Page 4 of Hidden Gem
Chapter 3
Marnie blinked at thesight of her name on a small backboard held by a terrifyingly gorgeous woman. She reminded her of Nigella Lawson, all luscious curves in a terracotta wrap dress. Even under the yellow fluorescent lighting of the Wellington train terminal, she looked like she’d just set down her spatula and stepped off the TV set.
Marnie gave a shy wave, pointing at the blackboard. “That’s me.”
Afraid of exorbitant parking costs, she’d left her car outside of town and taken the train. The stylist, Luna Bella, had agreed to meet her at the station. Marnie had winced when she’d heard the name, wondering what kind of social media personality she was dealing with.
“Marnie! Welcome to Wellington!” Luna wiggled the blackboard into her leather handbag and hooked arms with Marnie like they were besties. “I take it’s not your first time in Wellington. Tom told me a bit about you, but you can fill me in on the rest as we walk.”
“Okay. What do you want to know? Like ... measurements?” How hard was it to find one dress? It was ten in the morning, exactly ten hours until the event.
Luna’s laugh echoed in the tunnel. “Ha! I measure with my eyes!” She nodded graciously at a young man who held the door for them as they stepped out of the station. “First things first. Have you had breakfast? If not, I know a great place.”
“I’m fine.” Marnie had gobbled a sandwich on the train to make sure she didn’t faint during the shopping trip. As soon as she had the dress, she’d check into the hotel and lie in bed watching TV until it was gala time. She didn’t want to extend the stylist experience with any unnecessary cafe trips. She had to save her strength for tonight.
The sun hid behind a light layer of clouds, but Luna covered her face with oversized sunglasses. “Fine isn’t good enough. Let’s get some champagne.” She looked like a movie star. A movie star escorting an elderly relative.
Marnie glanced at her wrinkled tunic and stretchy jeans paired with comfortable walking sandals. When had she become like this? It was easy to forget about appearances when you lived in Hamilton. If New Zealand was laid back, Hamilton was a pyjama party of 165,000 largely overweight people. No wonder she felt out of her depth in Wellington where lithe, stylish young people roamed the streets on electric scooters. She couldn’t hide behind the wheel of her station wagon. The tree-lined square outside the station stretched out like a catwalk.
Submitting to Luna’s lead, Marnie followed, hoping the champagne was somewhere close. Her feet ached and she longed to hide away, preferably in a corner of a dimly lit restaurant.
To Marnie’s relief, Luna led her to a historic stone building and opened a heavy oak door into a restaurant with moody lighting. The place had been restored to its early settler glory with an abundance of kauri wood and chandeliers. The smell of burnt oregano lingered in the air, and Billy Joel crooned softly in the background. Marnie took a seat and relaxed, happy to tuck her unfashionable footwear under the table.
She smiled at Luna. “I do need help. I haven’t really paid attention to myself. Not for a while. Maybe ever. I married young and stayed home with the kids. Steve travelled, so he needed a wardrobe. I didn’t. Even after the divorce... anyway, I don’t want to embarrass Tom, this is so important to him. And I think there might be someone taking photos.”
“There will be,” Luna confirmed, gesturing at the waiter. “Two glasses of Dom Pérignon, please.”
The young waiter nodded and swirled around to fill the order. There was a look of recognition on his face, a hint of caution.
Luna squared herself to face Marnie, her perfectly made-up green eyes studying her latest client. “How would you describe yourself?”
Marnie’s mouth fell open as her brain searched for words. “I’m ... Marnie. I work at a community centre in Hamilton. I have two kids. I ... I ... write books, as a hobby. I—”
“No! I mean your style, looks, essence. What vibe are you going for? Sexy? Quirky? Cosy?”
Marnie looked down her loose top. Surely the stylist could see she wasn’t going for sexy. There was nothing intentional about the way she dressed, other than her desire for comfort and reluctance to spend money on clothing.
“Cosy,” she finally whispered. “If those are the choices.”
Luna laughed. “The choices are unlimited. But you need to know what you want to communicate to be able to say it, right?”
“You mean with my clothes?”
“And your hair, accessories, how you carry yourself. Everything you present to the world before you open your mouth and speak. It all tells a story, whether you do it intentionally or not.”
Marnie shuddered. “So, what am I saying?” She looked down at her outfit again, then raised her eyes to Luna, bracing herself.
Luna peered into her eyes, refusing to even glance at her clothing. “What do you think?”
“That I’m a sad, middle-aged woman who gave up a long time ago?” She tried to smile, fiddling with the sugar container.
