Shopping for Love Read online

  “I guess there isn’t a ton of variety here,” she says, not meeting my eyes.

  “We can fix that. Do you work a lot?”

  “Yes, but I’m trying to work less. Blake and I both work for my father, and it’s been taking a toll on us lately.”

  “I can’t imagine working for my father,” I say, and it’s true, but only because I don’t know my father.

  I wonder what Blake’s wardrobe could look like. Do they both dress like this? “Maybe Blake would like some shopping pointers, too?”

  “No, Blake has style.” Caroline swallows and looks down at her feet. “He dresses nicely for work, but has his own style outside of work. That’s what I need.”

  “I understand that,” I say. “Shall we? I can drive.”

  Out on the street, Caroline appraises my ten-year-old Honda before getting in the passenger side. She brushes some lint off her skirt and fidgets in her seat. “Are you from Atlanta?” she asks.

  “Born and raised. You?”

  “Yep.”

  I pause, and then decide to continue the small talk. If I can learn more about who she is, it’ll be easier to tailor a wardrobe to her personal tastes. “Your aunt told me you’re twenty-five. I’m a year younger. Where did you go to school?”

  “Oh…” She waves her hand around vaguely. “I went to a bunch of private schools and then Dartmouth for college.”

  “Oh. Did you meet your boyfriend there?”

  She laughs nervously. “He went to art school in New York.” She nods her head dismissively. It’s strange how Caroline is a combination of insecurity and privilege. I can tell she’s holding something back about her boyfriend.

  “Art school? That’s really cool. My brother lives in New York. I can see the draw.”

  She shrugs. She’s not too talkative, this one.

  I continue. “So now your boyfriend works for your dad?”

  “My dad pays well.”

  “Ahh, I see.”

  And that’s that. The ride is silent once again. A few minutes before we arrive, I tell her, “So, we’re going to take you to my favorite vintage store in Little Five Points.”

  She seems to perk up. “I’ve never been down there…to Little Five Points.”

  How is that possible? Has she lived in Atlanta her whole life and never ventured to the East side, where the majority of people our age like to hang out? The restaurants, clubs, and stores in that area are like a rite of passage for people growing up in Atlanta. There’s energy and excitement there. I’m getting the picture that Caroline’s sheltered life is pretty much consumed by her father’s company and nothing else.

  “You’re gonna love Little Five Points. It’s really cool.” I turn the music up a little and notice that she’s bobbing her head to Band of Horses.

  “I like this,” she says. “I’m into the faster, harder stuff usually, but this is good.”

  I didn’t peg her for the faster, harder music lover, but I’ve learned in my line of work not to judge a book by its cover. And Caroline is already proving to be one of my most complex clients to date. Most of my clients are older and looking for someone to put together a wardrobe they have in mind, for a lifestyle they already have. That means a lot of “Bloomies.” I still love working with these women, but working with Caroline will be the challenge I’ve been waiting for. Essentially, I get to teach her how to dress like a young woman, and I get to share my own style influences with her. So, we’re going to hit the stores I shop at for myself.

  When we arrive at Rag-O-Rama, Caroline says, “Is this a secondhand store?” She scrunches up her nose.

  “It’s vintage,” I say. “There’s definitely some junk, but you can also find some really nice 50/50 vintage tees and cool belts and stuff like that. We can get you some denim somewhere else, but this is a good start to see what you’re attracted to.”

  She doesn’t move from her spot outside the store. “But people have already worn this stuff, right?”

  “Just come on.” I pull her by the hand.

  Inside the store, her eyes light up at a pair of knee-high, red vinyl boots on display.

  “Do you like those?”

  “No,” she says firmly.

  Okay, then.

  “Let’s look over here.” I move toward an accessory rack. “This leather purse is a steal. I think it’d be nice to add some brown leather to your black palette. And this belt is fantastic. Your fair skin and red hair would look amazing with a splash of color,” I say, pointing out its turquoise buckle. “We can edge it up with some distressed denim.”

