Page 92 of This Time Around
She led the way down the mall corridor and through the doors of Nordstrom. They rode the escalator up, talking more comfortably now than they had an hour ago. As Allie stepped up to the lingerie counter, Paige did likewise, standing on tiptoe so she could lean forward on her elbows.
Behind the counter, a woman in a starched white shirt and navy pencil skirt stood with her back to them, sorting through a pile of lacy pushup bras. Allie slid her keys from her purse and put them back again, hoping the small jingle would catch the woman’s attention.
Nothing.
She cleared her throat. Still nothing. She glanced at the little gold bell next to the cash register, but felt rude ringing it like she was summoning a butler.
“Hi, there,” she tried at last.
The woman spun around, flipping her glasses off her face and onto the counter in front of them. Paige stared at them.
“Sorry to startle you,” Allie said. “We have an appointment with Eleanor for a bra fitting.”
“Éléonore,” the woman corrected, snatching the spectacles off the counter and situating them on her nose once more. “Not Eleanor, Éléonore. It’s French.”
“Right,” Allie said, glancing down as Paige took a step closer and gave Allie a skeptical look. “We have a four-thirty appointment with Éléonore.”
“I am Éléonore,” she announced the way someone might declare herself to be the Queen of England. “And you are?”
“Allie. Allison Ross. And this is Paige Carpenter. We have an appointment to be measured for a?—”
“Brassiere?”
She pronounced it with a heavy French accent, even though the rest of her speech—save her name—was perfectly American. It took Allie a moment to figure out what she was saying.
“A brassiere,” Allie repeated. “Right. We need proper measurements for a brassiere.”
She felt ridiculous pronouncing it in her own fake French accent, but Éléonore seemed satisfied with the request. She eyed Allie up and down and made a little tsk-tsk noise. “Yes, I can see you need a little help.”
Allie frowned and resisted the urge to cross her arms over her chest. “The fitting isn’t for me. It’s for my—for—for Paige here.”
Paige gave a small giggle and stepped on Allie’s toe. Allie fought to keep a straight face as Éléonore shifted her attention to Paige. She peered at the girl over the top of her glasses, frowning.
“I see,” said Éléonore. “How old are you, Paige?”
“Ten,” Paige replied, glancing at Allie. “I’m ten, but I’ll be eleven in June.”
“Hmmm,” Éléonore replied, now eyeing Paige. “And I suppose this is your first brassiere?”
Paige glanced at Allie, then back at Éléonore. “Um, I think so?”
“I’m going to be taking a lot of measurements today,” Éléonore continued. “I trust you are comfortable with this?”
“Well, sure,” Paige replied. “Are your hands cold?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“My friend, Emma, said when she went to get her bra, the lady had really cold hands. So I was just wondering if your hands were warm or cold.”
“Here,” Allie offered, thrusting her paper mug of tea into Éléonore’s hands before the woman could object. “This might help.”
Éléonore scowled, but didn’t set the cup down, so Allie considered it a win. The woman looked back at Paige, still assessing.
“A good brassiere is like a fine Bordeaux,” Éléonore said. “It’s well-structured, elegant, and supremely smooth.”
Allie gritted her teeth, wondering if she should have just taken Paige to Victoria’s Secret. At least there they had some cute things, and they wouldn’t be subjected to the palpable disdain of Éléonore. Clearly the woman was going out of her way to use words Paige couldn’t possibly know, and that pissed Allie off.
But Paige just smiled and tossed her braid over her shoulder. “A good Bordeaux has notes of chocolate cupcake and Colgate toothpaste,” she announced. “Do you have any bras with those things?”
