“Oh, Beth,” Molly sputtered, clutching her abdomen as she shook with laughter, “you’d think you’ve never seen a train before.”
The heavy row of interlinked metal boxes looked to me more like a weapon of mass destruction than any form of reliable transportation.
“It doesn’t look all that safe,” I said.
“Don’t be a baby!” Molly grabbed my wrist and hauled me toward an open door. “We’re going to miss it!”
Inside the train wasn’t so bad. Molly and her friends threw themselves down on a row of seats, ignoring the irritated glances they received from passengers whose space they had invaded. As we rattled toward Port Circe I sat perched on the edge of my seat and watched the people around me. I was surprised at the array of characters that mass transit attracted, from executives in business suits to sweaty schoolkids to an elderly bag lady wearing fur-lined moccasins. I wasn’t very comfortable being surrounded by all those people and nearly being jolted from my seat each time the train jerked to a stop, but I told myself I ought to be grateful for every human experience I could get. All too soon it would come to an end.
When we reached our stop, we joined the crowd pushing their way off the train and into the main square of Port Circe. It was certainly a far cry from sleepy Venus Cove. The streets were wide, rectangular, and tree lined. Church spires and skyscrapers were silhouetted against the horizon. Molly insisted we weave our way across the congested roads rather than waste time finding the crosswalks. There were shoppers everywhere. We passed a homeless man with a white beard sitting on the cathedral steps; the wrinkles around his droopy eyes were as deep as crevices. He’d draped a gray army blanket over his shoulders and was banging a tin cup. I dug in my pocket for some change, but Molly stopped me.
“You can’t just go up to strangers like that,” she said. “It’s not safe. He’s probably a drug addict or something.”
“Does he look like a drug addict?” I objected.
Molly shrugged and walked ahead, but I turned back to press a ten-dollar bill into the man’s hand. He gripped my arm. “God bless you,” he said. When he looked right past me, I realized that he was blind.
The girls decided we should split up. Some went to a little boutique in a cobbled lane off the main square, while Molly, Taylah, and I went to a big department store with a revolving glass door and a checkered marble floor. I was glad to get out of the frenzy of the street and turned my face up toward the air-conditioning vents on the ceiling.
“This is Madison’s,” Molly explained as if she were speaking to a Martian. “It’s split over five levels and sells just about everything a girl could need.”
“Thanks, Molly, I think I get the general idea. Where’s ladies’ wear?”
“We’re not going anywhere near there. That’s for losers. We need Mademoiselle, which is on the third floor. They’ve got some great stuff, and it’s cheaper than those little exclusive places. Just because Megan’s got cash coming out of her butt…”
It took two hours of combing through the racks and the help of some very tolerant sales assistants before Molly and Taylah finally found dresses they were satisfied with. They went through rack after rack, discarding outfits because they looked too frumpy, too slutty, too middle-aged, too dorky, or not sexy enough. Forgetting that they’d debated this before, they launched into a drawn-out discussion about the perfect hemline. Apparently just above the knee was too schoolgirl, below the knee was geriatric, and mid-calf was only for people who bought their clothes at thrift shops. That left only two acceptable options — mini or floor-length. This they discussed as though it were a matter of national importance, until the discussion broadened to ruffle or no ruffle, strapless or halter, satin versus silk. I followed them around like a somnambulist, trying my best to keep up and not look as weary as I felt.
After what seemed like endless deliberation, Taylah settled on a short, backless taffeta dress in a peach color that kicked out at the hem. It served the purpose of showing off her toned legs even if, in my opinion, it made her look like a walking cream puff.
I spotted something I thought would suit Molly’s coloring perfectly and pointed it out to her. The shop assistant instantly agreed with me. “That color would look great on you,” she said to Molly.
“It is beautiful,” Molly agreed.
“So?” said Taylah. “Try it on.”
When Molly emerged from the dressing room, it was as though she’d undergone a transformation from gangly schoolgirl to goddess. Even other shoppers stopped to admire her. We made her spin around in order to appraise her from every angle. The dress was an off-the-shoulder, Grecian-style gown with a delicate gold chain over the bare shoulder. The fabric wound around her hourglass figure in soft layers, then pooled on the floor like liquid. But it was the color that was most incredible. It was a dazzling bronze that shimmered when the light caught it. It picked up the russet tones of Molly’s curls and heightened her peaches-and-cream complexion.
“Wow…,” breathed Taylah. “I think we found your dress. You and Ryan are going to look stunning together.”
“Wait, he asked you?” I said.
Molly nodded. “He took his time, but yeah.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked.
“It’s not, like, major news or anything.”
“Are you joking!” Taylah cried. “You’ve been going on about him for weeks. Everything is perfect now. You got everything you wanted.”
“I guess so,” Molly nodded, but her face was lacking its usual enthusiasm. Was she thinking about Gabriel? I wondered if maybe Molly was changing and Ryan Robertson with all his good looks and bulging muscles just wasn’t enough to satisfy her anymore.
For Taylah and Molly the agonizing search was over and relief showed plainly on their faces. Shoes and accessories could wait; they had found dresses that suited them perfectly. I, on the other hand, had seen nothing even remotely appealing. The dresses were all more or less the same: either too busy, covered in sequins and bows or too nondescript. I wanted something simple yet striking, something that would allow me to stand out from the crowd and take Xavier’s breath away. It was a tall order, and I didn’t like my chances of finding it. Part of me felt ashamed of my newfound vanity, but my desire to impress Xavier was stronger.
“Come on, Beth!” Molly said, folding her arms obstinately. “There must be something here you like! We’re not leaving till you’ve found it.”
I tried to protest, but now that Molly had her outfit all organized, she threw herself magnanimously into helping me find one. On her insistence I tried on dress after dress, but none of them felt right.
“You’re nuts,” she said, after an hour had passed. “Everything looks stunning on you.”
“Yeah, you’re so thin,” said Taylah through gritted teeth.
“Here’s one!” cried Molly. She pulled out a white satin dress with pleats that opened like a fan. “A Marilyn Monroe replica. Try it on!”
“It’s lovely,” I agreed. “But not what I’m looking for.”
She sighed and thrust the dress back onto the rack.
I left Madison’s with the meager purchases of a bottle of nail polish called Whisper Pink and a pair of sterling silver hoop earrings. It had hardly been worth the time and effort.
We met up with the others at Starbucks. Various designer bags were scattered around their feet, and three boys in striped blazers had joined them. They were stretching back in their chairs, enjoying the girls’ shameless flirting.
“I’m starving,” Molly announced. “I’d kill for one of those giant cookies.”