Maria and Sofia
An Excerpt
By Magali Roman
It was raining by the time Madame Senestrari reached the shop. She had been wading through puddles for what felt like hours before she saw it; a beacon among the shuttered shop windows that lined the high street at this time of night. Her stubby, ring-studded fingers pawed at the handle with some effort, unleashing a current of warm air as the door swung open. Inside, racks of beaded dresses and coats lined the walls and feathered hats perched upon gold-plated hooks.
Mme. Senestrari’s dripping shoes sank into the plush carpet with a satisfying heft. She stood there for a moment, taking in the scent of jasmine flowers and the faint sounds of a record player scratching out a Prokofiev ballet. The place looked deserted.
“Hello?” she croaked.
A door slid open to her left and a woman came into view, carrying a stack of cashmere sweaters in her outstretched hands. She was slim, with very short dark hair and dressed entirely in the universal black uniform of saleswomen. Mme. Senestrari turned towards her and grinned with relief.
“Oh, hello dear,” she said. “You’re not closed, are you? I know it’s late, and I do hate to be a bother, but there’s nothing else open and I was hoping you might take pity on an old woman like me.”
The saleswoman smiled and set down the sweaters on a nearby table. The palms of her hands had a distinct reddish hue, as if she had spent hours smashing grapes into wine.
“It’s no trouble,” she said, kindness dripping like syrup from her mouth. “What can I do for you, madame?”
“I’m in desperate need of some shoes,” said Mme. Senestrari. “I’m meeting my husband in a few minutes and the weather’s ruined my last pair.”
She lifted the hem of her skirt to reveal soaked brown loafers.
“I was on my way to the Royal Hotel, and then this torrential rain came out of nowhere. My shoes were ruined within minutes. You can see my predicament – I can’t well show up to a party looking like this. But I’m only in town for one night, and I didn’t think to bring a backup. Since I saw your shop was open, I figured I’d pop in and see if you could help me out.”
The saleswoman held up her hand and smiled. The gesture communicated the obvious: this was a problem she was well-equipped to handle. “Of course, madame,” she said. “We’ll take care of you.”
She snapped her fingers and the door slid open again. A second woman emerged, dressed in the same black uniform. She was as short and as fat as the first was tall and thin.
“Please take away our guest’s things,” said the saleswoman, “And…some tea, I think. Warm up her bones.”
The assistant nodded, then turned to Mme. Senestrari. Taking in the woman before her, she grinned from ear to ear and exclaimed, “Divine!”
“Oh,” said Mme. Senestrati, flushing slightly. “Aren’t you nice.”
Outside, a silent lightning bolt flashed across the sky, temporarily blinding the street with white light. The assistant helped Mme. Senestrari with her coat and hat, and with every layer that came off the old woman felt herself growing light and buoyant.
“Well, I for one can’t tell you how relieved I am that there are people in this world that still have good customer service,” said Mme. Senestrari, as the assistant folded her coat neatly over her right arm. “D’you know, nothing on this block is open at this time of night! I tried to go into the department store down the street, but they said they were way past closing time and slammed the door in my face! Imagine that! This generation, they’ve got no respect for their elders. You’d have thought I was a beggar instead of a lady with good money to spend!”
“What can I say?” mused the saleswoman. “We prefer an old-fashioned approach.”
She turned around and motioned for Mme. Senestrari to follow her. “Let me take you to the back,” she said. “I think we might have just what you’re looking for.”
They walked through the shop, passing racks of beaded dresses and luxurious velvet skirts. Her eyes scanned the store, taking in the full-length mirrors on every wall and the gilded clothing racks. A large fireplace hummed quietly in the back, making the shop glow with the rosy warmth of a ladies’ parlor. They made slow progress; Mme. Senestrari kept lingering behind to finger a lace collar, or to admire a crocodile handbag she said reminded her of her mother.
“So,” mused the saleswoman, as they passed a tailored black suit threaded with sharp, glittering crystals. “Madame is going to a ball.”
“Well, I wouldn’t call it a ball,” said Mme. Senestrari, with a chuckle. “My husband’s company is hosting a big party tonight to celebrate a new merger of some sort. At least, I think it’s a merger. I’m just an old lady, what do I know about business? But… I do know a little something about marriage, and that’s that wives support their husbands. So, I’m here to surprise him.”
“He doesn’t know you’re coming?”
There was a tilt of curiosity in the saleswoman’s voice that triggered something inside Mme. Senestrari. A dark cloud passed over her face, and she scowled.
“So what?” said Mme. Senestrari. “I’m his wife – don’t you think I should be where my husband is?”
“Of course,” said the saleswoman quickly. “I only mean to say…well, that you have the element of surprise on your side.”
Mme. Senestrari arched an eyebrow. “The element of surprise?”
“Well, your husband isn’t expecting you,” said the saleswoman. “If I were you, I would take advantage of the situation to really… wow him. Step out of your comfort zone. Try something new.”
Mme. Senestrari’s gaze drifted among the racks of chiffon dresses, silk shirts, and cashmere coats. As if it were a reflex, her hand reached out and ran her hands through the sleeve of a black velvet jacket.
“I suppose it would be nice to wear something pretty,” she mused. “I’m sure I can’t remember the last time I went shopping in a place like this.”
The shoe section was arranged to the right of the fireplace. Several rows of shelving lined the wall, supporting several pairs of shoes protected by glass bell jars. All the shoes were red, and there were easily two dozen styles, ranging from delicate to utilitarian. There were red cowboy boots, red heels, red brogues, red go-go boots, red ballet shoes, and even a pair of red children’s shoes. Each pair had its own distinct shade: a gradient of crimson tones that stretched from a deep coral to burgundy. Tall flickers of flames snapped every few seconds from the fireplace, their amber glow reflecting against the bell jars. A record player rested on the bottom shelf, its needle gliding statically over the revolving vinyl below.
The saleswoman led Mme. Senestrari to a velvet settee directly in front of the fireplace. A moment later they were joined by the assistant, who was carrying a tray with a cup of steaming tea. She held the cup and saucer out to Mme. Senestrari like a ceremonial offering. A little mist of vapor wafted from the top.
“You’re a saint,” said Mme. Senestrari, and took a long sip. The hot drink warmed her, traveling along her limbs like an elixir. The tea was strong and the liquid burned her tongue but it revived her from within, as if she had swallowed an ember that was beginning to glow inside her belly. She was already on her second sip when she heard a distinct click and glanced up to see that the assistant had returned to the front and was turning the lock in the door.
“I do hope I’m not keeping you after hours,” said Mme. Senestrari apologetically. The saleswoman dismissed the thought with a clicking of her tongue.
“You’re our last customer of the day,” she said. “We wouldn’t dream of turning you away. Besides, this is a special occasion. You’re going to surprise your husband.”