She snorted again. “Don’t worry. I know your limitations. What you want,” she went on, “is something extremely chic.”

“And attenuating,” I added excitedly. Now we were getting somewhere.

“Something you’re never going to find in Washington.”

I sighed. “Which means?”

“Which means, you’re taking us to New York to find your dress.”

Although I hadn’t intended on Gayle’s going with us, when she got wind of the impending trip, over a quick Thai lunch that same day, she assumed she would be coming, too. Wide-eyed and salivating (she’d ordered her favorite noodle dish, and some fried fish balls that I never could stand the smell, let alone taste, of), she clasped her hands tightly as if the trip was the most exciting thing she could ever imagine participating in.

“Oh God! I cannot wait!”

“For what?” I thought maybe, on the off chance, she was talking about something else (lunch, for instance).

“To go to New York and shop for your dress, of course! I haven’t been to New York in ages! And I’ve certainly never shopped in New York with a fashion expert the likes of Fran!”

I cleared my throat, then poked, picked at, and ultimately rejected, a fish ball. “I wasn’t really planning on you coming.”

She looked devastated. “But I must come!” she begged. “I simply must!” And then, as a last resort: “I can help!”

“Help what?”

“Well, I can hold things. Help you on and off with the dresses, and all the rest of it. Like some sort of medieval lady servant.”

I was going to explain that the stores we would be going to (Barneys, Saks, Bergdorf’s, and a few small boutiques on Madison Avenue and in SoHo) would have plenty of medieval-type lady servants to help me on and off with my clothes. But I realized all attempts to get Gayle to stay home would be futile. I drummed my fingers on the table; tried not to do the math:

Besides my round-trip weekend shuttle ticket, taxis, and my share of a now triple hotel room, I had planned, as a show of gratitude, on picking up Fran’s not-so-incidental incidentals (cigarettes and triple Ketel One Vodka martinis). Would I now, to be fair, have to do the same when it came to Gayle?

Then there was the cost of the dress itself.

I shuddered to think what my credit card bill would look like.

I almost put my foot down and disinvited Gayle for real (the fact that I’d never officially invited her, and thus shouldn’t have had to disinvite her, was already moot), but upon reflection, I knew it was a good idea to have her along, actually:

She would be a human buffer, protecting me from Fran.

Chapter 19

19