Tall, impossibly thin

Walking briskly down a Dallas sidewalk, I chatted with a woman from the session I had just attended. To my relief, she had  jumped at my timid suggestion to visit the original Neiman Marcus store, and we made our way there during the lunch hour despite the gloomy weather. The sun was making a valiant effort to show its face, but the gusty winds batted my hair all around and motivated us to keep a quick pace.

Once we arrived, the store had an eerie stillness among the willowy mannequins and glittering jewelry cases. I felt awkward and conspicuous, as though I were walking too loudly or being too bourgeois, and a salesgirl was mere moments away from swooping in and escorting me out of the place. It didn’t help that my companion and I had no idea where we were going, but finally, we found a store directory by an impressive bank of elevators encased in sleek, gray marble.

We took an elevator up to the sixth floor to Zodiac, a suggestion from Slynnro. The host station was immediately outside the elevators, and again, there was a hush. This time, it was punctuated by the clink of glassware and flatware, and people’s conversations composed a dull murmur. The decor was modern and upscale, full of black and white and chrome. The host seated us at a small table on a raised platform, and it was all I could do to refrain from taking pictures of the silver napkin ring, sassy menu, and miniature floral arrangement. The waiter brought drinks and enormous popovers with accompanying strawberry butter that sported the Neiman Marcus logo. Darn! Another picture I didn’t take!

I ordered the lobster bisque, and it was silky and comforting, just what I needed after a morning in frigid meeting rooms. I racked my brain trying to think of the “proper” way to eat soup. Do I scoop away from me or toward me? Is it okay to tilt the bowl to get the last bit?

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed two tall, impossibly thin women making their way through the dining room. One was wearing a flowing, leopard-print dress with sky-high heels, and the other had on a gray, pin-striped suit cut closely to her frame. They stopped at each table and gave a little spiel, and their listeners nodded agreeably. Were they models? I wondered. No, that can’t be. They must work for the store. Maybe they are making sure everyone is satisfied. Maybe everyone here dresses like that.

Before long, the two women came to our table, and the one in the leopard-print dress said, “Hello, we’re modeling [a designer I can't recall], and we’re having a reception on the second floor for the new collection. There will be complimentary champagne and desserts, so we hope you can join us.”

What!

We nodded placidly — hey, no big deal, we get asked to stuff like this all the time — but inside, my brain was fluttering. They were models! Who just invited us to a reception!

At first, we were all fired up to go, but sadly, the next session was all too soon, and we had to factor in walking time. Oh, well. At least I can look back fondly on that time I had the chance to get free champagne and dessert at Neiman Marcus.