Not Cassandra

Not Cassandra

           “Hey, Betz. What’s up?” I blow on my hands and place them on my cheeks to warm them, glad to be out of the wind. Crazy lack of parking. Betz, the owner of Hidden Treasures, complained that it kept her clientele to a minimum in this weather. Ye-ah, no wonder.

           “You’re going to looove the wardrobe that came in yesterday,” Betz says with her usual upbeat lilt. “Perfect for that new job you’re going to find.”

“Oh, Betz,” I say, thankful she’s looked out for me since my mom’s death. Smile, I tell myself because Betz has been kind and someone once told me that you can trick your body into thinking you’re having a good day if you smile.

           “They’re hanging up in the third fitting room waiting for you.”

“Why bother.” I sigh. “No one will hire me until I get a degree for the job I was already doing.” Don't let grief make you focus on the negative. Quit looking for the bad in your circumstances.

“Lauren, you know my mantra.” Betz leans out from behind a clothing rack and smiles. “Clothes make the woman.”

 Now, these are nice clothes. Not going to be able to afford these. I feel a gnawing sense that I ought to opt-out. But it’s so hard to find clothes to fit my slim frame and long torso. And someone please make sleeves and pants long enough for my lanky limbs.

           “Go on.” Betz walks to the front of the store with an armload of dresses and hangs them on a rack. “Let me see how they look on you,” she hollers. That’s Betz. Always push forward. Never look back. This time my smile is genuine. I chalk my uneasiness up to grieving and financial insecurity.

           Inside the change room, I slip out of my jeans and sweater and into a short, black skirt and aqua blouse. My eyes appear a curious blend of green and blue. I rifle through a bin of accessories and find a black and aqua necklace that lies on my olive skin at the v neckline. After adding the matching earrings, I step out of the change room and examine myself in the trifold mirror. The fabric hangs well. I take a deep breath. I look sharp. Exotic even.

“Wow, Lauren, you look fab-u-lous. Ready for a new job.”

“They fit but I’ve never worn this style.” I rub the beads at my neckline. It’s as though the clothes are tailor-made for me.

           “Try on the coat.” Betz’s smile reaches her eyes. “It’ll look great on you.”  

           “Betz, you know I can’t affor…”

           “Nonsense.” Betz fusses over the collar of my blouse until it lies flat. “The consignee is asking a small lump sum for the entire collection. My guess is she needs the closet space more than the money.” She nudges me toward the change room.

           I slide my arms into the sleeves and wrap the lambswool around me. My face appears soft again without the hard grief lines. Like I’m my old self. No, a new me. Like I finally took a step forward.

“Wow, you’re a real looker.” Betz winks. “Check the pockets. See if there are any gloves.”

           I slip my hands into slits at just the right height for my long arms. “You know Betz, it’s a little creepy how perfectly these clothes fit.” Inside the left pocket, I find wool and cashmere gloves and a rolled-up paper with an elastic around it. Money. I remove the band and unroll it.

“Betz.” She looks up from the belts she’s sorting. I hold up a crisp thousand-dollar bill. “I found this in the pocket.” I try not to think about how far $1,000 would go towards the bills I owe. “You need to return this to the owner.”

           “Oh wow. That’s more money than the owner is asking for the entire collection.”

           “Oh, come on, Betz. That one outfit and coat must cost over a thousand dollars. And there are several outfits, including an evening gown, with accessories.”

“I’m not kidding. The owner’s chauffeur dropped them off. Said I’d be doing his boss a favour if I found a suitable customer.”

 “Suitable?”

“Your turn to do me a favour. Return the money on your way home. The owner lives at the Manfred Estate. You know the one. With the windy driveway up the hill just outside of town. You pass right by.”

“I’ll drop the money off for you. But I’m not taking these clothes.”

“Nonsense.”

“I don’t have the money right now and...”

“Wear the coat home. You looked frozen when you came in.” Betz takes me by the arm and directs me toward the exit. “I’ll package up the rest up. Have them delivered. You can pay in installments when you find work.”

 “Betz, I…”

“Lauren, listen to me...”

I nod.

“You walk into an interview dressed like that with your smarts and anyone who doesn’t hire you is a damn fool.”

***

A mist hangs about The Manfred Estate. When I step out of my car, it’s as though the fog draws me into an embrace. Like a gentleman’s greeting, it mysteriously leaves a brush of lips on the back of my hand. The floorboards creak when the butler invites me in. I expect the décor to be tired. The house to smell musty. But instead, I discover a creative blend of modern art and antique furnishings. A man’s spicy cologne lingers as though he has just left the room. I inhale deeply.

“Could I have a word with Mrs. Manfred?” I twirl the bill in my pocket.

“I’m afraid there is no woman of the house. And Mr. Manfred is indisposed.”

I glance around the vestibule feeling as though I’ve stepped onto a movie set. If only there was an opportunity to see the rest of the house.

“We no longer offer tours of the estate.” The butler smiles. “May I assist you with the purpose of your visit.”

“I’d like to return something that belongs to Mr. Manfred.” I pass him the bill.

The butler nods. Shows me out.

***

Sunlight pours through the kitchen window of the small bungalow my mom left me. I pick up the Manfred Estate postcard I’d received in the mail and study the well-kept gardens. The invitation is formal. Written in lavish penmanship.

Dear Lauren,

I cordially invite you to become the face and mind of ‘For You Only.’ FYO, a personal line of health care products, requires an executive who reflects the integrity of my company. Returning the $1,000.00 demonstrates you have this quality. And you have a proven business track record.

                                                                       Regards,

Theodore Manfred

‘For You Only.’ The name sounds romantic. I glance around my small backyard garden. The fence will soon need replacing. The shed needs repair. Don’t compare. Her mother’s words linger in her mind. Someone always has more than you. And others less. Be equally attentive to both kinds of people.

