The make-up artist forced Olivia’s face back in her direction. “I spent a little time with Josh this morning. I told him to be gentle with you, that you’d just been broken up with.”
“I broke up with him!”
“Well, in your way. But you are tender, my gal. You need some looking after. And I didn’t say much, really, but Lex...do you really want your rebound guy to be one of Walter’s friends? Imagine how awkward it will be seeing him at our parties. It wouldn’t last. And that’s a good thing! I’m just trying to protect you in your current emotionally unstable state.”
She turned, to the annoyance of the make-up artist, and looked me up and down for the first time. “Oh my,” she continued. “You might want to take a shower. What happened to you? There’s some cream in the bathroom to put on your torso. It will help you get into the dress. They say it will hurt less with lotion and powder.” She powdered her torso.
On the bed, her outfit was laid out: a white Victorian corset with a silk and tulle full-length skirt. It was terrible.
Knowing she wanted to pay respect to her gothic roots, I assumed she’d be donning a slinky, black, low-cut number. She squeezed into her corset and the make-up artist started lacing her up.
“I don’t care if I can’t breathe. Please lace me up as if I’ve had a few ribs removed.” The make-up artist pulled tighter, despite Olivia’s squinched up face. She demanded to be laced in tighter, screaming every beloved obscenity she had in her stable.
“You’re going to faint, Olivia,” I warned.
She smiled weakly, then pointed to the closet to reveal my dress; an exact replica of hers, but in blood red. Swooning in Victorian hysteria, she looked at me fondly, “You know how the guys go wild for you in red.”
More dirt than I thought possible was running down my body and into the drain. Soap stung my ankle. I had nothing to redress the wound, but at least it would be covered by the dress. My fingers and toes looked like I hadn’t changed the polish in a month.
I started crying for the first time since I’d arrived on the island. I was exhausted and my body was worse for the wear. Most importantly, I couldn’t give Olivia the Emma style present of hiding everything bad from her in order for the wedding to go off as perfect as possible.
Olivia was marrying the wrong guy. She didn’t know him at all. Between the cheating and the business issues, he was hiding who he was.
Olivia helped me into the red atrocity of a dress, which looked more and more like a bad Halloween costume than a gown for a lady in waiting. We looked in the mirror together, and I couldn’t hold onto the secrets any longer.
“This is bad news, and a big part of me doesn’t want to tell you this at all, but Walter is cheating on you. With Theresa, and with others back in New York. You can’t go ahead with this. You’re worth more. You know that.”
She walked over to the vanity and sat down, color draining from her painted face. She was angry when she asked me, “How do you know this?”
Her words were carefully spaced out. Her anger was directed towards me. After listening to me spill, she asked me, “Why are you listening to Lloyd? Are you forgetting he is a serial killer?”
Despite her disbelief, my words struck a chord. She looked like she was connecting dots that went back three years. Her fantasy was being crushed.
Mirror mirror on the wall.
We sat in uncomfortable silence for the next half hour, until we had to go. She wouldn’t look at me, saying in defeat, “Sometimes men have to get things out of their systems. We aren’t married, yet. It doesn’t count, yet. It doesn’t count until tonight. Why are you trying to ruin my wedding? Why are you are always trying to ruin things?”
I’m not dignifying that with an answer.
She closed her eyes, silently convincing herself to power through. She instantly transformed as she headed towards the door.
Olivia broke the silence with a quote I recognized as Shakespeare, “Finish, good lady: the bright day is done, and we are but for the dark.”
She winked at me, raised her chin, and strode out into the night.
Chapter 37: It Was a Dark and Stormy Night….
The bridal party boarded a small but well-appointed catamaran, to start the journey to La Gruta. The wedding ceremony was finally just hours away. Amanda was staring at Olivia, wide-eyed, waiting for the right time to tell her about the synthetic grass crisis, but that moment never came.
Energy vampire.
