Beatriz Takes the Runway
“Of course,” Phoebe said.
Beatriz turned to Andrew. “Is the lady you want me to see available now?”
“Yes!” he said. “She can’t wait to meet you.” Carrying two brownies in a paper towel, he opened the kitchen door to the side-yard stairs with his other hand. “Thanks for the dessert, Brittainy—and thanks for dinner, too, Phoebe.”
“You’re welcome,” the two women replied.
“Have a brownie,” Andrew said to Beatriz as he gestured for her to proceed him. “We won’t be out too late,” he called to Phoebe as he started down the stairs.
“Take your time,” she replied, “I’ve got some reading to do.” In addition to the article Frances Jane had emailed her that morning, she was curious about the new translation of Anna Karenina she’d found last week at Relief Reprise.
“’Sorry I can’t be with you all tonight,” she told the half dozen students who had by that time squeezed into the kitchen, “but I told Beatriz I’d stay with her children until she gets back.”
“No problem,” said Stephanie with a wink. “We’ve got this.” A bespectacled Black woman, she was built like a gymnast, compact and lithe. Although she was majoring in accounting, Stephanie was already licensed to preach in her Hampton Roads home congregation and often led the Thursday night discussions.
While the sounds of laughter and then more serious conversation wafted down the basement stairs to Beatriz’ apartment, Phoebe nevertheless found its sitting area peaceful. She settled into the tan-and-brown-plaid easy chair Thomas and Ruth had provided when she herself had lived there, noticing once again that it was really more comfortable than the relatively newer chairs in her living room upstairs. The sitting area was furnished simply: the chair and coordinating sofa, an oak coffee table, reading lamps by the chair and one end of the sofa. The kitchenette’s avocado appliances and pine table and chairs were second- or even third-hand. Beatriz, however, had pronounced the apartment “un palacio” when she’d entered for the first time, and her touches had brightened it. She’d matted the children’s finger paintings in thrift-store frames and arranged them on one wall, and vermillion geraniums glowed from a cobalt-colored planter under the window over the kitchenette sink.
Phoebe checked on the children as soon as she’d finished reading the pastoral-visits article. She pulled the light blanket over Rafael in the top bunk and then knelt to stroke Irene’s dark curls. The girl was sleeping with her thumb in her mouth. “May the Lord bless you and keep you tonight!” she whispered to each of them.
She had herself dozed off by the time Beatriz and Andrew returned. The slam of car doors woke her, and then she heard soft laughter as the two made their way around the side of the house. The Bible study must have ended some time earlier, for the space upstairs was silent. The basement screen door squeaked open, and then Beatriz entered with Andrew close behind. Phoebe observed that each was carrying a lidded paper cup.
“Please forgive me,” Beatriz implored. “I stayed too late.”
“No, you didn’t,” Phoebe assured her. “The children slept the entire time, and I got some reading done. A little napping, too,” she confided, chuckling as she stood and picked up her fat paperback, splayed open on a chair arm, and marked her place with the article print-out.
“It’s all my fault,” Andrew apologized. “Cora took some time to coach Beatriz on runway movement, but I shouldn’t have persuaded her afterward that those brownies we’d eaten on the way over deserved a milkshake chaser.”
“Did the milkshakes come before or after the fitting?” Phoebe inquired. “Brownies and milkshakes might make Beatriz’s ensemble a bit snug.”
“After,” Andrew said, “ and only one brownie and one milkshake for each of us.” His eyes lit up. “You should see Beatriz’ dress. Cora found something much better for her than the pantsuit Sylvia was going to wear.” He smiled at Beatriz. “She looks like a million bucks.”
“Well, I will see her,” Phoebe said, “tomorrow night, and I hope the fundraiser pulls in a million bucks.” Then, concerned, she asked, “Are there any tickets left?”
“Oh, sure,” Andrew assured her. “I might comp you one, to say thanks for helping out tonight.”
“No, I’ll pay,” she insisted, “I want to support the cause, after all.” Then she glanced at her watch. “Andrew, do you realize what time Beatriz has to be at work in the morning?” Then she laughed. “Pretend I didn’t say that. You’re both adults.” She headed toward the stairwell to her own kitchen.
