Authors: Rosanna Chiofalo

Bella Fortuna (27 page)

BOOK: Bella Fortuna

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“Don't worry, Ma. Rita and Connie are doing a great job of juggling between brides. And I'm here. I was able to calm that Bridezilla a bit by telling her I'd find out how much longer you'd be.”

“Another fifteen minutes, I hope!”

“Okay, I'll tell her. Don't kill yourself.”

“It's too late for that!”

I go back out in search of Ashley but neither she nor her bridesmaids are still in the shop.

“Melanie, do you know where Ashley went?”

Melanie rolls her eyes.

“She said they were going to have coffee next door. She asked me to get them when the dress is done, as if I'm her personal maid. These people act like they've become royalty overnight after someone pops the question to them when the truth is they're still the low man on the totem pole like the rest of us.”

“Yeah, it goes to their heads as soon as they're engaged.”

“You weren't like that, Valentina. Oh, sorry. I shouldn't have brought that up.” Now Melanie is looking at me like everyone else has this morning.

“Don't sweat it, Melanie. I'm fine. Thank you for the compliment. I guess dealing with brides for a living puts things in perspective when it's your turn, and you try hard not to be like the Bridezillas we've worked with. But they're not all like that. Some of them are such a pleasure to work with and make their dreams come true.”

My mind starts to wander. I can't help hearing an internal voice in my head.
My dream won't come true. Why couldn't it have worked out for me like it will for the other brides here today? Will I only wear a wedding dress in this shop when I need to test out a gown's fit?

I suddenly notice Melanie is staring at me with sadness in her eyes. Is my face registering my thoughts?

“Okay, when Ashley returns, just give a holler if I'm in the back. I don't want to make her wait any longer than she already has. I'll go tell Ma she has a little extra time to get those alterations done now that Bridezilla is at the bakery instead of shooting flames into the alterations room.”

I only walk three steps when one of the three clients who are waiting to be helped comes up to me.

“Excuse me. I've been waiting for twenty minutes, and it doesn't look like the two salesgirls in the back are going to be done anytime soon. Can you help me?”

“Yes, of course, but I need to look at the guest book to see who signed in first. There are three other brides waiting. I have to take whoever has the first appointment.”

“You don't need to look at the book.
I'm
telling you I had the first appointment.”

“Okay, if you'll please be patient just one moment longer, and I'll be with you. What is your name?”

“Lea Stavros.”

I'm not taking Lea's word. So I head first to the alterations room to let Ma know she has some extra time finishing Ashley's dress, since they've gone to Antoniella's for coffee. Then I walk back to Melanie's desk and pretend I'm asking her a question while I quickly scan the guest book.

“I'm just making sure Bridezilla number two has the first appointment,” I whisper to Melanie.

“Unfortunately, she does. But you're right about her being a Bridezilla. She told her mother and sister that they can't be honest with her if she chooses a dress they don't like. She doesn't want any negativity, as she put it.”

“Oh, boy! This is going to be one of those days.”

Melanie nods her head.

“Oh yeah, you got that right. Good luck.”

“Thanks.”

“Lea, I can take you now. My name is Valentina, and if you decide to have Sposa Rosa make your dress, I'll be your consultant for all of your fittings. Who do we have here?”

“This is my mother and my twin sister, Laura.”

“It's nice to meet you.”

“When is the big day, Lea?”

“A month from today.”

“Okay. We don't have much time to work with. How long have you been engaged?”

“For six months.”

“Why did you wait to buy your dress?”

I choose my words carefully. What I really want to say is, “What were you thinking waiting until a month before your wedding to buy a gownâno less a custom-made gown?” But I bite my tongue.

“I have been shopping around the past month, but I haven't seen anything I liked. Then a friend of mine told me maybe that's because I have a vision. So she convinced me to get a custom-made dress.”

“I see. So tell me, what does your dress look like in your vision ?”

I have to fight hard to keep the sarcasm out of my voice.

“I'd love a trumpet gown. I want to stand out and look very chic. I like those new crumb bodices. What are they called?”

“A crumb catcher?”

“Yes, a crumb catcher. I'd love one of those. I'm not sure as to the details other than that. I also want to wear a short net over my face. I think that along with the trumpet silhouette of the gown will definitely scream âThis girl is one chic bride!' ”

I jot a note on my pad:
Narcissist with grand delusions of herself.
You might think I'm being mean scribbling these personality traits of my clients, but it actually helps me when I'm trying to decide what would be best for them. After all, we are striving to make our clients happy, and the only way we can do that is by catering to their personalities.

“Okay, Lea. I think I have a good idea what you would like. Have you flipped through our portfolios? Did you see any dresses in there that were similar to what you had in mind?”

“No, I didn't see anything in there. But I don't want to be swayed by something that exists already. I want this to be all my own. Something unique.”

Yes, don't they all,
I think as I scribble another note in caps for emphasis.
UNIQUE . . . UNIQUE . . . UNIQUE
.

“If you step this way, I'll take some measurements. I am going to have you try on a few samples of trumpet gowns just to be sure the silhouette suits your figure the best before I begin sketching your design.”

“Oh, it'll suit my figure. I'm sure of it.”

