Nine Women, One Dress(29)

He sheepishly looked down at the dresses. “My anniversary’s coming up and I’m trying to buy my wife a dress,” he explained, sighing in a way that seemed heartfelt.

“I can help,” I said.

“Would you?” He seemed relieved. He had no idea that his wife was on to him. This was the part of my job I liked best—knowing something the dishonest spouses didn’t.

“Sure, but a dress is a really hard thing to buy for another person. Why don’t you get her something she doesn’t need to try on, like jewelry?” I said. The whole time I was thinking that this was an odd MO for a philanderer, talking about a gift for his wife. But I do hear that certain women are more attracted to married men, and I guess he had to explain the fact that he was shopping in the women’s dress department.

“I know what you mean, but it’s our twelve-year anniversary,” he said, as if that explained the need for a dress.

“So?” I asked.

“Oh, so, the twelve-year anniversary is silk. It’s a less-known thing than paper or silver, but I looked it up and I thought it was a nice idea.”

It was a nice idea. Very caring, for a lying wretch. “How about a silk scarf?” I asked.

“Well, actually I have another reason,” he said. “My wife and I are very different.” Here it comes, I thought. The old “my wife doesn’t understand me” routine. He continued. “She likes to go out nearly every night—she’s very social. And I’m more of a homebody. Lately she’s been saying I don’t listen to her wants.” He stopped and looked at me, a puzzled look on his face. “I don’t know why I’m telling you all this.” I do, I thought. So you can use the caring-husband-with-a-distant-wife routine to pick me up. The sympathy play. Pathetic.

He continued. “I want to show her that I’m listening and will go out more. So I want to buy her a dress she can go out in. With me. Like a romantic gesture.” He picked up one of the dresses and asked, “How about this one?” He held it up next to me. Then, looking me up and down in a way that made me blush involuntarily, he said, “Actually, you look to be about the same size as my wife. Can I hold it up against you?”

He’d picked out a really beautiful dress—the kind of dress you would try on just for kicks and then buy because you couldn’t bear to leave it behind.

“Want me to try it on?” I offered.

“Would you?”

He took the bait, and I took the little black dress and headed for the dressing room, channeling my inner Mata Hari (although I think her seductions and spying ended in her execution).

“Can you zip me? It’s hard to reach…” I whispered, testing out my charm in the dressing-room mirror. The dress was gorgeous. Looking at myself in it made me long for somewhere glamorous to go. I didn’t dress up much anymore. I worked a lot, and anyway, I just wasn’t invited to many things where one would wear something elegant like this. This dress felt like it was from another era. Not old-fashioned—timeless. And I was dateless. Maybe we made a good pair, this timeless dress and dateless me. Maybe I should tell him it was ripped and buy it for myself, I thought. Coming back to reality for a moment, I had to admit to myself that I didn’t feel comfortable wearing something so look-at-me. Since I was an unmarried woman with a circle of mostly married friends, it seemed like the only people I would be calling out to in a dress like this were other women’s husbands. Other women’s husbands! Eye on the prize, Andie! I put on the used dressing-room heels to up the ante on my sex appeal. I checked myself in the mirror and went out to show Caroline’s cheating husband. I couldn’t believe what I was doing. But the dress made me feel so confident, so seductive—it made me feel like everything would go my way.

John was sitting on a chair eating almonds. He barely noticed me. I guess I wasn’t such a great seductress after all—I had to cough just to get his attention. For a shameless philanderer he sure had some less-than-predatory methods. Either that or I had totally lost my mojo. Though wearing that dress, I didn’t feel like I’d lost any mojo at all.

“Want an almond?” he offered.

I did. I hadn’t eaten since lunch.

“Did you ever notice that when you bite into raw almonds it sounds like the first few notes to the song ‘Build Me Up Buttercup’?”

It may have been one of the strangest questions I’d ever heard, but it made me smile. I’m a really good judge of character, and it didn’t seem like this man had any interest in picking me up. Not with a nutty line like that, I thought, making myself cringe at my corny joke. The twins called it “mom humor.” I asked him for another almond and thought about his question as I listened to the crunch. I agreed, and he seemed happy that I got it.

A saleswoman approached us cautiously. “Are you buying that dress?” she asked. But her tone was slightly off—it almost sounded like she didn’t want us to buy it. Maybe she wanted it for herself? I wouldn’t blame her.

“I’m not sure. Are we?” I asked the man, who I was starting to believe really was just looking for the perfect present for his wife. He explained to the saleswoman that he needed something silk for his twelfth anniversary. She discouraged him from picking out a dress as a gift, saying it was a known fail.

“Men rarely judge their wives’ dress size correctly, and there is nothing worse than that. Too big and it’s ‘You think I’m fat!’ Too small and they think they’re fat! Buy her a beautiful silk evening bag. It covers everything you want.”