"That's awesome, Red."
There was a knock at my door. "Lucy," called Princess Two, "dinner."
"Connor, can I call you back? My stepmother goes insane if I'm not upstairs for dinner at seven
on the dot."
Connor groaned. "Don't say dinner. Please."
Like the painting of a masterpiece, the search for the perfect prom dress is not a matter to be
undertaken lightly. One must have the single-mindedness of purpose, the courage, the blind
devotion to the task at hand of a true believer. One must have strength. One must have vision.
One must have one's father's credit card.
To obtain said father's credit card, I spent the first Saturday of spring break being ordered around
by Mara, who wanted to see what the living room would look like if the couch was where the
love seat was and the love seat was in the den. As I moved glass figurines, end tables, and a
hideous grandfather clock around the house, I knew Jessica and Madison were at Miracle Mile,
wrapping themselves in silk and satin, being waited on hand and foot by obsequious salesladies
catering to their every whim. But a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do, and Monday, when I
walked into Roses Are Red with my dad's Visa in the back pocket of my jeans, I knew my blood,
sweat, and tears had paid off.
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"This one is nice," said Madison, extracting a pale pink dress from where it was wedged between
two other pink ones. We were waiting for the saleslady to come back with the dress Madison had
put on hold Saturday. "I tried it on but it made me look all washed out."
I looked at the dress. "I don't know, Madison," I said. "Pink?"
She put the dress back and came over to me. "You know what you have to do?" She stared
intensely into my eyes. "You have to picture yourself on prom night, okay?"
The saleslady came out from the back. "I'm sorry, dear, I just don't think we have the dress you're
describing."
From across the store, Jessica rolled her eyes at me and spun her finger next to her temple.
"Are you kidding?" asked Madison, turning to the woman. "I was just here Saturday."
The saleslady smiled vaguely. "Are you sure you have the right store? Because there are so
many--"
"Oh my god," said Madison, "can I just come back there and look?" Before the woman had a chance to answer, Madison had pushed past her, through the curtains and into the nether regions
of the store. I gave the saleslady a little shrug, and she smiled at me, fluttering her hands in the
air nervously.
"It's right here" said Madison, emerging from the back with a garment bag. "It's here."
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"Oh, yes!" said the saleslady. She clapped her hands together. "Now I remember. You're having it taken in."
"She's deciding whether to buy it," corrected Jessica.
"Of course," said the woman, moving toward Madison and taking the dress from her. "Just
follow me." She disappeared behind the curtains.
Madison came back to where I was standing. "Think about what I said. You have to picture it."
"Okay," I said. "I will."
She gave a little hop of excitement. "Just wait until you see my dress!" she squealed, turning
toward the dressing area. "It's amazing." Halfway to the curtain, she stopped and turned back to us. "But you have to swear you'll say if you hate it, okay? Be brutally honest." I placed my hand over my heart.
"Scout's honor," I said.
While Madison was in the back, Jessica and I plunged into the racks of dresses. Most were really
tacky--tulle, sequins, tulle and sequins, more tulle. The store's selection and Madison's reverence
for pink was starting to make me a little nervous about the dress she'd chosen. What if she
emerged from the dressing room looking like a Hostess cupcake? Just as I was about to ask
Jessica to define what Madison meant by "brutally honest," Madison stepped out from between
the curtains.
She looked like a movie star.
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"Oh my god, Madison! It's ... you're ... wow." The dress was claret silk, strapless, with a
sweetheart top and a tight bodice that ended in a full skirt. There was not so much as a speck of
tulle. The saleslady hurried over and expertly pinned up Madison's hair.
"Madison, you look amazing," said Jessica. "It's definitely my favorite."
Madison spun around "Don't I look thin?"
"Emaciated," I said.
"Basically, you're like the thinnest person on the planet," added Jessica.
"So should I get it?" she asked.
"Are you kidding?" I said. "Buy it immediately."
She did a little shimmy of excitement. "Okay, I'm going to," she said, checking herself out one
more time in the mirror and smiling at what she saw. Then she turned around and faced me.
"Jessica's got two dresses on hold at Kewpid," she said. "So you're next."
Madison made me sit down on a tiny love seat in the dressing area, close my eyes, and picture
the prom. She walked me through the whole night, starting with cocktails at her house, ending
with my romantic slow dance with Connor as we were crowned prom king and queen.
"Now," she said finally, "quick: what are you wearing?"
I opened my eyes and looked at her. "I'm sorry,
Madison," I said.
"Nothing?" I could tell she was really disappointed,
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so I closed my eyes for another minute. Then I opened them again and shook my head. "Sorry."
She sat down next to me, letting out a sigh. "Wow, I really thought it would work."
I patted her knee. "It's not your fault. I'm just not a very spiritual person." I wanted to sound reassuring, but suddenly I was fighting back panic. What if my inability to picture myself on
prom night was a sign? What if I spent every free minute between now and prom searching for a
dress, but I never found the right one? How can you be prom queen in jeans and a T-shirt?
Just then, Jessica poked her head through the curtains. "You guys aren't still trying that
visualization crap are you?"
"It's not crap," said Madison. "The Dalai Lama says--"
"When His Holiness gets a Vogue column, Lucy will take his fashion advice," said Jessica, stepping through the curtains. In her arms was a long, dark blue dress. "Until then she needs
more worldly assistance." Standing in front of me, she tossed the bottom part of the dress onto
my lap, stepping back so the whole thing unfolded between us.
"I don't know, Jessica," I said. Jessica's selection wasn't doing much to alleviate my growing
sense of panic. Even though I know a dress looks different on a person than on a hanger, I was
pretty sure I didn't need
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to see this particular dress on my particular person to know it was not the dress for me. The
bodice, which seemed to be made out of a heavy silk, was probably okay, but the skirt looked
like it had the potential to be extremely tacky. "Chiffon?"
"It's the new velvet," said Jessica. "Trust me."
I didn't want to be rude, but chiffon reminds me a whole lot of tulle. Were there sequins on it? I
took the hanger from Jessica while working on the wording of a polite refusal. Remembering
how passionately Jessica and Madison had fought for me to buy the red dress, I realized I'd have
to have more in my arsenal than, It's not quite my style. How about, I hate it because I look like a tacky whore}