By Royal Decree. Оливия Гейтс

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СКАЧАТЬ sighed. Why did she bother asking? It was the same answer every time. “It’s supposed to be short, Aunt Barbara. It’s a vintage-style wedding dress.” Nineteen-fifties and-sixties fashions were hot as hell, thanks to several hit TV shows and movies set in those time periods.

      “Your cousins’ wedding dresses, now those were classics,” her aunt reminisced.

      Renata pulled a face, glad her aunt was behind her. Her petite cousins had rolled down the aisle in dresses wider than they were tall, looking like those plastic doll head and torsos on top of crocheted toilet paper holders. Thank God wedding dresses from the eighties were still out of fashion. She’d go broke buying miles of satin and tulle and pounds of sequins.

      Why had she hired her aunt? Oh, yeah, her uncle Sal had begged Renata to get his wife out of the house. She needed someone to mother once their youngest married, and the newly retired Sal wasn’t about to volunteer for the vacancy.

      Plus, Barbara was a fantastic seamstress and put the p in punctual.

      Renata finished pinning the hem and stood, her knees popping. “The bride is coming in for her final fitting tomorrow. Will you have time to hem this?”

      Her aunt sniffed. “Child’s play. I even have time to add some sequins on the skirt if you’d like?” she asked hopefully.

      Renata shook her head. “No sequins.” Her client was an avowed hipster and would bite the sequins off with her teeth before wearing them down the aisle. “Seed pearls?”

      “Nope.”

      “How about some white-on-white satin-stitch embroidery?” But her aunt knew when she was beaten, her plump shoulders already slumping. “Sorry.” Renata was sorry. Her aunt would like nothing better than to hand-bead, hand-sequin and hand-embroider a gigantic ball gown with a twenty-foot train. But customers for gowns like that didn’t come to Renata’s design studio, Peacock Wedding Designs.

      Instead, the dress in front of them was pretty typical of her sales—a fifties-style vintage reproduction with gathered halter straps and a full-circle skirt complete with a tulle crinoline. The bride was planning on a short, wavy fifties ’do and a small satin hat with a tiny net veil to drape over one carefully made-up eye.

      Renata smoothed the skirt and carried it into the alteration workshop for her aunt. She caught a glimpse of herself in the three-way mirror and sighed. She loved vintage clothing but it sometimes didn’t stand up to the modern workday. Her ivory linen blouse was wrinkled and her navy pencil skirt had twisted around her waist so the back slit was somewhere along the front of her thigh. She patted her auburn hair back into its nineteen-forties-style roll.

      Her aunt noticed her self-grooming and finally smiled. “You look just like old photos of my dear mamma, God rest her soul.”

      “Thanks, Auntie.” She blew her a kiss and fixed her skirt. She probably needed to touch up her lipstick, too. While lush red lips were historically correct, they did require more maintenance and she had to be careful that she didn’t trip over her feet and plant a big red smacker on her pure white fabric. The things one did for fashion. Or at least her grandmother’s fashion.

      Renata hopped onto the elevated chair at her design table. Before she could uncap her cherry-red tube, the phone rang. “Peacock Wedding Designs, this is Renata.”

      “Hi, I’ve been looking at your website and I was wondering when I could come in to look at your dresses.” The New York voice was young but confident, typical of her clientele. Brides who wanted a vintage look were not shrinking violets.

      Renata flipped through the appointment calendar. “We can see you Friday.”

      “Are you free tomorrow afternoon?”

      Renata wrinkled her nose. She’d been planning to take the afternoon off for the opening of a new art exhibit at a gallery in Manhattan. Her friend Flick knew a couple of the artists.

      Her potential client hurried on. “I want my brother to come with me, and he’s flying into town tonight.”

      Business was business, and maybe Brother was paying for the dress. “No, that’s fine. What time is good?”

      “Noon?”

      “Great.” Maybe she could see the opening after all—it started at two. “And your name?”

      “Stefania di Leone.” She had a perfect Italian accent when she pronounced her name.

      “Ah, Stephanie of the Lion.” Renata laughed. “My full name is Renata Isabella Pavoni—peacock. That’s where I got the name for my salon.”

      “I think your designs are wonderful,” Stefania enthused. “I looked in the bridal mags, but everything there is too over-the-top. I don’t want a gigantic, poufy dress, or a corset-slip that looks like I forgot to put the rest of my dress on. And don’t get me started on the mermaid style. I want to be able to dance at my wedding.” She ended in a plaintive note.

      Renata penciled her name into the calendar. “I’m sure you can find something you love. Have another look at my website and jot down some styles you’d like to try on.” She gave Stefania directions to her salon in Brooklyn. Renata wished she could afford space in Manhattan, but even marginal neighborhoods there were exorbitant.

      But Stefania didn’t seem fazed. “My brother and I will see you tomorrow. Oh, I’m so excited! My first time wedding dress shopping!”

      That could be good or bad, depending on if she made up her mind quickly or liked to browse. Either way, it was an opportunity. They said their goodbyes, and Renata hung up.

      Barbara appeared in the doorway again. “Who was that, dear?”

      “A bride is coming in tomorrow at noon to look at the dresses.”

      Her aunt made a disappointed face, her penciled eyebrows drooping. Since Renata had planned to take the afternoon off, her aunt made an appointment for Uncle Sal’s annual colonoscopy. Lucky Sal.

      “I’ll be sure to keep you posted. And who knows? She may want a little more embellishment on her dress.”

      Barbara brightened. “That would be wonderful! I have lots of ideas.”

      “Great. Write them down. Or draw them.”

      She made a dismissive gesture. “Renata, you know I can’t draw worth a lick.”

      “Ask your granddaughter Teresa to draw it for you. Isn’t she a good artist?”

      “Oh, well…” Her aunt fluttered her fingers at her bosom. “I’ll have to see…my ideas probably aren’t very good.”

      “You won’t know until you try.” Her aunt was a product of her times, discouraged from attending college and encouraged to marry straight out of high school. It was about time her aunt focused on herself instead of her family. Her family would be grateful, too.

      “But I can hem that dress. I know I’m good at that.”

      “You are indeed.” Renata gave her an encouraging smile and checked on the selection of samples she had in stock. Kick-ass. Her new bride would love them.

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