Chapter 11

“Mom has it, David.” Grace said. “I am surprised that you asked. I wasn’t expecting it.”

“How about my tux?” I said. “Any banned or prohibitive colors or styles?”

“Mom has that taken care of.”

“What about size? Will it fit?” I paused... “Scratch that. Mom knows my size.”

She did.

On the forenoon of the auspicious day, I was sent to the barber. Shorn ... I walked home, showered ... twice (Mom found imperfections.) That embarrassing situation over, I went to my room.

I found a Azul Marinho Noivo Homens Casamento Smoking Fraques Peacked Lapela Moda Evening Formal vestido de Festa (Jacket + Pant + colete) in unrelenting Navy. A genuine Italian monkey suit and a dad to act as dresser. The shirt was white silk ... the neckcloth, cornflower blue ... the color of the family eye, the suspenders were leather braces ... no belt. Black silk hose and wingtips completed ... or so I thought.

I sweated the Arrival.

My partner made an entrance. Her dress matched my tie ... exactly. Her hair was up and fine ... My brain said...

Where is Grace?

The vision that tripped lightly down the stairs wore Cornflower Blue ... Cornflower Blue that hugged curves. Curves that started at tiny slipper clad feet and ended at an impossibly long and aristocratic neck. The route taken crossed the Alps on the way up ... twice ... and severe valleys in strategic places in between. The mountains cast deep shadows between peaks. This woman girl had an exotic head under ALL THAT HAIR and above that thin neck. Tiny ears, straight nose, arched brows and cornflower blue eyes.

The beautifully shaped, kissable lips opened and that remembered voice spoke, “Shut your mouth, David ... you’re drooling.”

Grace?

Flat Chested Grace?

Grace of the noassatall?

Yup ... Still Grace of the sarcastic mouth ... but Grace just the same.

I almost ... almost, mind you ... sprung a woodie. Close but no cigar. Had she not spoken, I would have embarrassed myself.

“Jesus Christ, Grace ... you’re beautiful.”

I should have stopped there but I didn’t.

“Talk about hiding your light under a bushel basket ... or a burlap sack.”

After the obligatory photographs, Daddy drove us to the decorated gym in the Town Car.

The final touch? He parked in front ... ran around and opened the car door, rolled out a scrap of red carpet, assisted Grace, clapped a matching top hat on my head, handed me a walking stick and my gloves, tipped his leather cap and drove away.

Grace had already stepped off the red carpet and engaged the Yearbook photographer in light conversation.

Grace was in the tenth grade ... nobody knew who she was. This was the Senior Prom.