  She starts to see where I’m going with everything. I grab a few pieces and throw them into a shopping basket, and then take her to the front counter where there are sunglasses on display.

  “Oh, I like those,” she says.

  “Very Audrey Hepburn. Glamorous. You should get them.”

  “Really?”

  “Absolutely. See? You do have it in you.”

  In less than an hour, her demeanor has already changed. “Where to now?” she asks with a smile.

  “Let’s go to American Apparel.”

  “Isn’t that place full of cheap stuff?”

  “It’s made in Los Angeles. It’s a great company. You can get some basics for your closet, some cute bodysuits and denim jackets. And then we can wrap it up at Madewell in Buckhead.”

  She looks away, embarrassed, and mumbles. “I don’t even know what that is.”

  “Oh, it’s kind of like a J.Crew. Where do you normally shop?”

  “Bloomingdale’s.”

  Just what I thought. “Well, Caroline, we are going to broaden your horizons today.”

  She laughs. “You’re funny, Hayden. And I love your style, the leather jacket with the floral scarf. I would never think to put that together.”

  “It’s all about taking risks.”

  We clear out American Apparel with Diana Crompton’s AMEX. Because when we called Diana earlier to ask how much was okay to spend, she told us, “Ladies…the possibilities are endless.” Amen to that.

  Chapter 3

  By five o’clock, we’ve built up quite an appetite, so we head to Vortex Bar and Grill. On the way, Caroline asks if we can pop into Criminal Records. When we walk in, it looks like she’s died and gone to heaven.

  “Have you ever been in a place like this?”

  “No. I get all my music online. My father forbids me from playing music at work so it’s my escape when I get home. Blake is really into music, too,” she says as she flips through a box of records. “Working for my dad actually puts a lot of stress on me.”

  My clients usually vent like this during our shopping trips. I think they feel close to me because I’ve picked out their clothes. It’s that closeness that makes me enjoy my job the most.

  “How is it stressful?”

  “My dad is just really controlling. He talked me into getting a business degree and working for him. He said I’d get to choose my own hours but I’m practically running the company now. I’ve gotten fifteen e-mails since I left the house this morning, and it’s a Saturday.”

  “Why don’t you get a job you’d like more and tell your dad that finance isn’t your thing?”

  Caroline looks shocked. “I couldn’t do that.”

  “Why not? I did. I dropped out of college my senior year because I felt like my soul was dying. I mean what would you want to do, if you had the choice?”

  “Work in a place like this, maybe.”

  “This place? A record store?”

  Quietly, she says, “Yeah…sort of.”

  “Then go ask for an application.”

  She looks over at the tall, long-haired guy working the counter. “Nah. I could never afford my condo on this kind of salary. Plus, my dad would disown me.”

  “Don’t take this the wrong way, Caroline, but your condo is kind of depressing. I have a loft one-eighth the size of your condo, and I’m really happy there. But that’s beside the point. Just go ask for a
n application. Even if you don’t apply, at least you had the courage to ask.”

  She rolls her eyes, revealing the snootiness I thought I might have detected earlier. “I’m slightly overqualified for this job, don’t you think?”

  “All right, rule number one if I’m going to be your stylist: You’ve got to drop the Entitled Miss Thing act. There is no such thing as being overqualified if it’s something you want to do.”

  She doesn’t laugh or smile. She seems to think about what I said. “Yeah. I guess. I’m sorry. The way I was brought up makes me think that way.”

  “So go. Ask for an application.”

  “I can’t. Look at me. No one would ever hire me here. I am deeply uncool.”

  “No, you’re not. Ask, seriously.”

  She squints her eyes at me and scowls. “I don’t think Auntie Diana’s paying you to needle me into doing something I don’t want to do.”

  I shrug as though I don’t have an answer for her. Because the truth is probably yes, this is exactly what Auntie is paying for. To make her do all the things she doesn’t want to do, to push her to grow and find herself.

  She meets my eyes with a resolute expression and marches over to the front counter. She says, “Hey…are you hiring? I have an extensive knowledge of music and eight thousand records at my house. I’d love to find out if there are any job opportunities here for someone like me.”

