Page 44 of Wrapped Up at the Vintage Dress Shop (Vintage Dress Shop Romance #3)
T here was no rest for the wicked. Or no rest for the heartbroken.
Phoebe had thought that Bea’s idea to have her star in a reel was just idle Monday morning chat.
But no. If it came to doing a stocktake, Bea was the queen of procrastination but on Monday evening when Phoebe was back on the boat scrutinising the flue of the wood burner to see if it really did need a service, Bea messaged her.
Had a great chat with Birdy. I’m going to shoot three Reels with you tomorrow when the shop is quiet. Daytime to night-time. Let’s try and do a jump transition. It should be fun. Don’t forget your make-up bag.
Phoebe had no idea what a jump transition was. It didn’t sound like fun but it had to be better than answering a journalist’s probing questions.
She turned up for work the next morning with her full make-up case and a much better idea.
‘I think we should all do a day-to-night look,’ she stated in a tone that would tolerate no arguments, once everyone was assembled.
Even Anita, lately, was managing to get to work on time.
‘A Reel each. Because we all work here. Otherwise three Reels of just me? Well, that really is just showing off.’
‘Oh, I don’t think I want to do that,’ Cress demurred.
‘You have to,’ Sophy insisted. ‘No woman left behind. I’ve got some lovely rental dresses in your size that you’d look gorgeous in.’
It turned out that Anita was an old hand at a jump transition so she volunteered to go first, heading up to the atelier with Bea while the others welcomed the first customers of the day.
Anita came down an hour later with a full face of party make-up.
Her already doe eyes had never looked so large and lustrous as she fluttered her false eyelashes.
She had a gold lamé dress over her arm, which she’d been coveting for weeks.
‘I knew this would look fantastic on me and so I’m now forced to buy it,’ she said glumly.
‘Even with my staff discount, it’s a lot and I haven’t bought any Christmas presents yet. ’
‘Nothing wrong with a bit of self-gifting at Christmastime,’ Sophy said as she surveyed her rental empire.
‘Think of it as an investment in yourself,’ Phoebe added.
In one hand, she had three different dresses for a customer who was already stripped down and waiting in one of the changing cubicles.
In her other hand, she had her phone because she was in the middle of a WhatsApp chat with Birdy.
She’d messaged to thank her for giving Bea advice and it had turned into counselling Birdy who was having a Clothes Panic about what to wear to the Vintage Christmas Ball. ‘You do look good in gold, Neeta.’
‘You’re a cursed pair of enablers,’ Anita muttered. ‘I’m going to put it back on the rail and if it’s still here by the end of the day, then God obviously wants me to have it.’
‘He does work in mysterious ways,’ Sophy said. ‘Right I’m going upstairs to force Cress into one of these dresses. I may be some time.’
With Sophy, Bea and Cress otherwise engaged, it was just Phoebe and Anita left to deal with an increasingly busy shop.
There were still quite a few customers solely there to gawp at Phoebe and who seemed to be quite disappointed that she wasn’t making impassioned speeches about vintage dresses and sustainable fashion.
But most of the people were shoppers with a slightly desperate look in their eyes even though there were still a good twenty shopping days before Christmas.
‘Ugh! Men shopping for wives and girlfriends are the worst,’ Anita hissed to Phoebe after the man she was serving finally left empty-handed. That was only after making Anita try on five different dresses as he said that she was roughly the same size as his wife.
‘Though she’s got more in the boob department,’ he’d said cheerfully not realising that Anita was clearly wishing that very bad things would happen to him in the very near future.
‘I’m not convinced that he even has a wife,’ Phoebe hissed back. ‘Maybe that’s just how he gets his kicks. Making poor sales assistants try on dresses for his own sick pleasure.’
‘Don’t even!’ Anita pulled a gruesome face, which she quickly had to adjust to a more pleasing smile as she was approached by a customer.
There was a momentary lull just before the lunchtime rush and still no Sophy. ‘I wish she’d hurry up,’ Anita moaned. ‘I’m gasping for a cuppa.’
‘If you promise to stay behind the till until it’s finished, then I don’t mind you having a hot beverage so close to the dresses,’ Phoebe decided, then shied away as Anita tried to put a hand on her forehead.
‘Are you sickening for something?’ Anita asked sweetly. ‘Why are you being so nice?’
‘Maybe you’ve finally worn me down,’ Phoebe said.
Or maybe these past few weeks had shown her that when it came to dealing with people, difficult people like Anita, then, as Mary Poppins had it, a spoonful of sugar could be very useful.
