A Woman Should Do Whatever it Takes

Emma slipped on the floral dress and stared, dissatisfied, at her reflection. Three years ago, the dress had been a favorite. Now it hung sack-like, a shapeless thing that made her feel stodgy and plain.

Stepping away from the mirror, she slid out of it and chose a black dress instead. Better, but not good.

I really need to shop for some spring clothes, she thought as Seth spun her around and planted a kiss on her lips.

“New dress? You look great.”

He always said that, and she always thought he was lying. Or deluded.

“It’s old but it’ll have to do. Are you sure it’s okay?”

“More than okay,” he said, grinning. “You ready yet?”

She didn’t want to go to the Kentucky Derby party at the clubhouse, or to any parties, for that matter. Emma preferred curling on the couch with a good book, or her laptop, or maybe a Netflix movie. She was happy being a recluse, but for Seth’s sake she made herself go places.

When they got to the clubhouse, she felt the familiar anxiety, a fluttering that began in her stomach and sent her heart skittering into overdrive. She told herself it was silly to react this way. These were only people.

Plastering a wide, stupid grin on her face, she clutched Seth’s arm as they strode inside, where a boisterous crowd placed bets at makeshift betting stalls and ordered mint julips from a harried bartender.

Emma noticed with dismay that the other women had on hats. “I should have worn a hat. Everybody wears hats to Kentucky Derby parties,” she whispered, but Seth was unconcerned. “You look beautiful. Don’t worry about it.”

Glances slid toward her, then away, as if in the briefest of moments others decided she was inconsequential; a person to be ignored. With Seth, it was different. Glances turned into longer appraisals and people were drawn to him, like a gravitational force field. Seth didn’t have a problem at parties. Both men and women sought him out, struck up conversations, urged him to sit at their table.

Seth never ignored Emma, exactly. He tried to draw her in, slipping an arm around her waist, introducing her to people who acknowledged her briefly, disinterestedly, before turning back to him.

“I’ll get us a drink,” Seth said, moving away from her toward the crowd at the bar. She felt a familiar, rising panic. Other women, laughing and confident, flaunted an array of hats, from broad-brimmed lampshade hats layered with flowers to elaborate feather fascinators perched on headbands.

Emma smoothed her dark hair and tried to locate Seth. She felt alone in a sea of people. Then she spotted somebody else not wearing a hat, a mousy woman with short hair and pinched, nervous features.

A kindred spirit, Emma thought with relief. Maybe I can talk to her.

She made her way toward the woman, who seemed to be alone in the crowd. “Hi! I’m Emma,” she said, faking a smile. “Looks like we both forgot our hats.”

The woman shot her a startled, wary look. “I don’t wear hats,” she said, her grim little mouth tightening.

Emma’s grin faltered and the woman moved off through the crowd toward a man who must have been her partner; a pot-bellied, florid man who said, “There you are. Come on. I’ve got us a table with the Jansen’s.”

I can’t even make friends with losers, Emma thought miserably. She felt a rush of relief when Seth reappeared and handed her a mint julip in a slender Kentucky Derby glass. She gulped it faster than she should, hoping the drink would bolster her confidence.

Seth was already talking to a couple of men about which horses to bet on, whether to pick horses that had long odds or stick with the favorites. The alcohol began to sooth Emma’s churning stomach. She finished it and saw a limp sprig of mint clinging to the bottom of the glass. She felt a little dizzy.

Seth moved toward the betting booth and she found herself alone again, but the drink gave her a small shot of courage. Why shouldn’t she be daring enough to strike up a conversation with strangers? She had always heard you should step out of your comfort zone.

This time Emma wouldn’t choose a loser. She zeroed in on a vivacious blonde woman with a broad-brimmed, fuchsia hat. A plume of dyed ostrich feathers fanned out beyond the hat’s brim. The woman was surrounded by a friendly-looking group that nodded and laughed at whatever she said.

