Filene's Basement
A Short Story
"You've got four hours in Boston between flights, you
say?"
"Yup, and I'm sure I'll be stranded -- I'm always stranded
in Boston."
"Well, you should go into town."
"I can't be bothered. It's such a schlep."
"But you're only twenty minutes from Filene's."
"You've got to be kidding."
"No. Have you never been to Filene's Basement?" she
asked with amazement.
Have I never been to Filene's Basement!
How could I ever forget Filene's Basement?
***
It was Christmas, just before my twelfth birthday.
My first trip alone to visit Aunt Anna. Aunt Anna Filene's we
called her to distinguish her from Aunt Anna Abe's.
A large family, ours: two Aunt Lils, two Uncle
Lous, two Aunt Annas. I actually had three Uncle Abes -- two
on my father's side, one on my mother's. To tell them apart,
family tradition tagged them in some way.
I was off to visit Aunt Anna Filene's. Her name
was apt. Our sole Boston relative, she lived in Filene's Basement.
Oh, I don't mean she actually lived in the store, she wasn't
a homeless person, but not a day passed without a trip to Filene's.
A real shopping addict she was. Aunt Anna knew
the basement merchandise intimately. She kept a close watch
on new arrivals, always on the lookout for items that would
be "just perfect" for someone back home. Shopping
was her avocation.
Here's how Filene's Basement worked (it may still
work that way for all I know). In those days the buyers would
pick up discards from exclusive stores like Neiman-Marcus in
Dallas, Bergdorf's and Bloomingdale's in New York, even from
Jordan Marsh across the street in Boston. This exclusive stock
having gone unsold, was then brought into the Basement, original
price tags often intact, and put on sale for some fraction of
the original price. If something wasn't sold within a month
the price would be halved -- that's the Filene's Basement price
would be halved. Another two weeks and it would be halved again.
Stock moved from the prestige racks to the general merchandise
racks to the bins and finally whatever remained unsold was given
away.
Aunt Anna was a Filene's Basement pro. She'd catch
the latest acquisitions but with her intimate knowledge of the
system she refused to purchase anything for more than she absolutely
had to. She had it down to a science, able to gauge when something
was likely to be bought and often managed to grab whatever it
was she had her eye on before someone else did. Consequently,
Aunt Anna's house was chock full of clothes earmarked for one
family member or another. The goods were delivered once a year
when Anna and Lou, her husband, made their annual summer trek
back home. Their large car (would you believe I can still remember
the license plate number: Massachusetts 66039) would be filled
to the gills with women's clothing -- dresses, skirts, blouses,
sweaters, underwear even -- all carefully chosen for this person
or that and being a large family, as I said before, that meant
heaps of stuff, hardly room for their own belongings.
Aunt Anna's specialty was evening wear. She had
a real eye for gowns and fancy dresses. Chanel's, Balanciaga's
would occasionally show up and at a price that would have the
women squealing in disbelief. I remember one particularly ornate
pink lace dress that had been earmarked for me -- way too big
for my not yet filled out frame, but Aunt Anna had decided I
needed just such a dress and insisted I was to be the first
to try it on. I hated it on sight. But my mother adored the
lace and bought it. That dress hung in the cedar closet, unworn
by anyone for, it must have been, twenty years! It was brought
out occasionally for some new potential customer, but no one
ever wanted the dress and it was finally sent to the Salvation
Army.
I remember another disaster intended for my sister
Donna -- a green print summer dress with splashes of orange
in the pattern. Donna refused even to try it on. "Vomit
on trees" she named it -- and although mother bought it,
it too hung in the closet unworn for years before it finally
disappeared.
There was always a great to-do when Anna arrived
-- considerable anticipation for days as we all waited for the
car to come, wondering what she'd bring this time. The car would
pull up at Aunt Betty's -- just up the street from our place
-- and it wouldn't be long before the street was a hive of activity,
lots of curious helpers unloading the car. It was like having
our own private buyer at the famous store.
The relatives would come by and chat for a bit.
Then would come the magic moment when it was time for the women
to traipse upstairs to the room where the merchandise was heaped
on a bed. Aunt Anna would hunt through the pile, pulling out
this garment and that, pointing out its attributes and inviting
someone to try it on. There would be several ladies undressed
and others parading in front of the full-length mirror in Aunt
Betty's bedroom, preening and giggling, pinching a bit in here,
letting a bit out there, or pinning up a skirt that needed shortening.
Certain dresses were extra special. They were
usually for Aunt Lil, who wore maybe a size eight and dressed
more elegantly than the other aunts; and when she wasn't there
to try them on, Aunt Anna would model them herself.
"You have to see what this one's like,"
she'd say as she undressed.
