What good were words of encouragement if you never knew they’d been given?
ChapterSeven
Nick wascagey about his trip to the bank when he returned, dodging my question by dropping one of his own. “Do you want to grab a coffee and sit on our bench?”
Our bench.
My heart beat a little faster. “I don’t have time today. I promised my mother I’d spend time with her.” But it was clear to me who I wanted to spend time with. Nick.
It was two-thirty. A bubbly, blond teenager by the name of Laney showed up just then, along with Ivy, who was dropped off by Grams and disappointed that I was leaving for the day. Any opportunity to talk privately with Nick was lost.
“I wanted to dance for you.” Ivy pulled a black leotard, matching tights and demi-skirt from her backpack. “The Rat King is a big part. I have to be good. And that means lots of practice.”
“You’ll be fine,” I reassured her. “In the meantime, you can dance for your Uncle Nick. I need to go help my mom. See you tonight!” Carrying two cups of coffee, I left the café and walked around the corner to December Dry Cleaners.
My mother stood behind the counter, looking uncharacteristically nervous. I was barely in the door before she was charging out, pushing me ahead of her and calling to my dad, “Honey, I’ll be right back.”
“No, you won’t.” I handed Mom a coffee. “You can’t possibly show me your shop and tell me your plans in less than an hour.”
She mumbled something I didn’t catch, unlocked the entrance to the empty shop next door, and hustled me inside, clicking the lock against any intrusion.
I glanced around. Built-in shelving units listed against one wall. Four circular racks designed to hang clothes had been dragged to one side. There was a sales counter halfway back and what looked like changing rooms beyond that. It was just as bland as our dry cleaning shop. It needed pizzaz. It needed energy. It needed personality.
On a positive note, the entire space was large enough to be a stage, but that wasn’t what it needed to be. For the next two years, it needed to be a successful boutique. Or we needed to see a lawyer about breaking Mom’s lease and then contact her suppliers to return merchandise.
Oddly enough, I could see it properly painted, accented, and staged. All that time on Broadway watching plain sets transformed into something magical must have paid off. I could see the palette – lighter, beach tones that promised a respite from the mountains and Christmas. I could see sections allocated for clothing, for gifts, for collectibles, ornaments and such. There was enough room at the sales counter for a wrapping station.
“Well?” Mom asked, sounding timid. “What do you think?”
“It’s clean,” I said absently, still lost in envisioning what the space could be. In fact, it smelled as if it had been freshly disinfected. I was reminded that my mom could be a little OCD when it came to germs. Not that anything was wrong with that after the world had been through a pandemic.
Someone knocked on the window, startling us both.
Judith Smith shoved her hands in her beige stadium jacket and shouted, “When are you opening, Marlene?”
“Soon.” Mom waved her off before turning her back and crossing her arms over her chest. “Judith Smith.” She huffed. “She’s one of the biggest gossips in town.”
“Let’s remember that when you finally open. Tell her first. You need all the buzz you can get.” I walked the length of the store. “You need Dad to build you more hanging space, don’t you? Tim mentioned you purchased dry cleanable merchandise and I’m assuming it needs to be displayed hung.”
“Yes…No…I…” Mom wrung her hands. “That was my plan. But then I realized that most people in town don’t wear clothes that need dry cleaning. Few people wear business suits or silk blouses to work anymore.” She groaned. “I don’t know what made me think I could do this. It’s a disaster.”
I took Mom’s hands in mine. “It’s only a disaster if you don’t try. This is stage fright, that’s all. Now, take a deep breath and tell me what you envision here. How do you want people to feel when they come in?”
It was a tactic I’d heard choreographers ask of their directors during the planning stages of a new Broadway show.
“I…” Mom’s features pinched.
“Dreams you hold inside don’t come true.” That was something she’d always told me. It was something she’d learned from her skeleton coaches back in the day.
My mother looked at me. And she didn’t look at me the way she usually did, as if studying me to find a weakness she needed to train out of me. She looked at me with wonder and her hands suddenly returned my grip with strength. “You’re right. Dreams need to be heard.”
I nodded, somewhat speechless by the change in her attitude.
“I want people to walk in this store and think,I have to buy everything in here. Because once they look around, they’ll find all the merchandise irresistible.” Her grip on my hands increased. “Except…I can’t tell anymore if what I bought is something anyone else will like.”
I was reminded that she’d been asking my brother Tim for advice on what to buy. Seventeen year-old boys probably didn’t have the same taste as my mother and her peers. But who knew what was hidden in those boxes in the garage?
“Tomorrow after our shifts are over, Nick and I will move your inventory over here. We’ll look at everything. Put your trust in me, Mom. If you want, I’ll take care of everything.”