Today she was Chaya Davidowitz, a conflicted being, tortured by her own insecurities

Mina

S

he didn’t have an appointment. And she wasn’t wearing her fur jacket. Possibly because it wasn’t so cold that day, but…

She’d come alone. Without her kallah daughter, without her sister.

“Do you have an appointment?” I asked.

Chaya Davidowitz shook her head. “I just wanted to discuss my Dassi’s gown. If that’s okay with you? I could wait, if you’re busy.”

I turned to Yocheved. Her face was stony, her skin pale beneath her makeup. “Should I handle the Fulops?” I asked quietly.

She jerked her head, a stiff nod. Then she addressed Mrs. Davidowitz. “Yes, what would you like to discuss?”

I walked away, gesturing to Olga to join me. “I’m so sorry for keeping you waiting,” I told Mrs. Fulop. “Let’s start.”

Olga went to help the kallah get into her gown. Meanwhile I offered Mrs. Fulop a coffee, and she accepted.

I stood with my back to Yocheved as I waited for the Keurig to brew, straining my ears.

“Tell me the truth,” I heard Mrs. Davidowitz say. “This price, everyone’s okay with it? Is this really how much everyone pays?”

Yocheved wasn’t making an effort to keep the conversation quiet. “Not everyone,” she replied. “Boutique shoppers are okay with it. My customers are people who are comfortable with my price range. A Lewin gown isn’t the typical gown you’d find at a rental. Every gown is customized from scratch, my sewing staff is top tier, and we use top-quality materials. We cater to a very specific clientele, people who appreciate our work.”

In other words, your sister and not you.

“Yes, yes, of course, I get that,” Mrs. Davidowitz said quickly. “But, like, I know quite a few kallahs who got gowns here. Regular people.” Her voice bent, and I pictured her blushing. “I mean, you know, not necessarily wealthy or anything.”

Ugh, she was pressing Yocheved’s buttons. And although I was really mad at my sister just then, I felt bad for her.

Yocheved didn’t answer. Mrs. Davidowitz continued. “I’m just wondering, if I do wish to cut down on the gown’s cost, are there any options? Less complicated work, maybe? Cheaper fabric? How about if I shop for the fabric on my own?”

Was this Mrs. Kohlman’s sister talking?

But no, she wasn’t Mrs. Kohlman’s sister today. Today she was Chaya Davidowitz, a conflicted being, tortured by her own insecurities.

And in the wrong hands.

The Keurig burbled. I squirted a dollop of cream over the coffee and returned to my customer who was comfortable with the Lewin price range — plus butterflies.

The fitting took forever. I didn’t know whose fault it was, but there was something pathetically wrong with this Fulop gown. It was missing a certain chic, there was something that was making the dress look like a Queen Esther costume instead of an exclusive Lewin gown.

Anuradha plucked a pinned butterfly off the shoulder and frowned. I took the butterfly from her and turned to Mrs. Fulop. “I think we should leave it for now. Olga will make all adjustments, and we’ll finalize the design at our next appointment.”

After the kallah and her mother had stepped out to change, Anuradha yanked the butterfly out of my hand.

“Yelena always thinks she knows best.”