Zimmer: Shimmering Chandeliers & Chanel & Candy Pink Mary J's

6

Buschle’s Boutique.

Amelia stood fidgeting at the entrance. She’d passed the shop many times before, but never before found the courage to enter, thinking herself hardly their kind of clientele. It was a shop for secondhand but high-end designer fashion.

‘Gently worn’ was the expression. With the price tags still high-end enough to match.

Unlikely to find anything befitting of the label ‘luxurious’ in her usual clothing haunts however, if she was to fulfil Point no. 4, there was simply nothing else for it.

So here goes nothing, she braced herself and plunged head first into a world once beyond her.

The boutique was surprisingly inviting, with the golden, glittering light of a shimmering chandelier above a display table of gloves and purses and sunglasses and perfumes, front and centre, with clothing racks beyond and around the periphery, the polished wooden flooring accented by plush Persian carpeting in deep rich tones. Amelia stood soaking it all in, like a kid in a candy store, at once urgently and fervently eager but completely stupefied.

“Good day. I’m Renate.” A voice spoke and interrupted the enchantment, an accent she couldn’t quite place, forcing Amelia to gratefully focus her attention on its speaker. “May I assist you in any way? I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure before.”

A middle-aged, flawless woman came forward from behind the counter. She glided across the room in a fitted silk cream blouse and charcoal suit tailored to seamless perfection, her greying hair pinned back in a neat and sophisticated chignon.

“Now let me see. Yes, a fine figure indeed. You carry your age well. Turn around if you don’t mind. Aha. Not always an easy size, mind you, to be so slight and so short. But that is no matter. We’ll manage just as well. Vintage will take care of that. Is there a special occasion?”

There was an abrupt eloquence to her that lent itself well to the chic but almost other-worldly surroundings, like some elegance of an era forgotten entirely by the ravages of time.

Both the proprietor and the shop.

“Um, Amelia,” Amelia extended a hand, regretting it instantly as she compared her own to the boutique owner’s expertly manicured fingernails.

“No special occasion. Just, well, I want to do something about this.” She gestured up and down. “Just something not this, really, and this about sums up everything I have.”

Renate smiled the kind, knowing smile of a benefactress.

“An item came in yesterday that I think might do the job.” Amelia obeyed as Renate motioned towards a clothes rack and selected the outfit in question. “Now, I wouldn’t normally recommend a bow around the neckline for a woman in her thirties... I’m guessing of course. Early thirties?”

“Thirty five.”

“But as I said, you carry it well.” She waved a hand, dismissing any concerns. Again with an all-knowing brand of exactitude. “You’re blessed with youthful skin and have the girlish frame to suit this style. That said, a woman can never truly go wrong with Chanel. Off to the fitting room with you then, dahling.”

Renate handed Amelia a black muslin dress, with a viscose under-dress. And with another wave of her manicured hand, Amelia was dismissed to transform.

Once in the fitting room, she dutifully undressed and tried it on. The black Chanel dress fell just above her knees and felt light and liberating, with decorative small buttons all the way up the front and a high neckline with a broad but somehow graceful bowtie that rested beneath the collarbone. Soft, ruffled sleeves flowed down effortlessly to an inch above the elbow.

She had to admit, she felt suddenly very pretty, if quite unlike herself.

But wasn’t that the whole point? To try something different?

“Let’s have a good look at you then,” she heard Renate call from the other side of the fitting room curtain. Shy at first, Amelia emerged and attempted a twirl. “Dahling. Simply dah-ling! A perfect fit. As if it were made just for you. But now, you won’t be wearing Chanel with those I hope?” The spell almost entirely broken beyond redemption, clinging by a thread, her modern-day fairy godmother pointed towards the dismal affront of Amelia’s worse-for-wear sneakers slumped in the corner of the fitting room as if an imminent threat to the very sanctity of her boutique. “Don’t’ go anywhere.”

She returned moments later.

“Size 4?”

Amelia nodded.

A pair of candy pink, patent leather Mary Janes were thrust in front of her. Thin strapped and square toed, with an angled block heel, these were certainly not of the playground variety she’d worn as a child.

