Southern California Brides : Mom on a Mission : For this mother of the groom, the hunt was on to find the special outfit with a certain look. In the end, the compliments were worth all the hard work.

“I’m the mother of the groom,” I said proudly to the salesclerk at Robinsons-May’s Fashion Island store. It was a month before my youngest son’s wedding on the boardwalk of Balboa Bay, and I figured I had plenty of time to find something to wear.

The salesclerk smiled and showed me a rack of “mothers’ dresses.” You know, those large, pastel, lace dresses with a tunic top and full, crepe skirt. My face fell. I was 54, looked 45, and felt 23. 1 had just lost 15 pounds on Jenny Craig, knew exactly how I wanted to look, and I certainly didn’t want to look like a little old lady.

“No,” I said to the clerk. “The bridesmaids are in burgundy and my son says no pastels.”

“But it’s a June wedding,” the clerk said.

“I know,” I sighed. “Don’t ask me why the bridesmaids are in burgundy in June. I think it has something to do with the fact that he’s having a burgundy rinse put on his hair.” (Did I mention my son is a rock musician?)

The clerk looked at me strangely and then showed me a rack of Argenti dresses in the Jacquard prints. They weren’t right.

“How about black and white?” the clerk asked.

“My son says black and white is OK,” I told her. “He says I will match his $700 white leather tail coat and black pants.”

The clerk showed me some suits. If the style was cute, the fabric was not dressy enough. If the fabric was dressy enough, they didn’t have my size. After an hour and a half of searching, I left.

The following weekend I went to Robinsons-May at South Coast Plaza and fell in love with a suit with a black-and-white polka dot jacket and black skirt. I became very excited when I found one in my new size. I put on the jacket; it looked great. I put on the skirt, and it wouldn’t fall below my waist. Obviously a mis-marked size!

At Macy’s, I found a lovely suit with a rich white, patterned jacket and black skirt. The price tag read $500. Maybe I could float a loan from the money I gave the kids for their honeymoon.

On Monday, the gals at the law firm where I worked asked how I was doing about getting an outfit for the wedding. I must have sounded panicky when I replied that I was thinking of having a nervous breakdown and not going to the wedding, because they kept saying over and over, “It’s all right. You’ll find something. We’ll help you.”

We held a strategy meeting in the office kitchen during lunch. Rudi would scour the Laguna Hills Mall, Roxene would cover Mission Viejo Mall, Gina would pour through her catalogs, I would try Fashion Island again, and Joyce, a former actress and my size, would go through her trunk.

“I’m the mother of the groom,” I said to the salesclerk, trying to hide the panic in my voice. It was two weeks before the wedding, and I was back at Robinsons-May. I was 54, looked 60 and felt 73. The “mothers’ dresses” were looking better.

“I remember you,” the clerk said. “We’ve had some new shipments since you were here.”

I looked through all the racks. Nothing!

When I arrived at work Monday, Rudi reported that the shop in the Laguna Hills Mall she had been thinking of was gone, and Gina said there was not enough time to order anything out of the catalogs. My heart sank. No help there. Then Joyce started grinning.

“Look what I found in my trunk,” she said, pulling a box from behind the reception desk. In it was a lovely floor-length black and pink silk skirt and matching shawl.

“This is gorgeous,” I said, holding the skirt up to me. “And I have the perfect black blouse to go with it.”

That evening I tried on the skirt with my blouse. It looked beautiful, but I worried about wearing a long skirt on the beach. So, I decided to keep it as a backup.

It was one week before the wedding. Because I had Joyce’s outfit, I wasn’t in a panic as I headed up to Huntington Beach to see what I could find. I went through the stores at Huntington Center to no avail. As I was driving over to my older son’s for some moral support, I realized that Westminster Mall was just up the street, and I decided to give it a try.

Robinsons-May was having a sale, and there were racks and racks of dresses. I picked out a couple of black-and-white dresses, and even one in aqua. As I headed for the fitting room, I passed a rack with a big “reduced” sign on it. I rummaged through it and found a darling black suit with short puffed sleeves and a two-tiered peplum at the waist. When I pulled it out of the rack, I discovered the skirt and the jacket were not the same size and the buttons on the jacket had been cut off. I decided to try it on anyway as it looked small and new buttons could be purchased.

In the fitting room, I tried on the dresses. No good. With a sigh, I put on the jacket of the little black suit and gasped. I quickly put on the skirt. It was a little big at the waist but long and slinky. The look was exactly what I wanted.

On the morning of the wedding, I had my hair highlighted and styled in a flip and then went to Robinsons-May for a make-over.

“Wow! You look 25,” my stepfather said, grinning, when he arrived to escort me to the wedding.

“You look gorgeous,” my sister-in-law declared, when I stepped into the limo.

“Mom, you look fantastic,” my son, the groom, said, when we arrived at the house where he was to be married. He was in the bedroom having his long, burgundy-rinsed hair moused, gelled and spritzed by his hairdresser.

“That’s your mother?” gasped a long-haired member of his band standing at the bedroom door in a burgundy tie and black tails.

I was happy. I had achieved the look I wanted. Young!