Dead Man Docking - Mary Daheim [79]
“You have to get dressed,” Renie said. “We’re going to a dinner party at Erma Giddon’s.”
Judith rubbed at her forehead and tried to focus. “Say that again.”
“Anemone called while you were napping,” Renie said, perching on the edge of Judith’s bed. “She wanted to thank you for helping her choose a funeral outfit. She felt she’d been a bit rude.”
“So they’re throwing a party to celebrate mourning?” Judith asked, struggling to sit up. “Or is it a wake?”
“You’re not awake,” Renie retorted. “Go shower. We’ll talk about it later.”
But Judith insisted she was awake—her stomach was growling so loudly that she couldn’t help being alert.
“Okay,” Renie conceded, tucking her feet under her. “Anemone is repentant. She called to apologize. I said you’d get back to her. Meanwhile, Rhoda telephoned to say that the Giddons—Erma and Anemone—invited them to a small supper party with cocktails at seven. Anemone was feeling very glum and needed cheering up. The St. Georges must be famous for lifting people’s spirits—as well as drinking them. Rhoda suggested that they ask us, too, which apparently led to Anemone thinking she could make it up to you with the invitation.”
“Oh.” Judith’s expression was wry. “I certainly wouldn’t expect Erma to ask us.”
Renie agreed.
But Judith suddenly demurred. “I don’t have anything to wear. Everything I packed, including the pantsuit I had on today, is cruise-oriented. I can’t wear what I wore last night. I have no proper San Francisco clothing.”
“Oh, yes, you do,” Renie responded, hopping off the bed and going out into the sitting room. “Here,” she said, hauling along a small caravan of boxes and bags bearing the Saks Fifth Avenue logo. “I was not idle while you slept. I went across the street to Saks and shopped my head off.”
With as much enthusiasm as any huckster, Renie began removing the items from boxes and bags. “A couple of Tahari suits along with a jacket, camisole, and short skirt. A long skirt, slacks, and a sweater from Dana Buchman. They should fit, unless you’re too damned skinny. May I suggest the pearl-gray pinstripe Tahari pantsuit for tonight?”
Judith stopped gaping and gasping. “How the hell am I going to pay for all this?” she demanded, now glaring at her cousin.
“Everything was on sale,” Renie replied innocently. “Honest. I charged the stuff to my account. You can pay me when we get home.” She indicated a couple of unopened boxes at the end of the bed. “I bought myself a few things, too. It’s a good thing I didn’t have to walk very far. I could hardly carry it all.”
Judith was still glaring. “I could strangle you.”
“Don’t say that,” Renie said. “Somebody may.”
“You are absolutely impossible!” Judith fumed.
Renie shrugged. “When was the last time you bought anything for yourself? Other than the cruise wear, I mean. Frankly, you can probably return most of that. I doubt that we’re going anywhere west of Sausalito.”
The idea was small comfort to Judith. “This trip has been the worst I’ve ever taken,” she grumbled even as she allowed herself to touch the fine fabric of the pinstripe suit. “On top of everything else, I’m going to be impoverished.”
“But well clad,” Renie said cheerfully, unzipping a garment bag. “I think I’ll go with the hot pink Escada suit.”
“I should go in a barrel,” Judith muttered. But the more she stared at the pearl gray outfit, the more she wanted to try it on. “After all,” she added, more to herself than to Renie, “it may not fit.”
But it did. Judith tried to tell herself that she didn’t look stunning. “I never buy gray clothes,” she said, “but this doesn’t wash me out.”
“That’s because your hair was so gray before you colored it. You blended.”
In front of the full-length mirror, Judith turned every which way. “It doesn’t seem to need any alterations,” she admitted.
“Of course not. With your height, that type of outfit looks terrific. Besides,” she added, “I have excellent taste. I am an artist, after all.”
“This afternoon, you claimed to be a