PINK PEARLS OF WISDOM


The luxurious, time-worn building located at 1618 Main Street was like a majestic Paramount Movies studio set.  I lingered at its front doors and pretended that perhaps Gina Lollabrigida, Ann Margaret, or even Rock Hudson would emerge from the set onto the street where I stood.


            “Are you coming?” Grammy tugged on my shirt sleeve.  “We musn’t be late for the fashion show!”  As we walked through the picturesque lobby, I stopped and—like a tourist—gawked at the exquisite crystal chandelier above me.  I even imagined Grace Kelly wearing a glamorous floor-length gown, mink stole, and elbow-length gloves slowly descending the department store’s signature double staircase.


          “Little Lady, would you like to sample some perfume?” asked a woman carrying a perfume tray.  


“Yes ma’am,” I said my eyes skimming over the tray.


“Shalimar, Chanel No. 5, or Evening in Paris? What shall it be?” I shrugged my shoulders.  “Hmm…let me see.  You look like a Shalimar gal to me.”  She removed the dark blue cap and sprayed both of my wrists.  “Take a whiff.   Isn’t it just delicious?”


I sniffed my wrists.  They smelled kind of like a fruit salad.  “Yes ma’am.”  I nodded then rushed toward the elevator.  


 “Where have you been?”  Grammy sighed.  “I’ve been waiting for you!  Stop your dawdling!”  She grabbed my hand.  “Come!  I must stop at the jewelry department before we go upstairs for lunch and the fashion show.”  Like Holly Golightly browsing through Tiffany’s, Grammy loved peering through the department store’s glass jewelry cases.  She eyed several necklaces eventually focusing on a 12-inch string of delicate pink pearls with matching earrings.  
  

          “May I look at that set of pink pearls?” 


          “Yes, certainly Madam.”  The clerk unlocked the display case and draped the pink pearls over a piece of dark blue velvet and handed them to Grammy. 
  

          Her fingers stroked the pearls.   “Oh, these are impeccable!”


          “Here, let me help you try them on.”  She clasped the pearls around Grammy’s slender neck and handed her a mirror.  “Those pearls are as cultivated and classy as you are!”


          Grammy held up the mirror and examined the pearls.  “Indeed!” 


         Without even looking at the price tag, Grammy blurted, “I’ll take them!  No need to box them up.  I’ll wear them now.” My mouth fell open and I gasped. “I know what
you’re thinking, child.  These pearls are just too extravagant.  But you see I left the house this morning without putting on my jewelry.  A lady never leaves the house without putting on her jewelry!  Never!”  She wrinkled her nose and raised one dainty eyebrow.  “It’s uncouth!”


Grammy placed the matching earrings on her ears, adjusted her Chantilly lace shawl, took one last glance in the mirror, and smiled.  She eased my hand in hers.  “Come.  Just one more stop.”


We wove our way toward the cosmetic counter where Grammy pulled out a counter-height chair.  “Now sit!” 


I plopped myself down on the satiny pink cushion and breathed in the air around me; it smelled velvety soft and feminine like a bar of luxurious French soap.  


“Good afternoon!”  A slender, brunette woman stepped from behind the cosmetic counter.  “My name’s Rose.  How may I help you today?”


 “Could you recommend some age-appropriate make up for my granddaughter?”


 “Certainly, Madam.” Rose touched my face.  “She has beautiful skin.”  She pulled a sample bottle from a drawer behind the counter and dabbed a little on my neckline.  “Ah!  That’s the perfect color.  I’d be happy to make up her face and give her some pointers.”  


“What do you think?”  Grammy asked.   “Do you want to be a lady?”


“Yes, Grammy, a lady just like you!”   


“Go ahead, Rose.”  


Rose dabbed some foundation on my face and handed me a mirror.  “Use a sponge and smooth the foundation over your face—like so.  See.  Now your skin looks flawless but natural.  Keep your look simple.  So, you’ll want a neutral blush.” Rose riffled through her samples.  “Ah, here’s a soft pink.  You’ll gently brush it onto the apples of your cheeks—like so.  Then follow with two applications of mascara.”  Rose retrieved a silken pink lip palette.  “Lastly, remember to apply a subtle pink lipstick like this one.” After completing my makeover, Rose spun me around in the chair. 


“Perfect!” Grammy exclaimed.  “Remember, child, a lady never leaves her house without putting on her face. It’s undignified!  Now let’s go to lunch.”
  

We strutted toward the elevator; and when the golden doors opened, a white-gloved man greeted us.  “Which floor, Madam?”  


“The Sixth Floor—La Mariposa, please.”


When the elevator doors re-opened, Grammy straightened her back; adjusted her pearls; and pranced toward a gray-haired man wearing a black tuxedo.  The maître d' greeted us and said, “Hi Myrtle!  Your usual table?”


 “Yes, my usual, Adam.”  She stroked her pearls and blushed.  “Thank you.”


“Right this way.”  He bowed ever so slightly and whisked us to our table.  Your server will be here shortly.  Enjoy today’s fashion show.”


The room was teeming with fashionable women wearing pill box hats, white gloves, tight-waisted dresses, and high heels.  I watched models sashay from table to table presenting the latest in-vogue fashions.  I inhaled the restaurant’s hypnotizing aroma; it smelled like delicately scented lace and expensive French sachets.  I glanced across the room and thought I saw Audrey Hepburn and Sophia Loren sipping tea at a table adjacent to ours.  


“You haven’t touched your soup yet.”  Grammy tapped my hand.  “Don’t let it get cold!” 
         

I turned my head just as a pencil-thin model strolled by our table wearing a pair of tightly-fitted Capri pants and a sleeveless, polka-dotted blouse.  


“What a delightful spring outfit!”  Grammy sighed.  “I’m too old to wear something that flashy.  Besides at my age, my arms are flabby.”  She removed her shawl and jiggled the loose skin on her arm.  “See.  An old lady’s arm jiggles.  Remember, child, a lady over 50 never wears anything sleeveless.  It’s inelegant!”  She draped her shawl back over her shoulder and nibbled on her sandwich.  “Besides, my stomach pooches out. Remember, child, a lady never wears pants if her stomach pooches out.  Never!”  She grimaced.  “It’s graceless!”


A lifetime has passed since Grammy introduced me to the finer points of ladyhood, and I’ve often wondered whatever happened to her pink pearls.  Then one day shortly after Grammy’s passing, I received a mysterious package. I opened it and discovered Grammy’s vintage Chantilly lace shawl which still held the lingering lilt of her lavender perfume. I gingerly unfolded the shawl, and there to my surprise were Grammy’s pink pearls.  Taped to the lid of the box was her handwritten note.  “I hope you enjoy wearing these as much as I did.  Remember, always be a lady!” 


At that moment I choked back the tears, for I realized her words—those pink pearls of wisdom—were still with me.  Even now at 60+ years of age,
Myrtle Etgen-Houchin
I’m uneasy wearing sleeveless dresses; I never leave the house without wearing jewelry; I all but cringe when I leave the house without makeup; and without thinking, I always double-check when I wear pants making sure that my stomach doesn’t pooch out. 


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