“Baby, hang in there. I can’t wait to say ‘I do’,” he breathed into the phone.
“The same. I love you.” He returned the words and ended the call as another bolt of pain shot through me. While most brides probably wanted their wedding day to last forever, I couldn’t wait for mine to be over. Anxiously, I fiddled with my glittering snowflake diamond ring. The memory of Blake surprising me with it—hidden in a snow globe no less—danced in my head and temporarily took my mind off all my troubles.
A familiar voice cut into the fond memory and widened the small smile on my face. Grandma!
“Bubala, I heard you’re coming down vith something. Flu shmu! I brought you a bissel of my chicken soup. Jewish penicillin.”
“Enid’s going to get mad you’re here.”
“Enid shmenid.” Handing me a steaming bowl of her aromatic soup, she plopped down next to me on the velvet couch. “Eat!” she commanded.
“Thanks, Grandma,” I murmured, forcing myself to put a tablespoon of the hot broth to my lips. I blew on it and then sipped the flavorful liquid. You know what? The soup was magical. As it coursed through me, I felt a little better. I helped myself to several tablespoons more.
“Mmmm. So good. I’ll never make it as good as you.”
Grandma flicked her wrist dismissively. “Bubala, you’ll learn.”
“What the hell are you doing?” Enid. She was back. At the sound of her shrill voice, I almost choked on a mouthful of soup.
“Vhat does it look like?” barked Grandma as I coughed.
“Give that to me,” hissed Enid, stomping my way. “You’re going to totally ruin your lipstick.”
“Here you go, you klafte.” Before I could blink, Grandma snatched my spoon and scooped up a matzo ball from the half-full bowl. My face lit up as she flung the giant ball at Enid. Whoot! It smacked the bitch in the face. Enid shrieked.
“How dare you!” she cried, wiping the crumbly fragments off her cheeks. Her eyes were flaring. I couldn’t help laughing.
“What are you laughing at?” Enid seethed, gritting her teeth.
Rather than responding, I gave Grandma a hug. I loved this woman. She had chutzpah! Balls. Big ones.
Monique sprinted over to Enid. “Darling, are you okay?” she asked, flicking off bits of the dumpling from her lover’s chin as if they were deadly insects. The fashion designer shot Grandma a scathing look. “What the hell did you do?”
Grinning wickedly, Grandma scooped up another perfectly formed matzo ball. “Vould you like to try vun too?”
With a gasp, Monique defensively shielded her face with her hand and turned to Enid. “Come on, darling. Let’s get out of here before this dangerous woman does something to me.” Wrapping her other arm around Enid, she ushered her out of the room.
“Vhat is it vith those two?” Grandma asked after Enid and Monique were gone.
“There’s more than meets the eye.”
“Oy! They shtup vun another?”
“So I hear.”
“Vait till I tell Helen!”
Tell Grandma; tell the world. I had a hunch everyone in town would soon know about Enid’s dirty little secret. And it could be the talk of the wedding. With mild amusement, I took another sip of soup.
Grandma stood up. “Bubala, feel better. Time for me to get ready for the vedding. I’ve got a hot date.” She winked.
Luigi, Blake’s seventy-eight-year-old tailor, had recently become Grandma’s new friend with benefits. They were adorable together, and Grandma couldn’t stop talking about his Italian “salami.”
I thanked Grandma for coming to my rescue and gave her another big hug before she marched out of the room. I finished the rest of the soup while Monique’s assistants continued working on my gown. Grandma’s comic relief and the effects of her magical soup were short-lived. A stately grandfather’s clock chimed five times. It was five o’clock. My parents would be landing any minute. I silently prayed they’d be here soon. Unsettling nerves again mixed with painful spasms. I could barely stand up when one of Monique’s assistant asked me to take off my robe so she could help me into the altered gown. With effort, I managed. And with even greater effort, I stumbled back over to the tri-fold mirror. Yes, the taken-in dress definitely fit me more snugly, but the area where the skirt fanned out in a cascade of ruffles—it was like having a rope tied around my knees. Oh my God. I could barely take a step in the mermaid gown, which would make dancing at my wedding near impossible, let alone walking down the aisle. As I stared at my frightening bridal self, I felt like crying.
