The Wedding Flight

by Nancy Warren

  “What is your favorite book?”

  “I have two. Lord of the Rings and Catch-22.”

  “What is it with men and war?”

  “I bet you’ve never read either of those books if that’s what you think.”

  “I’ve read Lord of the Rings.”

  He leaned forward. “You’ve never read Catch-22? Seriously? One of the great novels of our time.”

  “I’ve always meant to. I simply never did.”

  “There was always a juicy romance to be devoured instead.”

  She crossed her arms in front of her chest, the way her mother used to do when she was about to lecture. “And you’ve read Jane Austen’s classic, have you?”

  “That is not a manly read.”

  “Maybe you should read it before you judge.”

  “I’ll read yours if you read mine,” he teased.

  She laughed. What she really had time for right now was another book to read that she hadn’t chosen. But she nodded. “Sure.”

  He poured more sangria. “And your fiancé? Is he in LA, too?”

  She felt heat crawl up the back of her neck. And for one second she was tempted to tell Dylan the truth. She glanced up and thought that even if he decided she was both a prevaricator and unhinged it was better than her continuing her foolish lie. At that moment the waiter arrived with her empanadas.

  In the placing of dishes and asking if they needed anything else, the moment was lost. Instead of answering Dylan's question, she said, “What about you? What's your story?”

  If he was aware that she’d sidestepped his question, he let it go.

  He said, “My story is not so interesting either. My mom was a pretty famous model in the seventies and eighties. My dad was a photographer, that's how they met. But, I don't know, maybe the temptation of photographing beautiful women all day got to be too much for him. Anyway, he left us when I was little. He followed some young model to Paris, and he pretty much went from model to model until he died a couple of years ago.”

  “I'm sorry,” she said.

  He shrugged. “Truth is, I barely knew him.”

  “Your mom seems like an amazing woman.”

  “Oh, she is. When her modeling career was going well she put money away instead of blowing it. She loves vintage stores and she has a good eye. So she and her sister started Joe’s.”

  “How do you like working in the vintage clothing business?”

  “I like it fine. But I'm like you, waiting for my big break.”

  “There's a big break in vintage clothing?”

  He settled back in his chair. “No. I've got a degree in business and I’m working on a startup company with some guys I met at college. At this point, it's nothing but hard work and hopes and dreams. But if it goes, it could be big.”

  “Wow, that's exciting. What kind of startup?”

  “Internet security, that’s all I can say. We all signed a non-disclosure.”

  “That sounds really exciting. In a sort of secret agent way.”

  “I think so. And, in the meantime, working at Joe's gives me a paycheck and when it’s not busy, I work on my own stuff.”

  Even though the food was delicious, she barely tasted it. All her senses were busy enjoying Dylan’s presence.

  “Do you live above the store?” she asked. She’d noticed there was a full apartment there.

  “No. It’s mostly storage. My aunt sometimes stays there when she wants to spend the night in town. She’s in Paris right now. She’ll bring home some amazing vintage pieces and end up keeping most of them for herself.”

  She laughed. “Not the business head in the family.”

  He hesitated and she thought he was about to say more, but he only said, “No. But she loves her life, and I respect that.”

  “Where do you live?”

  “I rent an apartment a few blocks away.”

  She fiddled with her plate. “Do you live alone?”

  “I do. How about you?”

  “I live near here, too. In the main floor suite of an old house.” And, because she didn’t want him thinking her boyfriend was part of her living arrangements she said, “My roommate writes a blog about being single in LA. She’s also an actress and a writer, so it’s never dull.”

  When they’d finished dinner, he walked her back to the store. She had left her car in a lot nearby. “Thank you,” she said. “Tonight was . . . Magical.”

  He looked at her and said, “I wish . . .” He closed his eyes and then shook his head. “If you decide you want that dress, we’ll do everything we can to make it work for you.”

