Page 29 of Mean Moms
“It all looks fab,” said Ava. “So smart of you to ask guests to participate—we’re like unpaid models!” She laughed, but Belle didn’t. Ava fingered her Dress, as if touching a particularly pungent piece of cheese.
“Thanks for wearing it,” said Belle. “It does feel like everything is coming together. The site goes live tomorrow, and I hope that this moment will solidify some orders.”
At that, Ava took her phone out of her bag and starting snapping pictures. Belle’s eyes lit up. Jeff walked over and put his arm around her.
“It’s a triumph, babe,” he said.
“Can you hold this for a second?” asked Ava, handing her phone to Sofia as she aggressively scratched one of her legs. At the same time, Sofia noticed that she, too, was feeling a little… itchy. She went from foot to foot, wiggling a little to try to relieve the feeling. She rubbed her leg. Then rubbed it again. She saw that Morgan was peeking underneath her shirt, and that Frost was inspecting her arms. Belle was facing away from them, watching the twenty or so women milling about. Everyone who’d agreed to put on The Dress seemed twitchy. Touching themselves as if swatting away a mosquito.
Sofia looked under her Dress to see that her skin was beginning to bloom in pink. Frost flicked Sofia, gesturing to herself silently, pulling The Dress up her arm enough for Sofia to see that she, too, was breaking out in an angry rash.
“Guys, I have to go,” said Ava, continuing to scratch herself.“I’m having some kind of allergy—sometimes I get a mild reaction to shellfish. Belle, there’s no shrimp nearby, right?”
“Definitely not!” Belle said. “Ava, I’d so love it if you could wear The Dress for the rest of the night,” continued Belle, her voice cracking in desperation. “I know you have some other events to go to, and it would be so wonderful if you were photographed out in Pippins Cottage Home!” There was a beat of silence as Ava decided how to respond. Sofia stared at the ground; the awkwardness was overwhelming.
“Aw, Belle, I’m sorry, but I have to say, I’m feeling a little uncomfortable in The Dress. I think the fabric doesn’t agree with me. I have supersensitive skin…”
Belle audibly swallowed.
“Sure, I totally get it,” Belle said, trying to recover. The women looked in diverging directions. Sofia wanted to disappear.
“But congrats again,” said Ava. She then hurried to the dressing room, momentarily emerging in her regular clothes, waving goodbye to the jealous group.
“Please remember to post!” Belle shouted after her.
“Belle, I’m a little itchy also,” said Frost, her fingers going up and down both arms. Morgan didn’t say a word, but Sofia could tell she too was physically uneasy, her mouth twisting in a strange way.
Belle shook her head, confused.
Jeff, who’d been on his phone, looked up, registering his wife’s concern.
“Why is everyone so quiet?” he said. Sofia felt like her legs were on fire.
“I think…” said Belle, nearly choking. “I think there might be something wrong with The Dress?” she said.
Frost held up her arm in the middle of the circle for them all to see. Scarlet bumps snaked up her skin. She grimaced.
The blonde and brunette from earlier walked over to Belle, who’d turned a ghostly white. Sofia began to fantasize about tearing The Dress off her hot, bothered body.
“Uh, Faith and I here are both having some weird skin thing? Like, itreallyitches,” said the blonde. “What kind of fabric did you use? Is it mohair? It doesn’t feel like mohair.”
“It’s pure cotton, a hundred percent pima, sourced from northern Italy,” said Belle.
“Hmmm,” said the brunette. “That’s strange. How are we both reacting to cotton?” Belle raised her hands, as if to say “no idea.”
“Did you two come in the same car? Maybe it was something from the Uber?” said Frost, trying to be helpful (and also trying not to scratch herself as she said it).
The blonde shook her head.
“Oh shit!” someone shrieked. They all turned to look. A willowy fashion editor type with a prominent beak nose was jumping up and down. She was in a Dress and black heels, her legs bare despite the cold outside.
“I need Benadryl!” she yelled, charging toward the door.
In an instant, everyone was making their way toward the dressing room, a herd of inflamed influencers, as Belle tried unsuccessfully to calm them all down.
“It’s all fine! It can’t be the fabric. The fabric is pristine,” she was saying repeatedly, though no one was paying attention to her. Sofia knew that as part of the inner circle, she had to stay in her Dress until the end. But it was excruciating, like the biting sand flies that attacked her when she’d visited her relatives in Colombia.
“I’m calling my dermatologist right now,” said someone. “I have her personal cell number.”
