Chapter 11: Black Tie

On Wednesday Rafferty took me to a dress shop on the Strip with a velvet couch and a woman who spoke in whispers.

I walked in wearing my work blazer and walked out holding a long green gown on a hanger.

It was the color of a wine bottle held up to the light.

The price tag read $3,200.

"I'll take care of it," Rafferty said, reaching for his wallet.

"No."

"Lacey."

"I have twenty-three hundred dollars in my own account. I'll use that."

"It's three thousand two hundred."

"Then I'll go to the register and negotiate."

"It's a dress shop. They don't negotiate."

"They do if I ask nicely."

He stared at me.

"I'm your husband," he said. "I can buy my wife a dress."

"I know you can. That's why I'm paying."

His jaw worked.

The saleswoman, standing three feet away, developed a sudden passion for a rack of scarves.

"Explain it to me," he said, low.

"Everybody you've ever known wants the elevator," I said.

"If I let you buy me a thing every time I need one, I turn into everybody."

He looked at the ceiling.

Then he looked at me, and the tightness left his face.

"Three thousand two hundred," he said.

"I have two thousand three hundred. I'll put the rest on a card I'll pay off in six months."

"That's a bad financial plan."

"It's mine."

He gave a quiet, disbelieving laugh.

"Buy the dress, Lacey."

I bought the dress.

I did it standing up, with my chin lifted, while the saleswoman rang it in with a tiny, respectful smile.

Rafferty waited by the door with his hands in his pockets.

When I came out, he opened it for me and said, very quietly, "I've never been so proud and so irritated in my life."

"That's called marriage."

"Is it?"

"Ask my mother."

We drove back to the Wexley in the town car, because the van was in the shop.

He loosened his tie in the back seat and watched me from under his lashes.

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