Chapter 4 - THE CLEARANCE RACK
Friday morning, I wore the same shoes Brittany had mocked.
I also carried the same handbag.
Arthur bought it for me twenty-six years ago.
The leather was worn at the corners.
I loved it.
I entered Bellamy & Rowe at 10:14.
Brittany was behind the main counter.
She was on her phone.
Not the store phone.
Hers.
A woman stood nearby holding a blouse.
Waiting.
Brittany turned away from her.
I walked closer.
She was laughing.
“No, seriously. You should’ve seen her.”
I stopped.
“She looked like somebody’s church aunt.”
My stomach tightened.
Then she said,
“My mother-in-law has zero taste.”
I stood six feet away.
Brittany still didn’t see me.
“She thinks because she’s old, nobody can tell her anything.”
The customer beside her looked uncomfortable.
Then Brittany turned.
Her face went blank.
“Margaret.”
I smiled.
“Good morning.”
Her phone dropped from her ear.
“I’ll call you back.”
She hung up.
“What are you doing here?”
“I came shopping.”
“At my store?”
I almost corrected her.
Instead I said,
“Yes.”
She glanced toward the entrance.
“Where’s Ethan?”
“At work, I assume.”
“Did he send you?”
“No.”
Her eyes went to my handbag.
Then my shoes.
Same judgment.
Same calculation.
“What are you shopping for?”
“A coat.”
“What kind?”
“A nice one.”
Her lips twitched.
“All our coats are nice.”
“Then I’m in the right place.”
Brittany didn’t like that.
“What’s your budget?”
“I’m not sure.”
“You have to have some number in mind.”
I shrugged.
“Five hundred dollars?”
She laughed.
Actually laughed.
“Margaret.”
“Yes?”
“You know this is Bellamy & Rowe, right?”
“I noticed the sign.”
“Our serious coats start around twenty-eight hundred.”
“Serious coats?”
“You know what I mean.”
“I don’t.”
She exhaled slowly.
Then pointed toward the back.
“We have some sale pieces.”
“May I see the coat in the front window?”
Her smile vanished.
The coat was fourteen thousand dollars.
Italian cashmere.
Hand-finished buttons.
I knew because I had approved its production run.
“That one?”
“Yes.”
“It’s fourteen thousand.”
“I see.”
“Maybe we should look at something more realistic.”
“Why?”
She stared at me.
“You said five hundred.”
“I said I wasn’t sure.”
“Margaret, I’m trying to save you embarrassment.”
A little anger moved through me.
But I kept my voice gentle.
“By refusing to show me a coat?”
“I’m not refusing.”
“Then show it to me.”
She hesitated.
A younger employee looked over.
Mia.
I recognized her from the security footage.
Brittany noticed.
“Mia.”
“Yes?”
“Can you cover the register?”
Mia glanced at me.
Recognition flickered.
Not of who I was.
Of the woman from the funeral story, maybe.
Or just a customer being treated badly.
“Of course.”
Brittany led me toward the clearance section.
Not the front window.
“Brittany.”
She stopped.
“I asked about the coat.”
“This is better for you.”
“Why?”
“Because some clothing requires presence.”
There it was again.
“What does that mean?”
She lowered her voice.
“It means expensive clothes don’t automatically make someone look elegant.”
“I agree.”
She smiled, missing the point.
“You need confidence. Grooming. Styling.”
Her eyes moved over my gray hair.
“I see.”
“Don’t take it personally.”
“I’m not.”
“You’ve never really cared about fashion.”
“How do you know?”
She laughed.
“Look at you.”
A customer nearby turned.
Brittany noticed and softened her tone.
“I’m only trying to help.”
“So help me.”
She sighed.
“What about this?”
She pulled out a plain black wool coat marked down to nine hundred.
I touched the sleeve.
Poor fit.
Last season.
Fine product.
Wrong for me.
“No.”
“Well, this is already above your budget.”
“I changed my budget.”
“To what?”
“Whatever the front coat costs.”
For the first time, Brittany looked suspicious.
“Did Ethan give you money?”
“No.”
“Then where did you get fourteen thousand dollars?”
I smiled.
“That’s a personal question.”
Her face hardened.
“I’m family.”
“Today you’re a sales associate.”
Mia looked down quickly.
Trying not to react.
Brittany’s cheeks flushed.
“Fine.”
She started toward the front window.
Then the boutique doors opened.
Patricia walked in.
Charcoal suit.
Leather portfolio.
Brittany glanced at her.
“Good morning. Can I help you?”
Patricia walked straight past her.
She stopped beside me.
“Mrs. Reed.”
Brittany frowned.
Patricia continued.
“The executive team is waiting upstairs.”
Silence.
Brittany looked at me.
Then Patricia.
Then me again.
“Executive team?”
Patricia nodded.
“Yes.”
Brittany laughed nervously.
“For what?”
Patricia gave her the polite expression she used before board meetings.
“I’m sorry. Who are you?”
Brittany stiffened.
“I’m her daughter-in-law.”
“I see.”
Patricia extended her hand.
“Patricia Sloan. Mrs. Reed’s personal assistant.”
Brittany stared.
“Personal assistant?”
“Yes.”
Her face lost color.
Then Patricia looked at me.
“Would you like me to tell the regional director the owner has arrived?”
The store went completely silent.
May you like
Brittany whispered one word.
“Owner?”