“Is there anything you can do to make it looser around here?” I asked the seamstress, tugging at the impossibly tight area.
She shook her head. “There’s not enough fabric or time.”
I grimaced. Not because of my disappointment but because of the relentless abdominal pain. It was getting worse. Like a hundred knives jabbing me.
In the mirror, I saw Monique’s other assistant coming toward me. She was holding a jeweled creation in her hand.
“This is your bouquet. Ms. Hervé wants you to get used to holding it.”
I eyed the so-called bouquet. It was a sparkling concoction of crystal starfish, pearls, and seashells. Not a fresh, fragrant bloom among them. The assistant handed me the arrangement. Grabbing it with one hand, I wasn’t prepared for the weight of it. Seriously, the clunker must have weighed ten pounds. Libby had better catch it because if I missed and hit her in the head, it was going to knock her out. I totally hated it.
My cell phone rang again. “Could you please hand me my phone,” I asked the seamstress. Given how long it would take me to walk back to the couch in the constricting gown, I might miss the call. Fingers crossed, it was Blake letting me know my parents were en route. He’d arranged for a limousine to pick them up at nearby Van Nuys Airport.
“Are they on their way?” I asked Blake while Monique’s two assistants took a break.
“Baby, there’s a problem.”
A problem? My heart hammered madly. “What’s going on?”
“There’s a Sig-alert.”
“What do you mean?”
“A big rig toppled over. The traffic on the 101 is at a total standstill.”
Oh my God! How could this be happening? “Blake, when are they going to clear it?”
I could hear Blake inhale and exhale on the other end. “I don’t know. To make matters worse, it was a tanker, so there’s an oil spillage too.”
No, no, no, no. “Blake, is there anything you can do?” My raspy voice was thick with desperation and despair.
Silence.
“Blake, are you there?” My desperation was close to panic.
“Sorry, tiger. I got distracted. How do you feel?”
It was time to tell him the truth. Two words: “Like crap.” My voice was watery. I was on the edge.
Blake: “Shit. Gotta go. Guests are showing up by the droves, and I’ve got to mingle with them. Hang in there, baby. I’ll call you if I hear anything. Or come up with something.”
“Love you,” I mumbled, holding the phone limply in my hand as we ended the call. I immediately speed-dialed my father, eager to talk to him, but my phone went dead. Shit! I’d not kept it charged. And worse, I didn’t have my charger with me. In my feverish stupor, I’d left it at Blake’s condo. Shit. Shit. Shit. I now couldn’t receive any updates—from either Blake or my parents.
At an all time low, I did the only thing any bride in this situation would do. Before the tri-fold mirror, I sunk to my knees, not caring if I split open my hideous gown. I couldn’t help myself. I started to cry. Scratch that. I started to bawl. Big snotty, tears fell onto the jeweled bouquet as my shoulders heaved. This was my wedding day. I was sick as a dog. My dress was a mess. My parents were inaccessible. For God’s sake. Couldn’t one little thing go right?
I didn’t know how long I’d been sobbing when I felt two warm hands on my shoulders, massaging them gently. Slowly, I lifted my head and gazed into the mi
rror. Squatting behind me was Blake’s mother Helen, dressed to kill in her magnificent one-shoulder coral gown and a dazzling array of diamonds.
“Sweetheart, it’s going to be okay. We’re not starting the wedding until your parents arrive.”
I met her compassionate eyes in the mirror. I looked scarier than ever. My pale skin, now blotchy, was stained with a sea of tears, and squid-like streaks of inky mascara trickled down my cheeks.
I twitched the smallest of smiles. No words. I had no words. And then in the mirror, another figure appeared. Enid.
“It’s after six o’clock. Guests are grumbling. Getting drunk on oyster shooters, which, by the way, we’re running out of.”
Helen cranked her long neck to face her. “Then let them drink water.” The sharp tone of her voice was new to me.
Enid’s face hardened. Her voice was ice-cold. “Helen, darling, I cannot disappoint our guests. I’ve never delayed an event. The show must go on.”
Helen stood up and squarely faced Enid. “Blake and my husband are perfectly capable of entertaining our guests.”
