Hateship, Friendship, Courtship, Loveship, Marriage

it would have made her walk out, if she had not come in determined, knowing what she had to get.
    Along one wall was a rack of evening dresses, all fit for belles of the ball with their net and taffeta, their dreamy colors. And beyond them, in a glass case so no profane fingers could get at them, half a dozen wedding gowns, pure white froth or vanilla satin or ivory lace, embroidered in silver beads or seed pearls. Tiny bodices, scalloped necklines, lavish skirts. Even when she was younger she could never have contemplated such extravagance, not just in the matter of money but in expectations, in the preposterous hope of transformation, and bliss.
    It was two or three minutes before anybody came. Maybe they had a peephole and were eyeing her, thinking she wasn’t their kind of customer and hoping she would go away.
    She would not. She moved beyond the mirror’s reflection—stepping from the linoleum by the door to a plushy rug—and at long last the curtain at the back of the store opened and out stepped Milady herself, dressed in a black suit with glittery buttons. High heels, thin ankles, girdle so tight her nylons rasped, gold hair skinned back from her made-up face.
    “I thought I could try on the suit in the window,” Johanna said in a rehearsed voice. “The green one.”
    “Oh, that’s a lovely suit,” the woman said. “The one in the window happens to be a size ten. Now you look to be—maybe a fourteen?”
    She rasped ahead of Johanna back to the part of the store where the ordinary clothes, the suits and daytime dresses, were hung.
    “You’re in luck. Fourteen coming up.”
    The first thing Johanna did was look at the price tag. Easily twice what she’d expected, and she was not going to pretend otherwise.
    “It’s expensive enough.”
    “It’s very fine wool.” The woman monkeyed around till she found the label, then read off a description of the material that Johanna wasn’t really listening to because she had caught at the hem to examine the workmanship.
    “It feels as light as silk, but it wears like iron. You can see it’s lined throughout, lovely silk-and-rayon lining. You won’t find it bagging in the seat and going out of shape the way the cheap suits do. Look at the velvet cuffs and collar and the little velvet buttons on the sleeve.”
    “I see them.”
    “That’s the kind of detail you pay for, you just do not get it otherwise. I love the velvet touch. It’s only on the green one, you know—the apricot one doesn’t have it, even though they’re exactly the same price.”
    Indeed it was the velvet collar and cuffs that gave the suit, in Johanna’s eyes, its subtle look of luxury and made her long to buy it. But she was not going to say so.
    “I might as well go ahead and try it on.”
    This was what she’d come prepared for, after all. Clean underwear and fresh talcum powder under her arms.
    The woman had enough sense to leave her alone in the bright cubicle. Johanna avoided the glass like poison till she’d got the skirt straight and the jacket done up.
    At first she just looked at the suit. It was all right. The fit was all right—the skirt shorter than what she was used to, but then what she was used to was not the style. There was no problem with the suit. The problem was with what stuck out of it. Her neck and her face and her hair and her big hands and thick legs.
    “How are you getting on? Mind if I take a peek?”
    Peek all you want to, Johanna thought, it’s a case of a sow’s ear, as you’ll soon see.
    The woman tried looking from one side, then the other.
    “Of course, you’ll need your nylons on and your heels. How does it feel? Comfortable?”
    “The suit feels fine,” Johanna said. “There’s nothing the matter with the suit.”
    The woman’s face changed in the mirror. She stopped smiling. She looked disappointed and tired, but kinder.
    “Sometimes that’s just the way it is. You never really know until you try something on. The thing is,” she said, with a new, more moderate conviction growing in her voice, “the thing is you have a fine figure, but it’s a strong figure. You have large bones and what’s the matter with that? Dinky little velvet-covered buttons are not for you. Don’t bother with it anymore. Just take it off.”
    Then when Johanna had got down to her underwear there was a tap and a hand through the curtain.
    “Just slip this on, for the heck of it.”
    A brown wool dress, lined, with a full skirt gracefully