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“Yes. Now go. I’ll be out front in a minute.”
As I watched her trip back to the front of the store I felt a maternal flush of pride. In the years I’d
known her, I had helped her polish no less than ten online dating profiles, styling her for most of the
pictures and some of the dates. Her current boyfriend, Edward, was no dreamboat, but they were
clearly smitten with each other. Elizabeth had a vitality about her that she attributed to incredible sex.
She and Edward were celebrating one year together with dinner at Coop’s that night, followed by live
music on the patio at Commander’s Palace. Elizabeth, with her short blond hair, too-close eyes and
gangly limbs, was not traditionally beautiful, yet she was never single for long. Eight-year gaps
between serious boyfriends would be unthinkable for her. Life was too short for that kind of nonsense.
I looked at myself in the mirror, loosening the belt of my blue dress. Maybe I should change too. I
could try on that green sundress now hanging from a coat rack, waiting to be labeled and stored. I
could have Elizabeth pin the hem. Nah, too much trouble, and I’d never wear it anyway. Then why
was I keeping it? I forced myself back out to the floor, passing an overstuffed rolling rack of outfits,
some to be sorted, some priced. It was a quiet Sunday afternoon, but Elizabeth was occupied with a
couple of customers near the display case. As I approached them, I realized she was helping the two
women who had been sitting next to me at Ignatius’s, the one who stole Mark Drury from me, and the
attractive older woman with red hair a shade or two lighter than mine—the one I had smashed into.
The redhead dressed crisply and professionally, like my mother, and didn’t look like the type that
scoured second-hand racks. The dark-haired woman dressed a little too plainly to be a Funky Monkey
shopper, let alone a musical genius’s future girlfriend.
“There you are!” said Elizabeth, making it difficult for me to duck into the men’s side of the store to
avoid them. “These two ladies were gushing about my outfit and I told them you picked it out for my
date tonight. They were very impressed.”
“Hi,” said the redhead, her hand jutting towards me. “Great taste. Love the boots. I’m Matilda.”
“Hi. Dauphine,” I said, smiling stiffly.
“And I’m Cassie,” the dark-haired woman said, seeming a lot shier than the woman who had
snagged Mark Drury’s attention half an hour ago. She could barely meet my eye.
“It’s a charming store,” Matilda said, looking around. She was definitely the chatty one. “Nicely
curated. Secondhand stores can be such a hodge-podge.”
“Thank you. I like to think we know what we’re doing,” I said.
“And your name. Is it like the street?”
“My parents came to New Orleans for their honeymoon and named me after the street.”
“Oh? Where are your people from?” she asked, using the word people as in “tribe,” tilting her
accent to signal that she was not only Southern but knew Southerners were obsessed with geography
and lineage.
“Baton Rouge. Mostly Louisiana, with some Tennessee stock thrown in.”
“Ah. A bit of ‘cotton in the roux,’ as they say. Cassie’s from the north,” she added. “She has no idea
what we’re talking about.”
Matilda yanked out a sparkly blue, floor-length, strapless number and a yellow, more diaphanous
gown from the formal rack.
“I’m going to try these on,” she said, looking directly at Cassie. “Cassie, I believe you are looking
for something special too. Perhaps Dauphine can help you?”
“I’ll take you back there,” Elizabeth said, gathering up the dresses.
After they left, I stood awkwardly for a few seconds with Cassie, feeling like we were two school
kids forced to play together.