Romance: Catching Helena Handbasket (13 page)

     Helena shrugged.

     “Well it’s a good idea in theory, though I’d have to say that one key difference separates me from those gals on the fashion runways,” she reminded him, “I eat.  Seriously, Trey, I hope that you’re not trying to morph me into a fashion bot.  I want to appear to the public just as I write for them—always sincere, real, and true to myself.”

     Trey nodded.

     “And I wouldn’t have it any other way, darling,” he told her, touching her cheek with an affirming kiss.  “You’re an original, Helena Vance, and I bloody love you for it.  It’s just that…”

     “You bloody what?”  Helena interrupted him, eyes flying wide.

     Instead of offering her a verbal reply, a beaming Trey swept Helena into his arms and kissed her gaping lips.

     “I bloody love you, Helena Vance!”  He told her, more loudly and decidedly this time.  “I have since the moment I met you.”

     Helena beamed.

     “Well this is the best thing I’ve heard all day—aside, of course, from the news that I’m about to be treated to a Saks Fifth Avenue shopping trip,” she enthused, adding casually as an afterthought, “Oh and by the way, Lawrence.  I bloody love you too.”

     She smiled as her whooping lover swept her up in his strong arms, seizing her lips in a passionate kiss; his smooth, moist mouth massaging hers as he held her body closer than close.

     For just a moment Helena leaned into his kiss, wrapping her arms around his strong shoulders and plying his lips with hers.

     Then, and just as abruptly, she let him go.

     “We’d best cool our proverbial jets, love, before we make ‘No Way Out’ look like the Sunday matinee at a theater conveniently located in downtown Provo, Utah—the version they show on airlines, mind you,” she reminded him, settling herself back in her seat with a heavy, frustrated sigh.  “I still bloody love you, though.”

     Trey chuckled.

     “Well then will you allow me to treat you to a shopping spree today at Saks Fifth Avenue?” he queried, chucking her chin in an affectionate gesture.  “You can buy absolutely anything and everything you like—no limits, love.”

     Letting loose with her own triumphant whoop, Helena swung open her door and bounded out onto the sidewalk—turning broad circles and raising her arms in an impromptu, rather inappropriate ode to Julie Andrews in The Sound of Music.

     “You, darling Trey, just said the three words that every woman longs to hear—that three word sentiment that every female wants to hear, from the time of her innocent girlhood,” she gushed, adding as she thrust her fists up into the air and ran Rocky-style up the sidewalk (What was up with her today and inappropriate, totally out there cinematic references?), “Endless.  Credit.  Limit.  Huzzah!”

     Her unbelievable, even frightening enthusiasm intensified still further moments later, as she beheld the majesty that was Saks Fifth Avenue.

     Her mouth fell open as she traipsed the sidewalk before the entrance of this legendary store; her gaze flying upward to scale the elegantly carved levels and the statuesque crystalline windows that distinguished the exterior of the building; as well as the bank of proudly displayed American flags posted at some of these windows.  That same gaze then lowered to admire in full the radiant front window displays that further distinguished this classically designed multi-level building.

     Each of these illuminated portals seemed to tell a story; a colorful, ebullient fantasy that featured glamorous manikins dressed in a radiant array of fashionable, elegant frocks.

     “Trey!” Helena called over her shoulder to her beaming date, now standing at the driver’s window of their shiny limousine.  “Get over here and check out these women in the windows.  They’re like these mystical goddesses that are luring me into the store, psychically imploring me to ‘Buy, buy, buy!’  And as an added bonus, even with their stick figures they still appear to eat more on a daily basis than the vast majority of fashion plates I see on the subway each day.”

     Trey guffawed outright.

     “Well I shall be over directly, to join you in falling beneath the thrall of these enchanting—though somewhat inflexible and, well, pretty much made of wood—heavenly goddesses,” he assured her, adding as he gestured in the direction of their limo, “First, though, I have to tip our driver and send him over to the petrol station, so we don’t end up thumbing a ride home.”

