by Carsen Taite
“Hi, Stuart,” she called out. “I’m just hanging here with Luther, watching him work miracles. What do you think?”
Stuart stopped directly in front of her and surveyed her like she was a lab specimen. “Better. Much better. But now it’s time to dress it up.”
Did he just call me an “it”? Roxanne bit back a smart retort. Guys like Stuart thrived on generating drama with their acerbic attitudes, and she had no interest in feeding that beast, so she made a conscious decision to ignore his remark. “Talk to me. What do you have in mind?”
“This way.” He turned quickly and walked toward the door, not waiting for her to follow. With a quick wave at Luther, Roxanne scurried after and followed him out of the room and down the hall, nearly smacking into his backside when he pulled up short in front of a set of double doors.
“What I’m about to show you is fashion’s version of the Garden of Eden. You may look, but do not touch. If there’s something you want to try on, you may point to it, but I will make the ultimate decision. Understood?”
She nodded, scared if she spoke out loud, her tone would border on sarcastic. Seriously, what a control freak. Apparently satisfied she was going to obey, he threw open the doors with a flourish. She half expected him to say “ta-da,” but he merely stepped to the side and waved her in. When she stepped over the threshold, she gasped. “Oh my God.”
“I know,” Stuart said with as much of a smile as she’d seen from him. “It’s a lot to take in your first time. Go slow and look around. I have some things in mind, but it’s important that you are invested in the sense of style you will be projecting.”
Roxanne nodded, but she wasn’t really listening since every last bit of her focus was trained on rack after rack of stunning garments worthy of a runway. And the shoes! She practically swooned at the sight of half a dozen racks loaded with pair after pair, each one costing more than her car payment. “This is the mythical fashion closet, isn’t it?” She reached out to touch a Jimmy Choo rust metallic lizard print pump she’d seen advertised in last month’s issue of Best Day Ever, but pulled back when Stuart cleared his throat. “Sorry. I was blinded by the bling.”
Stuart crossed his arms. “Fashion closet, yes. Mythical, no.” He let loose a slight grin. “I came through earlier and set aside a few things for you to try on, but I’m open to seeing if there is anything that calls out to you. Take a few minutes and then point out what catches your fancy and we’ll go from there.”
He wandered off for a moment, and she took advantage of being out from under his watchful eyes to run her hands along a Christian Siriano dress. Nothing in the room was anything that could be purchased off the rack, but every clothing store in the country carried designs inspired by these one of a kind pieces. She fired off a quick text to her sister. You’ll never guess where I am. 3 tries.
In a coal mine. In a boat off the coast of Spain. At the farmer’s market.
Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Fashion closet at Best Day Ever. About to be wardrobed for the big gig. She heard the door open. Gotta go. Drinks later and I’ll tell all.
“Well?” Stuart asked as she slipped her phone surreptitiously into her purse. “Anything catch your eye?”
“Everything caught my eye.” She pointed to a trench-style dress. “Love this. Totally my style, just, you know, at the knock-off of a knock-off price.”
“There’s nothing like the genuine article.”
“There is if you want to eat,” she said. “Don’t get me wrong, my blog has become very successful, but it’s only in the last year that I’ve started to accumulate sponsorships, and most of those have gone toward paying down the debt I accumulated writing on spec.” She stopped when she realized Stuart, dressed in his custom-made suit and Prada shoes, couldn’t possibly relate to her situation. “Anyway, I like the dress and,” she pointed to a floral print Etro suit hanging nearby, “the cut on that suit is perfection.”
He gathered the garments and held them at arm’s length. “You have a good eye and you know your own style, so you’re already ahead of the game. You favor lighter colors, but I’d like to push you a bit outside your box if you’re okay with that. Do you trust me?”
“Yes.” She didn’t have to think about her answer. She expected men like Stuart were accustomed to telling, not asking, and the fact that he was letting her have any input at all was a big overture on his part. “What do you recommend?”