Although that had never been one of Mildred’s life philosophies.
‘I no longer have the energy to fight with you. Though if you get coffee on anything, I will kill you and I will make it look like it was an accident.’
Anita grinned. ‘I expect nothing less.’
It was after lunch that the shop got really busy.
There was no time to make Reels or faff about with jump transitions.
It was all hands to the pump. Cress was stuck in her little rooftop eyrie replacing the beading on a 1960s cocktail dress that a courier was coming to collect by five.
Downstairs, Bea was on changing room duty, Anita on till, Sophy on the shop floor to mill about and be helpful while Phoebe assisted where needed and refused to take selfies with anyone. Politely but very, very, very firmly.
But at five minutes past six, when the shop had emptied out, Bea jerked her head in the direction of the stairs. ‘Time for your close-up, Phoebe.’
‘Maybe now that you’ve got everyone else, then I don’t need to do a reel,’ Phoebe said because even if she wasn’t being probed by a journalist, she still didn’t fancy an ill-informed army of keyboard warriors being rude about her in the comments.
‘You’re doing a reel,’ Sophy said from behind the till where she was just about to cash up. ‘You have to lead by example. Also, Cress said that there’s a black backless satin 1930s dress in the designer room that you’ve been having an affair with for months.’
Phoebe managed to sigh both in annoyance and in longing.
Even with a very generous staff discount, the dress in question was still far too rich for her budget.
‘I’ll do it, but only if Coco does it with me,’ she said because even if she was being more democratic at work, she was still the boss and that had to count for something.
The infamous jump transition was actually more of a twirling transition. Still in her black day dress and her day make-up, Bea made Phoebe twirl until she was dizzy and worried that Coco, who was tucked under her arm, might throw up.
Then it was time for a quick change into the black satin, bias-cut gown of Phoebe’s dreams. Sparkly clips in her hair and an even more flicky eye and redder lip than usual. And twirling. So much twirling until Phoebe was sure that she had motion sickness.
‘So, you’ll start the twirl in your day clothes then with some nifty editing, you’ll finish the twirl in your evening finery then do a little pose,’ Bea explained as she showed Phoebe footage of her twirling. ‘For music, I was thinking of Glenn Miller’s “In the Mood”.’
‘Perfect,’ Phoebe agreed. ‘You’ve really thrown yourself into this challenge, but tomorrow, no excuses, you’re going to be twirling yourself.’
‘I like to think of myself more as the person who makes the magic happen,’ Bea said, even though it was clear to anyone with eyes that the magic also happened on her pretty face.
‘No getting out of it,’ Phoebe said sternly, though now her stern voice felt more of an effort than something she’d never had to think about before deploying. ‘Also, you might want to bring travel sickness pills.’
‘I hate my life,’ Bea called out mournfully as she went down the stairs while Phoebe put her work dress back on in the changing room off the atelier.
She thought that she had the place to herself but when she emerged, the lights were still on in Cress’s workroom and the woman herself was bent over her sewing machine.
Phoebe tapped lightly on the open door. ‘Did you forget the time? It’s gone seven thirty. You should have gone home an hour ago.’
Things were still a little stiff between the two of them. Almost as stiff as Cress’s neck because she straightened up slowly then winced and put a hand to her nape.
‘I’m working late on something that I can’t do at home,’ Cress said, her words as awkward as her posture. ‘I need to use the overlocker. It’s all right, I can lock up and yes, I’ll remember to set the alarm.’
Even though Cress was the only person Phoebe trusted to lock up and set the alarm, she still felt a momentary panic at the idea. And then she was feeling other unwelcome things.
‘Are you working on a dress for your reproduction line?’ she asked. If her tone was accusatory then Phoebe just couldn’t help it.
Cress sighed, then bent her head to finish the seam she was sewing on what looked like a peony pink organza dress. Then she looked up again at Phoebe standing in the doorway.
‘It’s actually a Christmas present for my cousin’s little girl,’ Cress said, lifting up the needle then holding up a pretty tiered dress, which had little foil stars embossed on the fabric. ‘She’s going through a pink and flouncy phase.’
Phoebe had never gone through a pink and flouncy phase but still she mustered up a smile. ‘Nice.’
‘Oh God, Phoebe, you know I hate confrontation! I hate it more than anything but we are going to chat this out,’ Cress exclaimed.
‘I’m fine with you making a dress for a little girl. I’m not made of stone.’