Beatriz rushed to hug her. “Thank you so much, Phoebe.” Her eyes were sparkling. “I’m glad that Rachel can stay tomorrow night so you can come with me. We’ll have fun.”
“We certainly will!” Phoebe agreed. “Now good night to you both.”
“Good night,” Andrew said, “and thanks again to you both.” Waving his empty cup at them, he exited through the screen door before Phoebe had even climbed the first stair.
The fundraiser’s proceeds exceeded any in its eleven-year history. Ticket sales had been excellent; in fact, Andrew had to squeeze an extra chair around one of the SSLC main dining room’s tables to accommodate Phoebe as a last-minute guest. Shampoo and conditioner sales, however, were this year’s new element, and the products’ popularity surpassed even Andrew’s high hopes. His stock disappeared soon after the fashion show ended, and some purchasers were visibly disappointed about having to wait for a shipment. “They’ll be here by the end of next week,” he promised.
Most of the models had benefited from Andrew’s professional attention before the show. He and Linda been able to work in shampoos and styles, having informed the SSLC receptionists weeks earlier that they would only be honoring standing appointments that day. Beatriz had been his final client, rushing in after work. Her hair was still damp from her post-work-shift shower, but Andrew still asked Linda to use Sexy Sterling products on her “so we’re not guilty of false advertising.” Having left her own work early to fetch Beatriz, Phoebe sat in one of the dryer chairs and watched her tenant’s transformation. She thought she could see Beatriz relaxing as Linda shampooed her hair and then further as Andrew trimmed it carefully and blew it dry. Linda then administered what she called an “express mani,” followed by Andrew’s application of make-up. Beatriz’ silver nail polish had barely set when Cora rushed in, carrying a midnight-blue sequined cocktail dress. Cora herself looked runway-ready, wearing a smart black A-line dress and a single strand of pearls. Phoebe noticed that her glasses even had a pearl set into each corner where the earpiece met the frame. Although she was a few months older than Phoebe, Cora wore her honey-blonde hair in a youthful asymmetrical cut. She was practically bouncing with excitement but paused long enough to hug Phoebe and shake Beatriz’ hand.
“Can you believe that someone actually donated this little number?” she asked, lifting the garment on its padded hanger. “The original sales tag was still on it,” she marveled, her brown eyes sparkling. Beatriz followed her down the hall to change in the SSLC’s fitness center locker room, calling her thanks to Linda and Andrew on the way out.
“Help her get that dress on!” Linda called to Cora. “Her nails might smudge!”
Phoebe waited for Linda to sweep and for Andrew to start a load of laundry before hurrying with them to the dining room, where most of the guests had already claimed spots marked with place-cards.
The meal—beef burgundy, grilled asparagus, and potatoes escallopine—was the fanciest Phoebe had seen the SSLC staff serve, and the program afterward was fascinating. She left her raspberry mousse untouched, watching in amazement as eight or so women, most of whom she knew fairly well, preened and pirouetted in a series of get-ups. Under these circumstances, even Cora seemed almost a stranger to her.
Beatriz was the most striking. Phoebe supposed she was biased, but she thought Beatriz looked as glamorous as the women in the fashion magazines Andrew’s clients studied from under his hooded hair-dyers. While most of the models made several appearances in the show, Beatriz modeled only the one garment at the show’s end. Her dress claimed the highest price in the auction, and Andrew said several of the people who bought shampoo sought assurance that it would leave them looking like “that exotic brunette.” Beatriz just laughed when Andrew recounted those exchanges after everyone else had left. Back in jeans and a sweatshirt but still wearing smoky eyeshadow and several coats of mascara, she didn’t look quite herself. She smothered a yawn, prompting Phoebe to tell Andrew that they needed to leave. Clearly, adrenaline was still coursing in his veins. He’d mentioned once that he’d frequented clubs in L.A.; adopting the SSLC’s salon schedule might have been his toughest adjustment to life back in the Valley.
“Get some sleep,” he directed them. “Beatriz, could I come by tomorrow around 2 to take you and the kids on that promised spin? Phoebe, you come, too. It’s supposed to be sunny, so we can put the top down and drive up to Swifton. The leaves are further along up there.”
