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When she got it off, I laid it out on the cutting table.
“God damn, Daddy,” I mumbled.
“What?”
“Well, it’s so clean inside… I’m going to have to rip some seams. Do
you mind?”
“Have at it.”
I took out my seam ripper, and for the second time in my life, I laid it in
the seam of one of Basile Papillion’s gowns.
“How are you and Logan doing?” she asked, walking around the silver
dress to see my work.
Riiiip. Didn’t hurt at all.
“Great.” Truthful, if still part lie. I inspected the construction at the top
edge. Wait. This couldn’t be right. I ripped deeper.
“I have to admit, I didn’t think you’d last a minute with that boy.”
“We haven’t been together that long.”
“I was worried. I mean, he’s so tightly wound and you’re such a free
spirit.”
The edge was easy, but the way the butterfly wings were attached from
the inside? It looked like glue. Brushed-on clear glue.
“And I thought,” Doreen continued, “he was either going to crush you
or you were going to get bored and run like hell.”
I sniffed the inside of the lining and almost got a contact high. “I don’t
believe it…”
“I’m starting to.”
“Moth-er-fucker. I cannot even with this.” I stood away from the table.
“He used rubber cement on a ten-thousand-dollar ball gown.”
“Is that bad?” Doreen peered over the gown to see the glue.
Basile Papillion wasn’t such a genius after all. Or at least he wasn’t a
perfect genius.
“If finding out your father took shortcuts is bad, yeah.”
“Can you make it fit again?”
“Well, I don’t know what’s going to happen if I start cutting. The glue’s
old, so the wings could drop and you’ll have bald spots.” I gathered the
garment and draped it onto a second form I’d bought. “And if I take it in
here, it’s not going to drape unless I…” I stepped back, dismissing the idea.
“What?”
“It’s too much. It’ll change the entire thing.”