test of time and is as big as, or bigger, than previous dance classics like the chicken dance and the bunny hop.
Chad and company are sitting across the ballroom from us, which is the only bit of good luck that’s come my way. My eyes glide over to our table to find that Mr. and Mrs. Holt are the only ones there. It seems a particularly bad idea to join them without a buffer. That’s when I notice non-macarena arms flailing in the air. They belong to Emmie and her mom, Gracie, who are sitting close by. I reset my trajectory in their direction.
Emmie smiles brightly. “Ashley, I’m so glad you’re here!”
“Why?” I ask before I can stop myself.
“Because I like you, that’s why.”
My only interactions with Emmie have been at the nursing home when she’s been visiting her grandmother, and those have mostly been small talk about the state of Mrs. Frothingham’s mental acuity.
Gracie leans over and compliments, “You look beautiful tonight, honey.”
Her sincerity makes me feel like I actually fit in here. “Thank you,” I say, then for some inexplicable reason, I feel the need to add, “I picked this dress up on at an end of the season sale last year.” Why can’t I just take a compliment without having to explain the fact that I’m only wearing something this pretty because it was cheap?
Emmie points to her dreamsicle-colored swing dress and says, “I bought this one four years ago on the clearance rack at Bergdorf Goodman in New York City. Guess how much I got it for?”
I have no idea. I mean, what in the world would a Frothingham woman consider a bargain basement deal? I decide on an outrageous number that I wouldn’t pay for ten dresses on clearance just so she doesn’t think I’m a total peasant. “Three hundred dollars.”
She looks at me with real alarm and demands, “Are you nuts? Who spends three hundred dollars on a dress?”
“I … I … I don’t know,” I stammer awkwardly. “It’s just so elegant.”
“I want in on this,” Lee announces. “I’m guessing you didn’t spend a penny over forty-nine dollars.”
Emmie beats her hands on the table like a crazed bongo player. “I paid nineteen ninety-nine aaaaaaaaaaaannnnd”—continued drumroll—“I got an extra twenty percent off because I applied for a credit card that I canceled as soon as it came.”
I burst out laughing before I can stop myself. I thought I was the only person in the world that cheap. “That’s a wonderful story,” I tell her with renewed appreciation for how down-to-earth this family seems to be.
Gracie sits taller as her eyes shift from side to side in such a way you’d think she was about to impart government secrets. “I paid fifty-eight for mine, but that was ten years ago. I’ve worn this dress to more events than you can shake a stick at.” She explains, “The trick is to pair it with different jewelry and to switch out the color of the belt and shoes.”
Her black sheath is currently sporting an apple-green grosgrain belt with matching high heels. She explains, “It’s the perfect daytime dress if I wear white or yellow accessories, and it looks decidedly French in nature when I use red. I’ve discovered that most people are detail-oriented and as long as the canvas is neutral, all they see is color.”
“That’s a wonderful tip,” I tell her. “Thank you.”
“Honey, my tips have tips,” she says. “When Reed died, Emmie and I got pretty creative when it came to, ‘keeping up with the Joneses.’ These club ladies have a way of rooting around in your business and speculating on their findings in such a way that leaves you feeling like a lab rat.”
I’m surprised by her candor. I would have lumped Gracie into the “club lady” category in a heartbeat, even though Emmie recently admitted that she and her mom were given a hard time after her dad died. I’m happy to discover that looks can be deceiving.
Emmie announces, “I paid four hundred dollars for a dress once, but it was for an awards ceremony at work and I wanted to look my best when I stood at the podium and thanked the board for bestowing such an honor on me.”
“What did you get an award for?” I ask.
“Oh, I didn’t win. In fact, I lost so spectacularly that I ultimately had to leave my job.” She notes the shocked look on my face and continues, “I conceived Faye that night so it was