“I’ve got an outfit in mind for today’s appearance that should have everyone talking. Let’s get you fitted for that and then we’ll meet back here tomorrow and go over the other things I’ve selected.” He clapped his hands, and magically, a duo of minions appeared at the door. “Here’s your team. Get her dressed and ready to go in two hours. Go!”
Roxanne barely saw him leave the room as she was surrounded by two young men taking measurements and discussing various details to get her camera-ready. “Uh, guys?” She pointed at herself. “I’m right here. Would someone mind showing me what you’re measuring me for?”
The taller of the two stepped back, smiled, and pulled a garment bag off a nearby rack. He started lowering the zipper. “Ready?”
“Ready.” She watched intently as he quickly lowered the rest of the zipper and eased out the hanger. She stared at the deep crimson sheath dress with an asymmetrical neckline. It was classically simple and breathtakingly beautiful. Guaranteed to make a statement. “I’m so ready.”
* * *
Abby stood at the head of the conference room table, gritting her teeth. With the exception of the aborted brunch on Sunday, she’d spent the entire weekend working on an array of contingency plans for Barclay’s Bridal, but the twins and their contentious lawyer, Sam Thedford, had shot down every alternative.
“We’re wasting our time here,” Sam said. “Sadie and Phillip no longer want to be in the bridal business. They’ve communicated this desire to Tommy time and time again. He can buy them out if he wants to reopen.”
“With what?” Tommy asked, shrugging off Abby’s hand on his arm. “Seriously, since Mom and Dad died you’ve shown no interest in trying to turn the business around.”
“Because we never wanted to be in the business in the first place,” Sadie said. “This is your dream, not ours. Why can’t you get your investor for the online business to give you the money to reopen the stores?”
Abby caught Tommy’s eye and shook her head. They’d discussed this option, but the investor wasn’t interested in brick-and-mortar stores, only an online presence, and he didn’t want to buy in to that unless he could be assured there would be no lingering lawsuits against the Barclay name, which left them at an impasse. “Two separate issues,” she said. “We’re here to discuss options for Barclay’s Bridal.”
Sadie folded her arms across her chest. “We made a decision to close the stores and that’s it.”
“Exactly,” Phillip chimed in. “This is all a waste of time. And money.” He turned to Tommy. “Quit trying to reopen the stores. Either buy us out or liquidate the assets at auction, and save the money we’re all having to pay on lawyers. How much is she charging?”
Abby focused on keeping her breathing calm and steady. “What I’m charging is a drop in the bucket compared to what you’ll be paying in lawsuits for all the contracts you’re violating with your suppliers and customers, but I’m sure Sam here has explained that to you,” she said, not at all confident he had. “If you’d come to me before you made the decision to close, we could have worked out a structured bankruptcy arrangement, but now we’re faced with back-dooring everything and it’s not going to be pretty. Simply liquidating the assets isn’t going to save you from lawsuits for violating contracts or the loss of goodwill.” She pointed to the flow chart she’d written on the board. “We do have a few options to cut your losses, but we need to settle on one fast. In case you haven’t noticed, there’s a big media campaign brewing designed to stir these women up. No one really cares about manufacturers and distributors not being pa
id, but angry brides-to-be are apparently a hot item right now.”
“It’s all those stupid reality shows focused on everything wedding. They encourage everyone to have unrealistic expectations,” Sadie said.
“Those shows kept our business afloat,” Tommy said. “Do you know how many people think it’s okay to buy a wedding dress online nowadays? Mom and Dad would be rolling over in their graves at the idea of UPS tossing a box stuffed full of chiffon on someone’s porch. Reality wedding shows are one of the primary reasons women still shop at our stores.”
“That’s pretty hypocritical, coming from you. Aren’t you trying to take the business online?”
“To complement the existing business, not destroy it.”
“Mom and Dad’s failure to be forward thinking is what got us into this mess in the first place,” Phillip said.