Even Migs had subdued his constant optimism and the scarcity of pictures taken spoke volumes. He was walking on eggshells like the rest of us, frowning at our ridiculous outfits.
Phil might have suffered the worst: oxblood frock coat, silk puff ties, and a pair of goggles. He was the only one talking, occasionally spouting off a litany of complaints. “I look like Jack the Ripper meets Jacques Cousteau. We look like Victorian prostitutes with their dandy pimp. We must be on a reality show. Tell me we’re on a reality show. Goggles? Really? Goggles?”
Olivia said nothing on the half-hour ride. I knew that if she talked about what was going on, it would make it real. She needed to quietly compartmentalize like she always did. The rest of the team was none the wiser that there was anything truly amiss.
The weather was holding off. For the moment.
I went below deck to try and figure out how I could possibly go to the bathroom wearing this ensemble. My skirt almost filled the tiny room on its own and I sat on the toilet with a face full of tulle.
I sat there for a good long while, enjoying the solitude. Marianna was waiting when I came out, sitting at a small booth. My advice to her, “I think your best bet is to pull your skirt up over your head before you go in there.”
“You look great,” she responded.
Something is up.
“Oh, come on Marianna. We both look like turn of the century hookers. You know that.”
“It’s niche.” She was a good five inches shorter than me. Her petite stature had always made me feel less feminine. I was an Amazon to her sea nymph.
“Can I ask you a question?” she smiled coyly. I’d known her for twenty-five years, and most conversations with me were about a boy.
A man. This time a man called Josh.
“Can you back off a little on Josh? I know you spent some time with him, but I know he’s pretty into me. It really could be something. So just stay away from him tonight. Is that cool? Is that okay?”
Flashback to sixteen-year-old Lexie letting Ryan get away.
Flashback to last night, letting someone in. I lost him, if I ever had him at all. I hadn’t even known I’d wanted him. Maybe damaged was just his shtick.
“No problem. You’d make a great couple. You both like the Beatles,” I forced out.
Who doesn’t?
She won—Now I was just biding time until I could get off this island forever.
We made our way off the rickety dock at Bocas del Drago, waddling down towards the waiting 1967 Rolls Royce Stretch Shadow. There are only so many traditions one can break.
Olivia fiddled with her purse, putting on a dazzling emerald bracelet as her ‘something new’. “As you may or may not know, Max was in Bogota last month. And, as everyone knows, the best emeralds in the world are known to come from the Muzo mines in Colombia.”
My heart rate shot up and my skin turned clammy as she went on about Colombian emeralds, something about the 16th century and the Emperor of Brazil giving the largest uncut emerald in the world to the Duke of Devonshire, one of Max’s direct ancestors. She’d visited Muzo many times and on the last visit she’d picked up the antique bracelet for Olivia.
Colombia. Max has been to Colombia, home of the dreaded Phyllobates Terrebillis. The heiress to billions had delivered the poison right to the room of her husband’s lover.
I had missed everything.
The case could be closed.
Almost.
Max hadn’t been on the island, but there was no doubt that she had everything
to do with both murders.
Olivia touched my sticky skin as she put her arm around me. “Maybe you should let that corset out a bit, Lexie. You look like you’re going to faint.”
By the time we drove to the pathway leading to the cave, Olivia had regained her game face. Limousines were lined up on the side of the road heading north, precluding any other cars from passing. The entranceway to the path was lit with flaming torches, and littered with the discarded shoes.
“Hey Lexie,” Migs called to me as I got out of the car. “You don’t need to look happy, but I don’t want a portrait of nauseous. You just need to look pretty. Pout those lips for me. Something stunning for me to remember you by.”
Tomorrow it would be over. 1192.5 miles away. The end.
Olivia had no choice but to go with the flow. Kicking her Louboutins off, she walked down the haunted path and waited for her father to take her down the muddy aisle.
