Page 49 of An Irresistible Force (Vancouver Vice)

Amanda

Cynthia’s recommended stylist,April Cho, agreed to meet with me after work the next day for my fashion emergency. I got to the bar at the Four Seasons, and then realized that I had no idea what she looked like. There were a number of tiny chic Chinese women here, but none of them looked pregnant.

“Amanda?” A woman waved at me. She was the complete opposite of what I was expecting—tall, with blondish hair, and a very noticeable baby bump. I headed over and sank into the comfy chair across from her. She was wearing a multi-coloured striped knit dress with an oversized floral scarf in similar colours. Rust leather boots, gold jewelry and a sleek haircut completed her boho-gypsy-fashionista image. I wanted to look exactly like her—minus the pregnancy. But the fact that her style was so different from both Josephine’s and Cynthia’s made me realize that I was a fashion chameleon. I apparently imprinted on the last fashionable person I saw.

She smiled and offered me a cup of tea from the china pot on the table. “Is tea okay, or do you want something stronger?”

“No, tea is perfect. I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you. I thought you’d be Chinese.”

“I know. I get that all the time. I have both names on my business card.” She slid her card over to me. April Lachance Cho. Marketing and Sales, Cho Enterprises.

“So, you don’t really work as a stylist anymore?”

She shook her head. “Did Cynthia not explain that to you? I used to be one, but after I got married my husband roped me into his family business. It’s import/export, but now—” She patted her tummy. “I can’t fly, and I’ve been forced into a desk job. I need more to do, so this is perfect.”

“When are you due?”

“I have six weeks left. But because of the way I’m carrying, airlines have been panicking at the sight of me trying to board. And then, Ben—my husband—started freaking out when my blood pressure went up. So, I’m grounded. The nesting urge is in full force, and I’ve already redecorated most of our townhouse. The nursery is adorable. When Ben heard you wanted to hire me, he was ecstatic. ‘Go and spend someone else’s money for one day,’ he said.”

I laughed. April was a very genuine person, and I liked her. She began asking me about myself, telling me she wanted to get a sense of my personality before we went shopping. Answering all her questions was like doing a Cosmo quiz.

“Okay, Amanda, one last question. Before we get this gown, what’s your budget?”

“My budget? Well, it really doesn’t matter.”

Years ago, my father had laid out a complete budget for me, categorized in terms of clothing, rent, entertainment, etc. In all the years since, the only place I’d overspent was on travel. So, I figured I had reserves in the clothing category.

April squinted at me. “Really? So, if we saw the right dress, but it was $10,000, you wouldn’t blink?”

I laughed, then realized she wasn’t kidding. “It would have to be a really perfect dress for that price.”

“Still, you didn’t say no.” She fanned herself. “Oh my God. My dream as a stylist was always to hear those exact words coming out of a client’s mouth. How ironic that it’s happening now that I’m semi-retired. You have no idea how many people say they want to look exactly like me, but they only have $100. You can’t buy Rodarte at Winners. I can dress people on a budget, but it’s a lot more work. And quality always shows in the long run.”

My mother said things like that all the time, but it sounded better coming out of April’s lip-glossed mouth. She offered me the choice of staying right here in the hotel while she did some initial scouting, but I decided to come along with her.

“I don’t mind shopping,” I confessed. “It’s just that I’m so bad at it. I buy something because it looks good on the mannequin or the sales clerk says so, but then at home it never looks the same.”

She shrugged. “You don’t have to worry about that with me. I am known for my brutal honesty. Have you used a stylist before?”

“Kind of. My mother got one when they were called fashion consultants. I wore a uniform at school, and they used to buy my casual clothes. I may be the only person who opens her closet and expects to find new clothes hanging there.”

April squinted at my work clothes. I was wearing a navy pantsuit and white pinstriped shirt. “I’m pretty sure no stylist was involved in that outfit. In fact, it looks like you walked into a menswear store, bought a man’s suit, and got it slightly tailored.”

I blushed. “I thought it was a good idea. I read that men’s suits have better quality fabric and workmanship for the same price.”

She mimed an hourglass with her hands. “Uh, Biology 101: women have different bodies than men. Still, that tailor should have been fired. Proper fit should be their priority.”

“No, that was me. I don’t think that I should look too... feminine at work.”

She snorted. “I agree that sexy is not a good work look. But you’re a woman, and you look like you’re trying to be a man. If you like, we can get you work clothes too.” Her eyes lit up at the idea of that unlimited budget shopping.

I nodded, but first I’d have to see if she knew her stuff. Since we were already beside Pacific Centre, she outlined our plan of attack: Nordstrom’s, Holt’s, and then The Room at the Bay. If we didn’t find anything, she’d scout some boutiques on her own.

In the first dressing room, she pulled out a cloth tape measure and evaluated me in my undies.

“The decent body nobody knows you have under those clothes,” she muttered.

“Thank you, I think.”

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