Page 11 of Love Me, Cowboy
“Sorry, hon,” the associate said as the zipper whizzed up Claire’s back.
There was no tugging required. No sucking in. No struggle at all.
Then a slight turn to her left and Claire stopped breathing.
“Oh my.”
“Oh my is right, hon. That dress fits you like a glove, and you’ve got the perfect figure to pull it off. If you’re a single gal, I hope you’re prepared for every single man attendin’ this shindig to be buzzing around you like bees in a strawberry patch.” The older woman laughed at her own joke. “Heck, maybe even some of the married ones, too.”
“Unzip me, please,” Claire said, her voice barely above a whisper.
“But you just got it on and—”
“Please,” Claire repeated, her voice stronger this time. “This is a fitting and it fits, so unzip me.”
“Don’t you want to—”
“No,” Claire cut her off.
Why couldn’t the dressing room have been bigger? Everywhere she turned, there was that image in the mirror. The woman with giant boobs and giant hips and why couldn’t MC have picked out ugly, oversized dresses like other brides did.
Nearly panting, Claire spun as far away from the mirror as she could. “I need to take it off. Now. Please,” she pleaded. “Help me get it off.”
“Okay, honey,” the woman said, sounding as if she were dealing with a petulant child. “I’ve got ya now.”
The zipper lowered, and Claire spun again. “I can do the rest, thank you.”
Even in a panic, Claire’s manners pushed through. What she really wanted to do was throw the woman out of the tiny space, not thank her as if she’d brought the perfect bottle of wine to a dinner party.
But she could hear her mother’s voice in her ear. We don’t make a scene in public, Claire. We’re the Campbells, the first family of Holly Hills, and we have an image to protect.
An overweight, spinster schoolteacher hadn’t been part of the Campbell image, and now Claire was going to be an overweight bridesmaid walking down the aisle, looking like a giant purple float.
Was there no end to how many ways in which she could be a disappointment?
“I won’t be far in case you need me,” the woman said, looking concerned that Claire might rip the dress to shreds as soon as she turned her back, but exiting and pulling the curtain closed.
Raising her arms, Claire let the dress hit the floor, scrambled out, and hung it by narrow silk loops on the hanger. Within seconds, she was back in her own clothes and sitting on the small bench at the back of the fitting room, staring at the dress as if she could change it into something less... fitted.
How was she going to do this? Claire would never let her friends down, and it was too late to change dresses now. This must have been how MC felt about her own dress. How much she wanted to try something different, but it was too late now, with only two weeks until the wedding.
If Mary Catherine could walk down the aisle on the biggest day of her life wearing a dress she hated, then Claire could do the same. And have a couple of glasses of wine while they all got ready.
Or maybe tequila.
Mary Catherine wasn’t happy when Claire returned to the pedestal in her regular clothes. “Where’s the dress? I want to see how it looks.”
“The fit was fine, so I put it back on the hanger.” Before MC could demand that Claire put the purple confection back on, she said, “Where’s Georgia?”
“In the café,” MC’s stepmother Marilyn said. “Probably drinking something no self-respecting person would drink this early in the day.”
MC rolled her eyes, and Claire took the chance to escape. “I’ll go check on her,” she said.
Hustling through the salon, dodging poufy, white gowns at every turn, Claire stepped into the café and spotted Georgia sitting alone and tipping back a Bloody Mary. She’d really hoped Marilyn was wrong.
“Here you are,” Claire said, plopping into the chair opposite Georgia. “Booze? It’s not even eleven o’clock.”
“It’s five o’clock somewhere and Bloody Marys are the breakfast of champions... and losers. Whichever.”