He nodded again and started for the door.
“Wait. I need a hairbrush. You didn’t put a hairbrush in here.”
“Hairbrush? Right. Sorry,” he said. “Oh, I don’t have any lipstick or nail polish, any stuff like that. It all went bad or got hard or something.”
“So you’ll buy some. I’ll give you a list. My nail polish is worn away, and I don’t want my lips to get too dry. Get me a pencil and a pad to write on.”
“Buy some? Yeah, right. I’ll do that, but not tonight,” he said.
“And bringing me a hairbrush won’t help if I have no mirror. There’s no mirror in the bathroom. I need a mirror.”
He stood there thinking. “I broke the mirror in there years ago and never replaced it. Worried about bad luck, or maybe I didn’t like the face looking back at me, huh?” He laughed. “It’s a happier face now, so I’ll like it. Yeah, I got a mirror I can put up. Sorry I didn’t think of it. It’s been a long time since I thought about what a woman needs.”
Excited, he hurried out, and I stood. I had to figure out a way to get the chain detached from my ankle. That would be my first chore. I’m not going to just lie around crying and begging. I’ll fight back in every way I can, I thought, and suddenly had a new surge of energy.
When he returned, he had his arms full of garments and socks, with a hairbrush and a mirror on top. He brought it all to the sofa and put the items down carefully. He had a pair of light-blue slippers that he held up quickly.
“You were right about my mother’s shoes. She had big feet for a woman. These are mine. They’re big, too, but I’m sure you’ll get around in them.”
“What about my own shoes?”
“Got rid of all that. I don’t want you having memories of an unhappier time.”
Unhappier time? How could he think this would be happier for me?
“I need shoes. What good are nice clothes if you don’t have shoes, too?”
“Yeah, sure. I’ll buy you new shoes and some boots. Yes, you’ll need boots someday, and newer socks. You do what you said. You make a list. There’s a pencil and some paper on the shelf there with the books. Let me put this mirror up,” he said, showing me the small round mirror in an ivory frame. “I took it from my mother’s bedroom.” He went into the bathroom, and I approached the pile of clothes and began to separate the garments.
There were three more nightgowns, two skirts, two blouses, and a ruby-red dress with an embroidered bodice. All of it looked like it would float on me the way the nightgown I was wearing did. His mother must have been stout with a heavy bosom, I thought.
“Couldn’t you at least have saved my own panties and bra?” I asked when he came out of the bathroom.
“You don’t need that stuff now. Later,” he said. “Rome wasn’t built in a day.” He was getting testy. Maybe I had pushed him a little too far, but I couldn’t stop now. I had him doing things for me.
“How can I wear this?” I asked, holding up the dress. “It’s so big.”
“I’ll fix it tomorrow. Do the best you can for now. There’s a belt in that pile. Just tie it around your waist. You’ve got your hairbrush. Go do your hair and put on the dress,” he ordered. “I’ve got to get back to our dinner. No more interruptions.”
I saw how easily he grew impatient. That was my plan, to get him frustrated. It was dangerous, I knew, but if I could get him to be disgusted enough with me, perhaps he would say we weren’t meant for each other and send me away. The trick, I thought, was not to whine and cry but to complain, complain, and complain without sounding too pathetic. He wouldn’t believe it if I sounded like a spoiled young woman.
“There’s not enough light in here,” I said from the bathroom. “Can’t you put in a stronger bulb?”
“No,” he said, without looking back at me. “The fixture can’t take a bigger bulb.”
“Well, there’s not enough light. Maybe you could get a bigger fixture.”
“I’ll look into it,” he said, the irritation building.
I slipped off the nightgown, cowering behind the little wall space that would block me from view, and put on the ruby dress. It was ridiculous even when I tied the belt around my waist. His mother must have been very tall, too. The hem touched the floor. Mr. Moccasin came to the doorway and gazed at me.
“I look stupid, don’t I, Mr. Moccasin?” I said.
Anthony turned around. “You don’t look stupid. You can’t look stupid in my mother’s things.”
“They’re nice, but they don’t fit. It’s not even close. Did you really throw away my clothes?” I asked. “Can’t I have them back until you
fix these or get me something new?”