     Soon the laughing couple passed through the gleaming front doors of Saks Fifth Avenue; all laughter subsiding as Helena caught her first glimpse of the elegant interior of this world renowned department store.

     She gasped outright as she beheld an expansive ground floor adorned with cream-colored walls and ceilings and champagne-hued wall hangings; along with an ebullient marble-patterned floor and a soothing stream of overhead light that managed to bathe the entire store in a soothing, ethereal glow.

     Yet in Helena’s eyes even this lovely spectacle paled in comparison to the vision of the merchandise glamorously displayed across the floors, racks, and artistically designed display cases of Saks Fifth Avenue.  Her mouth fell agape as her gaze consumed a lovely rainbow-hued array of fashions and fabrics: those classic tools of design that here expressed themselves in the eye catching form of silken dresses, satin pant suits, soft velvet skirts and luxurious cashmere sweaters.  And just beyond these gorgeous displays of haute couture designs—many of which had made their auspicious debut on the esteemed runways of London and Paris—stood luminous display cases filled with a sparkling array of glittering diamond necklaces, ruby bracelets and other examples of glamorous jewels that—Helena figured—would just happen to look darned good around her neck, wrist, and just about any other major appendage.

     “You know, Trey,” she turned finally to face yet another smashing beauty, this one standing close behind her with his hands affixed to her shoulders.  “Some, rather unenlightened folk would refer to this place as a ‘store.’  I, on the other hand, see this joint for what it really is—a well-concealed but obvious earthbound branch of Heaven itself, conveniently located within spitting distance of where we edit silly stories and munch on cereal bars each day.  I swear to you, Trey, and mark these words: I will be buried here.  And in a monogrammed Dior casket.”

     Returning her gaze to the Saks show floor, Helena saw still more examples of the mystical wooden women; those pristine ivory-hued statuesque mannequins that together formed a seamless centerpiece of the Saks show floor.

     One figure in particular seemed to catch Helena’s heed; this mannequin standing as a particular example of radiance and grace.

     Standing tall and proud above the other figures, this spectacular example of feminine beauty boasted porcelain skin, crystal blue eyes, carved cheekbones, full, ruby-hued lips, and a lush head of silken gold hair.

     This immaculate head sat atop a tall, slender body encased today in a red velvet dress that fell with grace to the mannequin’s knees; flattering and showcasing her sculpted figure as it added light and luminescence to her flawless visage.

     “If she was human, I’d hate her,” Helena smirked, even as her feet carried her forward to take a closer look at the ‘woman of wood.’  “As it stands, she’s a work of art.”

     “Helena, wait a minute,” Trey said at her shoulder, following close behind as Helena made fast tracks in the direction of the mannequin.

     Helena would hear none of it.

     “Shaddup, hon,” she snapped over her shoulder.  “I’m fancifully swept away and artistically inspired.  Whatever ish you happen to have right now, it will have to be dealt with in the wake of this burst of sterling wonder and stirred imagination.”

     Finally coming face to face with the mystical mannequin, Helena impulsively returned her soft, serene beam; in the process reaching out to stroke the heather soft strands of the figure’s flawless flaxen hair.

     “Wow,” she breathed, her fingers entangling with luxurious ease into the velvety depths of the mannequin’s thick, realistic looking wig.  “Her hair feels so real, Trey.  I wonder what shampoo they use on these lustrous locks.”

     “Well personally I favor a robust brand of horsehair shampoo, tempered with a light scent of delicate lavender—you know, just to balance things out.”

     This reply came—not from Trey, who stood straight and oddly silent at her side—but from the general direction of the mannequin whose hair she so lovingly stroked.

     “Well isn’t that amazing?”  Helena marveled, stepping back just far enough to stare into a mannequin’s face.  “They even installed an interactive voice chip in this model—one that can actually respond to and carry on a conversation with passing shoppers.  I think I saw a special about this phenomenon last week on the Discovery Channel.”  She paused here, adding with a smirk, “So--um—let’s just call you Margo the Mannequin.  Margo, who do you favor in the next presidential election?”

