Mrs. Cohen whipped out her checkbook with a flourish. "I
can't believe I've been able to find outfits for all three of
my girls in one store. This is a first — not having to
shlep all over town with fussy teenagers. Tell me, how do you
manage to carry such bataamte styles?"
If she only knew . . . I thought back to the beginning of
the week in the store . . . .
I yawned and rubbed my eyes. "Sora, you think we have any
crackers or cookies squirreled away in the store?" I asked my
daughter. Sora went to the front of our clothing store and
rummaged around underneath the counter, then shook her
head.
Usually I'm already home at this hour, dinner eaten, dishes
washed, and just beginning to think about heading off to bed.
Before each Yom Tov, however, we get in a huge shipment of
the latest styles for that season. I stay hours later to move
the clothes from the previous season to the back rack, hang
up the new outfits that just arrived (the sooner I remove
them from the boxes they're shipped in, the less wrinkles,)
and redo the display in the shop window. Two of my daughters
came to help; aside from enabling me to finish faster, I
appreciate the company.
"Nechama, hang these up in the window, please." The window
dressing I save for the end, as it's really not my forte. I
just hang up three different samples of the latest style with
a background that compliments the colors, and let my
daughters add accessories and other props over the next few
days.
"Ima, this is so pretty," Nechama breathes. "Can I have one
like this for Yom Tov?" Sigh. I had a feeling this would
happen.
"We'll see, hon." A drawback (or advantage) of having a
clothing store is that the family hopes to get free clothes.
A lot depends on how much I'm able to sell early in the
season before having to mark things down, cutting my profit
margin.
I ran my fingers over a dark green, size medium, set. Classy.
This fall season's showing was two-piece sets in choices of
dark green, antique gold, or country blue. The material felt
warm, but lightweight and comfortable, and — here was a
surprise — each set was slightly different from the
next. Either the appliques and embroidery differed (oak
leaves, acorn, trees shedding their leaves), or the placement
of the decorations varied.
That's typical of Juliette, my designer who just happens to
be French. She's an artistic spirit, not what she sneeringly
calls "a factory worker." Aside from being a little high-
strung, Juliette is a pleasure to work with, creative, always
on time, and reasonable in her prices.
"Sora, I hope our customers are going to have fun choosing
which outfit to buy. What do you think?"
Sora grinned. "Maybe they'll have such a hard time deciding,
they'll even buy a few."
"Halevai."
"Remember what she sent before Pesach last year?" Nechama
asked. Juliette had sent a collection of solid pastel blouses
and skirts which looked like watercolor paintings, no two
alike.
"Yeah, those went over really well. Ok, girls, everything's
been hung up according to size and color?"
"Yes, Ima. And one of each color in the display window. Is it
time to go home?"
I nodded. "Time to go home. Thanks for your help."
"Great. I'm so hungry."
The next morning when I arrived at the store at the usual
time, I smiled to see a woman and her daughter already
waiting. I flipped on the lights and turned the key in the
cash register while they made a beeline for the antique gold,
size smalls. Oops — I forgot to put on prices. I
clearly wrote out the price for the elegant sets and for the
sportier sets on shirt cardboard, and posted it above the
racks. Meanwhile, the girl exited the fitting room.
Beautiful outfit! Gorgeous color, flattering cut, flared
skirt . . . then the girl twirled around and my mouth
dropped open. The seams of the skirt were only sewed half way
down. I quickly grabbed another (antique gold, size small)
skirt from a hanger, and hurried over to her. "Here, try this
one." She shrugged, but disappeared back into the fitting
booth. Two minutes later she was back, and with the same
problem. Oh no!
With shaking hands, I started going through my stock. Skirt
after skirt, same thing. The bell over the door tinkled as
two teenagers pushed through. Customers coming in! What have
I got to sell??
"I think we'll take this outfit," the mother announced.
"Wait a minute," I quickly mumbled, "I have to call someone."
