“What?” I say blankly.
“It’s great! Look, it fits me perfectly.” She does a little twirl, admiring herself in the mirror.
“But we haven’t even started yet!”
“So what? I’ve made my decision. I want this one.” She looks at her watch. “Besides, I’m in a bit of a hurry. Can you unzip me, please?”
“Amy…” I force a smile. “I really think you should try on some others before you make a decision.”
“I don’t need to try any others! You have a very good eye.”
“No, I don’t! It looks terrible!” I say without thinking, and she gives me a strange look. “I mean… there was a wonderful pink dress I wanted to see on you…” I grab for the hanger. “Just imagine that on you! Or… or this halter neck…”
Amy Forrester gives me an impatient look. “I’m taking this one. Please, will you help me out of it?”
What can I do? I can’t force her to stay.
I glance surreptitiously at my watch. Laurel’s office is only a block or two away. She should be here any minute.
“Please, will you help me out of it?” she repeats, her voice hardening.
“Yes!” I say flusteredly. “All right!”
I reach for the zip of the sequined red dress and start to pull it down. Then I have a sudden thought.
“Actually,” I say. “Actually, it’ll be easier to get it off if I pull it over your head—”
“OK,” says Amy Forrester impatiently. “Whatever.”
I undo the zip a tiny bit more, then tug the tight-fitting dress up over her hips and right over her head.
Ha! She’s trapped! The stiff red fabric covers her face completely, but the rest of her is clad only in underwear and high heels. She looks like a Barbie doll crossed with a Christmas cracker.
“Hey. It’s gotten stuck.” She waves one of her arms fruitlessly, but it’s pinned to her head by the dress.
“Really?” I exclaim innocently. “Oh dear. They do that sometimes.”
“Well, get me out!” She takes a couple of steps, and I back away nervously in case she grabs my arm. I feel like I’m six years old and playing blindman’s bluff at a birthday party.
“Where are you?” comes a furious muffled voice. “Get me out!”
“I’m just… trying to…” Gingerly I give a little tug at the dress. “It’s really stuck,” I say apologetically. “Maybe if you bent over and wriggled…”
Come on, Laurel. Where are you? I open my fitting room and have a quick glance out, but nothing.
“OK! I’m getting somewhere!”
I look up and feel a plunge of dismay. Amy’s hand has appeared out of nowhere and somehow she’s managed to grasp the zip with two manicured nails. “Can you help me pull the zipper down?”
“Erm… I can try…”
I take hold of the zip and start pulling it in the opposite direction from the way she’s tugging.
“It’s stuck!” she says in frustration.
“I know! I’m trying to get it undone…”
“Wait a minute.” Her voice is suddenly suspicious. “Which way are you pulling?”
“Er… the same way as you…”
“Hi, Laurel,” I suddenly hear Christina saying in surprise. “Are you all right? Did you have an appointment?”
“No. But I think Becky has something for me—”
“Here!” I say, hurrying to the door and looking out. And there’s Laurel, cheeks flushed with animation, wearing her new Michael Kors skirt with a navy blue blazer, which looks completely wrong.
How many times have I told her? Honestly, I should do more spot-checks on my clients. Who knows what they’re all wearing out there?
“Here she is,” I say, nodding toward the Barbie-doll-Christmas-cracker hybrid, who is still trying to unzip the dress.
“It’s OK,” says Laurel, coming into the fitting room. “You can leave her to me.”
“What? Who’s that?” Amy’s head jerks up disorientedly. “Oh Jesus. No. Is that—”
“Yes,” says Laurel, closing the door. “It’s me.”
I stand in front of the door, trying to ignore the raised voices coming from my room. After a few minutes, Christina comes out of her room and looks at me.
“Becky, what’s going on?”
“Um… Laurel bumped into an acquaintance. I thought I’d give them some privacy.” A thumping sound comes from the room and I cough loudly. “I think they’re… chatting.”