PINK PEARLS OF WISDOM
The luxurious, time-worn
building located at Sixteen Eighteen Main Street was like a majestic Paramount
Movies studio set. Mesmerized, I
lingered at Neiman Marcus’ front doors and pretended that perhaps Gina Lollabrigida,
Ann Margaret, or even Rock Hudson would emerge from the set onto the street
where I stood.
“Are you coming?” My grandmother tugged on my shirt sleeve. “We can’t be late!”
“Welcome
to Neiman Marcus.” A white-gloved man opened
the door. “Neiman’s is the perfect store
for women.”
As we walked through the picturesque
lobby, I gasped for breath and gawked like a tourist at the exquisite crystal
chandelier above me. I closed my eyes
and imagined Grace Kelly wearing a glamorous floor-length gown, mink stole, and
elbow-length gloves slowly descending the signature double staircase.
When I opened my eyes, a
woman carrying a perfume tray was standing right in front of me. “Little Lady, would you like to sample some
perfume?”
“Yes ma’am.” My eyes skimmed over the tray.
“Neimans offers some of
the most popular fragrances—Shalimar, Chanel No. 5, and Evening in Paris. Let me see.
You look like a Shalimar gal to me.”
She removed the dark blue cap and sprayed both of my wrists. “Take a whiff. Isn’t
it just delicious?”
I sniffed my wrists. They smelled kind of like a fruit salad. “Yes ma’am.”
I nodded politely then rushed toward the elevator.
“Where have you been?” My grandmother let out a heavy sigh. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you! Stop your dawdling!” She grabbed my hand. “Come!
I simply must stop at the jewelry department before we go upstairs for
lunch.”
We
scurried toward the jewelry department. Like
Holly Golightly browsing through Tiffany’s, my grandmother loved peering
through Neiman’s glass jewelry cases.
She eyed several necklaces, but eventually settled on a 12-inch string
of delicate pink pearls with matching earrings.
“May
I take a look at that set of pink pearls?” asked my grandmother.
“Yes
certainly Madam.” The sales clerk
unlocked the display case and draped the pink pearls over a piece of dark blue
velvet and handed them to my grandmother.
My
grandmother’s fingers stroked the pearls.
“Oh, those are impeccable!”
“Here,
let me help you try them on.” The sales
clerk came from behind the display case; hung the pearls around my grandmother’s
slender neck; and handed her a mirror.
“Those pearls are as cultivated and classy as you are. They simply define you!”
My
grandmother held up the mirror and carefully examined the pearls. “Indeed!
They do.”
Then
without even looking at the price tag, she blurted, “I’ll take them! No need to box them up. I’ll wear them now.”
While
the clerk rang up the sale, my grandmother turned to me. “I’m just so embarrassed. I left the house this morning without putting
on my jewelry. You understand, don’t
you? I had to buy them before we have lunch.”
My
eyes widened and I stuttered. “I…I…I
don’t uh…understand.”
“Let me tell you something. Remember!
A lady never leaves the house
without putting on her jewelry! Never!”
She wrinkled her nose and raised one dainty eyebrow. “It’s uncouth!”
My grandmother placed the
matching earrings on her ears and took one last glance in the mirror and smiled. She tilted her head back then eased my hand
in hers. “Come. I must make one more stop before we have
lunch.”
I walked with her as she wove
her way back to the perfume and cosmetic counter where she pulled out a
counter-height chair. “Have a
seat.” I plopped myself down on the
satiny cushion and noticed that the air around me smelled velvety soft and
feminine like a bar of luxurious white soap.
“Good
afternoon!” A cheerful voice startled me. “My name’s Rose.” A slender, brunette woman stepped from behind
the cosmetic counter. “How may I help
you ladies today?”
“I was wondering if you could suggest some
make up that would be age appropriate for my granddaughter.”
“Neimans offers the latest mod trends in
makeup for young teens.” Rose reached
over and touched my face. “She has
beautiful skin—a little oily. But that’s
normal at her age. I’d suggest Revlon’s
Natural Wonders foundation.” She pulled
a sample bottle from a drawer behind the counter and dabbed a little on my
neckline. “Ah! That’s the perfect color.” Rose turned toward my grandmother. “If you like, I’d be happy to make up her
face and give her some pointers.”
“Well, what do you think?” My grandmother looked straight at me. “Are you ready to be a lady?”
“Yes ma’am.” I blushed ever so slightly and hugged her.
“Alright, Rose.” Go ahead.”
My grandmother winked at Rose then disappeared.
Rose dabbed some foundation
on my face. “Always use a sponge and
gently smooth the foundation over your face—like this.” She handed me a makeup mirror. “See.
Your skin looks flawless but natural.”
