Marcia Talley: The Last Refuge

As Jud took charge of the hanger, I fingered the fabric, imagining myself waltzing around in the gown, like Cinderella at the prince’s ball. After a moment, Alisha called my attention to the other garments on the rack. ‘This pale blue linen is for everyday wear, of course…’ She shoved it aside. ‘And this thing that looks like a nightgown is called a shift. Colonials wore them pretty much day and night.’

I thought about all the clothes in my closet at home – if I stopped shopping at Chico’s, the company would have to declare Chapter 11. ‘Only two dresses?’ I asked.

Alisha chuckled, tucked a stray strand of wiry brown hair back into the untidy knot at the back of her head. ‘Lord, no. The Donovans are supposed to be wealthy. If you sign on, you’ll have several more made during the course of the show, and your fancy ball gown, of course.’

I couldn’t think of anything more appropriate for a ball than the gorgeous gown she’d already showed me. ‘Ball?’

‘At the State House – the show finale. Every VIP in Annapolis will be attending it. The governor, the mayor, the superintendent of the Naval Academy, senators, congressmen. Your husband will be invited, too… you’ve got a husband?’

I nodded. ‘Will everyone be in costume?’

‘Of course. The ball is the climax of the show.’ Alisha stared dreamily up at the ceiling. ‘Candlelight, music, tables groaning with food.’ Suddenly she snapped out of it. She grabbed the hanger from Jud’s outstretched hand. ‘This is something special, all right. You gotta try it on.’

I stood rooted to the floor, mouth slightly ajar. ‘Are you making all the costumes?’

‘Just for the principals,’ Jud commented from behind me. ‘For the special events, we’ve arranged rentals from A.T. Jones up in Baltimore for the invited guests.’

‘Back here,’ Alisha ordered in a time-is-money sort of way, indicating the rear of the trailer with an impatient jerk of her head. She hustled me into a cubicle separated from the front of the trailer by a thin blue and white gingham curtain and, once I was inside, ordered me to strip. When I got down to my bra and panties, she waved an impatient hand. ‘Everything’s gotta come off, sweetie.’

‘Everything?’ I felt like I was back at the doctor’s office, preparing for my annual physical exam.

‘Well, you can keep the panties on for now,’ she relented, ‘although they didn’t wear panties back then, you know – but the bra’s got to go.’ I turned my back, unhooked, and slipped out of my bra. Although the reconstructive surgeon had worked wonders after the mastectomy that had separated me from my breast, it still wasn’t ready for prime time. Alisha, bless her, didn’t seem to notice, or care. She thrust the nightgown-like shift in my direction. ‘Put this on first.’

I slipped the garment over my head, smoothing the fabric down over my hips. Before I could even turn around, she wrapped a corset around my waist, adjusted it under my breasts and ordered me to stand still while she laced it up the back like an old-fashioned tennis shoe. ‘I feel like a sausage,’ I said, sucking in my gut as she tightened the laces.

Next came an under-petticoat that tied around my waist with a drawstring, followed by a delicately embroidered silk petticoat in the same soft peach as the gown.

I now saw that the gown itself was in two parts – an ankle-length robe, open at the front so the petticoat would show through, and a triangular-shaped piece that served as the bodice. ‘It’s called a stomacher,’ Alisha explained as she clapped it to my chest and pinned me into it. ‘And you’ll be wearing pocket hoops – sometimes called a farthingale – but we’re not going to bother with them now. There’s not enough room to swing a cat in here as it is. Shoes, too, but frankly, dancing slippers haven’t changed much in two hundred years. You could probably get away with Capezios from Zappo dot-com.’

Alisha seemed to be assuming that I’d already agreed to participate in the Patriot House, 1774 experience. I was simply trying on costumes, though, not committing myself to anything. ‘ If I sign on,’ I reminded her.

Alisha squinted at me, her head tilted, ignoring my remark, then drew the dressing-room curtain aside. ‘Take a look, Jud. Perfect fit. Don’t think we’ll need to do any alterations at all.’

Jud studied me critically. ‘Jesus, you take my breath away.’

I felt my face redden. Jud was young enough to be my son, but the compliment pleased me enormously. ‘Is there a mirror somewhere?’

Alisha tugged on a rolling clothes rack and when it gained momentum, wheeled it to one side, revealing a full-length mirror mounted on the inside of a door that led to a pocket toilet. ‘Who is that?’ I gasped when I saw my reflection.

I certainly wasn’t what anybody would call fat, but the woman in the mirror had a waist the size of a mayonnaise jar and – Oh. My. God! – a pair of round, plump breasts and a goodly amount of cleavage. I tucked my chin down for a closer view. ‘Wherever did those come from?’ I asked of nobody in particular.

‘You can thank the corset,’ Alisha replied. ‘Good for back support, too,’ she continued, flexing her knees in way of illustration. ‘You’ll probably be doing a lot of heavy lifting.’

‘Won’t there be servants for that?’ I mused, turning to check myself out in the mirror, back, front and sideways.

Jud and Alisha exchanged a knowing glance. ‘You’ve decided to do it then?’ Jud prodded.

I whirled around to face them, petticoats sweeping the dark green linoleum. ‘Not so fast, young man! I’ve got a million questions. I’m curious about the Donovans, for one thing. When Kat Donovan had to withdraw from the show, how come her family decided to stay? There’s no way that Paul would have left me to deal with my cancer treatments all alone.’

‘LynxE was set to send all of the Donovans packing and go with another family,’ Jud explained, ‘but it was Katherine Donovan herself who insisted that her husband and children be allowed to stay on.’

‘Why would LynxE agree to that?’ I asked.

‘It’s purely a practical matter,’ Jud explained. ‘The Donovans were halfway through the orientation, for one thing. For another, the wardrobe is a huge expense. We’d have to remake four sets of costumes, instead of just one. So, with the Donovan family’s full concurrence, we decided simply to replace Kat.’

‘But why me ?’ I asked as Alisha began to help me undress.

Jud shot me a crooked grin. ‘Lady of the House number two was a size fourteen, at least. As for Lady of the House number three? We would have had to use a shoehorn to get that woman into the dress that you’re wearing now. So that’s why we cooked up the sister-in-law scenario, and why I thought of you.’

‘Just like Cinderella. Her foot fit the glass slipper, and she got the prince. I fit the dress and if I want to, I get to be a television star.’

‘You’ll do it, then?’

Barefoot, stripped down to the shift, I stared at him for a moment, considering my options. Jud was still grinning boyishly, sucking up to me big-time, the rascal. ‘I like to think I’ll try anything once, but… gosh, Jud, I feel like a fish out of water. A beautifully dressed fish, to be sure…’

‘Tell me you’ll consider it seriously, Hannah.’

‘It’ll take a lot more than beautiful dresses and sweet talk, Jud. Do you have some sort of prospectus with details about the show? And I imagine there’s a contract you expect cast members to sign.’

‘If you have time to accompany me to the production room, I’ll see that you get a contract.’ He did an about-face, threw Alisha a kiss, and said, ‘Thanks, doll.’ Then, to me: ‘Get changed and we’ll tour the house. That should answer some of your questions. I’ll wait for you outside.’