I watched her leave, wondering if I was still asleep and dreaming the whole thing.
After we ate and dressed we headed out to the shop. Mommy knew exactly where she wanted to take us. It was back in Palm Beach and just reeked expensive. What was she thinking of?
We were looking at clothing in the high hundreds and thousands, designer dresses and shoes. I wondered if the saleswomen who rushed about finding garments to show us had any idea what sort of income level we were on. None of that seemed to matter.
"Mommy." I whispered when she insisted I try on a Coco Chanel black dress. It had a dozen gold Chanel logo buttons on the bodice and two on each cuff and a gleaming gold belt with a buckle etched with Chanel, tuxedo lapels, and two slash hip pockets. "It's too expensive."
"But it's so practical." Mommy insisted, "You can wear it to most anything."
"Practical?"
Maybe it was less expensive in other stores, but here they wanted $995! She was already looking for the shoes to match the outfit. I half hoped it would look terrible on me, but when I stepped out of the fitting room and gazed at myself in the mirror there was no hope of that. Even some other customers stopped to compliment me.
Mommy beamed, "Perfect," she said.
The shoes she found were almost as much as the dress. I couldn't speak. Had she gone totally mad?
It took nearly another two hours for her to find a dress she wanted. I was very surprised at her choice. She had nothing like it in her own wardrobe. It just wasn't her style, at least before today.
The saleswoman told her the dress was based on a design especially made for a countess. It was a ballerina-length strapless dress of midnight blue with a dropped waistline. The bodice was draped with vertical pleats. The saleswoman explained that the bodice was embroidered with randomly placed diamante brilliants and the top layer of the tulle skirt was embroidered with diamante stars.
The price tag read $2,500. I stared in disbelief when Mommy decided it was perfect.
The shoes she chose sold for $1,100.
For a moment I couldn't swallow. I said nothing as the clothing and the shoes were packaged for us. At the desk Mommy did not present her credit card. The saleswoman smiled and had a young man carry everything out to our car.
When I asked Mommy why she didn't present her credit card, she said. "We have an account there. Don't worry about it. Grace. You look beautiful in your dress."
An account there? What did that mean, we were on some sort of ritzy lay-away plan? I truly began to believe my mother had gone crazy. I was unable to concentrate on anything for the rest of the day. We were going to leave rather early for dinner. I thought, five o'clock. When I asked her why, she said that was part of Winston's surprise, and if she said any more she would spoil it for me.
Mommy rested with cucumber slices on her eves for an hour and then showed me some of the new skin creams and lotions she had recently bought. While I listened and watched her go on and on about herself, her skin, her hair, the things she had learned about putting on makeup. I wondered if grief could cause schizophrenia. Who was this new woman in my mother's body?
Once she had started on herself, she turned to me and sat me in front of the vanity table mirror in her room to supervise my makeup and hair. We were both dressed and ready by four forty-five. but Mommy kept returning to her room and her mirror for one final touch. Then she sat with that small smile playing on her lips and kept her anticipation focused on the street in front of our condo. Winston proved to be right on time again, the limousine gliding up to the curb exactly at five.
Winston himself wore an elegant, stylish tuxedo. I thought he looked like a governor or a president.
"Look at you two!" he cried the moment we stepped out of the condo, "I'm going to have rolls and rolls of pictures taken tonight."
"Where are we going?" I asked, bursting.
"You'll see." he said, his eyes twinkling with an impish glint.
I couldn't help but feel the excitement as we glided onto the highway. I looked out the window, watching and waiting for some hint. When we turned toward the West Palm Beach airport. I looked at Mommy, who seemed as if she was about to explode with excitement herself.
"What is this?" I asked. "We're going to the airport?"
"It's the best way to let there." Winston said.
"Get where?" I asked.
"My favorite restaurant in the Bahamas. On Paradise Island." he said.
I looked at them both. Was this some big joke?
We were ushered through the airport to a private hangar and a private jet. Moments later we were seated.
"Whose plane is this?" I asked.