Fake Fiancée for Dad’s Best Friend by Gena Snow

Chapter 9

Vivian

 

 

 

 

When Karen suggested shopping, I had the usual shopping malls in mind. Thus when Jack stops the car on Coast Village Rd, in front of a small boutique, I’m a bit surprised.

The shop assistant, a tall woman in her thirties, obviously knows Karen well. “Good morning, Mrs. Anderson! How may I help you?”

“Hi Elaine,” Karen says to the smiling woman. “Meet my future daughter-in-law Vivian.”

This is the second time I’m addressed by the term, and I still can’t help blushing. Jeez. Alex’s mom is taking me seriously. Guilt gnaws at my insides as I force a smile and say hi to Elaine, who raises her eyebrows and flashes her teeth at me, not without a hint of envy.

Although small, the boutique has an impressive selection of high-end fashion brands from Gucci to Valentino. Even the sale items are over a thousand. I’m delighted like a five-year-old at a carnival. Everything looks good to me. I rummage through the racks of beautiful clothes and pause in front of every mannequin. Being a fashion major, I understand designer clothes are worth the money because of their high quality and unique styles. Still, being a recent college graduate, who’s entered a despicable scam to earn dollars for grad school, I cringe at the price tags. I remind myself that luxury brands charge way more than the material and the labor because they’re made for celebrities who dress to impress, so I should just settle for window shopping. But on the other hand, I’ll have to dress to impress at the party tomorrow. Although I feel sorry that Karen must spend money on her imposter future daughter-in-law, the least I can do is to be presentable so she can show me off.

I’m struggling with my dilemma when Elaine comes to me, holding a few dresses in hand. “These are new arrivals. Would you like to try them on?”

She displays the dresses one by one to me, explaining the materials and designs. Most of them are so glamorous they fit for Oscar attendees. Seeing her eagerness to help, I select two short pieces that look the least formal to me: A rose gold, strapless, knee-length, sequined mini dress from Dolce & Gabbana and an elegant Tom Ford midi dress with white lace and spaghetti straps.

Karen gasps each time when I step out of the fitting room, saying I look beautiful. When I have trouble deciding which one to pick, she tells Elaine to ring up both. I panic when I realize the two pieces together would cost nearly five grand, the amount of money I signed up for the fake-date mission.

“Actually, I like this one better,” I say to Karen, waving the DG.

“Are you sure, darling?” Karen asks.

“Yes.” I nod firmly.

“All right, then.” She smiles approvingly. “It is a cute dress.”

While Elaine takes the dress from my hand, she asks Karen, “Would you like to look at the shoes, too?”

“Of course,” Karen says. “And I would like to get a dress for myself.”

While Karen takes her time to find her dress, I browse the shoe selection and pick a pair of gold-leather Gucci high block heel sandals that match the sparkling dress.

An hour later, Karen comes out of the fitting room in a royal blue Prada midi dress.

“Wow,” I say, “You look magnificent!”

“Thanks, sweetheart,” she says. “But I don’t like the high neckline. It looks stiff.”

I agree. 

“Would you like the other one with a V-neck, then?” Elaine asks.

“No.” Karen shakes her head. “That one is too long, and I don’t like the color so much.”

Elaine thinks for a moment and says, “If you’re sure you want it, we can alter it for you.”

“Yes, I do,” Karen says with a firm nod. “That’ll be great.”

“The only thing is the in-store tailor is off over the weekend. But we’ll work on it the first thing Monday.”

“Oh, that won’t be necessary,” Karen says with a regretful look. “The party is tomorrow.”

Elaine suggests alternatives right away, showing her a handful of other dresses, but Karen’s mind is fixed on the Prada. “I don’t understand why they keep making these high collars. To hide old ladies’ wrinkled necks? It only makes us look older!”

I chuckle at her frustration and humor. She’s got a point. I have a problem with high necklines, too.

Suddenly she turns toward me, “Wait a minute! Vivian, can you do it for me?”

My mouth falls open when I realize what she’s asking. “Yeah, I can sew, b-but I’m not sure I can alter this.” This is a three-thousand-dollar dress, for God’s sake!

“Vivian has a degree in fashion design,” Karen says to Elaine, “I’m pretty sure you can. Didn’t you say you made the shirt you wore yesterday?”

Oops. Alex mentioned it when he bragged about my talent at dinner yesterday.

