For God’s sake.
“I know how to do my lipstick properly, thanks-”
“You have no idea,” she cuts me off crisply. “But I’ll teach you. And we’ll marcel your hair. There are some irons for sale.” She points at an old cardboard box inside which I can see some weird-looking ancient metal contraption. “You’ll look so much better if you make an effort.” Her head swivels around again. “If we could just find you some decent stockings-”
“Sadie, stop it!” I hiss. “You must be crazy! I’m not getting any of this stuff-”
“I still remember that delicious smell of getting ready for parties.” She closes her eyes briefly as though transfixed. “Lipstick and singed hair-”
“Singed hair?” I squeak in horror. “You’re not singeing my hair!”
“Don’t fuss!” she says impatiently. “We only singed it sometimes .”
“Are you getting on all right?” Norah appears, jangling amber, and I jump in surprise.
“Oh. Yes, thanks.”
“Are you particularly interested in the 1920s?” She heads over to the glass case. “We’ve some marvelous original items here. All fresh in from a recent auction.”
“Yes.” I nod politely. “I was just looking at them.”
“I’m not sure what this was for…” She picks out a little jeweled pot mounted on a circular ring. “Strange little thing, isn’t it? A locket, maybe?”
“A rouge ring,” says Sadie, rolling her eyes. “Does no one have any idea about anything anymore?”
“I think it’s a rouge ring,” I can’t help saying casually.
“Ah!” Norah looks impressed. “You’re an expert! Maybe you know how to use these old marcel irons.” She takes out the metal contraption and hefts it cautiously in her hand. “I believe there was quite a knack to it. Before my time, I’m afraid.”
“It’s easy,” says Sadie scornfully into my ear. “I’ll show you.”
There’s a ting from the door and two girls come in, oohing and aahing as they look around. “This place is wicked,” I hear one of them saying.
“Excuse me.” Norah smiles. “I’ll let you keep browsing. If you’d like to try anything on, let me know.”
“I will.” I smile back at her. “Thanks.”
“Tell her you want to try the bronze dress on!” Sadie shoos me forward. “Go on!”
“Stop it!” I hiss as the woman disappears. “I don’t want to try it on!”
Sadie looks bemused. “But you have to try it. What if it doesn’t fit?”
“I don’t have to, because I’m not wearing it!” My frustration bubbles over. “Get real! This is the twenty-first century! I’m not using some ancient old lipstick and curling irons! I’m not wearing a flapper’s dress on a date! It’s just not happening!”
For a few moments Sadie seems too taken aback to reply.
“But… you promised.” She fixes me with huge, wounded eyes. “You promised I could choose your dress.”
“I thought you meant normal clothes!” I say in exasperation. “Twenty-first-century clothes! Not this.” I pick up the dress and brandish it at her. “It’s ridiculous! It’s a costume!”
“But if you don’t wear the dress I choose, then it might as well not be my date at all. It might as well be your date!” Sadie’s voice starts rising; I can tell she’s cranking up into a scream. “I might as well stay at home! Go out with him on your own!”
I sigh. “Look, Sadie-”
“He’s my man! It’s my date!” she cries passionately. “Mine! With my rules! This is my last chance to have some fun with a man, and you want to spoil it by wearing some frightful dreary outfit-”
“I don’t want to spoil it-”
“You promised to do things my way! You promised!”
“Stop shouting at me!” I pull away, clutching my ear. “Jesus!”
“Is everything all right back here?” Norah appears again and eyes me suspiciously.
“Yes!” I try to compose myself. “I was just… er… on the phone.”
“Ah.” Her face clears. She nods toward the bronze silk flapper dress, still in my arms. “You want to try that on? Wonderful piece. Made in Paris. Have you seen the mother-of-pearl buttons? They’re exquisite.”
“I… um…”
“You promised!” Sadie’s about three inches from me, her chin set, her eyes fiery. “You promised! It’s my date! Mine! Mine!”
She’s like a relentless fire-engine siren. I jerk my head away, trying to think straight as best I can. There’s no way I can cope with a whole evening of Sadie yelling at me. My head will explode.
And let’s face it. Ed Harrison thinks I’m a nutter anyway. What difference does it make if I turn up in a flapper dress?
Sadie’s right. It’s her evening. I might as well do it her way.
“All right!” I say at last, cutting across Sadie’s insistent voice. “You’ve talked me around. I’ll try on the dress.”
TEN
If anyone I know sees me, I will die. I will die .
As I get out of the taxi, I look quickly up and down the street. No one in sight, thank God. I have never looked so ludicrous in my life. This is what happens when you let a dead great-aunt take control of your looks.