Page 5 of Beck and Call

Her closet didn't have sliding doors like the one I had in the trailer I shared with my grandma. It was not really a closet, but a room the size of my apartment. There were built in shelves to house her collection of shoes and purses, and drawers for her various accessories.

While I stood around and gawked, she walked straight to the clothing racks and began searching through designer dresses of every variety until she pulled out a black body con dress. It had wide straps, a square neckline, and would fall just to my knees. I wasn't much for fashion. Envying things I couldn't have didn't feel good, so I took more of a practical approach to shopping. I enjoyed soft fabrics and chose my clothes for the way they made me feel more than how they made me look. Not to say I didn't like to dress up from time to time and feel pretty, but I didn't live it like Jana did.

Still, I had to admit I wanted to wear this dress. I prayed the zipper wouldn't stop once I pulled it up to my bust line. Jana was willowy and tall. I was five foot four, and while I was toned, I wasn't a size zero. My boobs alone wouldn't fit into a zero.

"I'm going to step out and let you try it on," she said, watching me practically drool over the dress.

Once I'd stripped out of my clothes, I stepped into the dress. It slid passed my hips and gave me hope it would zip. The zipper was under the right arm along the side, which made it easy to put on by myself.

Jana banged on the door. "Are you decent yet?"

I pulled the last few inches and it closed without getting stuck. "Oh my God, it fits," I said mostly to myself.

She stepped into the room. "I told you, it's a magic dress. Kinda like that movie you made me watch with the jeans."

I examined myself in her floor-length mirror. It was the most flattering dress I'd ever worn.

"Wow, you're hot!" she exclaimed. "I've got a jacket and shoes that will be perfect for a night out. I'd veto the jacket, but I know how much you hate being cold."

I worried my bottom lip and tried not to think about how much the clothing she was trying to dress me in cost. However, she wasn't wrong; I hated being cold.

She came out with a tan box, and I started shaking my head. "No. I've got shoes. I'm not going to wear ones that cost more than my first car did. If I scuff them I'd never be able to fix it."

Jana rolled her eyes. "You can wear a pair of heels my mom bought me in the wrong size. I was too lazy to bring them back, and that was several seasons ago. They won't take them now, and they just sit on the shelf unloved." She petted the box. I was convinced, my friend was insane.

She held up one of the shoes, and sure enough it was a seven and a half. Jana wore an eight, which was rather small for someone of her size, a half size smaller was not going to happen.

I took the shoe and had an urge to pet it myself. "Why would your mom buy you expensive shoes and not bother to check the size?"

She smiled and shook her head. "That was when Marjory was first told she needed to wear bifocals. She refused, because she didn't want to look old. So she went around for the better part of a year ordering the wrong things and pretending she meant to. When I showed her these were the wrong size, she told me I needed to train my feet to be smaller."

I laughed. I liked Marjory Easton. She was eccentric in a fun way, but I'm not sure Jana thought so. Calling your mother by her first name didn't usually indicate a close personal relationship.

"Well, I will borrow them, but you should consider selling them."

"It can be your Thanksgiving present," she said, waving me off, dismissing the thought of selling something online.

"Thanksgiving presents aren't a thing," I reminded her.

She scrunched up her nose. "Are you sure?"

I nodded. "Positive."

She shrugged. "Huh, I learn something new every day. Anyway, let me fix your makeup a bit and do your hair."

"Please don't make me look like a hooker," I begged.

"Trust me," she ordered.

I followed her to her makeup table and surrendered myself to her capable hands. If she made me look like a hooker, I'd at least look like an expensive one.

Chapter Three

"Alimo?" I asked when we headed down to the car. Any chauffeured car was a luxury, but her usual ride was a more low-key town car.

"Trust me," she said as she grabbed a bottle of champagne and two glasses. "We don't want to arrive to this party any other way. Marjorie went a bit nuts."

"What is it for, anyway?"

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