That was true. Both were natural-born showmen. Like father like son.
Enid’s eyes narrowed. “Helen, I run the show, and I say the show must go on.” She snapped her fingers. “It’s as simple as that.”
Helen’s eyes shot back daggers. “Darling, I’m flitting the bill, and I say there’s no ‘show’ until the McCoys get here. My future daughter-in-law is not walking down the aisle without her parents.” She snapped her fingers. “It’s as simple as that.”
Wow! I’d never seen Helen like this. She was in total battle-mode. A ninja warrior.
Smoke was shooting out of Enid’s nostrils. I could practically smell it. “Helen, you don’t seem to understand. I have a reputation to uphold. My events always go off perfectly. Without delays.”
Not wasting a second, she put the walkie-talkie she was holding to her mouth. “Attention. Please have the guests take their seats. The wedding is about to begin.”
Helen, to my astonishment, snatched the device and put it to her mouth.
“Attention. This is Helen Bernstein. Please have the guests take their seats and make an announcement that the wedding is a little delayed.” And then with force, she hurled the walkie-talkie against one of the painting-lined walls. Slam! The little black box fell apart as it hit the floor.
“How dare you?” shrieked Enid.
Helen smiled smugly. “I’ve always had a good throw. You should know, I’m the designated pitcher at my annual ‘Big Sister’ charity softball game.”
Enid was seething. “This would have never happened if Blake had married Katrina.”
“Blake never wanted to marry your skanky daughter. What she did to him was abominable.”
“What your son did to her was unforgivable. And to our family. We almost went under. Why do you think I became an event planner? Because I wanted a career? Hardly. I needed the fucking money. We were broke. Clayton almost had to sell the house. And we had to fine-dine at Sizzler. Do you honestly think I like working for you? Hardly. You’re a fucking rich bitch. Your money keeps me afloat.”
“Well, Enid. You’d better think of a new fucking career. Because…you’re…fired!” My future mother-in-law aimed her thumb and index finger at her like a gun.
Enid gasped, her mouth dropping wide open with shock. And then the unbelievable happened. On the next breath, she lunged at Helen, almost knocking her to the floor. “I hate you, you fucking bitch!” she shrieked.
Catching her balance, Helen yanked at Enid’s hair. “It takes one to know one.” She yanked again. Enid yelped, “Fuck you!” and retaliated. A giant clump of Enid’s ebony hair—holy shit, a ten-inch hair extension!—fell to the floor, followed by a wad of Helen’s platinum locks.
Before I could blink, the two women were at each other like two Siamese fighting fish. Hissing. Shrieking. Clawing. Gnawing. My eyes stayed wide as Enid ferociously tore apart the shoulder fabric of Helen’s stunning dress. This hiss of the splitting silk sent goose bumps to my skin. Helen retaliated with a kick to her adversary’s shin.
“I’m going to deduct the cost of this dress from your bill,” hissed Helen, now tearing at Enid’s blouse while she bent down to nurse her leg. The pearl buttons popped off and—ping, ping, ping—landed close to my feet. The dueling divas continued with Enid getting the better of poor Helen after punching her hard in the gut. I’d had enough. Adrenaline pumping through my blood despite my horrible pain, I aimed my weighty jeweled bouquet at Enid and flung it like a grenade. It flew through the air and BINGO! It got her smack in the head. With a moan, she spiraled downward onto the floor. With a triumphant smile, Helen gave me a thumbs up. Her expression then contorted into one of utter disgust as she glowered at defeated Enid.
“Get up and get out of here.” My soon-to-be mother-in-law’s gruff voice was fueled by rage. “And don’t you ever step foot on my property again. Security will escort you to the front gate.”
Dazed, Enid staggered to her feet. Another voice at the doorway caught my attention. Monique. “Oh my God. My dress!” Her startled eyes darted from Helen to Enid. Panic-driven, she flitted to her disheveled, unsteady partner. “Enid, darling, what’s going on here? Are you okay?”
Rubbing the back of her head, recovering Enid pinched her Botoxed face so hard a crease curled between her brows. But before she could say a word, Helen lashed out at her again.
