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Authors: Roz Denny Fox
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she kept a supply for taking dishes to church socials or family potlucks. Straightening, she began loading the pan with the oatmeal cookies.
Tension thickened the air until suddenly Rianne bounded back into the room. “Daddy, come see,” she said excitedly. “Sylvie’s got a whole room full of headless people, like at Dillard’s ’partment store. They’re all wearing beautiful dresses like I want for my Princess Barbie. There’s even some dresses for kids.”
The cover Sylvie started to snap over the cookie tin shot off and clattered to the counter. “Headless people!” She laughed. “Rianne, you had both of us going there for a minute. She’s seen my dress forms,” she explained to Joel. “I sewed gowns for an entire wedding party.” Managing at last to get the lid on the container, she handed it to him.
“Rianne, honey,” she murmured. “Something you’ll learn about men—it’s a rare one who can work up any enthusiasm for a dress. Unless,” she added with a wink at Joel, “we’re talking about the skimpy outfits worn by pro-football cheerleaders.”
“You wouldn’t be tarring all of us with the same brush, would you?” Joel drawled, refusing to be intimidated.
“Definitely.” Sylvie’seyebrow spiked up.
“I suppose I’m guilty as charged,” Joel said. “But I’m striving to become a more enlightened male,” he said, grabbing his daughter’s hand. “Let’s go see those dresses, shall we, snooks?”
When he moved past Sylvie, she couldn’t resist one last verbal jab. “Granted, it’s not only cheerleader apparel that catches men’s eyes. I forgot about the Sports Illustrated swimsuit edition, and Victoria’s Secret catalogues.”
Rianne tugged her father into the sewing room door, prattling nonstop. Joel stopped at the threshold.
Sylvie hung back, really not expecting him to comment. At first he remained silent, then she heard him utter a long, low whistle. “I may not know a damn thing about women’s fashion,” he said, “but I know a professional job when I see one. Mind if I ask why you bury your talent in a backwater like this? You could make a mint in Atlanta—or New York, for that matter.”
He couldn’t have hurt her more.
“If it’s a matter of contacts,” he said offhandedly, “I may have a few.”
“It’s not…I don’t need contacts,” Sylvie said quickly, trying to usher them out of room so she could shut the door. After all, she’d had a contact and the relationship had ended with her career in shambles.
“If working in Atlanta is so fabulous, why did you move to Briarwood?” she asked coolly.
“My reasons are personal.” Joel stiffened, leaving a decided chill hanging between them.
“Exactly.” Sylvie pursed her lips. “As you said a minute ago, it’s getting late.” She looked pointedly at her watch. “Don’t let me keep you from more important things,” she said, opening her front door.
“Bye, Sylvie,” Rianne called over one shoulder as her father urged her gently down the hall and out the door. “Can I come back another day and watch you sew those pretty dresses?”
Sylviedidn’t have it in her to crush any child’s hopeful expression. Not even if that girl’s father happened to have stumbled on to something she felt so sensitive about. “Sure, Rianne. You’re welcome to come here whenever you want. Bring your Barbie doll. I’ll make her a new dress. Or you can pick a pattern and we’ll sew one for you.”
“Really?” Rianne’s thin voice rose.
“That’s not necessary,” Joel snapped. “Thanks all the same, but I can dress my daughter fine all by myself.” The door slammed.
Sylvie detoured into the kitchen to pack the cookies for Sunday.
Later, she cried over a glass of white wine as she sat on her bed and stared at the covered wedding gown. She couldn’t help it. She did envy the loving relationships her sisters had, envied Dory her kids, and Carline’s burgeoning belly. Even Kay had David now, a
Tension thickened the air until suddenly Rianne bounded back into the room. “Daddy, come see,” she said excitedly. “Sylvie’s got a whole room full of headless people, like at Dillard’s ’partment store. They’re all wearing beautiful dresses like I want for my Princess Barbie. There’s even some dresses for kids.”
The cover Sylvie started to snap over the cookie tin shot off and clattered to the counter. “Headless people!” She laughed. “Rianne, you had both of us going there for a minute. She’s seen my dress forms,” she explained to Joel. “I sewed gowns for an entire wedding party.” Managing at last to get the lid on the container, she handed it to him.
“Rianne, honey,” she murmured. “Something you’ll learn about men—it’s a rare one who can work up any enthusiasm for a dress. Unless,” she added with a wink at Joel, “we’re talking about the skimpy outfits worn by pro-football cheerleaders.”
“You wouldn’t be tarring all of us with the same brush, would you?” Joel drawled, refusing to be intimidated.
“Definitely.” Sylvie’seyebrow spiked up.
“I suppose I’m guilty as charged,” Joel said. “But I’m striving to become a more enlightened male,” he said, grabbing his daughter’s hand. “Let’s go see those dresses, shall we, snooks?”
When he moved past Sylvie, she couldn’t resist one last verbal jab. “Granted, it’s not only cheerleader apparel that catches men’s eyes. I forgot about the Sports Illustrated swimsuit edition, and Victoria’s Secret catalogues.”
Rianne tugged her father into the sewing room door, prattling nonstop. Joel stopped at the threshold.
Sylvie hung back, really not expecting him to comment. At first he remained silent, then she heard him utter a long, low whistle. “I may not know a damn thing about women’s fashion,” he said, “but I know a professional job when I see one. Mind if I ask why you bury your talent in a backwater like this? You could make a mint in Atlanta—or New York, for that matter.”
He couldn’t have hurt her more.
“If it’s a matter of contacts,” he said offhandedly, “I may have a few.”
“It’s not…I don’t need contacts,” Sylvie said quickly, trying to usher them out of room so she could shut the door. After all, she’d had a contact and the relationship had ended with her career in shambles.
“If working in Atlanta is so fabulous, why did you move to Briarwood?” she asked coolly.
“My reasons are personal.” Joel stiffened, leaving a decided chill hanging between them.
“Exactly.” Sylvie pursed her lips. “As you said a minute ago, it’s getting late.” She looked pointedly at her watch. “Don’t let me keep you from more important things,” she said, opening her front door.
“Bye, Sylvie,” Rianne called over one shoulder as her father urged her gently down the hall and out the door. “Can I come back another day and watch you sew those pretty dresses?”
Sylviedidn’t have it in her to crush any child’s hopeful expression. Not even if that girl’s father happened to have stumbled on to something she felt so sensitive about. “Sure, Rianne. You’re welcome to come here whenever you want. Bring your Barbie doll. I’ll make her a new dress. Or you can pick a pattern and we’ll sew one for you.”
“Really?” Rianne’s thin voice rose.
“That’s not necessary,” Joel snapped. “Thanks all the same, but I can dress my daughter fine all by myself.” The door slammed.
Sylvie detoured into the kitchen to pack the cookies for Sunday.
Later, she cried over a glass of white wine as she sat on her bed and stared at the covered wedding gown. She couldn’t help it. She did envy the loving relationships her sisters had, envied Dory her kids, and Carline’s burgeoning belly. Even Kay had David now, a
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