The house was being gutted; people were carting out upholstered couches, chairs, rugs, tea carts, mirrors, chandeliers, cabinets, Steiffel lamps, crystal and china… but the most fascinating stuff was in two bedroom closets packed with vintage peignoir sets by Christian Dior, Barbizon, and other designers– sheer, lacy, ribboned and beaded– and at least a dozen, quilted, dressing gowns (too elegant to call bathrobes), the kind you might have seen a young Liz Taylor floating around in, with size 8-1/2, pink satin, high-heeled slippers.
The owner also had fashionable dresses, wool suits, jackets and cashmere sweaters (and a woeful half rack of men’s clothing), but nothing was as titillating as the lingerie, and it looked like new. Every silky thing (no flannel here) that this obviously well-to-do lady owned was up for grabs, and the women who came did indeed grab. Rifling through her intimate things felt somehow obscene, especially when someone held up a pair of sheer mauve panties and said “Oh my! Look at this!”
But it didn’t stop me from shopping furiously. I felt a sense of urgency; I set a unopened package of nylons down for a moment, and someone else picked it right up. My daughter found two gorgeous nightgowns at $3 each and a Dior bed jacket for $4. I nabbed two, long, sleeveless nightgowns–one was a dusky-lavender sheer chiffon with embroidered flowers on the gathered bust. It’s so elegant I can’t see myself actually sleeping in it. I usually wear t-shirts and drawstring pajama pants.
I tried to imagine who the owner was and what had happened to her. Judging from the length of her size 4 clothes, she was tall as well as slender. Interestingly, the pool in the backyard looked as if it had been used this summer, and there was also a tennis court. So much of what she owned was from my mother’s era, so I pictured her in her eighties, maybe a lonely widow withering away in a nursing home, or deceased, with no family members who were interested in her things.
Curiosity drew us back to the house the following day, and, much to our delight, everything was half price, and the mood was more relaxed. Tucked in the back of a walk-in closet, I discovered a vintage 70’s, double breasted, Etienne Aigner trench coat… for 3 bucks! Très cool! I also took home sweaters, a few fabulous silk blouses, more gowns, a Persian-style Karastan wool rug and a lovely rocking chair. My daughter bought a curvy dovetail dresser from the 50’s, with a mirror and matching bed table- with new paint and drawer pulls, it’ll fit in with her shabby chic decor. Someone else was asking to buy it as the estate agent was marking it sold for us. People were oohing and ahhing as my husband loaded it in the truck.
I learned from Gary’s Household Sales that the owner had been a buyer for the high-end store, Jacobson’s, and she and her husband had just moved into a retirement home. I was glad it wasn’t a foreclosure or death that resulted in the sale, and no longer felt so guilty about pawing through her life. In fact, I appreciate this lady’s fine taste, and whoever and wherever she is, I thank her for giving me the opportunity, of all things, to sleep in something luxurious, something I’d never indulge in otherwise. Maybe I’ll dream I’m a movie star tonight.
And I’d like her to know I feel a new short story coming on. I wish I could thank her for the inspiration.
