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nuts or just creating some sort of performance art,
waiting for everyone to react."

After ten minutes of sitting, the girl stood up and slowly, slowly dawdled her
way out of the shop, peering intently at any new customers as she headed toward
the door. A moment later, Anita ran through the doorway, her cheeks flushed
pink, a little out of breath.

"I think we should offer extra classes in manners," Anita huffed.
"I was nearly plowed down as I came up the stairs by a girl with a giant
handbag!"

"So you've met our mystery shopper—or nonshopper ,
as the case may be." Georgia shrugged. "She was loitering here this
morning so I thought she might be a shoplifter. I pointed her to the remnant
bin and told her she could pick whatever she liked free of charge. But she just
looked right through me and then she bought a tape measure." Her face was
impassive, but her eyes revealed worry. The store attracted all types, it was
true, but typically they weren't certifiably nuts, just mildly annoying.
"Then she returned it and bought it over and over again. I wonder if she
just needs a place to get out of the cold?"

"Drugs. She's high out of her mind." Peri was definite. "Ladies, I advise you to watch your purses and arm yourself
with some knitting needles if she comes back. Ta for now, I've got to catch the
train in time to get to class." She buttoned up her red cardigan, pulled
on an overstuffed navy parka to protect her from the icy March air, and smoothed
a knitted cap over her dark cornrows. A glance in the mirror by the door as she
checked for smudges of eyeliner, smoothed her fingers over her rich mocha skin
and reapplied a dramatic red stain to her lips, a quick smooch to leave a big
red mark on Dakota's cheek as she strolled in with the friend she walked home
with every day, and Peri waved behind her as she
walked out the door. If Anita was Dakota's fairy grandmother, Peri was her fashion-idol Barbie doll come to life.

"So it's going well for her?" Anita was hopeful. Georgia nodded. She
knew that employees came and went—for most years of running the store, she
hired students who were happy enough with minimum wage and part-time hours. She
accepted that her shop was just a way station until they journeyed to better
things, however sweet or hardworking they may have been. But Peri Gayle was different. She had graduated from college
three years ago and had been well on her way to NYU law school; working at
Walker and Daughter was supposed to be a summer gig while she learned her way
around the city. And then, just as Georgia was on the verge of making a new
hire to replace her, Peri asked if she could stay on.

Peri's family was outraged; her mother flew in from
Chicago and came to the shop to make a personal appeal to Georgia: Fire her and
she'll have to go to law school. But Peri insisted
she wanted to keep her job. Georgia gave her a tiny bump in wages, and waited
for Peri's case of cold feet to subside, for the
potential of making $325 an hour to beckon her downtown. But Peri stayed put, working that first shift every day, making
sweaters on commission after hours, and reading issue after issue of Vogue —the
British, French, Italian, and American versions—during her downtime. She
was creative, boisterous, and her boss loved having her there. Georgia spent
the majority of her waking hours in the shop, thinking about the shop, or
stocking the shop. Running Walker and Daughter had become her entire life. She
was a mom and a business owner, and she didn't make much room for anything
else. Of course, she had Anita—she adored Anita—but Peri was hip and young and energetic. And she was around the same age as Georgia was
when she discovered her pregnancy; perhaps, she thought with more than a hint
of guilt, she was so willing to keep Peri on for the
chance to relive her twenties, sans baby. She thought it unprofessional to seem
interested in all the gossipy tidbits of Peri's life,
and often seemed preoccupied as Peri shared