“Remember the 60’s is about
keeping your look simple. So, you’ll
want a neutral blush.” Rose riffled through another drawer. “Ah, here’s a subtle pink. You’ll gently brush it onto the apples of
your cheeks—like so.”
Rose then opened an oblong
pink tin that contained lip and eye shadow palettes. “Brush the iridescent white over your entire eyelid;
then add one of the other pastel colors on the lower portion of your eyelid. Then follow with two applications of mascara.” Rose pointed to the silken pink lip
palette. “Lastly, remember to apply a
subtle pink lipstick like this one.”
After Rose completed my
makeover, she spun me around in the chair then handed me a pink and white
striped bag bearing the Neiman Marcus logo.
“This bag contains all the products I showed you today. Your grandmother
wanted you to have them.”
“But…but….” I stammered.
“Ah. Here’s your grandmother now. Enjoy the makeup!”
I hugged my grandmother
and struggled with what to say. “Are you
sure?” were the only words that popped out of my mouth.
“Yes, I’m sure. But always
remember—a lady never leaves her
house without putting on her face. Now let’s go to lunch.”
We strutted toward the
elevator; and when the golden doors opened, another white-gloved man greeted
us. “Which floor madam?”
“The Sixth Floor—the
Zodiac Room, please,” she said with a gleam in her eyes.
When the elevator
doors re-opened, my grandmother straightened her back; adjusted her pearls; and
pranced toward a gray-haired man wearing a black tuxedo. The maître d'
greeted us and said, “Hi Myrtle! Your
usual table?”
“Yes, my usual, Adam.” She stroked her pearls and blushed. “Thank you.”
“Right this way
then.” He bowed ever so slightly and
whisked us to our table. Adam pulled out
my grandmother’s chair; removed the white brocade napkin from the drinking
glass; snapped it open; then placed it on her lap. “You’re looking elegant today.” He then pulled out my chair; snapped open my
napkin; and placed it on my lap. “Who is
this pretty young lady with you?”
“She’s my granddaughter. Today is her 13th birthday.”
“Congratulations, pretty
lady.” Adam handed us menus. “Glad you could join us for your birthday
lunch. Your server will be here shortly
with your popovers, strawberry butter, and cup of soup. In the meantime, enjoy today’s fashion show.”
I placed my hands in my
lap and noticed the room was teeming with fashionable women wearing pill box hats,
white gloves, tight-waisted dresses, and high heels. I watched models sashay from table to table
presenting the latest Vogue-like fashions. I closed my eyes and inhaled the restaurant’s
hypnotizing aroma. It smelled like delicately scented lace and expensive
French sachets. I opened my eyes and glanced
across the room. And in that instant, I
thought I saw Audrey Hepburn and Sophia Loren sipping tea at a table adjacent to
ours.
“You haven’t touched your
soup yet.” My grandmother tapped my
hand. “Don’t let it get cold!”
I turned my head just as a
pencil-thin model strolled by our table wearing a pair of tightly-fitted Capri pants
and a sleeveless, polka-dotted blouse.
“What a delightful spring
outfit!” my grandmother sighed. “I’m too
old to wear something that flashy. Besides
at my age, my arms are flabby.” She jiggled
the loose skin on her arm. “See. An old lady’s arm jiggles. So always remember! A lady over 50 never wears anything sleeveless.
It’s simply inelegant!” She slowly
sipped her tea and nibbled on her popover.
“Besides, my stomach pooches out.”
“I…uh…uh…don’t understand.”
“Just remember! A lady never
wears pants if her stomach pooches out.
Never!” She grimaced.
“It’s graceless!”
The years since—like my
youth—have disappeared from my immediate view leaving me to wonder whatever
happened to my grandmother’s precious pink pearls. Shortly after my grandmother’s passing,
Then shortly after my grandmother’s passing, my aunt
delivered a mysterious package. On the
outside, my name appeared—written in my grandmother’s penmanship—the same
penmanship, I’d seen so many times on the letters, cards,
and notes she’d sent me.
I opened the box and noticed the contents were wrapped in my grandmother’s vintage Chantilly lace shawl. When I sniffed the lace, a heartwarming aroma filled my nostrils. It smelled a bit like an expensive French sachet with hint of lavender, lemongrass, and rosemary. I gingerly unfolded the shawl, and there to my surprise was my grandmother’s pink pearls and matching earrings. Taped to the lid of the box was her handwritten note. “I hope you enjoy wearing these as much as I did. Remember, always be a lady!”
I sniffed back the tears as
I realized her words—those pink pearls of wisdom—were still with me, for I’m
uneasy wearing sleeveless dresses; I never leave the house without wearing
jewelry; I all but cringe when I leave the house without makeup; and without
thinking, I always double-check when I wear pants making sure that my stomach doesn’t
pouch out.
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