Page 33 of The Marriage Pact
Kaitlyn wasn’t sure how to say no. It was hardly browsing, and as for the cost…
“I suppose I’ll probably need a shawl of some kind. Just for my shoulders,” she ventured, but the assistant shook her head.
“We’re all about that sense of hygge this season, cozy but flowing. Cardigans. I know what it sounds like, but trust me. You’re going to love these.”
Kaitlyn was trying hard not to laugh. It was all so ridiculous, and yet it was also deadly serious. This was yet another aspect of the new world she’d come to inhabit, a world where the occupants had so much money that this extraordinary spectacle could be maintained for their benefit. The models now appeared once again, wearing the sort of things Kaitlyn was sure she’d packed away in the loft at her mom’s house after she’d died — a succession of cardigans in different shades and shapes.
“Are you sure about this?” Kaitlyn asked.
The assistant, who must have been around the same age as Kaitlyn and was far more glamorously dressed, raised her eyebrows.
“It’s the talk of the season,” she said.
Whose talk, and where such dictates emerged from, Kaitlyn wasn’t sure. Who decided on such things? Fashion — in so many spheres — seemed to be a means by which ordinary people were made to feel inadequate. The psychology behind it was extraordinary, but the assistant was demanding answers.
“I like that one,” Kaitlyn said, for she really didn’t have anything else to say. They were just cardigans.
The assistant tutted. “Upbuilding,” she said, and it seemed that was enough to negate Kaitlyn’s choice.
If Kaitlyn had believed she was the customer, it seemed she was wrong. Far from choosing her own outfit, it seemed she’d stepped into an experience in which what she wore would bedetermined by what the trends were, thus perpetuating those trends, until someone decided those trends were going to change. Further parts to the “upbuilding” were paraded — a dress, a handbag, silk gloves, and more cardigans — all in fawn and mauve. Eventually, the outfit was chosen.So much for the other stores…
“I’ll have all this delivered, please,” Kaitlyn said. “And put it on the account of Lancaster Holdings. That’s my partner’s firm.”
The assistant nodded. “I’ll see to everything,” she replied.
There had still been no mention of price.
“The… the charge?” Kaitlyn ventured.
The assistant smiled. “Fifty-five hundred dollars,” she said, not batting an eyelid as she spoke.
Kaitlyn almost choked. But knowing it didn’t matter, that Alex wanted her to spend the money, she nodded.
“Thank you,” she replied. “You’ve been so helpful.”
Back in the car, Kaitlyn felt slightly ill. It was an obscene amount of money to spend on an outfit — to spend on anything so flippant.Oneoutfit…
“To the next store, ma’am?” Stephen asked, obviously forgetting their earlier conversation.
“No. I think I’ve had enough for today. I’d like to go to a café somewhere, please. It doesn’t have to be expensive,” Kaitlyn replied.
She was thinking about all the things fifty-five hundred dollars would’ve bought her in her old life: several months’ rent, half a year’s grocery bills, a down payment on a car. It was awful.The car purred through the streets. There were people sitting begging on the corners of the blocks or accosting passersby for money.
Think of all the good that money could do. And what did I spend it on? A cardigan I didn’t even like.
Kaitlyn felt angry with herself for allowing the whole thing to get so out of control. She should’ve gone to the thrift store and picked something she actually liked. The fashionistas could write what they wanted about her. But the deed was done, the outfit was bought, and the card was charged. Alex wouldn’t mind. He made fifty-five hundred dollars while sleeping…
“Shall I pull in here? There’s a café just opposite,” Stephen said, glancing in the rearview mirror.
Kaitlyn nodded. “Thank you.”
The café was a welcome relief from the intensity of the store. Here, no one accosted her, and she ordered a black coffee and a pastry to eat in. Sitting in the window, she scrolled through her phone, her finger hovering over Rachel’s number. Wanting someone to talk to, she pressedcall, wondering if her friend would answer.
“We’re just going down for breakfast,” Rachel said, for Kaitlyn had forgotten California was three hours behind.
“Can you talk?” Kaitlyn asked.
“What’s wrong? Have you run out of money?” Rachel replied, sardonically, though there was a sympathetic note in her tone.