  “Dylan . . .” No, she'd rather he thought she was engaged to another man than that she was so feeble she’d lied about being engaged so she could try on a wedding dress she couldn't even afford.

  He’d turned and was waiting for her to continue. She said, “Let me know how you like Pride and Prejudice.”

  Chapter 5

  When Meg arrived home, she found June flopped on the couch watching television while simultaneously working on her laptop.

  She glanced up when Meg walked in looking peevish. Meg said, “You’re home already? How was the date with the professional athlete?” For all her cynicism, June was actively looking for Mr. Right, and Meg always hoped that on one of these dates she would find him. June scowled. “Professional athlete? He's a professional bowler. How is that even a sport?”

  “Oh. Well, he could still be a very interesting person.”

  June glared at her from over the back of the couch. “Did I mention he bowls for a living?”

  “I'm sorry.”

  “And look at you.” She squinted her eyes with suspicion. “You seem pretty excited for a woman who went to a boring work thing.”

  Meg walked over and flopped besides her on the couch. “I need to tell you something.” She could not keep all this to herself any longer. And, while June could sometimes be a challenging roommate, they were friends and no one knew the dating scene in LA better. She said, “I met someone.”

  “Oh, my God. Really? Where? How? When?”

  “This is going to sound crazy. But I met him in a vintage clothing store.”

  “Not one of the top ten meeting spots in LA, but that's what's so great about this town. You never know when something incredible is going to happen.” She flipped off the television so Meg knew she had her roommate’s full attention. June leaned forward, excited. “Tell me everything.”

  And so she did. From the moment that dress had called to her to the moment she’d walked away from Dylan tonight.

  June stared at her like she was crazy, and she could understand why.

  “So, you met the dreamiest guy ever, told him you're engaged to another man, even though you haven't had a boyfriend in, what, two years? And you think there's hope for this relationship?”

  In a strange way she did. Maybe she was just a crazed, over-read, under-sexed romantic, but when Dylan had gazed into her eyes, right from the first moment, she’d felt something magical happen.

  “Yes. I do think there could be something there. He didn’t have to extend the evening by asking me for dinner.”

  “Where did he take you?”

  “An Argentinian place. Crowded and trendy.”

  “Good. I’m getting a definite dating vibe. But it was casual enough he could not be accused of being a skeevy douche trying to steal another man’s fiancée.”

  “Exactly.” She began to feel hopeful.

  “Who paid?” June asked.

  “He did, but he said the store was paying.”

  June nodded. “Again, it’s a date without being an official date. He walked a fine line and he did it with style.”

  Even though she barely knew Dylan, she was proud of him for impressing June, who always looked for the dark side of men’s behavior.

  “So, when are you seeing him again?”

  And wasn't that the question of the moment. “I don't know. It's not like we could make plans to meet a
gain. I'm supposed to be engaged.”

  “Yes. That is the first thing you need to deal with.” June settled herself more comfortably against the cushions. Meg looked at her hopefully—she was the in-house dating expert after all. She said, “I think this calls for ice cream.”

  “Chocolate?”

  “Even better. I stocked up on rocky road on my way home from bowling boy.”

  “Excellent.”

  So, with bowls of ice cream on their laps, they strategized.

  “What, exactly, have you told him about your supposed fiancé?” June asked.

  “As little as I possibly could. He asked if my husband-to-be lived in LA and I managed to change the subject. I don't think I've told him a single thing.”

  “Good. Good.” June scooped up some ice cream. “We need to get rid of the fiancé.”

  Meg nodded. She’d figured out this much herself.

  June mulled over the issue for a moment. “Tell Dylan your guy is dead.”

  She swallowed a freezing cold lump of ice cream too fast and coughed. “Dead? You want me to kill off my own fiancé?”

  “Sure. People die every day.”

  “That's a little harsh.”

  “I guess. Plus, there's the whole funeral thing. A fake fiancé is bad enough, but a fake funeral is kind of sketchy.”

  They ate more ice cream.