“Are you sure you can fit two boosters in your back seat?” Phoebe asked skeptically.
“It’ll be tough,” Andrew acknowledged, “but I’m pretty good with spatial relations. It’s part of my job, you know.” He smiled.
Phoebe shook her head. “’Sounds like fun, but you definitely won’t have room for me. Besides, I should probably spend some extra time with Dorcas tomorrow, and if the weather’s as good as you’re predicting, I might be able to get one of the Bible study girls to play tennis.”
“What do you say, Beatriz?” Andrew asked.
“Sure,” she agreed. “But please come later, after Irene’s nap. Maybe 3:30? Rafael will be so happy. He asked at breakfast if you would remember.”
“Oh, I remember,” Andrew assured her. “Okay, then—you two get going. Phoebe’s carriage may turn into a pumpkin any minute.”
Beatriz fell asleep on the short drive home, but she stirred when the motor stopped.
“Do you want me to carry you?” Phoebe teased.
“Oh, no,” Beatriz said. “But I will be glad to get into bed!”
Inside the apartment, Rachel, Stephanie, Brittainy, and Noura were playing Dutch Blitz at Beatriz’ kitchen table, laughing and swatting furiously at cards.
“Oh, my gosh, this game is so much fun,” Brittainy told them, breathless. “I keep asking Rachel if we’re going to wake up the kids.”
“They’re heavy sleepers,” Rachel assured her. Beatriz nodded in confirmation, then reached into her purse for her wallet.
“I want to take care of this,” Phoebe said, opening her own purse. “For Hope House.”
“Forget it,” Rachel said. “All four of us did our laundry.” Her companions nodded. “I hope that’s a fair trade. If not, we probably owe you money, Phoebe, for water and detergent. In fact, there’s still a load in the dryer. Can we leave it till tomorrow?”
“Sure,” Phoebe agreed. “Do you want me to hang anything up before I go to bed?”
“Nah,” Brittainy said. “It’s mine—nothing I’m worried about being wrinkled.”
“Well, I’ll fold it for you if you’ll play tennis with me tomorrow,” Phoebe offered. The Schleitheim women’s tennis team captain, Brittainy was more like an instructor than an opponent for Phoebe.
“Oh, I can’t,” Brittainy said regretfully. Then she smiled. “I’m going on a major bike ride with Brian.”
“Nice!” Phoebe said. “I’ll fold your laundry anyway.”
“What time do you want to play?” Stephanie asked. “I’m not as good as Brittainy, but I’ll need to move after all of the studying I plan to do in the morning.”
“Wonderful!” Phoebe said. “How about early afternoon? It’s should be cool enough with the temperature drop we’ve had this week.”
Beatriz thanked the young women and headed into her bathroom while the others made plans for the following week’s Bible study. Noura said she might come, and as they left, she and Rachel asked Phoebe to greet Professor Marceau for them.
“He’s really excited about tutoring you,” Phoebe told Rachel.
She locked the apartment screen door behind them and went to check the laundry in the basement’s utility area. The dryer’s buzzer hadn’t yet sounded, but she didn’t like to go to bed with it running, so she draped the nearly dry clothing over a wooden rack nearly as tall as she was. Beatriz came to wish her a good night, brushing her hair in the doorway.
“Thank you again, Phoebe,” she said. “I enjoyed the evening so much.”
“I’m glad,” Phoebe told her. “We can make this happen again if you want. Not the fashion show, of course—at least not till next year—but the getting out in the evening. The Bible study girls obviously enjoyed being here, and I’d be happy to sit with the children, too. Just ask.”
Beatriz started to speak, then sneezed.
“Bless you,” Phoebe said. She looked closely at her. Now that the evening’s excitement was over, Beatriz was clearly exhausted. Concern in her voice, Phoebe said, “You’d better get some rest. You might be coming down with something.”
“I’m just tired,” Beatriz said—but sneezed again.
“Let yourself sleep in tomorrow,” Phoebe urged.
“I will,” Beatriz promised. “Thank you again,” she said, hugging Phoebe, who left her smiling at the foot of the stairs.