     “Hillary Clinton,” the mannequin replied.

     Helena nodded.

     “Ah, beauty and brains!  I’m impressed,” she applauded, adding as she narrowed her eyes in a show of contemplation, “Although I really must say, the voice they used for this model is just a touch too high pitched and artificial to belong to a real woman.  And although it is impressive that they have layered those lovely lips with a coat of real lipstick, it has been applied just a touch crooked.  Ah, but I can fix that in just a second here….”

     Reaching her hand forward, Helena arched her fingers in the direction of the mannequin’s smiling lips; only to still them a moment later, as a booming voice erupted at her shoulder; one that shattered their surrounding peace as it resounded in her ear.

     “For the love of all that is good and humane, Helena, would you stop it?!”  The normally kind, subdued Trey Lawrence bellowed outright as he covered his face with his hands.

     At once unimpressed with this abrupt shift in tone, Helena planted her hands on her voluptuous hips and turned with a flourish in the direction of the fuming Trey.

     “And just give me one good reason why I should?” she demanded, eyebrows arched.

     Trey let loose with an exasperated sigh that seemed to come straight from his eternal soul.

     “Oh,” he moaned, parting his sturdy fingers on his face to take a brave, but perhaps ill-advised peak at the world around him, “Only because you’re inappropriately touching my personal shopper—and, as an added bonus, you’re strongly hinting that she doesn’t look or sound at all like a real human being.”

     Freezing in her place, Helena looked at Trey for a mighty long moment before whimpering, “Well I guess that is a pretty damned good reason.  After all.”

     Turning slowly in the direction of her favorite ‘mannequin,’ who at this point looked as though she was about to bust a flawless, sculpted gut in a barely restrained fit of hysterical laughter, Helena inquired, “Um, Ms. Arielle is it?  Is there any chance at all that the impeccable marble patterned floor beneath us will open up at any point to swallow me whole?”

     Pitching her head back with a smooth flourish, the amused personal shopper let loose with a rain of rhythmic, twinkling laughter that released all tension in the atmosphere around them.

     “No worries, love,” she assured Helena, offering her delicate hand in a gesture of greeting.  “I do, in fact, have to thank you for all the kind compliments you’ve paid me today.  You, my darling, have made my day!”

     Helena nodded.

     “Well here’s another,” she offered with a grin, “I’m wondering at this point if your lovely wife had a gay bone in her body when she met you, or maybe if she just had really, really good taste.  I mean, I’m probably the most certifiably, painfully heterosexual female on the face of the earth and, heck, you have me questioning less than five minutes after our initial meeting…”

     She broke off abruptly as she heard a strangulated moan erupt from the lips of her companion; turning, she saw a frenzied, near panicking Trey grabbing his stomach and doubling over to let loose with what appeared for all intents and purposes to be a groan of anguish.

     “You OK, babe?” she asked with a frown.

     Stepping between the couple with a single smooth flourish, a still laughing Arielle grabbed both their arms and made with quick steps toward the back of the store.

     “Oh, darling, I’m sure he’ll be fine—we just need to get him some sparkling water and a snack to get his blood sugar up.  And afterward, we need to get you a whole new, very beautiful and functional wardrobe,” she assured Helena, adding with a graceful gesture ahead of them, “Thankfully, I just happen to have all of that in the back of the store!  Allons-y!”

     Helena nodded.

     “By the way, allons-y means ‘let’s go’ in French,” she told Trey, who managed a strangulated groan in response.  

     His condition seems to improve markedly moments later, as he reclined in a velvet-cushioned chair just outside a Saks dressing room; sipping his salvation in the form of sparkly water as he bore witness to a fashion show featuring his favorite model.

     He gaped outright at the vision of Helena in a flowing scarlet red gown culled from the finest velvet; one that fell gracefully to feet that, in true Helena Vance style, were adorned with a sporty and most comfortable pair of lime green sneakers.