“Go on,” Renate pressed, with what lasting and lingering sentimentality she seemed to possess, almost in earnest. “When dressed in classic Chanel, a woman of your age can still have some fun in the shoe department. Try them on. Live a little. Those, uh, trainers look like they could use a break. Or perhaps, how do you say, an early retirement. If you’ll pardon my honesty.”

Amelia had to laugh at herself and acquiesce. When it came to matters of style, she was only too happy to follow the orders of an obvious fashionista. And, it had to be said, something of a rather deceptively exotic one she strongly suspected.

“Now come with me.” Renate took Amelia by the hand and guided her like a veritable godsend towards a full length swivel mirror. “Just one more thing missing.” And with this, she adorned Amelia in a pair of pearl and dark crystal silver plated earrings. “There.”

Renate clasped her hands under her chin, clearly satisfied with her handiwork. Amelia Young, all grown up.

“Now let’s hide the evidence, shall we?” her saviour mock whispered in gentle camaraderie and offered Amelia a designer carry bag for her sneakers and jeans and tee.

It hadn’t come cheaply. But when did it ever? And when had she last treated herself?

The savings of a couple of months and then some, Amelia couldn’t have cared less.

Besides, this was what she wanted. With yet another point successfully crossed off her list, she was finally ready for a proper dinner date for one.

Amelia felt as though she was floating over the threshold when she returned home, the ingredients for the evening’s dinner in hand. Only the best would do when dressed in Chanel she’d assured herself, as she set the champagne aside in the refrigerator to chill in time for the grand banquet later. The rest of the groceries packed away, she opened Bellamy’s book to the earmarked page.

Risotto of Sea Scallops

If there is any meal worth all the effort, it is this velvety indulgence. Utterly unapologetic and absolutely divine, whether you are wooing a romantic interest or wooing yourself, it makes little difference. You deserve no less than the exquisite even when dining for one.

To romance the self is one of the rare simple joys we can take from this world. You are the queen of your own realm after all. The curator of this sublime exhibition called life.

So may the candlelight be soft and the accompanying bubbles nothing short of the finest as you tenderly caress each and every ingredient and adoringly prepare this particular culinary delicacy.

For all the time in the kitchen it may take you, I can assure you a taste of heaven is waiting on the other side. And what an honour it is when we, mere mortals though we may be, are invited by the sheer reward of our own two hands and the lavish gardens of earthly pleasures to feast at the table of the gods...

Amelia began by getting started on the stock. She finely diced the carrot, a celery stalk and a small leek which she set aside in a pot with a spoonful of olive oil to soften. Next came the scallop skirts, once thoroughly cleaned, allowing them to lightly fry in the oil for a few more minutes before she added the litre of water to bring to the boil. Awoken and drawn in by the scent of ocean tides wafting from the kitchen, Ailuros surfaced, rubbing her body against Amelia’s bare legs.

“Now that that’s on the go, what do you say to some music, eh?” Amelia stroked the cat’s silken coat, picking her up and carrying her into the lounge. Was there anything better than the soft underbelly of a purring feline? They were becoming familiar with each other, and this revelation brought a smile to Amelia’s face. Gently, she placed Ailuros on the sofa and selected some Etta James from amongst her CD’s. It was her favourite and if any day was a day for favourites she’d declared it this day of all days.

Leaving Ailuros to her own devices, Amelia returned to the kitchen to skim the stock and pass it through a fine sieve lined with a clean cloth kitchen towel, setting it aside to cool while she carried on with the butter of scallop roe. She set a pan on the stove and brought the onion, chardonnay and white wine vinegar to a simmer to slowly reduce.

Once ready, she added the scallop roes, cooking them briefly before whisking in the dollops of unsalted butter. The last of the butter all but completely melted away, along with any cares in the world, Amelia poured the mixture into a large bowl and puréed it with yet another new addition to her kitchen armour.

She gleefully watched as it turned the most delightful pale blush of pink.

Passing it through a fine sieve, Amelia congratulated herself on step two of her latest culinary venture and decided it was time for that glass of champagne.