Amanda’s choice of remedy had been desperate, and ultimately a failure. Abandoned planks were hastily chucked to the side, a failed attempt to make a new avenue on which to stroll down. There was no music. Everything was uncomfortable and wrong.
Flashes went off as soon as the bridesmaids came into sight. There’d be thirty unapproved versions of the same photo on social media within the hour.
I concentrated on looking straight ahead at Marianna’s butt. Dangerous curves, as Olivia had once described her in kinder times. Marianna gave Josh a slow, sexy stare as she took her place by the altar.
He smiled back in a way I could not decipher, then caught my eye and looked away. I needed to tell him about Colombia, but it was the worst time.
He looked back though. He looked back.
Safety in numbers.
The thunder in the distance felt eerily appropriate. People were shifting their feet in discomfort on the waterlogged soil.
Olivia’s father kissed her on both cheeks and handed her over to Walter Parker. She approached the officiate, whispering, and pointing to the darkening sky. I clocked the abbreviated ceremony at about two minutes flat, knowing what was coming next.
She’d have to suck it up with all the previous errors, but she desperately wanted the moment no one knew they’d been waiting for. Once pronounced man and wife, Walter kissed her passionately for a long, and then an uncomfortably long, time.
The bats were fashionably late, but finally, a different kind of thunder emerged, the kiss continuing as thousands of bats charged out of the cave. Like I knew would happen, most people dropped to the ground, screaming.
I stood my ground, staring at the still kissing couple, realizing that I’d rather be alone than end up having to live the life of lies that Olivia was entering.
Colleen was crying, kneeling in the muck. Walter’s grandmother was laughing. Marianna had dramatically collapsed on her back on the pathway as Josh tried to help her up.
No one will forget this wedding. Case closed.
Nico must have broken his penny bank paying for this wedding. Last night’s enormous yacht waited for us a distance from the beach.
Another major snafu for the evening. The boat was too big to dock at the Bocas del Drago restaurant, which was perched over shallow waters. Passengers had to be ferried, four at a time, out to the mooring ship.
My red 1950s gingham change of outfit was waiting for me in one of the cabins. I could now breath again in a dress that remotely fit. The deal with Walter was that Olivia could do anything she wanted in planning the wedding itself, but he insisted on controlling the reception, which he required to “just be regular”.
The Red Frog Beach resort had a deep-water marina, so getting off the boat was easy. People had clamored for the three showers while they were on board, but forty minutes was not enough time for thirty-six people to get a chance to clean up.
Walter’s father had immediately arranged for some hotel rooms for the guests to tidy up. Those whose clothes were not too soaked with mud made the best of it and made their way to the reception, but those who were not so lucky sauntered out in white bathrobes.
It took longer for the guests to walk to the reception from the main building of the hotel than had been anticipated. Staff had not completely set up the reception on the beach and were arguing about putting up tents or not to protect us all from the storm.
It was a disaster. Thank god for small miracles; the guests would have been waiting around for an hour had we not have already been running criminally late.
Yet, everyone quickly accepted the pandemonium and embraced the ridiculousness, immediately throwing back the vintage champagne like tequila shots. This crowd wanted to party above all.
I took the opportunity to dash into the hotel and desperately try to find some phone service. My signal strength flickered in and out as I walked into the empty bar.
They had to have good wi-fi in a major resort. I still repeatedly failed to get a call through to LaGuardia, and the perceptive bartender put a strong looking drink in front of me. At last, I was able to get a confusing text message and half a voicemail through to the detective’s phone before my phone cut out, “Please call me as soon as possible. It’s about Colombia. It’s Max…” I don’t know when exactly I lost the signal.
“I didn’t order a drink,” I said to the bartender. He motioned to a dark table behind me, and Max beckoned me over. Could she have been close enough to hear?
Fight or flight?
I simply froze, then I walked over to her table to sit down. “No service? It’s a problem in places this remote. By the way, the bracelet looks divine on you. Just smashing, you little smasher.”