“And you can take your girlfriend with you.” Holy cow! Helen already knew.
Enid turned crimson. Pursing her lips, she breathed loudly in and out from her nose. Her fists clenched so tightly her knuckles turned white. Finally, her mouth parted.
“Monique, darling, we’re no longer needed here. Let’s go.” She hooked her arm into the crook of her lover’s elbow. Questions begging answers danced in Monique’s eyes, but she held them back. The two women stalked to the door. At the doorway, Enid turned her head and smiled wickedly. She gave Helen the evil eye.
“You and that wannabe daughter-in-law of yours will be sorry.” Her icy gaze shifted to me. “Blake will never be yours, you peasant.”
Her hurtful words sent a shiver up my spine. At the same time, a sharp pang stabbed my gut. I clenched my stomach and suppressed a wince as Enid and Monique slipped away. Helen took me in her arms. “Don’t let her get to you, my dear. You are perfect for Blake. I’m so thrilled you’re going to be my daughter-in-law. And you must absolutely promise to be on my softball team. I need a backup pitcher.”
“Sure, Helen,” I murmured, grateful that this incredible woman had come to my rescue. Her warm embrace was interrupted by a familiar welcomed voice.
“Honey!”
Mom! I spun around. There they were. My beloved parents. My mother, dressed in a lovely oyster white suit, and my dad in a dapper English-style morning suit. A massive brace encased his right leg, and he was holding a spiffy cane that complemented his suit beautifully. My heart swelled with happiness. Tears of joy flooded my eyes. My mother broke away from my dad and sprinted to me. He limped behind her.
“Oh, Mom, I’m so glad you’re here,” I said tearfully as she gave me a maternal hug—something I’d been craving for so long. My dad was next. It felt so good to be in his arms. He smiled broadly. “I told you I was going to walk my little girl down the aisle.” And here he was. He looked so handsome to me, leg brace and all.
“You look beautiful, Jennie,” he said with a proud smile.
No, I don’t. But his heartfelt words made me feel beautiful. And that was all that mattered.
My mother, with her discerning eyes, studied me. “Honey, are you all right? You look faint.” My perceptive mother knew me well.
“I have a little bit of a bug.” My alarmist mother immediately put her hand to my forehead. “I’m taking Advil. I’ll be okay.” Truthfully, now that my parents were here, everything was okay. Nothing could keep me from my wedding day.
“Where’s Father Murphy?”
&
nbsp; “He’s in the backyard conferring with the Bernsteins’ rabbi.”
I quirked a smile. All was good.
Relaxing, my mother beamed. “Everything looks so beautiful. And guess what! I saw George Clooney and Michelle Obama!”
My star-struck mom. I loved her so much. As for me, the only stars that mattered at my star-studded wedding were Blake…and my parents. They were here. Here at last!
Helen interjected. “I’m going to leave the three of you alone while I freshen up and change into another gown.” She hugged my parents. “I’m so thrilled you made it. I’ll meet you shortly along with the others in the wedding party on the veranda. The wedding of the century is about to begin.”
Chapter 17
Blake
Thank God, Jennifer’s parents arrived safely and just in time. Standing under the shell-encrusted chuppah beside my best man, Jaime, and surrounded by members of the wedding party, I faced our thousand-plus guests. So many famous faces. And so many I didn’t recognize. My parents’ social connections could not be rivaled. Photographers were scattered everywhere, taking photos with their flash cameras. Overhead, helicopters circled the dark gray sky. News crews were trying to get the scoop on the Hollywood wedding of the century. For sure, it would be a featured story on tonight’s newscasts, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to tune in. Dressed in my tux, I waited anxiously for my bride. I hadn’t seen her since early afternoon.
“The Wedding March” began to play. Enid had managed to install an elaborate organ—the kind you saw at Radio City Music Hall—in our backyard along with a state-of-the-art sound system. The music reverberated in my ears. To be honest, that’s not the music my tiger had wanted to walk down the aisle. She had hoped to walk down to our song: “The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face.” But Enid insisted that be our first dance song. The bitch, we’d decided, was just not worth fighting. So we compromised.
THAT MAN: Holiday Box Set Books 1-5 Page 58