I bring out six gowns: two are trumpets, two are mermaids, and the last two are sexy form-fitting sheaths that I actually think will work better on Lea's frame. Lea has a classic pear shape. I'm worried the trumpet would overemphasize her lower body in a very unflattering way. Of course, the mermaids can present this problem, too, but since a mermaid flares out lower, from the knee down, as opposed to the trumpet, which begins flaring out right below the hips, the eye won't be drawn there. With the sheath, she's still getting a body-hugging dress, but it will be more forgiving around her curves.

“Why aren't these all trumpets?” Lea quickly scans the dresses after I hang them in her fitting room.

“I'd like you to try a couple of other silhouettes just so you can get a feel for what they look like as well.”

“Are you NOT listening to me? I told you I wanted a TRUM-PITTTT !”

Lea's eyes are shooting a thousand needles into me, but I don't back down.

“I hear you perfectly well, Miss Stavros. You're just trying the dresses on. It doesn't mean I'm forcing you to buy a dress in another silhouette.”

“Sweetie, it's good to try on dresses in different shapes. This way you'll be all the more sure that the trumpet gown is really right for you.”

Mrs. Stavros has come to my rescue.

“I know what I want, and I don't appreciate someone, especially a salesgirl, trying to convince me otherwise. This isn't a used car I'm buying.”

That's it. She's just hit a nerve with me. I absolutely hate it when clients refer to my family and I as salesgirls. No doubt it's an easy mistake to make, but it's always bothered me. We work too hard at designing and sewing these dresses not to receive the respect that we deserve. I'm tired of these spoiled, condescending Bridezillas treating us like we're hired help.

“Excuse me, Miss Stavros. First of all, I am not a salesgirl. My family and I design and sew all of these dresses, but even if I were a salesgirl, that doesn't give you the right to treat me the way you are. Secondly, we take our work very seriously here at Sposa Rosa, and for you to liken it to a used car lot is insulting. I am more than happy to help you, but I will not help you if you continue to disrespect my family, me, and our shop.”

“She's sorry, Miss DeLuca. She didn't mean anything by her comments. She's just nervous with her wedding being only a month away.”

Lea's twin, who seems to only share DNA and looks with her sister, speaks up. She appears very shy and timid.

“Shut up, Laura! I don't need you speaking for me. I am NOT sorry. She's the one who should be apologizing to me. I'm outta here! You guys are making a big mistake buying your dresses from this joke of a shop!” Lea screams out to the other brides in the shop as she storms out.

“I'm so sorry, Miss DeLuca!”

Mrs. Stavros and Laura can't meet my eyes as they walk out after Lea.

“Are you okay? I heard all of that.”

Ma holds out a glass of water to me. I take a quick sip.

“Of course. It's not the first time we've had to deal with the likes of her.”

“Valentina, I think you should go home. It's too crazy here today. Why don't you come back on Monday when it'll be quieter? You can ease into things again.”

“I'm fine, Ma.”

I walk away and over to the next bride who's waiting for a consultation. They can't all be Bridezillas today.

Stacey whatever-her-last-name-is can't stop talking. I've made the mistake of asking her how long she's been engaged and that sets into motion her long story of telling me how her fiancÃ© has proposed to her. I feel like I have to be extra polite after she's witnessed my scene with Bridezilla #2. But I'm not listening to Stacey. The moment she starts to tell me how she was at the top of the Empire State Building when her fiancÃ© proposed, my mind wanders to that night when Michael had surprised me with his proposal at Central Park. It was the best night of my life. Fighting back tears, I congratulate Stacey and quickly interrupt her as I take her to the back to try on a few ball gown samples. I don't even bother bringing out samples in different silhouettes this time. I don't have the energy after my last battle to lock horns with another bride-to-be, though Stacey seems worlds apart from the last two Bridezillas I've dealt with today.

Stacey proves to be as easy as I knew she'd be, choosing the second sample I've pulled for her but requesting that I make a few swaps with other gowns she's seen in our portfolio. She wants an unadorned tulle skirt, but instead of the lace strapless bodice the sample she tried on sports, she wants a bodice she's seen on an Am-sale knockoff in our portfolio. The bodice is covered in Swarovski crystals and has two spaghetti straps, which are also covered in Swarovski studs. Stacey has a good eye. And she's even taken my one suggestion of adding a very pale pink sash to the dress that ties in the back, giving her a princess ballerina look.

My spirits soar a little when I see how happy I've made her with the sash. But then the jealousy begins seeping its way in again.
Why isn't it me getting married?

I push my thoughts aside once again as I take the next client. Her name is Donna, and as the minutes tick by, I want to add “prima” before her name, for she acts like a
prima donna,
ordering me around to get her more and more samples. Brides like her get caught up in the pageantry of the dress shopping and never want the experience to end. I've brought out a dozen samples already. Fifteen will be my limit. No excuses. Of course, after dress fifteen, she requests that I bring out not one but
five
more.

“I'm sorry, Donna, but you've been here for three hours and have still not made up your mind as to a silhouette. You've tried on fifteen samples. You're more than welcome to come back and try on more dresses, but our time for today is over. I have a waiting room full of other clients who need to be seen.”

“
I
decide when our appointment is over! My appointment was before these other women, and I am entitled to take my time. This is, after all,
my
wedding day we're talking about. I can't just rush through this decision. So I'd like to see a few more mermaid gowns.”

Donna turns her back toward me and talks to her best friend, Tina, as if I'm not standing there.

“Excuse me, Miss Foster.”

Just like with Bridezilla #2, I now resort to calling Bridezilla #3 by her last name. But she continues to ignore me. I stand in front of her.

BOOK: Bella Fortuna

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