I rack my brain for an excuse to refuse the responsibility because I’m afraid I’ll ruin the dress instead, but Karen smiles at me encouragingly. “Give it a try, honey!”

Seeing there isn’t much hope to escape from the ordeal, I stammer. “S-sure. Do you have a sewing machine at home?”

“No, but they have it right here in the shop. You’ll let us use it, right, Elaine?”

“No problem,” Elaine says. “But are you sure you want this?”

“I am,” Karen says. “I’ll pay for it first, and I won’t return it even if I’m not happy with the result.”

Elaine’s smile broadens. “Oh, that’s not what I’m worried about,” she says while moving towards the cash register.

A minute later, after charging Karen’s credit card, Elaine leads us into a small room in the back of the shop where a sewing machine sits on top of a large work table.

After making sure I know how to use the machine, Elaine leaves us alone in the work room and goes out to tend her other customers.

I take Karen’s dress from the shopping bag in trembling hands. Gosh. Am I really going to do it?

“So, how low would you like the neckline?” I hold up the dress in front of Karen and ask.

“Let me see,” Karen looks herself in the mirror and draws a line on the dress below her neck. “Like this.”

“Okay,” I say, taking up a piece of chalk from the table and mark the V carefully.

“I’m going to browse these catalogs. Take your time, Honey,” Karen says to me and plops down onto a couch a few feet away.

I bend over to the tailor’s table and start working. I take a moment to imagine the steps before taking apart the collar, and I pause again before I reach for the scissor. I have often changed crew necks to V necks when I recycled my old clothes, so the task is a piece of cake to me, but I’m nervous because the dress is expensive.  I take a few deep breaths before I cut the fabric, cringing as I go. That’s it—no turning back. After I cut the V shape, I’m less nervous. The sewing takes less than five minutes. My skills are not bad, the stitches are professional, but the dress looks less stylish and plain.

Karen tries it on with enthusiasm, but I can tell she, too, isn’t as satisfied even though she compliments my skill.

When she looks up at herself in the mirror, an idea strikes me. “Would you mind if I trim the dress a few inches shorter and make it knee-length?”

“I wouldn’t mind, but it isn’t necessary, honey. I’m happy the way it is.”

“What I’m trying to say is, I could use the fabric to make a ruffled neck for you, and it would make the dress more feminine.”

Her eyes brighten. “That’ll be fantastic!”

So, I sit back down and trim off the hem of the dress before turning it into frills.

In the end, I’m having so much fun I no longer remember I’m working on a designer dress. Karen is all smiles when she tries the dress on again. “Perfect! Perfect!” she says.

I let out a sigh of relief, feeling more accomplished than completing the final project in my fashion design class.

By the time we’re out of the boutique, it’s four in the afternoon. Karen orders Jack to stop at an ice cream parlor along the way, and she insists on treating me a large strawberry flavored cone. No one has spoiled me like this in my life, not even my parents. I always had to beg them to buy me sweets when I was little. I can only imagine what Karen would do to me if I were her daughter. I’m not even her real daughter-in-law, and she already treats me like a princess.

A pang of guilt hits me as I savor the ice cream. I can’t do this. I need to confess to her and come clean. But how am I going to do it? I’m really sorry, Karen, but you see, I needed the money? What would she do? She would be very disappointed for sure. What about the engagement party tomorrow? Isn’t it too late to cancel it? And the dresses Karen just bought? We could return mine, but not hers. Oh, God! What have I gotten myself into?

On our way home, I say to Karen in the car. “Thank you so much for everything.”

“My pleasure, honey,” Karen says. “I’m cooped up in the house most of the time. I love it there, but it’s good to get out once in a while and see how chaotic the world outside is, so I’ll return to my sanctuary with content.”

I laugh. True. Even though her home is a paradise to outsiders, it can feel like a prison if you stay there all your life.

Alex and Mike haven’t returned from their golf yet when we get home, and Karen says to me while we get into the house. “Oh, I had fun today. I wish you could stay longer so I could take you to other shops. We could also go to San Francisco together, on Mike’s boat. Wait, that’s a fantastic idea. Isn’t it? I’ll speak to Alex. I’m sure he can make the arrangement.”

Although I know Alex’s answer will be no, I say to her, “Yeah, that sounds great!”

Karen hugs me before we part on the top of the stairs. “I’m just glad Alex has finally found the right one,” she says, smiling.

I blush. “Thank you.” I feel bad deceiving the kind woman. Again I struggle with the urge to confess.