The Cliche Makeover Transition

"Grace, you look so good," Mother sighed.

"I love this color on you," Dinah revered. 

Both sentiments were expressed with soft pride as I emerged from behind the dressing curtain. Thankfully, as I could tell, none of the girls had informed my mother of last night's events, and although I had 14 missed calls and a lot of unanswered texts, they respected that boundary.

We had gathered in Dinah's studio for our Film Festival fittings. My mother does a lot of work with some historic preservation committees. I love working with and sponsoring the Philharmonic, so we put the two together, and it was growing into one of the most beloved events of the Philharmonic Season. Dad and Uncle Mark thought a Red Carpet idea was needed to add the Fashion element, so Classic Fashion became a main sponsor. 

Every patron is encouraged but not required to wear their finest fashion. Every year, the magazine's junior writers and photographers act as paparazzi and interviewers to make everyone feel special. Then, they write the centerfold feature about the event and its people. Having a newbie do the article every year is fun because you get a different perspective each time, forcing them to get creative.

All that to say, Dinah goes all out and creates our original Deerrich design dresses, which get featured in my "Company Life" Article every year. 

Dinah seemed to go a bit simpler this year. My dress was a tea-length rockabilly gown in forest green. Dinah used the sweetheart neckline I like so much and begrudgingly added straps, so I didn't feel so insecure. "You have a chest, and I can fit the dress so it doesn't move," she complained, but in the end, she did as I asked, and even she agreed that it looked just as cute.

"Grace Lynn McAlister, are you even listening to your mother?"

I suddenly returned to reality and emerged from behind my screen. "I am sorry, Mama. I was admiring my dress."

Olivia also stepped out from her screen, and we presented ourselves to Dinah. Olivia's dress was a more stylish navy-colored mermaid cut with off-the-shoulder sleeves and a beaded corset. Again on the simple side, but still stunning. Dinah chose red for herself this year. Her dress had a knee-high slit on the right leg and wrapped around her into a large bow on her right shoulder; it was flowy but not showy. It was Mother's year to go sleeveless. Dinah had made her a pitch-black dress that flattered her before flowing into a long train. I mean, she could rival Julia Roberts on Oscar Night.

"Dinah," my mother gushed, "I know I say this every year, but darling, I feel like a million bucks!"

"Lisa, You are a million bucks. I just get to play with it." Dinah beamed. "Off to the Stylist Department!"

Conversation buzzed around us. I loved our Classic Fashion stylists, who were "sisters" for the rough streets of Detroit. My mother discovered them and we were quick to give them a job. Mom and Olivia were in the chairs first, and Blair and Melinda took turns with hair and makeup.

"So Gracie-girl," Melinda called out, "what can you tell us about the secret guy that's got our Dinah beaming like a disco ball on cosmic bowling night?"

I looked at Dina and caught her happy blush. She nodded, and I knew it was okay to talk.

"I'm not sure exactly," I started, "but she has caught the eye of a prominent video game Mogul."

"More than that," Olivia giggled, "they are officially dating! He is her escort tonight."

"Oh! Speaking of escorts," my mother exclaimed. " I almost forgot. Grace, you—"

"Sorry, excuse me, ladies," my father suddenly appeared. "Grace, Mark would like to see you in his office."

———

Something felt very different about this walk to Mark's office. I had been pulled into late meetings or spontaneous editor pow-wows, and I have even had those Principal's Office moments. This was different. The look in my father's eyes was not sad but resigned, which did nothing to help me guess what this requested meeting could be about. 

Mark stood before his window, the Chicago sunset casting him in silhouette. I closed the door quietly behind me and stopped beside him, staring out the window. "You always get the best sunsets," I playfully grumbled.

"I called you here to talk to me, not covet my city view," he growled as he went to his mini fridge.

"Hard not to when you've got the best view in the building," I giggled as I continued staring out the window. He came up alongside me, handing me my usual cold cola, and we just watched our city silently for a minute. 

The sun fell between the skyscrapers, and the red and yellow blurred into the most beautiful orange. Dots of people were milling around beneath us, and we had the perfect view of Navy Pier. 

"This really is an incredible view," Uncle Mark muttered, "It will be a shame to leave it."

"Yeah, but as you – What?" I flipped toward him. "Did you seriously just drop that as some throwaway line? Where do you think you are going?"

He just chuckled and sipped his tumbler of whiskey. I so badly wanted to slap that expensive liquor out of his hand, but I refrained. He moved from the window and took his place behind his desk, and I followed, taking my usual right seat in front of him. 

I waited with my signature impatient look on my face. He just smiled but didn't offer any explanation. Now the game had begun. 

"You look beautiful, Little Press," He smiled.

"Thank you. Hopefully, you will be changing soon," I gestured to his business casual look. 

"I will get in that tight monkey suit as soon as I need to and not a moment sooner.

Silence fell between us again. I would not be the first one to crack, so I lightened up my approach. I leaned back, crossed my ankles, and soothed my fancy dress. Seconds ticked away, feeling like years were being stripped from me because he was better at this game than I was.

"Fine! You win," I growled. "What is going on?"

He smirked. I hate that smirk. "By this summer's swimsuit magazine, I will be stepping down as Editor and Chief. "

"I don't understand. Why are you stepping down?"

"It is time, Press." I moved to look at him head-on, and this time he cracked. "It came back." The words were lifted toward me with a sigh of defeat. 

"No," I stated. He reached out to me, but I evaded his touch. "No, there is no way!" I jumped to my feet and started pacing.

"I just got the results back," his voice was laced with that same resignation I saw in my father's eyes. 

"We can fight it! I can definitely hold down the fort while you are getting treatment," I explained. I knew I was desperately grasping at straws, but his eyes told me my protests were useless. I opened and closed my mouth a couple of times before giving up. I was so in my head that I never saw him stand up. He pulled me into his arms, and I buried my face in his chest. I hugged his waist as tightly as I could.

I sniffled and changed the subject, "Well, you need to get changed, and I need to finish with hair and makeup." I faked my best smile.

"Yes… about that," he stalled.

"Oh no," I demanded. "You are not allowed to back out of this. If this is my last year with you, you are walking that Red Carpet with me."

"I will walk the Red Carpet with you, but once inside, I will need to be tagged out."

"I mean, I can watch the show alone," I tried to offer.

"Well, I have already talked with your mom and scheduled a date for you."

"No," I groaned, "Not you too! You agreed that this groomfest was ridiculous!"

"True, but—"

"Couldn't you just ask one of the Woodworth Guys to escort me," I suggested.

"I've had my eye on this young man for you for a while," He looked so earnest.

"Fine. I think this is number four anyway so it will be nice to get it over with."

"Plus, you will be at your favorite event of the year, so it won't be SO tedious," he mockingly added.