Deconstructed(7)

Yeah, I had grown up on the Balthazar compound north of Mooringsport, which was right outside Shreveport. My family had lived there since my great-grandfather, who’d left Natchitoches after a knife fight, settled in the area because there had been a lot of trees and not as many law-abiding tattletales. The Balthazar family settled into businesses that skirted the law but still allowed them to show up on the family pew each Sunday. My grandfather owned a tree service, and his brother had a junkyard and garage that repaired transmissions. We weren’t exactly like the families represented in reality series about people in the South, but we weren’t far off. Most of my uncles and cousins had done some time. A little distribution here. Some bad checks there. And a B and E or two. Too many aggravated assaults and resisting arrests to name. We were known for being trouble, and ever since Ed Earl had landed me in a women’s correctional facility a little over two years ago, I had removed myself from the family. The only person I ever talked to was Gran, and that was on the phone over coffee every morning.

“You could always come over and give me your opinion,” Ty said, sliding those mirrored sunglasses into place, hiding the baby blues. But the effect wasn’t dampened. I loved the way he looked in sunglasses, that longish hair curling at the ends and brushing the gold metal.

“I wasn’t asking,” I said hastily.

“I know. I was offering. And I want you to come with me to the gala. Think about it.”

Me at a gala was like a hooker in a nunnery. I would be out of place among women like Julie Van Ness and Bo Dixie Whatever Her Name Was. Besides, I had nothing to wear. I wasn’t even sure what someone wore to a gala, but I was fairly certain it was something sparkly and designer. I could barely afford my cell phone bill. Tuition was reasonable, but living on my own meant I was responsible for all the bills. None of my former friends were where I was in life, thanks to the vacation Ed Earl had given me. Many were married or had gotten the hell out of Louisiana. The ones who had stayed weren’t too different from my Balthazar family. I didn’t need their influence or them telling everyone in north Caddo Parish my business.

Ty looked at me expectantly.

“I don’t do galas. How about meeting at a bar or going to Chili’s or something?”

Ty laughed like that was funny. Like going to Chili’s was a joke. But I liked Chili’s.

“You’re so adorable,” he said, and for a minute I thought he might be gay because I had never had a guy call me adorable. But I knew he wasn’t gay, and maybe guys who drove expensive trucks and dressed in polo shirts often used the word adorable. I wouldn’t know.

“Seriously,” he continued, reaching out a hand and brushing my forearm. “I want you to come with me.”

“Take one of the girls who likes that crap. I don’t want to wear a fancy dress and be ignored by people who I don’t want to talk to anyway. I’m sure you got women lining up to go with you to eat grits.”

He squinted his eyes in confusion behind the glasses. I could tell because it made his nose wrinkle. “We don’t eat grits.”

I had been joking. Obviously he wasn’t good at recognizing dry humor. That and the presumptuous statement about me intentionally playing hard to get were marks against him. Still, the whole package might be worth taking a chance. But I didn’t want to put on heels and a gown to do it. “I’ll think about it.”

“Great.” His resulting smile looked as content as a cat in sunshine.

I didn’t know whether to be pleased or alarmed. Instead I decided to do what I did best—duck out. “I have to get back. Catch you later.”

Then I trotted up the two freshly painted steps to the front porch with the lush ferns. The bell tinkled as I entered the old house that smelled of lemon oil, age, and leather books. Cricket had set a bowl of gardenia blooms in a silver pitcher next to the cash register, and that scent filled my nose as I skirted the counter and sank onto the counter-height leather chair. My phone showed a few texts, mostly from my class group chat. I had been taking business classes at a local community college with the hopes of getting an associate’s degree and a better job. I loved working at Printemps. Well, loved might have been too strong of a word. Printemps was a good job for what it was. Cricket paid me decently, and the work wasn’t hard. The alternatives had been a sandwich-delivery place or a housekeeping gig at a hotel—and they had wanted to do a background check. I much preferred to sit behind the counter, studying for my econ quiz and enjoying the air-conditioning.

Glancing over, my eye caught the white dress I had snagged from Cricket’s Bin of Requirement. She hadn’t gotten the joke, but I assumed she wasn’t a Potterhead the way I was. I reached out and stroked the material. The stiff taffeta provided nice structure to work with, and though it had originally been white, the patina of age had gilded it a creamy color that seemed more pleasant to me. I don’t know why I asked her if I could have it, since the stain under the arm looked rusty and the irregular holes suggested some moths had thrown a rager. Still, my fingers itched to turn it into something that honored its history.

I had only pulled out the sewing machine Gran had bought me with her egg money a few times since moving in, including to make curtains for my sterile duplex. But something about that dress called to me. Cricket said it was a Givenchy. I had heard the name. Maybe a perfume or something.

As I lifted the dress, it made a soft swish. Like a sigh. The pleats were wide, making billowing panels, and it looked as if it were missing a belt. The bodice buttoned up the front to a collarless neckline. The sleeves weren’t exactly capped, more of a sloping end to the bodice. The stain glared at me. I wrinkled my nose and allowed my mind to trip back to what else was in the bin. If I could find a more defined skirt, I could piece the bodice to something in black. Or a deep blue. A wide belt with tiny rhinestones would dress it up. I could create something gala worthy.