Free The Summer Invitation by Charlotte Silver

not,” said Clover firmly. “It’s glamorous. There’s a difference.”
    “But glamorous and sophisticated are the same thing.”
    “Not at all, Valentine. Not at all.”
    The lingerie sets all had names: the Cara, the Fifi, the Framboise, the Nikita. Valentine tried on them all, and in the end, it was between the Fifi and the Framboise. The Framboise was champagne-pink satin with black Chantilly lace overlay, but the Fifi, the Fifi was pleated tulle, not satin, and it had ruffles. The Fifi won.
    “But how are you going to wear those underneath your clothing?” I asked, looking at the Fifi underpants, which had pleats and ruffles exploding all around the bottom. They were certainly pretty, the prettiest pair of underpants I had ever seen, but …
    “Who cares?” said Valentine. “I’m just going to wear them around the room. I’m going to wear them all the time. ”
    Oh dear. I suddenly had visions of her striking ballet poses in them in front of the mirror. How insufferable that would be!
    When we were outside again, with Valentine merrily swinging her shopping bag, she said, “Julian has dark hair and blue eyes. Did I tell you? Wavy dark hair and deep blue eyes.”
    “You did,” said Clover with extraordinary patience.“But tell me more.”
    We walked along the streets of SoHo till we got to Clover’s next destination, which was on Green Street. It was very different from the previous store, and I saw right away what Clover meant about it being more sophisticated. It was almost more like a museum than a store, done in a palate of mauves and almonds. There were black-and-white photographs on the wall and display cases with delicate, indeterminate objects. I thought they must have been miniature sculptures, but what were sculptures doing in a lingerie store?
    “Cool!” said Valentine. I turned around and saw that she was trying on a black satin cat-eye eye mask. Then she took off the eye mask and said, “Oh my God, Franny, look!”
    I looked and saw that she was pointing at a display of white cotton underpants. At first glance, they all appeared to be the same and very innocent-looking, almost like what Valentine and I used to wear when we were little girls, but then on the backs black cursive letters spelled out different words: Aime-Moi, Touche-Moi, Attache-Moi …
    “Oh, I forgot you two speak French,” said Clover, with a twinkle. “Come along, girls.”
    What Clover chose for me eventually was the Amour Baby-Doll in Wild Rose. It had tiers of chiffon and was trimmed in nude lace. I had never owned anything so exquisite in my entire life. The color was just right and reminded me of something Aunt Theo would choose.
    For herself, Clover bought a pair of silk stockings, white, not black, with lace on top.
    “Why can you get stockings and I can’t?” asked Valentine.
    “Stockings come later,” said Clover.
    “Later? Later when ?”
    “Later on in a woman’s life.”
    “Oh my God,” squealed Valentine, “I can’t wait!”

10
    Valentine’s Knee
    For the next several days, there was no word from Julian, and poor Val looked like she was going to perish (Clover’s word) of waiting. This was what all the songs I loved meant about being in love being full of pain: just to look at Val’s face every night before we got into our twin beds. She looked sunk. And then when we turned off the lamp every night, I’d hear her let out this great big sorrowful sigh.
    But then, the most wonderful thing! A surprise! A phone call. A real, what Clover called a proper , phone call, inviting her on a real, a proper date. Since Julian was a cellist, what he had in mind was a musical evening. He took Val to this place called Barge Music, just over the Brooklyn Bridge, where the orchestra played chamber music floating out there on a barge in the East River. They heard a Russian program, which was very emotional, Val said, telling Clover and me all about it later. Which was why when Julian took her out on the