The Wedding Flight

by Nancy Warren

“He said he's working on it.”

  “What do you think that means? Could he be referring to me?” Or more likely there was another woman he was interested in.

  “I don't know. But here’s the cool thing. I told him I wanted to buy the dress for my friend and he wouldn’t let me.”

  “You were going to buy it?” What on earth would June do with an expensive wedding gown? And where would she get five grand?

  “No, of course I wasn’t. I’d have said I changed my mind before I actually bought it. But here’s the thing. He didn't tell me the dress was on hold for someone else. He said they want to keep it on display for some bogus inventory thing. It was completely lame. And obviously not true. But he absolutely did not want me to have that dress.”

  “That is interesting. What do you think it means?”

  “Hey, I'm just the field cop. You're the detective.”

  “Why do relationships have to be so complicated?”

  June stared at her. “This would be the simplest relationship in the history of male-female relationships if you hadn't started out by telling the man that you are engaged. And now you're too much of a weenie to tell him you're not.”

  Meg dropped her head in her hands. “You're right.”

  “I know you. It's because you're afraid of rejection. So long as you can have this non-relationship that's all teasy in promise and no action, because you're engaged to another man, you don't have to face the possibility that he will reject you.”

  She didn't have the strength to argue. “Or I might find out that he's not even interested.”

  “And you think online dating is difficult.”

  “Online dating is difficult,” she wailed. “All dating is difficult.”

  “You said it, girl.” June wore running gear, and her hair was tied back in a ponytail. She said, “I'm heading out for a run. Tell you what, why don't I pick up sushi on my way home?”

  It was one of their favorite indulgences. And right now, Meg felt as though she needed a small indulgence. She had no time to cook, not with the pressing need to find a great project, a great manuscript, or a great client to bring to the firm. She didn't want to remain an assistant for very much longer. She thought, if she had to keep slaving away to Anthony Rowan, she would be putting his life in danger.

  “Do you have a date tonight?” It was rare that June didn't have either a date or an audition.

  “No,” she said. “I'm working at home tonight.”

  Meg felt slightly alarmed. If June was rehearsing for a part, she would want her roommate to run her lines with her. And Meg simply didn't have the time. Her expression must been pretty transparent for June grinned at her. “Don't worry. I'll be as quiet in my room as you are in yours.”

  Oh good, this week she was a serious writer. Meg liked her roommate both ways, but it was definitely more peaceful when she was a struggling writer than when she was a struggling actress. “You got over your writer’s block?”

  June tossed her ponytail. “You were right. All I needed to do was sit down and really think about what my character wanted. We did an interview and she told me. It was pretty cool.”

  “Excellent.”

  “I don’t know if it’s so excellent, but at least I’m getting words on paper.”

  “That’s how most writers do it.”

  “There should be an easier way.”

  Dylan closed up the store as he walked by he sent a glance to the gown hovering in the window. He felt that since that dress had appeared in his life, everything seemed to have changed. Before that, he'd been all about work. Now, he was having trouble concentrating. He had a bad case of unrequited love.

  He played hockey on Wednesday nights. It was a ragtag group and they weren't very good, but then neither was most of the competition in their league. But he liked the guys, and the cold, clean feel of his skates scraping the ice in the single-minded determination it took to attempt to figure out, as Wayne Gretzky had so famously said, not where the puck was, but where it was going to be. He was never going to be a Gretzky. In fact, he liked the quote more for its application to business than to sport.

  That's what his startup was attempting to do. Find solutions not for today, but for two, five, and ten years down the road. Security and privacy were big issues now, but it was only going to get worse.

  After hockey, he and some of the other players went out for a burger. And then he headed home thinking he had to be the ultimate New Age guy to spend one part of his evening crushing other players into the boards in a hockey arena and then finish his evening settled on the couch reading Pride and Prejudice.

  But he never did get to Jane Austen. His mom called and said, “Janet is over here now. Why don't you stop by and say hello to her. And check out what she brought for us.”

  “Sounds good,” he said, and changed direction.

  His mother, who did not run vintage stores because she needed the money, but really to give her something to do all day, lived in Hancock Park in a house built in the 1920s. When he walked in, he could hear the two women laughing and talking, against the backdrop of Sam Smith crooning in the background. He walked back to the kitchen, where the noise was coming from, and found the two of them sharing a bottle of wine in the den beside the kitchen. Janet was in a twenties phase and fit right in with the architecture.

  The garments draped and spilled over the couches looked like the wardrobe from Downton Abbey after World War I. There were silks, slim lined flapper dresses, exquisite nightgowns, hats, bags, and even shoes.

  Janet got up when she saw him and pulled him in for a scented hug.

  You would know these two were sisters anywhere. They both shared the same huge dark eyes, and the dark hair. His mother still wore hers long and let it streak with silver, while his aunt had hers cropped in a style that went very well with the clothing strewn all over the room. In his opinion, she wasn't as pretty as his mother, but she was still a striking woman.

  “And don't you get better looking every time I see you?” His aunt said, twinkling up at him.

  Since she said this pretty much every time she saw him, he had long ago ceased to be embarrassed by her words. He said, “How was Paris? I can see that the shopping was good.”

