Darling Athena, Venus, and Diana, hold your heads high! I’m rooting for you. And so should all of you, by attending the grand opening of Pandora’s Box, their vintage couture bazaar, in honor of their late mother, Ann. And, best of all, twenty percent of all profits from Pandora’s Box will go to the Ann Smith Scholarship Fund for Young Chicago Fashion Students.
As head buyer for Clayworth’s, Ann had a fabulous sense of style that made the Fashions of the Hour Shop a legend within the store.
Now Pandora’s Box promises to open up the secrets of Chicago’s finest closets to all of us. Be there!
Athena’s Story
“When you enter a woman’s closet, you get a glimpse into her life: who she is, who she has been, and who she has hoped to be.”
CHAPTER
This was the day. The day for which Athena Smith had begged, borrowed, or stolen every favor and debt ever owed her. And now she was so late she might miss it.
On purpose?
The thought stopped Athena cold as she eyed the distance to the elegant doors of the Fashion Institute of Chicago.
No! Nothing will stop me, not even the Clayworths!
Realizing she had no other choice, she hiked up her pencil skirt and ran the last three city blocks in her favorite but impractical heels and burst through the doors.
Her tinted glasses tipped off the end of her nose, and she pushed them back into place, not to see, but to hide her real feelings when stressed. No one needed to know she wasn’t like Athena, goddess of wisdom, although she always tried to be. In reality she was more like Athena, goddess of too many mistakes.
Her chest ached from the final one-block sprint as she gazed up at Leonard, the museum’s oldest security guard.
“Please tell me I’m not too late,” she gasped.
He grinned yet somehow still looked solemn, as befitted his duties.
“Nope, Miss Smith. The Town Car Clayworth’s Department Store sent for you and your intern is running late. They called to say they’d be here in ten minutes.”
“Thanks, Leonard. You’ve made my day.” She sighed, waved, and headed to the staircase.
The treasure trove of Bertha Palmer gowns the Clayworths had locked away in their Secret Closet danced before her eyes. It was the Holy Grail, the Golden Fleece of Chicago historic costumes.
She shouldn’t be diving headfirst into their Secret Closet, because if she saw any of them up close and personal she’d just as likely tell them to go to hell as say, “Thank you very much for your support of the museum.” But despite the wretched Clayworth men, she would get her hands on those dresses for the exhibit and scholarship benefit.
After all, it’s my duty as curator of costumes. My duty to help fund Makayla’s scholarship fund. My duty to set a good example for her. Thank God she’ll be with me to remind me to behave.
Of course today was so much more important for Makayla. An opportunity like this was very rare indeed for an intern. It was one of the reasons Athena had fought so hard to make it happen.
Blissful, despite the Clayworths, that this day had finally arrived, Athena swept into the Costume Collection office.
She loved this room with its heavy carved crown moldings. Sometimes, when she stared upward, trying to brainstorm new ideas for the museum, the wood carvings looked like faces to her.
But today the rich ruby Oriental rugs and antique furniture in front of the stone fireplace didn’t give off their usual cozy, old-world vibe.
Something’s wrong.
Athena eyed the cup of green tea cooling on Makayla’s desk. She should be here, fussing around the office like the perfect intern she’d become.
Worried, Athena headed out to find her.
She stopped when she heard the powder room door across the hall open, then close, followed by sturdy, slow, oddly heavy footsteps coming toward the office.
Makayla Elliott hopped into the room, her right foot and ankle swaddled in a thick Ace bandage.
“My God, what happened to you?” Athena rushed to help her ease down on the red velvet sofa.
“I was working last night at my part-time job at Maggiano’s and I dropped a bowl of spaghetti on my foot.”
Kneeling, examining Makayla’s swollen toes, painted a vivid purple, Athena ached with worry. “Those bowls are big enough to feed a family of ten. Is anything broken?”
“No,” Makayla shook her head so hard her black ponytail flicked her cheek. “No problem, Athena. I’m awesome, ready to go when you are.”
As Makayla struggled to the edge of the sofa to stand up, Athena saw pain in her kohl-lined eyes.
In that split second, Athena swore the carved crown moldings looked like the laughing faces of those three nasty Greek Fates, Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos, gazing back at her, secure in their absolute power of deciding everyone’s destiny. Lately they’d been doing their worst with her. Well, she wouldn’t let them mess with Makayla. Being orphaned, living in a group home, and working two jobs and an internship was enough already.
Laugh away, Fates. No way will I let my dear, sweet, brave Makayla traipse through the Clayworths’ closet if she’s in pain.
“I’m sorry. I know you’re going to be disappointed, but I can’t let you go today when you’re in so much pain. You might do real damage to your foot. I’ll do provenance on the Bertha Palmer dresses alone,” Athena informed her in her best boss voice.
“No way!” Makayla wobbled to her feet, hanging on to the sofa’s fat padded arm for balance. “No way… I mean…” she stammered, widening her brown eyes like she always did when worried. “I mean, I gotta go. It’s an awesome opportunity for me. And what if you, like, run into any Clayworths so soon after your dad’s… retirement? And I’m not there to… help you?”
Oh, no, does everyone know I want to tell them to go to hell for dear old Dad?
Disappointment for Makayla burned in her chest, but Athena plastered on her best PR smile. “Please don’t worry about me. We at the museum love the Clayworths for everything they do for us. Plus, we need to convince them by hook or crook to donate the Bertha Palmer dresses to the exhibit and benefit so we can raise more money for your scholarship. That is more important than my feelings.”
“Excuse me,” Leonard called from the open door. “The Clayworth Town Car is here, Miss Smith.”
Once again adjusting her glasses, Athena turned and smiled, ready for the glamour and romance of the Secret Closet, even if she must go alone.
“Thanks, Leonard. Please tell the driver I’ll be right down.”
She swept up the white lab coat, blue rubber gloves, and tape recorder from her desk.
“Wait, Athena.” Makayla hobbled toward her, little wisps of fine dark hair clinging to her damp cheeks and her pale lips parted in a grimace of pain. “The Costume Collection manager is on maternity leave for another six weeks. You’re already doing two jobs. You’ve got a meeting with Miss Keene tomorrow, and she’s always breathing down your neck. Pandora’s Box is opening on Saturday. You’ve got too much to do. I’ve gotta help you no matter what.”