***

“You’ve always had great business sense.” Nate’s slicked brown hair and sad brown eyes make him look like a devoted chocolate lab. “If your previous company had put you in charge it would have never have gone under.”

“Okay, but Manfred grooms me.”

“I like your new look.” He runs a line of kisses up my neck. “Okay, so I miss the earthier you.”

“And the FYO employees stare at me.” 

           “Lauren, you’re a beautiful woman.”

“Still something feels odd.”

“Trust your instincts.”

           My instincts? I don’t need instincts to tell me that when Theodore takes me in with obvious pleasure, he seeps past my reservations. He allows his eyes to linger. I catch my breath. My heart beats faster.

***

One evening when I work late, Theodore’s deep voice catches me off guard.

           “Lauren, you make excellent business decisions. In the few months you’ve been with us, sales have increased. Significantly.”

My cheeks grow warm.

“Do you enjoy working here?”

           “I’m still learning the business.”

           “You didn’t answer my question.” His dark eyes pull me in.           

“I’m still learning the product and the market.”

           “You still haven’t answered my question.” He places the sales figures on my desk. “I’m having a dinner party Saturday night. I’d like you to attend. No escort. Formal attire. I’ll have a car pick you up at 8:00 pm. Don’t be late. I dislike tardiness.” When he leaves the room, my heart thumps. Still, I feel perturbed. I’ve been told. Not given a choice. And what will Nate say?

***

           My new wardrobe includes an elegant deep forest green gown and matching shoes. I slip on earrings and a matching necklace. Are these diamonds? Close imitations? For the price I paid, they must be? I run my hands over my hips to smooth the folds and examine myself in the mirror.

“Not bad,” I whisper.

***

           When Theodore’s driver pulls up to his estate, I take in its seamlessly juxtaposed historic and contemporary architecture. A light fog kisses my cheeks. The lampposts’ light shines through the mist making the garden appear enchanted.

           The butler looks bored when he opens the door. Inside, a yelping Lhasa Apso runs up to me. I stoop to pet him and he rolls over on my shoes and wriggles his legs for a belly rub.

“He doesn’t usually take kindly to strangers.” Theodore gives me a wry smile. The dog stands and barks.

“What’s his name?” I scratch behind the dog’s ears.

           “Mystery. A stray. Found roaming in the garden. We couldn’t locate the owner and the dog adored my wife.”

“Your wife?”

“Yes, recently passed. She was the first face of For You Only. I named the company after her.”

I’m about to say how sorry I am but he holds up his hand.

“I’m not looking for sympathy.”

I tuck my gloves in the pocket and hand my coat to the butler to avoid his close gaze. The house is eerily quiet.

“Where are the other dinner guests?”

“Others? There are no others.”

“Dinner tonight is for you only.”

I look at my ring. Think about Nate.

Mystery snoozes at my feet during dinner. Theodore talks sales figures. Good. All business. As it should be. The servers come and go with an endless number of courses. Delicious smells waft ahead of each plate. The food presentation is as lovely as the taste.     

           Following dinner, Theodore stands and drops his linen napkin on his plate. “I have a surprise for you.” I touch the napkin to my lips. I’m already surprised. An inner war rages between my former and new selves. I attempt to reason with myself. This man just lost his wife. I am feeling sympathy. He’s controlling. I love Nate.

           Immediately on entering the parlour, I’m drawn to the painting above the fireplace.

“My late wife, Cassandra.”

The similarity to myself is striking. My heart rate quickens.

“What happened to her?”

“We argued. She raced off. The mist caused low visibility. She didn’t make the hairpin turn. Drove over the cliff’s edge.”

“I’m sorry,” I mumble. A hint of terror replaces my sympathy. I turn to face Theodore.

“You share her build, her integrity, her desire to delight others. You’re a little on the shy side but moldable.”

I glance at my small diamond ring. What was it Nate said? “Trust your instincts.” My legs feel as though they’ll collapse.  

“I can replace that diamond with one much larger.”     

           I look at the huge rock on Cassandra’s ring finger. Search the woman’s face. What is the yet unidentified emotion in her eyes? Goosebumps appear on my arms. What did Cassandra fear? I hear the far-off whisper of a woman’s voice. What’s she trying to tell me? Then, it settles in on me like a weight. “Get out. Before he puts the ring on your finger.”

“It’s late. I should be getting home.” I touch my earring. “Can you have your chauffeur bring the car around?”

“I don't have a chauffeur.”

“Then the driver who brought me here.”

“I don’t have a driver.”          

“Then the butler."

"I don't have a butler."

"Then whoever that was who opened the door."

"You opened the door.”

I collect any semblance of my former self. Run to the vestibule and grab my coat. The mist hangs heavy about me. Visibility is low. I run down the drive and along the shoulder of the windy road. A car follows me. It does not slow at the hairpin turn.

***

           Nate enters my hospital room in a forced conciliatory mood. “I picked all your favourites.” He places the vase of flowers from my garden on the windowsill. “Daisies, bachelor buttons and phlox.”

When I try to smile, a pain shoots through my head.

“I packed up all the clothes.” Nate gives a friendly wink.

“You took them to the dump? The jewelry too?”

           Thank God. Is today Tuesday? Yes. Tuesday is the day the city burns the garbage. By now the clothes are ashes.

           “Well, not exactly. I couldn’t bring myself to throw what could be diamonds in the trash.” He looks down and fidgets with a receipt. “I dropped everything off at Hidden Treasures. “Figured you could use the money.”

I stare at him.

“Betz says not to worry. She can get you more than you paid.”

My ribs ache. The room closes in. Grows misty. Fills me with dread.