Clothes - a short story by Florence Liberfarb...

To hear Vivian tell it, a beautiful wardrobe was something she was born with. Not that the family was rich and not that they were poor, either, with her father and Uncle Eddie in the women’s ready-to-wear business.

When exactly she became fashion-minded she couldn’t say, except that her mother had told her that when she was only six months old she would not let her mother dress her in a gray playsuit, but kept edging toward a yellow one instead.

As a child, playing dress-ups was a favorite game, with cast-offs from aunts. Silver sequined gowns and fur-trimmed negligees made her very popular with her playmates.

Vivian grew up in what could be called a happy home. There was one crisis, however, she recalled. It was the time Uncle Eddie threatened to leave the business and go off with the bookkeeper, a non-believer. Her father begged and actually cried too, please wait, at least until they got the spring line out. Uncle Eddie agreed and that was the end of the bookkeeper.

The first time Vivian met Donald she was wearing a soft wool suit of pale taupe, trimmed with gold buttons. Somehow it matched her hazel eyes, which were flecked with yellow. Donald loved that suit and the way it fit her.

When they got married, Vivian’s wedding dress was one of a kind, made of delicate lace, embedded with seed pearls and imported from Paris.

“Too bad it can only be worn once,” her mother’s least favorite cousin, Ethel, remarked during a fitting.

“What are you trying to do? Put ideas in my Vivy’s head?” her mother asked.

As it happened, she had worn it only once. But now that their marriage was ending, even if there was to be another wedding for Vivian, it wouldn’t be in that size eight Paris gown.

Sad as the prospect of a divorce was, she had to admit that life up to now had been kind to her. Most of those years together with Donald were good ones, joyous even, in the beginning. They had three wonderful children and, as a family, were always well dressed.

Shopping occupied a high priority in her life. She discovered long ago that the right choices could make her feel beautiful, even if she was having a bad mirror day. She saw that reflected in the eyes of her friends, people she knew, even strangers as they took that quick, second lingering glance at her.

She had passed this appreciation on to her kids, much to Donald’s annoyance. However, as time went by and their financial status improved, he too, began taking pleasure in what the right attire could do for him. In hindsight, Vivian wondered if maybe it was a mistake to encourage him to always look so elegant.

This morning after the final papers were signed she awoke with a new reality dawning. She tried to tell herself that it was just another day. The sun was shining. She felt pretty food for her age. So why couldn’t she get out of bed? Wasn’t it, after all, inevitable that she and Donald would end up like this? And once the proceedings began, no matter how they had started out, there was no way to stop it. The divorce took on a life of its own – both of them swept up in a tide of hostility too powerful to change course.

Her body felt limp and heavy. Tears began to roll down her cheeks coming from a part of her where reason didn’t reach.

“Cry, cry, my darling. You’ll feel better.”

It was her mother’s voice. Always when she needed her, she was there. She wiped her eyes and looked about the master bedroom. Lovely things in every direction. Her closed door was open. A perfect harmony of colors hung there. Soft peach, shades of yellow, pinks, neutrals, geometric prints and romantic florals. And the textures – cool linens, shimmering silks and soft brushed cottons that fell like a caress on her skin.

The pale green lined suit caught her eye. Light as a feather it was and fit with a subtle cling. Where was the blouse that went with it? A shade darker with a small white bird. What happened to it? Was it the cleaning lady? She leaped out of bed. No.

There it was, hiding behind the fawn satin one. She hugged it to her.

Suddenly she felt and irresistible urge to wear that green linen suit. She opened the blinds. It was sunny, naturally, with a frisky breeze whipping against the palm trees outside the windows.

“A perfect day. I’ll call Leah. We’ll start off with brunch at the Hyatt.”

In the shower Vivian began to hum Singing in the Rain. Soon the words tumbled out. She remembered every one. “I’m singing…singing…”

Florence Liberfarb writes poetry, short stories and plays. You may freely republish this story for non-commercial use provided you follow the Publisher Guidelines and provide a hyperlink (electronic media) to the Wordly Web Site. You may not alter the copyright notice or edit the content of this story. Please notify the author of your intent to republish. Commercial use of this story requires written permission and payment of a royalty.

Clothes by Florence Liberfarb

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Poems, Stories, and Plays by

Florence Liberfarb