I

 

was so not in the mood to return to the boutique in the evening. My house was flying and my feet were killing me. Why had I let Yocheved talk me into this night appointment? Why did she even offer night appointments?

“It’s the Kohlmans, they’re leaving for France in two days,” she’d explained. “You know who they are, from the tours? Their granddaughter. Engaged to Banda, from the diamonds. Anyway, they begged me for this appointment and I didn’t realize I had a wedding tonight. Please? Can you do it, just this once?”

“Seriously, Yocheved,” I’d protested. “Had this been Rivka Sara Katznelenbokenstein, you’d have nicely called up and canceled. So what if they have money?”

Yocheved had looked at me stonily. “Can you?”

Did I have a choice?

I unlocked the door to the boutique at 8:00 sharp. Really, there had been no reason to rush. The Kohlmans would be fashionably late, I was pretty sure of that. Children of people “from the tours” engaged to people “from the diamonds” were never punctual.

I lingered in the lobby hall, straightening up the place. The Invitation Wall needed TLC. Torn invitations from kallahs who were already mothers dangled from the bulletin board, five invites sharing each pushpin. I sorted the cards, neatly tacked back on the invitations from weddings that hadn’t yet taken place and dumped the rest. Which was sad, because each card must have cost at least two dollars. Fourteen karat gold ink, Shlomo would comment when he brought in the mail.

Satisfied, I moved along to the showroom. I was about to flick on the light when I caught a thin beam of white stretching across the floor, extending from the door of the sewing room. Whoever had left last must have forgotten to turn off the light. I headed over to the back.

When I reached the door, I heard a rustle. I trembled, gripping the doorknob. Was that a person? A cat?

The door creaked open.

“Yelena!” I shrieked.

“Oh, hello, Mina. Appointment tonight?”

“You scared the wits out of me. What are you doing here?”

She squirmed. “I finished some work. I’m going home now.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Do you often stay late?”

“N-no, no. Only sometimes, when I’m very busy. I have a lot of work.”

The doorbell rang. I gave Yelena a quizzical look as I buzzed the Kohlmans in.

The Kohlmans were Yocheved’s prototype customers. I could barely resist a snicker as I mentally checked off the criteria. Pasted smiles. Practiced poise. Serious jewelry. No apologies for coming late. A good industry, those tours.

Yelena slinked out while we made introductions. I wondered what was up with that seamstress, but I couldn’t dwell on her. The Kohlmans were waiting for me to design a gown that would make headlines. It was going to be a long night.

When I got home, nearly blind from fatigue, Shlomo was sitting at the dining room table scribbling notes, surrounded by seforim.

“How’s it going?”

He put down his pen. “Getting there.” He smiled tiredly. “Really, Mina, you should come along. Some wives come every year. They set up a table for the ladies. You’ll love it.”

I yawned. We went through this every year.