I punched Juliette's number into the phone. "Juliette, hi.
What happened with the skirts you sent? They're not
finished."
"Why, Madame, what do you mean?"
"The skirt is immodest, it looks tattered . . . "
"Madame," Juliette's voice was frosty but emphatic, "this is
The Latest Haute Couture. This is What Is Being Shown This
Season."
I attempted to protest. but Juliette cut me off with a
torrent of French. I mentioned she was a little high-strung,
didn't I? It was way too late to return this shipment and
start shopping around for a whole different line; Rosh
Hashana was around the corner. I could sew up each of the six
seams on each of the dozens of outfits (shudder), but with
running the store, running the house, taking care of the
family, and cooking for Yom Tov, I DIDN'T HAVE TIME!
Panic! Somehow I got off the phone and went back to the
mother who was getting impatient.
"I'm terribly sorry," I began, "but there seems to be a
problem with the stock . . . "
"I know. You don't like that the seams don't go all the way
down, right?" the mother interrupted, "That's OK; it doesn't
bother us."
"I understand," I said firmly, "but if it's not
tzanua, we don't sell it."
"So, look, I'll sew it up at home," the mother wheedled. "You
have no idea how picky my daughter is about her clothes, how
hard it is to finally find something she likes."
This was a hard test. Could I trust the mother? Actually, it
would solve all my problems if I could give each customer a
small discount on condition that each one finished off her
skirt at home. Also, I NEEDED the money.
I closed my eyes for a minute, and had a vision of angels
bringing sacks of merits to be used in my favor on the Day of
Judgment — but horrors, the robes of the angels had
slits! I can't trust the mother; she herself said it doesn't
bother her, and who knows if she even owns a sewing machine,
or will find the time to fix the skirt. Forget it. This is my
responsibility.
I opened my eyes. "I'm sorry. I have to close the store now.
I hope to come up with a solution soon."
Disappointed, the daughter went back into the changing room,
and the two teenagers drifted out the door. I wrote CLOSED
TODAY on a piece of shirt cardboard, taped it on the door,
and sat down to think with a piece of paper and pen.
Even if I keep the store closed all day, and spend hours
sitting at the sewing machine, I won't be able to finish all
these skirts. Not to mention what all those hours of sitting
hunched over at the sewing machine would do to my back. Hire
seamstresses to do it for me? Forget about making any profit
this season, plus they're probably already inundated with Yom
Tov alterations for their usual clients.
My head jerked up at the knock at the door. Can't people read
that I'm closed? I peered through the glass door. Ah, it's
Nechama. I unlocked the door so she could come in.
"Why are you closed, Ima? Here, I brought over the vase from
our dining room for the display window. Don't the colors
match perfectly?"
I explained to Nechama the problem with the outfits, and she
joined me in thought. "Ima, I've got it! Divide up the skirts
to sew among the girls in my class and Sora's class! It's
easy enough work for them to handle, you can pay them a lot
less than a seamstress, or you can give them a credit towards
buying an outfit! I bet we can even finish today."
Now, that's an idea. Even if not every girl is able to pitch
in, two classes contain a respectable number of girls. Even
if they're not able to finish everything in one day, I will
have enough outfits to stock the racks without looking
skimpy. I certainly don't mind if they get a chance to do
their classmate's mother a chessed and learn a lesson
in tzniyus in the bargain. "OK, Nechama, let's go for
it!"
Nechama and Sora enlisted most of the girls in their classes
for sewing duty, giving each girl a pile of skirts in one
color (so they wouldn't have to keep changing the thread). To
my great surprise, the skirts were finished that day. Over
the next few days, the outfits sold so briskly that I had to
put aside an outfit for Nechama and Sora before nothing would
be left.
*
I smiled back at Mrs. Cohen as I slid her purchases in a bag.
"When one tries to do the right thing, Hashem helps. Gut
Yom Tov and Kesivah Vachasimah Tovah!"
