The Property of a Lady - Elizabeth Adler [116]
Turning to Missie, she winked. “There’s nothing like the kiss of crêpe-de-Chine on the skin,” she whispered, laughing naughtily.
It was six o’clock before Missie left Madame Elise’s, and she ran all the way back to the Second Avenue el, clutching her hat with one hand and holding a smart lilac package printed with Elise’s name in the other.
The journey seemed to take ages. When she finally reached the Lower East Side she ran all the way back to Rivington Street and up the stairs, tapping urgently on Rosa’s door, bursting with her story.
Rosa stared at her, astonished, and then her face broke into a smile. “Is good news,” she said. “No need to say it, I can see.”
“Good news? Oh, Rosa!” Missie flung her arms around her, twirling her around excitedly. “This isn’t merely good news, it’s monumental, it’s startling, it’s astounding, amazing, phenomenal. It’s wonderful, fabulous, exciting….” The four little girls sitting at the table eating supper stared at her, their spoons halfway to their mouths.
“So it’s astounding,” Rosa said practically. “So tell me how much you get paid.”
Missie’s face fell and she stopped dancing around and stared at her. “Oh, Rosa,” she said, “I forgot to ask!” And then she burst out laughing. “What difference does it make?” she said airily. “I’m going to marry a millionaire anyway, all Madame Elise’s girls do. She told me herself.”
“You are going to work for Madame Elise?” Rosa said, awed. Then she added, “And since when did the seamstresses marry the millionaires, even at smart Paris shops?”
“But, Rosa, I’m not a seamstress, I’m a fashion mannequin.” Missie whooped with excitement and threw her hat in the air. “I, my dear,” she said in an exaggerated drawl, slinking across the room one arm outstretched and her head twisted over one shoulder in a vamp pose, “I am Madame Elise’s new star mannequin.” She laughed, turning back to Rosa, adding, “And it’s all thanks to you. It’s your advice that got me there and your five dollars that bought my new coat so I didn’t look like the ghost of poverty in my old gray shroud! You, Rosa Perelman,” she said, kissing her, “are my savior. And my very dearest friend.”
Rosa grinned and ladled out a bowl of soup. “Sit, eat,” she commanded, “and tell me all about it.”
“First, I’ve got something to show you.” Missie untied the violet ribbon from the pretty parcel. “There!” she said triumphantly, holding up a delicate camisole in the palest oyster-pink crêpe-de-Chine. Rosa sucked in her breath. After wiping her hands on her apron, she touched it gently with an outstretched finger. “Well?” Missie demanded.
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Rosa whispered, “so beautiful, so delicate…. Who wears such garments, Missie? It’s sinful.”
“Of course it’s not sinful, it’s heaven, Rosa. I’m wearing one now, and knickers with so much lace you could make five collars! And silk stockings and a corset so light it’s like wearing gossamer. There’s nothing sinful about it.”
“It’s sinful only when you wear it for a man,” Rosa said quietly.
Missie stared at her, astonished, and said, “I never thought of that.”
“No reason you should.” Rosa turned to the children crowding around, exclaiming over the beautiful chemise. “Look but don’t touch,” she warned, sitting back at the table.
“Eat your soup, and then tell me all,” she said, briskly cutting a loaf of rye bread and keeping an eye on the children’s table manners while she listened to Missie’s excited description of Madame Elise, her encounter with Mrs. Masters, the lilac salon, and the lilac poodles. Missie said that Madame Elise had been apprenticed to Poiret and Worth and now she was the most famous of them all; she had houses in Paris and London as well as New York and she traveled constantly between them.
“She has given me