It was true. I loved it. It sparkled in a way that I’d never be able to afford.
“Here,” she handed me her phone. “It’s satellite. You absolutely need to have one for traveling. For heaven’s sake, I can’t even get service in the Southeast of England.”
I reluctantly took it out of her hand and just stared at it.
“Do you need some help? Do you want me to read you off the last number you dialed?”
That would be the disaster of my week. “No, no. I know the number.” I couldn’t remember any number off the top of my head, or even a number to make up in a split second, so I dialed Salty, the only number I knew by heart, hoping he wouldn’t answer.
By heart? What a strange phrase.
I hadn’t heard his voice in a month. As I reached voicemail and listened to his dry but quick outgoing message, I did not miss him. “Salty. It’s me. Lexie. Just wanted to say that I was thinking about you…you don’t need to call me back.”
Max took a sip of her drink, slightly entertained by his name, I’m sure. “That’s the man who broke up with you?”
“I broke up with him.”
“I hardly knew you were with anyone. Why did you never bring him to parties?”
She had taken some notice of me after all.
It was a good question that I’d never thought about. He was judgmental and prejudiced about the wealthy, despite his secret love of conspicuous consumer consumption. I wasn’t proud of him. I didn’t want him to reflect on me. I didn’t want him to keep me from hoping that there was someone else out there.
“Because he had the personality of a hatchet fish.”
For the first time since I’d known her, she laughed. Remembering safety in numbers, I tried to say goodbye and rejoin the party but she stopped me. “Sit, have a drink with me.”
“I’m the maid of honor. I’ve got to get back.”
“It’s chaos out there. No one will notice if you’re there or not, and from where I sit, it looks like it’s going to be at least an hour before they are nearly ready.”
Though her dress was ruined on the bottom, she hadn’t even attempted to wash up. Only she could look elegant in a hotel lounge with mud caked to her feet. Only she could walk in a hotel so elegantly that no one would say anything about her muddy footprints. They’d just immediately clean up after her.
“Maybe just for a minu
te,” I sipped the drink. I winced at the strength of it.
“Thank you again for all you’ve done for Nico. That bracelet doesn’t begin to express my thanks. I’m forever in your debt.” She held up her drink to toast me. “And Lloyd? It’s really a bit of a surprise to me. He’ll be staying here after we leave? He’ll be prosecuted? Hopefully rotting.”
“I believe so.” She could wait a week until she saw him wandering the streets of New York and freak out then, far away from me.
That was really the extent of what we had to say to each other, both sipping uncomfortably. “I guess you should go. You’re right.”
I jetted out of the hotel, looking back in Max’s direction. She was walking very slowly towards the reception as well. There would have been nothing strange about it, normally.
The first bolt of lightning crackled in the distance. It was time for the party to begin.
Chapter 38: ’til Death Do Us Part…. (Bwahahahahahah)
Tents went up, cabanas were dragged to just outside the dance floor, and beautiful Panamanian woman in slinky red dresses distributed ‘just regular’ looking cocktails.
The reception was cleaning up well. Ground torches created walkways for people to stroll along as far as the white beach’s rock outcropping. Those with fit bodies had loosened their bathrobes, showing off underwear and abs. Uncle Gordon, going commando, was flashing to the delight of everyone, excluding his wife.
The food? Another major mess up. It wouldn’t be served until way after the dancing.
The seating arrangement had devolved to “every man for himself”, and I was exiled to the outer banks of the wedding party table. Josh was held in Marianna’s captivity, and though I tried to rearrange to get closer to him and tell him what was happening, there was no time. Edgar pulled me down next to him, as festivities officially had begun.
I caught Marianna’s eye, who’s expression was very much, “Back off. I warned you.”
My speech was second in the line-up; after Dave and before the groom himself. Dave took his time, long-winded speeches apparently running in the family. He started at age three, progressing at a snail’s pace, making sure not to miss any of Walter’s many stellar achievements.
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