  Why did she have to say “someone like me”?

  I walk up to her and whisper, “Just ask for an application.”

  “May I please have an application?”

  The clerk’s eyes flit up and down her body. I watch Caroline cower a bit. “Yeah, sure,” he says. “The manager is here Monday through Friday from open to close. That’s the best time to drop it off.” Then he smiles.

  She grabs the paper from his hand and says, “Thank you very much.”

  I follow her as she scurries toward the exit. “Geez, it looked like you were auditioning to be the leading lady in a Brad Pitt film, you looked so scared out of your wits!”

  “I despise Brad Pitt.”

  “Really? You despise him?” Who despises Brad Pit!? She keeps walking ahead of me. “Wait, hold on,” I say as I grab her hand and spin her around. “Listen, I’m really proud of you. I’ve known you for less than one day and look how much you’ve accomplished. That took a lot of guts. I understand you feel a little out of your element, but you did great back there. And you have a lot going for you. How about we get a burger and a beer and talk about it?” I smile wide, attempting to goad her.

  She hesitates, then nods, and I’m glad. It’s time for me to do some ego boosting.

  We end up at Vortex Bar and Grill. I order us both Coronary Bypass burgers and twenty-two-ounce beers. She looks at the beers and burgers like they are the strangest things she’d ever seen.

  “They’re delicious, trust me,” I say. “After that day of shopping, I think we’ve both earned a treat.”

  “How am I supposed to even eat that?” She tilts her head down near the plate, inspecting every inch of the double burger like she’s afraid to touch it. “Is that a fried egg in there?”

  “Yes.” I say with conviction. “Just pick it up and take a bite. Wash it down with that deliciously refreshing pilsner I picked out for you.”

  “Do you eat like this all the time?” Caroline asks skeptically. She still hasn’t touched the burger.

  “No, otherwise I’d need an actual coronary bypass. But I don’t shy away from this stuff anymore. I was anorexic for six years. I don’t let myself go to that place again. So I’ll eat part of this tonight, maybe even treat myself to a little ice cream, and then during the week I’ll eat healthy again.”

  That gets her attention. She’s staring at me intently. “I’m sorry about your anorexia.”

  “It’s okay, it’s in the past.” I take a bite of my burger and she follows suit. As I chew the delicious food, I wonder, not for the first time, how my mother never noticed that her five-foot-five, seventeen-year-old daughter weighed eighty-eight pounds. I guess she was so busy working for the money to take care of us that she couldn’t actually take care of us.

  “Oh, my,” Caroline says with a dreamy expression on her face. “This burger…it’s like sex in my mouth. Wait…no. This is better than sex.”

  “I told you. Small pleasures, Caroline.”

  She eats about three-quarters of the Coronary Bypass, but drinks her entire beer before ordering a glass of wine. One glass, then two, and then three, all while she talks my ear off. Who knew she had it in her?

  “I’m so glad I met you, Hayden. I loved today. I feel liberated. I have to call Blake and tell him to come down and try one of these burgers. Will you wait with me until he gets here? Then he can drive me home and you don’t have to backtrack to Decatur.”

  “Of course,” I say. I’m curious to meet the guy. My mind goes to a distinct mental image—a plain guy wearing khakis and an argyle sweater vest. Maybe even an awkward comb-over. I instantly feel bad for the thought. After all, it’s poor Caroline’s wardrobe that’s lacking…not her. She’s quite pretty and pleasant, underneath the wall she’s put up. She’s been worked to death without any time for herself—I’m sure she just needs someone to prod her back to life and help her open up.

  As we wait, Caroline and I continue bonding. “You don’t have to answer this if it’s too personal, but how did your parents handle your anorexia?” she asks.

  “I don’t mind, but the answer is they didn’t. I don’t really have a dad. I mean I do…I just don’t know who he is.”

  I watch Caroline’s eyes grow to the size of small saucers.

  I went on. “He took off when I was a baby. And my mom was really busy working throughout my childhood, trying to provide for us.”