  “Tell him you broke up, or better yet, your fake fiancé dumped you. That gets you the sympathy card.”

  “I don't want the man I'm interested in to think my fiancé dumped me right before the wedding. How would that make me look?”

  “It would make you look pathetic.” She waved her spoon around and a marshmallow wobbled alarmingly. “Well, then you broke up with him.”

  She didn’t like this option either. “Doesn't that make me seem kind of faithless, like a woman you can't really count on?”

  June leaned forward, pinning her with a fierce gaze. “You're going to have to kill him or dump him. You'd better make up your mind.”

  “What reason would I give for dumping him?”

  “He cheated on you.”

  “Now we’re back to me being pathetic.”

  “Good point. What if you said it’s because you met someone else?”

  “And let him know that he's that person?” It seemed too emotionally revealing. She was no good at cool, sophisticated banter that worked on two levels. She adored it on the movie screen or inside the pages of a novel. There was a reason she spent so much of her time inside books. “I don’t know.”

  “Maybe he had to move away? And you love your job and you have a great apartment with the world's best roommate and you were not willing to relocate to Winnipeg.”

  “Winnipeg?”

  “That's where bowling boy is from. Do you know it's winter there nine months of the year? And in the summer they have mosquitoes bigger than B-52s?”

  “Could he have been exaggerating?”

  “Exaggeration is only inflating the truth.”

  She contemplated this plan. “The man I planned to marry is moving to Winnipeg and I don't want to follow him because the winters are too cold.”

  “Yes. It’s logical and makes you sound in charge of your life and not pathetic.” Pleased with her solution, June picked up the remote ready to flip the TV back on.

  “If I loved someone, I’d followed him anywhere.” She imagined that if Dylan moved to Winnipeg or Siberia she’d pack a bag with a down jacket and a lot of woollen underwear and go along with him if he asked her to. She banged her head against the soft back of the couch. “I never ever should've done such a stupid thing as pretend to be engaged in the first place.”

  “Well that's a given. But, now you're in this mess, we have to dig you out of it.”

  Meg put her empty bowl down on the table where it made a click of determination. “No. I am not telling any more lies, half lies, or white lies. I am going to go into Joe's Past and Present and tell him the truth.”

  “He's going to think you're deranged. You know that, right?”

  She took in a deep breath. “I would rather he thinks I'm deranged than a liar.”

  June didn’t seem so sure. “I think you should sleep on it.”

  But, of course, she barely slept. Their dinner out hadn't even been a real date and she’d had more fun than on any evening out with a man she could ever remember. Her last boyfriend had been a struggling writer. And, while it had been fascinating to be even peripherally involved in his creative process, they had spent most of their time either talking about his work, parsing rejection letters from editors for clues, or researching agents. Or she’d been editing his words. Now that she looked back, she’d discovered in herself a talent for editing.

  In truth, he hadn’t been a very good writer. He hadn’t been a good boyfriend either. He was needy and self-absorbed and what she had imagined was his devotion to her was really insecurity.

  She couldn't go on dreaming about Dylan all the time and then find out he despised her for lying. Anyway, she didn’t even know if he was single. He’d said he lived alone, but that didn't mean he was unattached.

  She spent Sunday shopping for groceries, doing errands and wondering if she’d hear from Dylan. She didn’t, but why would she? The man believed she was engaged.

  Monday morning she rose with determination. Whatever happened, she was going to make things right. She dressed with more than her usual care the next morning. A lot more. She let her hair hang in loose curls around her shoulders, put a lot more effort into her makeup, even following Nikki’s suggestion that she do more with her eyes. She wore her best black skirt, black stockings and ankle boots, and a butterfly-patterned silk top.

  When she got to the office and dumped out the paper manuscripts and placed them in a pile to be mailed back, her boss came into the small cubicle that was her office. His name was Anthony Rowan, and while all his clients loved him, she wasn't aware of a single person on staff here at RGW Entertainment who didn't pretty much hate his guts. She tried not to hate anyone, but Anthony could be challenging.