As Bellamy insisted, when the call for celebration beckons, answer it with flair. With or without company. And with Etta James singing her heart out, Amelia agreed that it was indeed at last.

Taking care to be precise, Amelia sliced a portion of the scallops into six thin, even discs, chopping the remaining scallops into tiny squares for the risotto later. Sweating the diced shallot in a teaspoon of olive oil, she added the rice and stirred for a few minutes more, being mindful to follow Bellamy’s instructions to the letter for the perfect al dente risotto.

Adding the stock to the rice, ladle by ladle, she stirred and stirred, finding a comforting pleasure in the measured and steady motion, until the last of the liquid had evaporated.

The recipe for the risotto called now for the roe butter and freshly grated parmesan, with the diced scallop and a light touch of seasoning with salt and pepper and a squeeze of lemon juice. At the very last moment, Amelia folded in the whipped cream and snipped chives, while the thin discs of scallops were quickly seared on either side in another pan, still springy to the touch and delicately set atop the steaming risotto.

Now this was dinner for one! Amelia beamed and clapped her hands with approval.

All she needed was to light the candles she’d bought especially and to top up her flute.

She had to admit there were some upsides to life with a cat, with a whole glorious bottle of expensive champagne all for herself and herself alone.

“Here’s to us, Ailuros!” Amelia raised her flute in a toast. “And here’s to feasting with the gods!”

Contented in a way she had not felt in a very long time, Amelia reclined on the sofa in her mother’s kimono cotton robe, languishing after her fine dinner, with the thin volume of arboreal illustrations the professor had given her, the hardback in one hand and her champagne in the other.

They were so very striking. She was sure the professor would not mind were she to make a few prints for her own home. One old painting of her mother’s on the chest of drawers in her bedroom hardly counted as filling empty spaces with art, after all. She considered the prints again. Three would do nicely for the lounge. As the professor had in his sunroom.

She found The Widow, They Were Lonesome and Hope especially haunting and beautiful, flipping through the book’s slightly weathered pages for a second time.

She caught herself stuck on Hope as she turned to reach forward and touch a frond of the maidenhead fern on the coffee table. Thankfully it seemed in good enough health.

Leaving the book to one side of the sofa and setting the champagne flute down, Amelia went into her bedroom to retrieve the beginning of it all, her little to do list, and a pen.

Resuming her seat in the lounge again, she poured over the list, penning a few hesitant ticks alongside Points 1, 2 and 4. She placed a dubious question mark next to Point number 3, deciding that the jury was still out on whether or not the fern would make it in the months to follow under her sole guardianship and care. When it came to gardening and plants, she still regarded them as a bit of a mystery. But Point number 5 now glared back at her.

As much as she loved the company of Ailuros, some human contact would probably do her some good. She was still as yet to extend a genuine gesture of friendship, and though it wasn’t easy for her, Amelia knew she would never feel entirely ready for the task.

A leap of faith.

That’s what her Papa had taught her. A leap of faith never did anybody any real harm, he’d have said. “The blessing of the human condition is to hope.” His words came back to her now. Hope. There it was again. That, and a little Dutch courage.

Before she lost her nerve, Amelia plucked Jack’s card up from the table where she’d left it next to the fern. She dialled the number on the other side.

“Jack Walsh. Hello?” A voice boomed back, catching her slightly off guard.

“Hello, Professor Walsh. This is Amelia. The uh, the maidenhead fern... Yes, she’s all fine and lovely, thank you. Professor Walsh… Yes of course, Jack then… I wondered if you might like to join me for dinner tomorrow evening? Oh. Great. Alright, I’ll send you the address. How does six sound? Okay? Alright, well... See you then. Thanks again. Bye. Uh, goodbye. Bye.”

Feeling slightly queasy and short of breath, Amelia hung up the phone.

Why had she thanked him for her dinner invitation?

Really, Amelia, she admonished herself for nervously fumbling over her own words.

But she’d committed.

There was nothing for it now.

Only a little leap of faith, some residual bubbly light headedness, a glimmer of hope, and the looming but promising prospect of dinner for two.

Chandelier Romance by ZsaZsa Bellagio