  Caroline shakes her head frantically. “Wow, so you don’t have a dad? I’m so sorry. I get it, well, sort of. It was hard growing up with my dad…he’s actually kind of a dick.” Caroline puts her hand up to her mouth, surprised she let that out. I guess the wine is helping her unload. “My mom gives in to whatever he wants. My aunt, the one you know, is the only member of my family that doesn’t put up with him.”

  I nod along as she talks until my eyes are suddenly drawn to the entrance and I notice a really hot guy walk in. God, my poor hormones.

  He’s the kind of guy I’ve always been attracted to. A full head of tousled brown hair, a hint of sideburns, long-sleeve flannel with tattoos peeking out at the wrists, a slim waist in black jeans, and tattered Converse to finish it off. Damn, if only he were wearing combat boots. But then again, it’s best he’s not, otherwise I’d probably turn into some kind of hormone-raging lunatic before scaling the booth and flying into his arms.

  “CC?” the guy calls out. He seems to be looking for someone.

  Caroline turns around and waves him over. “Blake, over here.” She looks at me and whispers jokingly, “I mean, seriously, how many redheads are there in this place?”

  This is Blake? I’m speechless.

  He walks up and Caroline introduces us before he slides into the booth. I reach out my hand and he shakes it. His mouth is moving but I can’t understand what he’s saying.

  “Huh?”

  “I said it’s nice to meet you,” he says with a genuine, beautiful smile as he looks directly into my eyes.

  “Likewise,” I squeak, barely able to catch my breath. Oh, boy.

  Chapter 4

  “So, Hayden, CC tells me you’re going to snazzy up her wardrobe?”

  Blake is sitting next to Caroline and they don’t seem to be touching, until he leans over and kisses her on the cheek. I’m watching them closely. Caroline doesn’t blush, but I do for some reason. She continues looking at me, barely acknowledging his gesture.

  “Yes, Blake, Caroline and I are definitely going to snazzy it up.” He’s playful, very different from Caroline. He drifts his arm over her shoulders. “How long have you two been together?” I ask.

&
nbsp; “Since high school,” Caroline says.

  “You went to high school together?”

  “No,” Blake answers. “I grew up in Montauk and—”

  “Blakey was a latch-key kid,” Caroline interjects.

  “Oh,” I say, surprised. So was I. “So how did you two meet, then?”

  “Well, I wasn’t exactly a latch-key kid. I had a single mom who had to work full-time to support us. And Caroline and I met because her family used to vacation in the Hamptons. I worked there during the summers.”

  “Oh, I see.” I wonder if Caroline realizes how similar mine and Blake’s childhoods were?

  “But you two don’t go to the Hamptons anymore during the summer?” I suddenly feel like I need to know everything about this couple. Why is Blake into Caroline? They seem very different from each other. Was this his way out of a working-class life?

  “No, we don’t go out there anymore,” he says abruptly, and pulls his arms away from Caroline. “I’m gonna grab a beer. You ladies need anything?” I wonder if I offended him.

  “I’m good,” I say, but Caroline asks for another glass of wine.

  “Hayden, if you want to have another drink, we can all get a car home together. One of us can bring you back down tomorrow,” Blake says.

  Caroline looks up at him, shocked. “You didn’t drive the Beamer down here?”

  “No,” he says, shooting her a guilty smile.

  “I am not riding on your death trap. For the love of God, Blake, I have a skirt on.”

  “I’m guessing you rode a motorcycle here?” I say.

  “A Triumph,” is how he answers. Of course it’s a Triumph. This guy is getting better by the second. I want to volunteer as tribute, like straight out of The Hunger Games, but I keep my mouth shut. Anyway, I’m still a bit baffled by Blake and Caroline’s relationship.

  “Sure, I’ll have a drink. We can all split an Uber, if you guys want,” I say, trying to make everyone happy.

  “I’m just gonna have one beer,” Blake says. “I can drive us all home in your car, Hayden? If that’s okay with you?” Before I can answer, he looks to Caroline and says, “I’ll just leave my bike at Charlie’s and run back down here.”