together until she lowered her shades to reveal puffy, tear-stained eyes. I remembered those days of constant crying. Having to hide it from my children, as she may be trying to hide it from hers. My poor dog, Franny, saw a lot of tears that first year. I was sometimes surprised that she didn’t take a piece out of Derek when she saw him. Aside from suggesting that they get a dog, I always wanted to tell clients, “You’ll be fine. Look at me—I was once where you are and I’m doing great!” But that’s not my place. I’m not a shrink, and in this job I learned quickly that similar situations often yield different outcomes. Not everyone feels the same way about infidelity that I did. For me there was no turning back. But there are many couples who come out the other end and stay till death do them part—that death, hopefully, not by the hand of the scorned spouse.
As always, I asked for the entire story of John and Caroline Westmont. She relayed the brutal tale in its entirety, and as usual in cases like this, it struck a chord. They always did when it came to one spouse cheating on another. It was hard work for me not always to assume the worst, especially when it comes to men. I don’t want to become one of those bitter, untrusting women. And as a professional I certainly don’t want to come across that way. I work hard to keep an open mind and to pass judgment only on evidence and facts. But in this case the facts were simple.
Caroline was positive that her husband was cheating on her with his masseuse but had no evidence to back it up. When they had married, nearly twelve years earlier, she had signed an ironclad prenuptial agreement with only one stipulation: if either party cheated, the prenup became invalid. At the time she had been insulted that his family was making her sign a prenup, and they had fought about it a lot. John came from a very wealthy, old-money family that was dead set on it. After much back-and-forth, one compromise was agreed upon: the infidelity clause. They agreed that if John were to have an extramarital affair, he would have to pay Caroline an additional $5 million in the divorce. She signed the papers a week before the wedding.
It was a beautiful wedding at the Cathedral of St. John the Divine and the newlyweds moved into an apartment just down the block on 116th Street. It was small compared to the sixteen-room apartment on Fifth Avenue where John had grown up, but it was close to his job, and they felt very bohemian. As she told the story I wondered what had caused her transformation, as bohemian was the last word I would use to describe her.