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This writing was accepted for publication in the 84 page perfect-bound issue... cc&d magazine (v214) (the November 2010 Issue) |
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The Right Clothes
Anne Turner Taub
Aynslee Wright felt there was nothing more important in a woman’s life (outside of family, of course) than her appearance. That was her mantra, and she repeated it daily—a duty as important as brushing her teeth and applying the whitener to them. It is so true; you can only make a first impression once.
So when her husband asked for a divorce after ten years of marriage, not only was she deeply hurt, she was totally surprised. She had always thought that, like her daily outfits, her marriage was, you might say, in perfect taste. They never disagreed, except of course when the monthly bills for her clothes came in. But Roger didn’t even grumble about that too much. Even when two years after their marriage, Roger had suggested perhaps they would like having a child, he had not insisted when she politely but firmly demurred. There was no way on earth she was going to walk around with a huge lump in the front of her Balenciaga.
Yet when the end came, when Aynslee had asked him through her tears, “Why? Why?” he had said, “I can’t believe you don’t know. You don’t, do you? You really don’t know, haven’t a clue. I can’t believe it.” Then he had moved out for good, saying as he left, “I will always like you, maybe still love you a little, but I will never again take second place to a hatpin.” What in the world had Roger meant? She had never used a hatpin in her life. She didn’t know anyone who used them anymore. She racked her brain, but even now, seven years after the split, she still had no idea why it had happened. She certainly had always taken extreme care with her appearance. He never woke up in the morning without seeing her perfectly attired, from hair set, to her shoes. Why, she wondered, why, why.
Today, she and Caroline were going out to dinner and theater afterward. Caroline was her oldest friend—they had known each other as infants in a fancy suburb in Westchester just next to New York City where they both lived now. Perhaps it was only longevity, but they had stayed friends all their lives, even though Caroline’s taste in clothes made chills run down Aynslee’s back. She actually bought her clothes at consignment shops, resale stores, and—Aynslee shuddered—Caroline had even been known to buy accessories—and, truth to tell, even clothes—from vendors on the streets of New York. Nevertheless, nothing was going to influence Aynslee away from her principles, and familiarity with Caroline’s excitement over her “wonderful” bargains did not faze her in the least. She always dressed with utmost care. Even to go out to the market, her “casual” clothes were from the best designers. Aynslee was determined to be Caroline’s friend, come hell or high water, but sometimes when she saw the Valentino “knockoff” Caroline had bought from a vendor on the street, she literally felt nauseous.
From the day Aynslee could assert herself, which was about at the age of five, she knew what she wanted to wear. Her parents were older, she was an only child, and anything she wished was granted with the obeisance one would grant to a queen. She must always be color coordinated, at the age of five, so that not only were her outer garments always pink, if that was the color of the day, but her underwear, socks and even shoes had to be the same shade of pink as the bow in her hair. When Aynslee was grown, she was just as stringent about color-matching, and her lingerie to this day, was always exactly the same design and color as her outer garments. When she had to go to a formal affair, even the shade of ash in her well-blonded hair was adapted to blend in with the color of her clothes that day.
Caroline, on the other hand, though just as fascinated with clothes, clothes, clothes, was much less puritanical. To Caroline, pink was pink. It was not dusty rose, blush, or any other euphemism. And blue was blue. To Aynslee, blue was royal, aqua, robin’s egg, teal-she rarely even used the word blue.
Aynslee was pondering over all this as she selected her outfit for the evening. She never wore a dress; she always wore an “outfit”. When Caroline appeared at the door, grinning and saying. “Are you all ready to go Dotty—oh, oh, I’m sorry, Aynslee?” Aynslee grimaced. In her teens Aynslee had decided that her name, Dorothy, did not really express the kind of person she was and wanted to be, but this time she did not correct Caroline verbally, just gave her a look which Caroline understood too well.
As Aynslee took her Prada purse and opened the door to leave, Caroline’s face began to twist and contort and blood came pouring out of her mouth—out of her mouth and onto Aynslee’s newest Versace creation—and, having done that, the blood went on to her Jimmy Choo shoes, and even, even, even on to her La Perla underwear. Aynslee was horrified. Caroline kept spewing blood all over the place, all over Aynslee’s outfit, over and over. This was awful. When Caroline had recovered, Aynslee would demand that she cover half of the cost of her outfit. Caroline finally managed to choke out “Ambulance” and Aynslee went to the phone and dialed 911.
The ambulance service came almost immediately and the driver insisted that Aynslee come along with Caroline since Caroline was in no condition to answer questions. Aynslee was horrified. There was no way she was going out in public in the state that Caroline had mercilessly left her in. But there was nothing she could do but go along, since the driver did not know how serious Caroline’s condition was.
When Aynslee came home afterwards, she carefully listed everything that her clothes had cost item by item, then halved the total, even rounding out the numbers so that it would be a fair division.
She never heard from Caroline again. She called the hospital over the next few weeks, left innumerable messages for Caroline, and learned that after two weeks she had gone home well. She left messages on Caroline’s home phone time after time but there was never any response.
The years went by. Aynslee became lonely as she aged, having no other real friends and eventually in her late sixties, entered a retirement community so that at least there would be people around her. She was always admired for her appearance and people were pleased to be seen with her and often asked her to attend formal functions because she made such a good appearance, but, for some reason, no one ever called her to go out for coffee, or dinner or just to chat..
It was the custom of the retirement community to throw a huge birthday party for any resident who reached the age of 70. All one’s friends were invited no matter where they had to come from, and were given free room and board for several days if necessary. When Aynslee admitted to the age of 70, her party was duly held but she sat by the huge birthday cake alone, except for one or two nodding acquaintances who felt obligated to attend. She sat for an hour when suddenly Caroline came in the door. Aynslee was totally overcome with pleasure and relief, and they began to talk in the same old intimate ways that old friends always do, no matter how much time has passed. They talked and talked until the lights were politely blinked out a couple of times. Caroline said she would come back in two weeks and Aynslee felt a happiness she had never felt in her life before. After Caroline left, an acquaintance came up to Aynslee and said, “Did you see what your friend was wearing? That outfit must have cost her a fortune. That had to be an original Valentino.”
“Her clothes?” Aynslee was mystified. And suddenly realized that she was so happy to see her old friend that she had never noticed a thing Caroline was wearing. Not her dress, shoes, purse, shade of her lipstick, size and shapes of her jewelry. And for the first time Aynslee had the blinding light of true insight and began to understand what life was all about.
