Chapter 4: Shopping Expedition

Our favorite costume shop occupied an old brick building on a side street, and it bore no resemblance to the flimsy pop-up Halloween stores that sprouted in vacant storefronts every October. This was a professional theatrical costume house, the kind that outfitted entire stage productions with authentic period garments, military regalia, gowns, masks, wigs, and every accessory an actor could need. Halloween was simply their busiest season.

The moment we crossed the threshold, the air changed. Racks of costumes stretched into the cavernous space like rows of forgotten eras. Mannequins posed in miniature scenes: a Victorian mourning dress, a Napoleonic officer’s coat, a feathered Renaissance doublet. Shelves overflowed with crowns, capes, masks, wings, horns, gloves, boots, and enough paste jewelry to outfit a minor monarchy.

Sophia’s face lit up. “Oh, this was an excellent idea.”

We spent nearly two hours trying things on.

She emerged first in a 1920s flapper dress, black fringe swaying with every step, a rhinestone headband crowned with a single ostrich plume. The hem barely cleared the tops of her thighs, and the fringe shivered with her every breath. She studied her reflection. “No.”

“Why?”

“I look like I’m about to hawk bathtub gin on the Lower East Side.”

Next came matching Renaissance ensembles, a brocade doublet for her and a velvet gown with slashed sleeves for me. We rejected them after one glance in the mirror.

“We look like we’ve been kidnapped by a historical reenactment society,” Sophia declared.

A pirate outfit followed, with a billowing shirt, a leather vest, a tricorn hat, and a plastic cutlass. Too theatrical. Then Victorian walking dresses, all high collars and corseted waists. Too restrictive. Then 1940s movie-star gowns in bias-cut satin with rhinestone straps. Too obvious.

Then Sophia vanished behind the fitting-room curtain and reappeared as an angel. The costume was beautifully made: layers of ivory silk that caught the light like candle flame, goose-feather wings veined in gold, a wire halo wound with tiny crystal beads. She turned slowly before the mirror.

“Well?”