“Quit pretending you were ever interested in this business,” Tommy said. “Either of you. All you ever cared about was its ability to fund the lifestyles you’ve become accustomed to. Mom and Dad would’ve loved for you to show an interest when they were alive, but the minute it became hard, you both decided to bail, and it’s not okay.”
Sam looked up from his phone. “Counselor, I think you need to tell your client to dial it back a notch.”
Abby wanted to punch him and his clients in the throat, but instead she mentally counted to ten. “Let’s take a breath. I get you all have lots of emotions around what should happen to the family business, and I want you to process all of those, but we have some hard decisions to make, and the more willing you all are to give a little, the more likely you’ll all be able to walk away with something other than hurt feelings. Okay?”
Before any of them could answer, Graham burst through the door. “I’m sorry,” he gasped, clearly out of breath.
Abby wanted to be mad, but she couldn’t remember ever seeing him look anything other than perfectly composed. “What is it?”
“The blogger. I saw her on the news over the weekend, and now she’s in the parking lot. The Bride’s Best Friend. It’s really her, although I suppose it could be anyone because no one knows who she really is, or at least they didn’t until now.”
He wasn’t making any sense. “Take a breath.” She glanced over at Sam and the twins who were looking impatient. “Who’s outside?”
“The Bride’s Best Friend. She’s a wedding blogger. Very well known. Best Day Ever carries her blog. She was at the downtown Barclay’s on Thursday, and since then her video has gone viral on YouTube.” He dropped his voice, and said, “I sent it to you yesterday through your Leaderboard account.”
Her stomach sank with the realization she was behind the curve. She’d seen the red dot alerting her to a new message, but she’d ignored her social media accounts in favor of prepping for this meeting. Her only solace was that the Barclays didn’t seem to know about the video. She turned back to Graham. “So, what’s going on now?”
“Now she’s out front with a bigger crowd, and news crews are everywhere. They’re blocking the door and the crowds are getting bigger by the minute.”
Crap. Crap. Crappity crap. Abby fixed a determined smile on her face for Sam and the Barclays, but what she wanted to do was slink out the door. Her first instinct was to call the cops to clear out the lot, but with the press camped outside, she knew cops showing up to put would-be brides in handcuffs would be a public relations nightmare. “How bad is the video?”
“It’s compelling.”
Ugh. Were those tiny tears at the edges of Graham’s eyes? She pushed away the thought. She couldn’t afford to feel sorry for these women over what was essentially a few yards of fabric. “Let’s see it.”
He pursed his lips and slowly handed over his phone. Abby scrolled to the Leaderboard video app and started to punch play, when Campbell appeared in the doorway.
“Hey, I was just mobbed by a bunch of women in the parking lot,” she said. “They have signs and everything.”
Abby shoved Graham’s phone back in his hand. “I got this. Save that.” She pointed at the phone. “For evidence of what sent me over the edge.” She waved at Tommy. “I’ll be right back.”
She strode out of the conference room ready to do battle when she remembered there were cameras trained on the front door. She paused for a second and fixed a determined smile on her face, ready to dispatch the crowd with poise and grace. She swung open the door and was temporarily blinded by the sunlight. When her vision finally cleared and she was able to focus, her determination lasted about three seconds.
Standing not six feet from her was Roxanne. She was turned slightly away, but Abby knew it was her. She was dressed to the nines and she looked amazing. Roxanne had been gorgeous in casual resort wear, but today she looked like she’d stepped from the pages of a fashion magazine, camera ready and perfectly coiffed. The only thing wrong with her was that she was holding a microphone.
“You deserve to have your special day be everything you planned it to be,” Roxanne said to the veiled woman standing in front of her who merely nodded sadly in response. “You deserve justice.”
“I do,” the woman replied, her voice tentative at first then followed by a firm, “I do.”
“Of course you do,” Roxanne said, nodding eagerly. “All of you do. Don’t you?”