  He motioned to the stack of paper with his chin. “Anything in there? War and Peace? The Fault in Our Stars? Fifty Shades?”

  “Pale imitations of all those books, but nothing I’d want you to look at.”

  “Damn. We need a big hit, all our jobs depend upon it.” He leaned over her desk. “I am counting on you.”

  As a motivational speech, it had worked the first time. Probably had a lot of impact the second time. But now, she heard this same speech pretty much every Monday morning. She replied, “I'll do my best.”

  Then she set to work. She contemplated going in to talk to Dylan on her lunch break, but she never got a lunch break. One of the Hollywood studios expressed interest in a book by one of their authors, and there went her day.

  She left work a little early, justifying her departure with the fact that she'd skipped lunch altogether and that she wanted to get through six manuscripts tonight. When she got to Joe's Past and Present, her steps slowed and then stopped altogether. In the window, where that beautiful wedding dress should float, teasing her with the promise of a golden future, stood a naked mannequin. It looked so sad with its naked beige limbs that she wanted to throw a blanket over the poor thing. Then the most likely reason for its naked state struck her.

  “No,” she whispered. Panic beat at her breast. Surely they hadn't sold that dress already?

  With an impending sense of urgency and doom, she pushed her way into the store. She had no idea who was currently trying on the dress, but they weren't getting it. That dress was hers. If she had to get into a bidding war, she would. Mentally, she catalogued all her assets and her savings. She’d been saving for a trip to Europe. She supposed she could raid that fund—and her rainy day fund in case she lost her job. If she did all that, plus maxed her credit card, she had a shot.

  She could hear Dylan's voice. She paused behind a rack of prom gowns to listen. And what she heard amazed her
. “It is a great dress,” he said, sounding way less enthusiastic than when she’d tried it on. “Too bad it doesn’t fit.”

  A female voice replied. “I absolutely love it.” She could tell the voice was coming from the triple mirrors, so she peeked out. The woman in the dress was all wrong for it. She was too tall, too blonde, and way too skinny. Dylan was right. It didn’t fit her at all. The dress was both too big in the body and too short. She wanted to run forward and snatch it off that skinny bone-rack. Instead, she stood there, rooted to the spot, recalculating her finances.

  The woman twirled, and maybe it was her imagination, but she didn't even think the dress twirled properly on that broomstick body. The young woman put a hand to her chest and the flash of a big, sparkly engagement ring nearly blinded all of them.

  She said, “I can have it altered. I love it. I'll take it.”

  Just as Meg was about to scream, “No!” and leap out from behind the prom dresses, Dylan said, “I'm sorry. That dress is on hold for someone else.”

  The woman's eyes opened wide. “But I want it.”

  “I’ll tell you what we’ll do, if the woman who has it on hold doesn't take it, you'll be the first one I call.”

  She didn’t miss the simpering grin. “Why don’t we pretend the dress isn't on hold? I will pay full price and take it today. I could even run to the bank and get you cash.”

  “I'm sorry,” Dylan said, quite firmly. “Store policy is that the person who puts a garment on hold has first dibs.”

  Her face fell. “Well, when will you know for sure?”

  “The end of the week. But I should warn you, she seemed very definite.”

  “But it looked so fantastic on your website. That's why I came in. I saw that dress and I knew I had to have it.”

  He nodded. “There’s been a lot of interest.”

  Now she realized she had more competition than the skinny blonde. Who had put this gown on hold? And why did she have this spooky feeling, growing stronger by the second, that the gown had to be hers?

  Slowly, carefully, and quietly she backed out of the store, easing open the door so the bell wouldn't tinkle too loudly.

  She had to figure out a way to buy that dress. It was insane, of course. She needed a wedding dress like she needed braces on her straight teeth, but the crazy notion wouldn’t leave her.