Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 81707 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 272(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81707 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 272(@300wpm)
It’s fun to imagine though, right? That’s the beauty of a quality vintage piece. The history behind it. This dress could have been anywhere. It may have been to the opera or the ballet. It may have never left New York, or it may have traveled to Paris, worn for a romantic proposal.
It might have been worn while a girl had her heart broken. Or perhaps while she did the breaking.
So many possibilities, both in the past and future. I suppose the not knowing could drive a person nuts, but I don’t mind it.
Arriving downstairs, I present the dress to Miller with a flourish. Which is to say that I loudly announce, “Ta-da!” like a magician unveiling their best trick while giving the hanger a little shake to make the dress dance.
“Wow. Who started this?” Miller abandons his project to examine the dress. ‘Who started this?’ is Miller-speak for my redesigns. He says once I rip them apart they don’t really belong to the original designer anymore, but he likes to give them credit for birthing the original garment. His words, not mine.
“It’s an old Monique Lhuillier. I have some ‘before’ pictures I can show you.”
“It was a Monique Lhuillier,” Miller corrects. “Now it’s a hybrid Lhuillier-Gibson.”
I beam from the praise. He might be in high school, but Miller has excellent taste.
“How long have you been hiding this?” he asks, removing the dress from the hanger to examine my workmanship in detail.
“Too long. I bought it in New York before I moved to Albany. This dress deserves to live with someone more fun than me.”
“It does indeed. I knew you needed a date. A perfectly suitable dress has been languishing in the back of your closet while you sit on the sofa watching The Real Housewives of Something or Other. It’s tragic.”
“I don’t watch The Real Housewives, punk.”
Gary and I did just enjoy a marathon of Million-Dollar Listing but I keep that information to myself. It was the Los Angeles edition. Nary a mint-green tile or rogue hallway toilet in sight in any of those houses.
“I bought it after my last breakup.” I don’t know why I’m admitting this to Miller, but he’s the only one here and Gary has already heard this story. “I read something that said ‘buy the dress and the party will come’ and so I did. I bought it and reworked it and it’s been hanging in my closet waiting for the party.”
“‘Buy the dress and the party will come,’” Miller repeats back slowly. “OMG. Brilliant! Let’s paint that on the wall.”
“OMG? Are the kids speaking acronyms out loud now?”
“Hush.” Miller dismisses my teasing and points to the wall behind the main display in the store. “Right there. It’s perfect.” It’s currently plain white. I was going for an artistic studio vibe when I set this place up. Mainly because the white walls and original scuffed wood flooring were already here and I couldn’t afford to do much, but I added the industrial pipe hanging racks myself and called it a vibe.
“Hmm, maybe.” That wall could use something now that he mentions it. And stark white isn’t really my vibe. “Like a mural-type thing? Something bold and colorful?”
“Exactly.”
“I’d have to hire someone.” I say it a bit wistfully because it’s really not in the budget at present. “Maybe after I get the plumbing fixed. A couple dozen dresses from now.”
“I know a guy.”
“You know a guy? What are you, in the Mob?”
“Put this on.” Miller tosses the dress to me. “I need to see it on so we can discuss shoes and jewelry.”
“Yeah, yeah.” I slip into the fitting room to put the dress on, then dramatically fling the curtain back once it’s on.
The dress started as a fitted strapless gown with organza ruffles that went to the floor. There was a huge rip in the skirt, as if the woman wearing it had gotten the hem caught in something as she’d walked and the momentum of her movement had caused a significant tear before she even knew what was happening.
Or perhaps a sexy billionaire had stepped on the hem, causing her to trip into his arms. A girl can dream.
The lining is silk and the body of the dress a silk-cotton blend, the print a delicate floral that called to my boho-loving soul. There are a few birds hidden in the print, amongst the sprays of subtly hued flowers and stems.
The tear ruined the skirt entirely, but left me with a lot of fabric to work with. It’s now fitted throughout the bodice, knee-length, with a rounded neckline and wide elbow-length sleeves. But the back is the real showstopper with a single thin band of fabric connecting the shoulder pieces and then a plunging deep v-cut to the waistband. It’s subdued and flirty from the front, nearly sweet due to the print of the fabric, the wide sleeve adding a bit of my free-spirit flair, then surprisingly sexy from the back.