Watching Loyce leave, Sybil nearly cracked a tooth from grinding her jaw. Her friends patted her shoulder, comforting her quickly.
“It’s fine, Sybil. So what if she’s sharper than expected? Don’t forget, at the charity gala, you’re the star. Loyce can talk big all she wants. Let’s see what kind of dress she can even find.”
Sybil’s anger eased a fraction. She put on her soft voice again. “I know. But I really did want to help her.”
...
Loyce wandered alone and eventually fell in love with a handbag in the Chanel boutique. She stepped inside to try it on.
The sales associate smiled brightly. “You have great taste. That’s one of our newest arrivals, eight hundred thousand. But we don’t have stock right now. Would you like to see something else?”
Loyce rarely shopped luxury. First, she didn’t care about socialite status symbols. Second, after she came of age, the Sampsons stopped letting her attend their banquets. They said she wasn’t presentable and Quiana went instead.
Before that, her brothers occasionally bought her dresses and small jewelry—nothing outrageous, usually under one thousand.
Loyce handed the bag to the associate. “I don’t need anything else. I want this one.”
“I’m sorry,” the associate said with a practiced smile. “That’s the display piece. You’ll have to wait for delivery.”
The associate’s eyes said something else entirely: “No purchase history, no bundle, no sale.”
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