“Good afternoon, Señora Kingsley,” the valet greeted her.

Wow. When the parking guys at Neiman’s know you by name, you’re one serious shopper.

We headed up to Designer Dresses where a regal stick of a woman was waiting for us. This was Mrs. Hansen, SueEllen’s longtime personal shopper. Mrs. Hansen reminded me of a black and white photo, her milky white skin and white-blonde hair in sharp contrast to her near-black lipstick and black sheath dress.

“Hello, Heidi,” Mrs. Hansen cooed. “Getting ready for your big party?”

Heidi nodded miserably.

And then the torture began. It wasn’t quite child abuse, but it was close. Mrs. Hansen hustled Heidi into a dressing room and proceeded to parade her out in a series of unflattering designer dresses, some of which cost more than my Corolla. All of this was accompanied by a running commentary from SueEllen, who sat in an overstuffed chair passing judgment on each fashion disaster.

“That’ll never do,” she’d say, shaking her head. “Terrible! It makes you look like a blimp.” And so on.

Of course they looked terrible, I wanted to shout. These dresses were made for skinny fashionistas with serious eating disorders, not chubby fifteen year olds.

At one point, she said to Mrs. Hansen in a stage whisper that could be heard in Pomona, “She won’t be so bad once she gets her nose fixed.”

“Yeah,” I said, “and you won’t be so bad once you get your tongue ripped out.”

Okay, so I didn’t really say that. But I wanted to. Oh, how I wanted to. Instead, coward that I was, I just stood there, letting her chip away at Heidi’s self-esteem until the poor kid was on the verge of tears. And the crazy thing was, there was nothing wrong with Heidi’s nose. True, it wasn’t as skinny as SueEllen’s, whose nostrils were the size of sun-flower seeds, but there was absolutely nothing wrong with it. Really, if I could’ve strangled SueEllen and gotten away with it, I would have.

Finally, SueEllen chose an unflattering blue dress with a fitted bodice that emphasized Heidi’s burgeoning waistline.

“Naturally, we’ll have to let out the waist,” Mrs. Hansen said.

“Naturally,” SueEllen echoed, rolling her eyes.

“We’ll have it ready for you first thing in the morning, Mrs. Kingsley.” And then, turning to Heidi, she said, “You’re a mighty lucky girl to have such a generous mother.”

“She’s not my mother,” Heidi said quietly.

“Yes,” SueEllen chimed. “Don’t you know? I’m the wicked stepmother.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” were the words I wish I’d been brave enough to utter.

Heidi was back in the dressing room with a seam-stress, being fitted for alterations, when SueEllen’s cell phone rang. She whipped it out of her purse eagerly, as if she’d been waiting for the call.

“Oh, hi,” she said, her voice suddenly softening. “Yes, I’ll be there…. See you then.”

Then she plopped her phone back in her purse, and checked out her face in a pocket mirror.