It started slowly at first with just a few voices, but then the chant grew. “I do, I do, I do.”
“You do what?”
A loud chorus of “I do deserve my special day!” answered her back.
Abby barely suppressed a groan. This was the cheesiest display of protest she’d ever seen. A bunch of women wearing makeshift wedding veils chanting “I do.” Seriously?
“Isn’t that her?”
Abby heard the voice, but she didn’t register the woman shouting the question was talking about her until the crowd pivoted in her direction. She purposefully made eye contact with the women in front in an attempt to dispel the notion she was some big, bad lawyer out to steal their dreams. When she was satisfied she’d connected with the leaders of this assembly, she turned and faced Roxanne head-on. “What are you doing here?”
Chapter Nine
Roxanne walked through the parking lot of Clark, Keane, and Maldonado, certain she was about to break an ankle and wishing she’d ignored Stuart’s choice of shoes. She loved her a high-heeled designer shoe, but this was her first official foray into the world of TV, and she wasn’t keen on breaking a limb on camera. Frankly, she should’ve spent more time researching this law firm rather than her wardrobe, but this whole fiasco had been Stuart’s idea for her debut before the Best Day Ever cameras.
When she reached the front door, she was surprised to see how many brides-to-be were already assembled—the number had quadrupled since her viral video from Friday. Maybe Stuart was on to something. She had to admit there was definitely a synergy about meeting her readers in person, and as if to prove her point, the women started crowding around her.
“You’re the BBF, aren’t you?”
“I’ve been reading your blogs since before I even met my fiancé. You have such good advice.”
“Way to show up for your peeps. We’re counting on you to lead the fray.”
Whoa, wait. Roxanne felt the big smile she’d been wearing a moment ago start to collapse into a frown. She wasn’t here to be a participant, only a documentarian. She wasn’t a gossip columnist bent on whipping up a frenzy to garner ratings, and now was the perfect time to clarify her role.
“Ladies, I’m here for you. To document and report your stand here today and make sure your voices are heard, but the protest? That’s all you. Don’t let anyone take away your power, including me. If you want to confront the attorneys who are earning big bucks to help Barclay’s ruin your special day with their careless disregard for your life plans, then you should do that on your own. What better way to impart your message than with the most personal of touches. Am I right?”
She looked across the parking lot, dis
mayed to see the cameras rolling. Stuart had agreed she could have some time to find her footing before they started shooting for real. She probably should’ve clarified exactly how she would convey that she was ready to film, but she supposed jumping right in wasn’t the worst idea.
“Hey, there’s one of them now,” one of the women shouted, motioning to the area across the parking lot. Roxanne turned in the direction she was pointing and immediately spotted a beautiful woman wearing a business suit, headed directly for the front doors of the law firm. Determined to get this over with as quickly as possible, Roxanne rushed to her side.
“Good morning, my name is Roxanne Daly, but you may know me as the Bride’s Best Friend or BBF. Do you have anything to say to these lovely brides-to-be who’ve been left without dresses on the eve of their special day?”
The woman offered a hesitant smile as she edged away. “I’m afraid I can’t help you out, but best of luck to your bridal posse.” And just like that, she was gone. Roxanne watched the door to the firm close behind her as the on-scene producer, Jake Tillson, came over to stand beside her.
“I think you’re going to need to be a little more aggressive if we’re going to get some good footage,” Jake said.
She dropped her voice to a whisper. “This isn’t really my thing.”
“Being on camera or getting in people’s faces?”
“Both. The camera I can get used to. I’m looking forward to getting in front of a whole new audience, but the aggressive part doesn’t exactly scream happy wedding blogger, in my opinion.”
“I guess, but this show isn’t going to sell itself. You need a hook, and your willingness to stand up for brides who’ve been ripped off is a good one. Without an advocate, the only resource these women have is to hire lawyers of their own who’ll take even more of their money. Imagine how good it will feel to help them cut their losses and suit up for their special day.”