Emma sidled over, but before she reached them, the woman sat down. The others took this as their cue to sit, and there were no extra chairs available. Emma pushed forward anyway, determined to speak. What did she have to lose? She was tired of being a wallflower.

When she reached them, she had to lean over to peer beneath the woman’s hat.

“Hi. I’m Emma. I believe you’ve won the hat contest,” she said, bending further down. The woman jerked her head up, surprised. “Hat contest?”

Emma realized her mistake. The woman truly believed she had won a contest.

“I mean, there’s no real contest. But I like your hat. It’s my favorite one here.” Emma stammered, feeling foolish. She straightened to leave, but her head caught on the broad brim of the hat and an ostrich feather tickled her cheek. The hat toppled off, landing on a table of drinks.

The woman’s blonde hair was flat, cupping her head unattractively. She snatched her hat from the table and repositioned it so that it sat slightly askew, one feather drooping.

Emma, mortified, mumbled an apology and stumbled toward the bar. Tears stung her eyes.

“I’d like a refill,” she said, handing the bartender her glass.

“Coming up. And I think there’s something else you need.”

Emma noticed the bartender was not the harried older guy she had seen earlier. This man was broad-shouldered and fit, like Seth. And his eyes! Emma could drown in their blueness.

Her face flamed when she realized she was staring. “What did you say?”

“I said there's something else you need. You’re a beautiful woman with the world at your fingertips, and you should do whatever it takes to make you happy."

“What it would take to make me happy is to go home," Emma blurted.

“Home is good, but it’s not what would make you happy right now. It would only make you feel relieved. Going home is a copout.”

Emma started to protest, to tell him she was an introvert who always made a fool of herself at parties, but he wasn’t listening. He strode to a wall decorated with Kentucky Derby hats, plucked one off a hook and positioned it on her head, his hand brushing her cheek.

“There. Check it out.”

Emma looked in the mirror behind the bar. Startled, she did a double take. The girl staring back at her was gorgeous.

“Now you’ve got a hat, and you’re beautiful. Do whatever it takes to make you happy.” He smiled as he handed her another mint julip, and Emma felt a rush of confidence. She started to thank him for the hat, but he was already waiting on another customer.

What would it really take to make her happy?

Emma realized she wanted to be acknowledged; spoken to and treated as a person of value. She wanted to feel confident enough to enjoy herself.

Had the bartender really said she was beautiful? Throwing her shoulders back, Emma strolled through the crowd, a confident half smile curving her lips. People looked at her and didn’t turn away.

“I love your dress,” somebody said. She spotted Seth and he hurried over, pulling her close.

“I know what I'd like to do with you,” he whispered as other women shot envious glances her way.

Later, after the race and more mint julips and dinner, people trickled out. Seth steered her toward the door and Emma decided this had been a wonderful party. “Wait a minute. I almost forgot. I’d better return the hat,” she said.

Seth looked baffled. “What hat?”

“The one I’ve been wearing all night. The one the bartender gave me.” Emma touched her head, feeling the softness of her dark hair and nothing else.

“I don’t understand. He took it off the wall.” She moved toward the bar, but the good-looking bartender was gone and the earlier one, a harried older guy with a graying goatee, wiped a damp cloth across the counter.

“Has the other bartender left? I wanted to thank him,” Emma said.

“Nobody here but me all night.”

“But the hat…” Emma stared at the wall. “Where are the hats?” The wood-paneled wall was decorated with a few pictures of the clubhouse and the surrounding golf course. But that was all.

Emma and Seth made their way across the parking lot, toward their car. She was still trying to puzzle things out. The only bartender Seth had seen was the man with the goatee, and he had never noticed a wall of hats.

A gentle breeze stirred Emma’s hair. She touched Seth’s arm, strong and muscular beneath his shirt. She felt a sudden shiver of desire. The bartender’s words came back to her: “You’re a beautiful woman with the world at your fingertips. Do whatever it takes to make you happy.”

A slow smile curled her lips. She knew what would make her happy tonight, and she didn’t need a hat.