  “Oh, these are the dresses I bought just for me. But wait until you see what I got for the store.”

  He glanced at his mother and she shrugged. He suspected that this was the cream of the purchases.

  “I was telling Joe, I think I met someone.”

  “Janet was fifty-five years old and had buried one husband and divorced two. She still enjoyed an active social life, and more than that he really didn’t want to know.

  He liked his aunt; she was sophisticated, funny, and he probably couldn’t name a place she hadn’t visited, or at least tried to visit. She wasn’t a travel writer who got free trips and then wrote puff pieces. She traveled on her own dime and never shied away from saying what she thought. But, as much as her books were about new places and experiences, they were as much about her comic view of the world.

  He settled on the couch and heard about Francois who ran a winery. He suspected Francois would end up in the next travelogue but that Janet wasn’t serious enough about him that there’d be a fourth wedding anytime soon.

  Still, it was nice to catch up and hear about her travels. “I need to start writing my next book to pay for it all,” she sighed.

  “And finance your next trip.”

  She twinkled at him. “And that. Peru’s calling I think. Or maybe Russia.” They spent a couple of hours talking, mostly about her trip, and then she showed the items she’d bought for Joe’s Past and Present. As he’d expected, she’d kept the best for herself but there was still a pretty good haul to add to their stock.

  As he was leaving, he noticed the usual fan of invitations on his mother's desk in the kitchen. Even though she hadn't modeled for a number of years, she was still very connected. She was always invited to parties, gallery openings, fashion galas
. His eyes scanned idly over the many invitations and stopped at one. He picked up the card. The old Malvern Mansion was reopening as a restaurant. There was nothing new or interesting about this, restaurants opened and closed all the time in LA. This invitation offered the usual. Come, enjoy wine and hors d'oeuvres and check out the space. But what made him pause was that the mansion also offered wedding packages. He picked up the card and said to his mom, “Are you planning to go to this opening?”

  She glanced over at him. “Which one is that, honey?”

  “The Malvern Mansion. You're invited for cocktails and hors d'oeuvres. It's this Friday night.”

  His mother wrinkled her nose. “I've already got plans for Friday.” Then she looked at him, puzzled. “Are you interested in going?”

  “Yes.” He racked his brain to think of a reason why a single twenty-eight-year-old man might want to check out an old mansion that was offering stuffy, overpriced meals and wedding packages. He came up with, “I thought our advertising campaign was really successful. Maybe we should do something similar, where we join with other businesses.”

  He motioned to Janet’s collection of fabulous French vintage garments. “We could put something together that’s period. Maybe join together with the mansion, a winery, a florist, and a jeweler in our advertising.”

  It was a crazy idea, but like many crazy ideas, he kind of liked it.

  His aunt was equally enthusiastic. “That is a fantastic idea. I am always saying that we should spread our wings and be more a part of the business community in our area.”

  Joe looked at him with mild suspicion. “I think it's a great idea to go. Do you want to take my invitation? It's for two, so you could invite a guest.”

  “Yeah. I think I'll check it out.”

  “Let me know what you think of the food and wine list.”

  “I will.”

  He tucked the invitation into his pocket, said goodbye to the two sisters and headed out.

  He felt that Meg was essentially an honest woman. He had an idea that he might offer to take her as his guest to check out this charming new wedding venue since she had already told him that she hadn’t chosen a place to get married and have her reception.

  Hopefully, she would admit that she was not actually engaged.

  He called her as soon as he got home.

  “Hello?” He loved the sound of her voice. It was soft, a little tentative, even though she must have call display and know who was calling.

  He said, “I have an idea that I hope you like.”

  “Really? I'm listening.”

  “Remember you told me you did not have a wedding and reception venue chosen?”

  There was a tiny pause. “Yes, I do remember telling you that.”

  “Have you found one?”

  “No. Not yet.”

  “Great. I've been invited to the opening of the Malvern Mansion. Since they’re newly reopened I bet you could get a screaming deal on a wedding package. And, even if you don't like the idea of getting married there, it might be fun to go to their opening on Friday night and sample their wines and their menu.”

  “This Friday night?”

  “Yeah, sorry for the short notice. Are you busy?”

  Once more, he heard hesitation. “No. I'm not busy. I'm not sure I want to get married in an old mansion though.”

  “Well, it doesn't hurt to check out a possible venue. You should have some comparisons.”

  “I guess.”

  “How about I pick you up Friday at seven?”

  “That would be good.”

  He didn’t want to end the call. He wanted to talk to her all night, and hear her soft voice. He said, “Are you still thinking about the wedding gown?”

  “I rarely think of anything else,” she said irritably.

  He chuckled. “That's because it's your dress.”

  “I know. I'm going to figure something out.”

  “Good.”

  There was another pause and he said, “Did you find a copy of Catch-22?”

  “I did. I can't say it's my favorite book of all time, but I can see the appeal.”

  “All I ask is an open mind.”

  “How about you? Have you dug into Pride and Prejudice yet?”