"Look at the style," she'd say, parading
gracefully -- the back of the dress unzipped; it wouldn't go
around her size twelve figure.
"See the cut. Feel the fabric -- like butter,"
she'd say as she slowly turned to display the garment. She loved
these clothes and she wanted everyone to appreciate her good
taste.
By the end of her visit Aunt Anna would have disbursed
most of her stock (some of it at a price even lower than the
lowest ticket price); but the interesting thing was what happened
to stuff that was left over. Items unwanted by relatives, or
friends, or even distant acquaintances, were returned to the
store. Aunt Anna would repack the car at the end of the summer
and take the leftovers back to Filene's.
Now, Filene's had a store-wide policy: no returns
after thirty days! That didn't faze Aunt Anna. She'd present
the rejects, with the appropriate receipts (she was fanatic
about keeping receipts), at the return desk and demand a refund.
And the store would actually accommodate her! Not without a
fight, mind you, but in the end Aunt Anna would get her money
back.
Whenever anyone in the family passed through Boston,
the obligatory visit to Aunt Anna's left them laden with goods
to be transported. Everyone knew to take extra suitcases because
it was understood there would be merchandise to be picked up
and delivered.
I had gone to Boston with an empty suitcase; in
case, like everyone else. The real purpose of my trip, however,
was to buy a new winter coat. I had outgrown my old one, a hand-me-down
from cousin Harriet. I'd worn that made-over turquoise coat
for a couple of years; no matter how carefully my mother had
pressed the fabric the lines were still visible where the hem
and sleeves had been let down repeatedly. My mother thought
I could use a winter coat. So a good deal of my excitement was
anticipating a new coat, all my own.
I was not a novice shopper. I had gone shopping
for clothes with my mother fairly often -- especially in the
spring when we were getting ready for summer camp. Then she'd
take me and my sister Barbara to Ottman's Clothing Store on
Gottingen Street and we'd try on all sorts of gear for camp.
We also made an outing to Warren's in Dartmouth. In those days
that meant a trolley ride to the ferry, a trip across the harbour,
and a hike up Portland Street to the store. The children's department
was on the second floor, I remember. The reason my mother made
this excursion, sometimes with all three kids in tow, was because
Sam Warren, my cousin Bertha's husband, would sell her the clothes
wholesale.
So I had learned about hunting for bargains – that's
how everyone in the family shopped. But nothing prepared me
for Filene's Basement.
The first morning, bright and early, Aunt Anna
and I hopped the Brookline bus to the MTA, then took the subway
direct to Filene's; the basement actually had an entrance from
the subway station. We joined the crowd disembarking from the
train and shuffled into the store.
We browsed around for a bit. Looked through kitchenware
and home furnishings. But all the while Aunt Anna was making
her way toward ladies apparel. I was amazed by the quantity
of stuff arrayed in this large concrete, pale gray cavern with
bright fluorescent lighting overhead, big wooden tables and
bins like they have at Frenchy's.
But the ladies department was a bit different.
There, there was a semblance of some higher-class shopping.
At least some of the items were on racks and the trick was to
find which racks held the most recent arrivals.
That didn't seem to pose a problem for Aunt Anna,
though. A daily shopper, she knew just where to find what she
was after. She steered me straight toward ladies coats. I stood
there immobilized -- overwhelmed by the sheer number and variety
of coats packed onto the racks. But Aunt Anna, pro that she
was, began at one end and pushed coats quickly, one at a time,
along the rack, locating and checking the tag for size and price.
The racks were not organized in any recognizable
way -- not by size, or colour, or manufacturer, as in regular
department stores. No, in Filene's Basement the coats were just
squeezed onto the racks in any old way so you had to look through
everything to find something you wanted. Aunt Anna seemed to
know what she was looking for as one coat after another was
extricated from the crush for me to try on.
I tried on a full red wool coat, trimmed in navy
blue with a hood, that hung on me like a tent. Next, a gray
tweed with big patch pockets and cuffs, that weighted a ton
and looked awful, I thought. Coat after coat she handed me as
she worked her way through the rack until she came across the
black tuxedo coat.
The coat was tailored simply with a neat black-velvet
collar, double-breasted front with two rows of plain large,
shiny black buttons, slit pockets and a kick pleat in the back.
I fell in love with it instantly; but Aunt Anna had reservations
-- a black coat for a twelve-year-old? She kept rummaging
A green coat like a pea jacket; another red job,
with big pockets and a yolk; a single-breasted Harris tweed;
a pale blue poncho-like affair; I tried them all on. Aunt Anna
thought my mother would approve of the Harris tweed. I was determined
to have the black coat. I held on to it in spite of Aunt Anna's
protests.
