The Purchase

My mother was a clothes horse. She bought expensive clothes,and matching handbags and shoes, coats, scarves, hats all the time. All designer , too. Christian Dior, Louis Feraud, Emilio Pucci. The girl had expensive taste. She did not feel the same way, however, when it came to dressing her daughters. Our adolescence she did her best to ignore, as her daughters were viewed as competition for attention, especially from the many men she valued. My father's mother noticed when I was 12, that I was in serious need of a bra. My mother reluctantly agreed to take me shopping for one. I still remember her resentment and faked enthusiasm. She bought me one bra. It was to me, the most exciting thing I had ever worn. It was white, with tiny light blue and light brown flower petals. I was so proud. But I remember , seared into my memory, my mother's resentment, and barely disguised contempt. The same thing happened to both my sisters. When all is said and done, our mother with her fake love and care, was a monster in designer clothes. She had boxes and boxes of expensive Italian designer shoes, for every season and every occasion, but we always wore very ordinary shoes and had very few pairs. She had expensive coats of every color and again, for every season and occasion, but we had two coats each, one for winter and fall, and one for rain. My father was blind to all this, as he had a dozen expensive Pierre Cardin suits with matching silk ties and expensive shoes and coats. He was so busy as a CEO, who traveled extensively, and my mother had the run of the house, and plenty of daily help from our housekeeper and nanny, Julienne. He never questioned her when she asked for more money. I remember him handing her 15,000 Belgian francs just for groceries back in 1970. He never asked for her accountability, a trait of generosity that he would dearly pay for. So, mother walked around like a princess, forever feeling contempt especially for me, at my lack of style and fashion, which she was all too glad to have caused and encourage. But, boy, how she loved us! She told us so every day. And we believed it, for a very long time. I treasure the memory of my grandmother standing up for me, I was so proud of her courage, to make sure I got the bra I so needed. And I also remember my mother's reluctance and barely disguised jealousy and disgust, smiling her Cheshire cat grin as she allowed me to pick out a bra.