  “As a matter of fact, I have. I thought I was going to hate the book, but it's funny. I think Mr. Collins’s marriage proposal is one of the funniest scenes I've ever read.”

  She grew instantly enthusiastic. “I know! Honestly, I think the three marriage proposals in the novel are three of the most brilliant scenes ever written.”

  “Three? I have to wade through three marriage proposals?”

  “Trust me, you'll laugh, you'll cringe. I cried but you probably won't.”

  “Trust me, if I do, I am never telling you.”

  She was still laughing when the call ended.

  Chapter 8

  “I'm going to have to tell him,” Meg said to June, as she related the phone conversation. “I don't even know why I said yes to Friday night.”

  June stared at her. “Of course you do. You're into him. You want to spend every second you can with him, and, he did kind of ask you for a date.”

  “Not exactly a date. He's helping me choose the wedding venue for a wedding to another man.”

  “Are you sure you can't just kill your fiancé off?”

  “No, I'm not a murderer. Not even of a fictitious person that I made up in my head.”

  “Well, when this all goes south, don't come crying to me.”

  “Thank you for your support.”

  She spent all of Thursday stressing. When she wasn't stressing about what she was going to wear on Friday night she was stressing about what she was going to say, and how she was going to tell Dylan the truth. Because she was determined now that she had to tell him the truth.

  When he arrived on Friday night at seven, exactly when he had said he would be there, she was all ready. June had two dates tonight. She was meeting another actor for drinks, and later on she was meeting a guy who made videos on YouTube. Meg only had one date this week and she was exhausted from thinking about it, she could not imagine how June kept up her busy social life.

  She jumped into his car, an aging Honda, and thought how incredible he looked. Her heart jumped just being beside him.

  He said, “Thanks for coming tonight. I have an idea about getting some advertising together with Joe's Past and Present and the mansion, and maybe a few other businesses. My aunt bought a collection home from Paris mostly from the 20s. We could do something Gatsby-ish.”

  “That's a great idea.”

  “If you want another modeling gig. It's yours.”

  “Thanks.”

  “My mother said you’re a natural. If you keep modeling for us you'll have enough credits to get the Evangeline gown for free.”

  Oh that dress. They always came back to that dress.

  When they arrived at the mansion she was surprised how many people Dylan knew. There were other restaurateurs, PR people, newspaper people, some influential bloggers, a couple of restaurant reviewers and the kind of beautiful people that made a venue sparkle. He said, “Usually it's my mom who comes to these things. But she was busy tonight so she gave me her tickets.”

  “I'm glad,” she said. They wandered around from room to room and when he introduced her it was always as, “My friend Meg.” She accepted a glass of wine from a passing tray and while they mingled and chatted she nibbled on various hors d'oeuvres. Everything tasted delicious, and when the owners came by in tuxedos to greet them, she was deeply relieved that Dylan did not present her as a possible bride who was checking out the venue. For that she was eternally grateful.

  It was a beautiful evening and along with restored rooms from the turn-of-the-century mansion there were outdoor gardens, stone balconies and walled gardens that were lit up. It was magical. He led her out to a secluded spot on the stone balcony and as they looked over the lit gardens, he said, “What do you think? Is thi
s a place you'd like to get married and have your reception?”

  She turned to him. His eyes were dark and mysterious in the dim light and she thought her world would be perfect if it was this man she was marrying.

  She said, “Dylan, there's something I really need to tell you. It's kind of embarrassing, really, but—”

  “Why, Dylan! How wonderful to see you here.”

  He turned and she thought a glimmer of annoyance crossed his face. Her heart was still pounding and her lips were forming the words “I'm not engaged,” but she didn't get a chance to speak them because a very elegant-looking woman who seemed kind of familiar came towards them. She wore a deep blue silk dress that looked like something out of the jazz age. Her hair was bobbed and she wore a long string of pearls.

  “Janet,” Dylan said, sounding a little acidic. “I had no idea you were coming here.”

  “You know how it is, I just got back from Paris,” she said to Meg, nodding her head pleasantly. “And when I went through my invitations, this one caught my eye. I thought if I wore this vintage gown, people might ask where I got it, and I could tell them I'm one of the owners of Joe’s Past and Present vintage store.”

  Now Meg realized why this woman had seemed familiar. She was clearly Joe's sister and Dylan's aunt. Before Dylan could introduce them, the woman held out her hand. “I'm Janet. Dylan's aunt.”

  She stuck to the same line Dylan had used all night. “Hi, I’m Meg. Dylan's friend.”

  “Oh, you are more than just friends.” Her eyes widened. Could this woman see right through her? Did she read minds? Did she know that her feelings towards Dylan were not just friendly, but passionate? Before she could say a word, his aunt continued, “I recognize you from the photographs. You’re the lovely model who showed off that Evangeline wedding gown so beautifully. Dylan, you have a very good eye.”

  She felt there was an undertone here and Dylan answered coolly, “I do, don't I?”

  There was an awkward pause and she filled it by saying, “Paris? I would love to go there.”

  “It is a wonderful city. Crowded at this time of year, of course. But since I'm a travel writer as well as a vintage store co-owner I tend to get treated very well.”