Autor:    Nelson Castillo Pérez

NEW DRESS

In front of the large mirror, oval like a diaphanous moon in a corner of the room, Rosa stood haughtily to contemplate the contours of her new dress. With her fingertips, she smoothed the pleats of the ruffled skirt, compressed her abdomen, and adjusted a thin buckle belt satin-lined. With her hands placed on her waist, as if posing for herself, she tilted her torso and gazed for a moment at the back of her body. The cut of the dress was impeccable, with two vertical pleats at the sides, at the height of the hips. She took a few dance steps forward, behind the mirror, and followed in the wake of her own walk, the sensual rhythm that had been whistled many times by the men on the corners. She turned as she went, all the light from her eyes sprayed on herself, listening to each line of the dress, and she found herself face-on, her breasts erect, braless, almost alive, behind the transparent blouse. The neckline was of a cut wide and square, flattering her slender neck, but lacking lace edging.

—It was the first thing I told her—, she whispered, puzzled.

The dress was divided into two pieces and was made of red taffeta, pleated at the waist, and with rounded sleeves with elastic trims. An organdy flower, beautifully made, the same color as the sash, embedded in the place where the dressmaker assumed that Rosa`s joyful heart must be located. The tank top had a discreet opening at the bust level that, however, revealed the soft beginnings of her breasts. All the combined hues of the dress matched the new color of the patent leather shoes. On the night of the party, without any hint of shadow in her heart, Rosa would leave satisfied with her new dress, perfumed, exquisite, ready to be whispered by tender words to the beat of the music in the splendid ballroom.

With the same care with which she had put it on, without creasing a single seam of the pleats, Rosa was going to begin to remove the dress, grateful, with the pleasant feeling that it looked good despite the lace that missed around the cleavage, when she discovered her mother standing in the doorway.

—How do the pleats look? —Rosa asked her mother.

The mother advanced a few steps towards her daughter, attentive, scrutinizing, and pointed out with old wisdom that the pleats were well cut, they fitted without wrinkles to the shape of the hips.

—The pleats are gorgeous —she said —I like the flapping bell flutter of the skirt.

When she was loosening the satin belt, Rosa looked at her cleavage again through the mirror and sentenced with a slight accent of anger in her voice.

—The first thing I told her was the first thing she forgot: to apply a lace edge over her bust.

In fact, she had told that to the dressmaker at the last minute, when she was showing her the fashion, to indicate, in addition, that the sleeves would not have the butterfly ties. "I like them full and bulky," she emphasized.

The mother made her see that lace was out of fashion, that those washers were for other times, when all women`s clothing, even starched skirts, had to be adorned with blessed lace.

—Easy —she said—. In a dance hall everyone is crazy and no one, not even the saddest, notices these details.

That same night Rosa stopped eating her usual portion and prepared herself a carrot juice with orange and accompanied it with soda crackers. It was her special diet every time she got ready to go to a dance, especially since her friends made her see that she was getting fat. Before going to bed, she went to the mirror and curled her hair; she then rubbed on her face the massage of a viscous substance made with the white of the chicken egg whose formula she learned in the beauty sections of the magazines. When she closed the door to the room, she gave herself up to meticulously inspect the surface of her skin and fell asleep thinking about the man of her heart who would take her out to dance tomorrow.

The dawn of Saturday was of murmuring trees, and people enjoyed until late, between the warmth of the sheets, a cold breeze of rain that entered like a blade through the windows. Rosa would have liked to remain lying in bed, slowly savor the reunion with herself, readjust without haste to the bustle of the vigil, but the restlessness of a commitment made her get up with a start, looking in a daze for her sandals lost in the floor. Rosa would have liked to remain lying in bed, slowly savor the reunion with herself, readjust without haste to the bustle of the vigil, but the restlessness of a commitment made her get up with a start, looking in a daze for her sandals lost in the floor. When she stepped out onto the yard (her splendid breasts with pink nipples outlined behind her silky robe), she was disillusioned with the sultry spectacle of the rain beginning to fall. And she ran into the yard to collect the garments hanging on the wires, in a hazardous task of saving things about to be lost in the rain. “That`s too much”, she exploded in anger. “This piece of Saturday rain”. When she returned from putting away the clothes, she found her mother drenched in it in the middle of the yard making an ash cross.

—So that poor Ruby´s party is not spoiled —her mother explained to Rosa.

It rained long, anyway. A misty downpour clouded Rosa´s eyes, who watched the rain fall on the yard as if she saw the fall of her own dreams. “Better”, she consoled herself, “so that the dust in the streets may be settled”.

The sky cleared around noon. A warm, almost humid sun rose again to begin to warm Rosa´s hopes. Mobilized by her enthusiasm, strengthened by the conviction that it would not rain any more for the rest of the day, she hummed songs while drying the wet floor of the house. In the sunset, when the men were whistling shining their shoes, Rosa began to dress with the help of her mother.

While she waited for the departure time, Rosa was happy in front of the mirror wearing her love dress. She smoothed the pleats in her skirt and adjusted her belt so that her waist was narrower. It only remained that her friends look for her.

Her friends arrived at the moment that Rosa least expected. They appeared runaway, with their new dresses and ready to spread anyone with the shadowless joy of their hearts. They walked, striding down the street, praised by the well-dressed men on the street corners; they said “Rosa, the stunning, in the neighborhood you are the most yummying”.

Rosa did not delay more than an hour at the dance. Those who saw her pass back may have imagined that she was perhaps going to get a handkerchief or change her high-heeled shoes. Her mother, who was rocking on the terrace, happy to know that her daughter was happy, saw her arrive without the movement with which she had left.

—What happened? —her mother asked.

Rosa did not raise her eyes or have the strength to reply. She walked through the door and into her room. From inside, lying on the bed, simulating a voice of disappointment and not pain, she said:

—The party is bad: there are many drunkards.

The mother dared to enter the room. Rosa was in bed like struck down, covering her tears with her pillow. A cry, inside her, spilled over her heart. And the new dress, once impeccable, cared for, showy and precious in all its details, now lay worn and wet on Rosa`s body.

—I`ve already told you many times —the mother reminded her daughter—, Roberto is shit, a shameless womanizer.