Lauren Takes Leave by Julie Gerstenblatt Read Free Book Online Page A

and bags under my chins. I
even have bags under my arms that I won’t show you for fear of scaring you
away. I do not have a body made for clothes.” Here, she always pauses
dramatically and takes a step closer to the newcomer. “I have a body meant for
handbags. And I want to share my love of bags with you .”
    Women melt at those words.
    I am not one of Sophie’s most devout clients, but I do
like to, you know, pay my respects every once in a while. Once a year, I
celebrate getting older by spending some of my hard-earned teaching salary on a
gorgeous designer bag. And the rest of the time? I buy regular bags. Lots of ’em.
Doug likes to joke that I was born—or, at any rate, bred—in a handbag.
    As I come fully into view of the living room, I am
overwhelmed, as usual. There is just so much to see, so much to touch. All of
it is sexy, and all of it comes with Sophie’s testimonies. There is soft, tan,
fringed suede (“isn’t that luscious ”) and bumpy black leather (“it’s
ostrich, you know, ridiculously high-end”) and slouchy and quilty and patent…oh
my!
    Sophie picks up a large red bag with interlocking Gs
splattered all over it and a wooden shoulder strap. “Now, I know this is not
your style, Lauren, but isn’t it just fierce ?”
    I make a face and tilt my head. “Not so sure.”
    She shakes her hairsprayed helmet at me. “How long have we
known each other? Eight, ten years? You always go for the safe bag. The
classic. Everything about you is sort of…” She looks me up and down. “ Conservative .
You need to break out a bit. Try something messy, less structured, more…fun!”
And with that, she throws me a shockingly purple Balenciaga motorcycle bag
covered in hardware.
    For good measure, I sling it over my shoulder and pose in
the mirror against one wall. “Yeah, nope.”
    “Today’s the day. I can just sense it,” she says, clearly
not deterred. On tiptoe, she weaves in and out of the piles of bags, wiggling
her fingers over them like a magician conjuring a rabbit from a hat.
    And then she stops, bends over, and grabs one. It is a
large, somewhat slouchy, dark blue Chloe. I actually gasp upon seeing it.
    “Ta-dah!” she announces triumphantly.
    “It’s so…rock-and-roll!” I gush, immediately taking it
from her and putting it over my arm. “It’s seriously glam.” I turn one way,
then the other. “I love it.” I size up my reflection, as if I’m another woman.
“I’m just not sure it’s me.”
    “It’s so you,” Sophie concludes. “The new you.”
    As I stare at my reflection, I think, Maybe it’s
actually the old me . Coming back . In high school and college, I used
to dress sort of funky. I used to be playful and edgy and…interesting.
    What the hell happened to me? When did I start to equate
“growing up” with being dull and conservative? What’s the big deal about
breaking out a bit, being a little glam, a little fun?
    I smile and tell Sophie I’ll take it.
    I eventually end up with the Chloe bag tucked like a
poodle at my feet and a cup of tea in my hand. From time to time I reach down
and stroke the soft leather as if it actually is my new pet: dead calf. Sophie
and I have taken a break from posing in front of the mirror with the bags
(which all look great on her; she’s the best model for her merchandise) and are
sitting cross-legged in an available corner of her living room floor.
    “This just occurred to me…how do you entertain?” I ask,
looking around. Even her dining room table, on the other side of the fireplace,
has bags piled high across it.
    “Oh, I don’t!” She laughs. “I don’t like cooking. And
because of my business”—she gestures around the room—“I feel like I am always
entertaining. It’s a tad exhausting, actually.”
    “So is my job,” I say.
    “Yes, work is…work.” She shrugs. “Otherwise it would be
called something else. Speaking of which, you never did explain…why aren’t you
at school today?