By noon, I was exhausted and hungry. Aunt Anna
parked me near a bin, and left me holding both the Harris tweed
and the black coat, while she went to buy lunch.
That's when I noticed the frenzy.
People everywhere. Pushing, pulling, stripping
and trying on garments right there in the middle of the store.
I was sitting on the floor near some maternity
clothes. I couldn't believe my eyes -- big-bellied women in
their underwear, struggling into dresses. Men standing around
watching the activity. On the other side of the aisle were gowns
and the same thing was happening there; only the women trying
on the clothes were leaner.
By the time Aunt Anna got back with sandwiches
I was mortified. Trying on a coat had required removing only
my jacket. I couldn't imagine undressing as far as my underwear
in that public place.
She handed me a tuna fish sandwich and told me
to stay put while she went shopping elsewhere. She'd be back
a bit later, she told me. In fact, she returned about three-thirty
when the crowd had begun to thin. She took the two coats, carefully
put them underneath two other ugly models, and hung them back
on the rack.
I watched mystified. She explained that the coats
were due to be marked down in four days. She didn't want them
sold, so she was tucking them away. We'd come back the next
day, she said, and retrieve them.
Which we did. The next day. And the next. And
the day after that, as well.
I spent the following three days sitting in an
aisle in the middle of Filene's Basement holding both the Harris
tweed and the black coat while Aunt Anna went about her shopping.
She brought me lunch about noon; and vanished
again while I watched the activity around me. The days seemed
endless; but I was afraid to wander too far in case Aunt Anna
came back and couldn't find me. Although I had subway fare,
I wasn't sure I'd be able to find my way back home alone. So
I stayed in the vicinity of the coats, digging through bins
when I got bored watching people.
On Friday, we returned to the store once again.
This time to do serious business; we were actually going to
buy one of the coats.
I knew I was in for an argument -- Aunt Anna didn't
like the black one; but that was the one I was determined to
buy.
We excavated the coats from beneath a pile of
sweaters in a large bin where Aunt Anna had buried them the
previous afternoon. We walked over to the full-length mirror
on one of the pillars in the aisle.
I put on the black coat.
"Now try on the Harris tweed."
"I won't wear it. I don't like the colour."
"Your mother will wring my neck if you come home with a
black coat."
"I don't care what my mother thinks; I want this coat."
"But black isn't suitable for someone your age."
"I hate the other one; I won't wear it."
"Just try it on."
"What's the point of trying it on? I won't wear it, I'm
telling you. I won't wear it."
"Try it on; it can't hurt to try it on," she coaxed.
"No. I don't like that coat. I won't put it on."
Aunt Anna finally gave in.
We made our way to the sales desk. Waited in line.
When it was our turn the clerk took the coat and rang up seventy
dollars -- the lowest price on the ticket.
"That coat is supposed to be marked down
today," Aunt Anna argued.
"But that's not until an hour before the
store closes this afternoon."
Aunt Anna insisted on speaking to the manager.
After a bit of haggling she got her way and I paid for the coat
-- half price.
As I left the store, my coat carefully wrapped
and in a shopping bag, I vowed, "So long as I live I will
never shop this way again!"
And for forty years I have refused to set foot
in Filene's Basement.
This turned out to be an interesting writing experience.
The story was triggered by something Elizabeth said in class
the evening before I was leaving for NCTE in Louisville via
Boston. Her comment stayed with me and on the plane I began
drafting the piece. When I got home I typed the first part on
the computer but the freewrite had gone into a lot of detail
about Aunt Anna's house and had stopped when I got to Filene's
because I couldn't remember the store. I needed to ask Elizabeth,
who had obviously been there recently, about what the store
looked like. In fact she couldn't remember much so I invented,
from the little I learned and from the fragments I remembered,
what I thought the store was like and what the shopping expedition
had involved.
In this writing experiment, I knew what my beginning
and ending were from the outset. What I didn't have was any
idea of what needed to be put in the middle. When I read the
beginning to my sister, she added some detail and so did my
friend Marlene. And so I've fleshed out the narrative. What
I don't know is whether it works as a story or not. I certainly
got some laughter from both Barb and Marlene when I read them
the first part but I'm not sure my exasperation at spending
five days to save a meezly thirty-five dollars is well enough
developed to make the final sentence have an impact.
I was happy with the way my description of Aunt
Anna worked out. And I realize I was building on the humorous
writing I experimented with in "Can I Have Five Minutes?"
It wasn't intentional; that's just how the freewrite started
out and I liked how it flowed so I continued that way.
This time I played around with a little longer
piece, making an effort to craft images by providing a great
deal of detail. And then I tried bridging between images so
that the whole would be a connected narrative.
|
