That gave Clara the courage to keep going. “I have made some big mistakes in my life. But my biggest mistake was letting you go. But it stops here: Marcus, I love you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, if you’ll have me.”
“ ’Ow dare you!” Deirdre screeched at Clara. She turned back to Marcus and grasped his wrists with her tiny hands. The minister took a step or two away from them and stroked his gray beard nervously. “You should ’ave zat woman arrested. She’s ze one ’oo attacked me at ze bridal shop!”
“Oh, shut your trap, sister!” Lorraine yelled before Marcus could react. She barreled through the row, stepping on feet left and right. “You get your hands off me—I’m not sitting in your lap on purpose!” she yelled at a leering, bearded man sitting by the aisle after she tripped and nearly fell.
Lorraine pulled up her dress enough to expose part of her lacy white slip and ran down the aisle. She stopped beside Clara and heaved a few deep breaths.
“Lorraine?” Gloria asked, holding her hand to her chest. Gloria looked between her old friend, Marcus, and Clara. “Will someone please tell me what’s going on?”
“All in good time! Love your dress, by the way. You’re like some kind of classy penguin,” Lorraine said.
“Thank you?” Gloria said, blinking.
Lorraine pointed at Deirdre. “And you, drop the fake French accent. The closest you’ve ever been to Paris was when you looked at a map … of Paris!”
The crowd gasped, and now guests didn’t even bother to whisper their suspicions.
“Could it be true?”
“But she’s so beautiful!”
“They did get engaged quickly.…”
“Never trust the French—that’s what I always say.”
“Our buddy, Benji,” Lorraine went on, beckoning to Melvin, “he knows what we’re talking about. You two used to date, isn’t that right?”
Clara could see a glimmer of fear in Deirdre’s copper-flecked eyes. “I do not know what you are talkeeng about.”
“Oh yes you do,” Clara said. “Just like you know you’re wanted in three states for armed robbery. You were nearly arrested outside a restaurant in New Orleans for destruction of property and, oh, right, attempting to stab the owner with a steak knife.”
“That was you?” a middle-aged woman with her black hair piled on top of her head asked from the second row. She rose from her chair. “My sister lives in New Orleans—she told me all about it. The town was scared half to death when they couldn’t catch that madwoman.”
The crowd gasped again, and the word madwoman echoed around the room. “Yes, thank you, ma’am!” Clara called to the woman. She looked back at Deirdre with more confidence. “Then you changed your game. You fell off the radar, went through about a dozen aliases, and focused on trying to get rich the old-fashioned way—by marrying the money rather than stealing it.”
Deirde turned to Marcus. “Sacre bleu! She eez lying!”
“One of your schemes almost worked, Deirdre,” Clara said. “Once you figured out that a boy fresh from a recent heartbreak would be less likely to question you. But the lies and deceit end now. So how about you drop the act and get away from the man I love, before Benji here starts telling some stories of his own.”
Marcus stared at Deirdre now, withdrawing his wrists from her grip. “Is this true? Do you know that man with the strange mustache?”
“Of course not!” Deirdre exclaimed. “Obviously your ex-girlfriend eez just jealous of me.” She pointed at Clara, scowling. “And she has mistaken me for zis Deirdre person! She must be very good-lookeeng. But I never—”
A look of dawning realization spread across Marcus’s face. He put up a hand to stop her. “You know what? It doesn’t matter.”
Deirdre stopped cold. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t care whether you’re this Deirdre person or Anastasia or the Yellow Kid,” Marcus replied. He glanced at Clara and gave her a smile that made her heart lighter than it had been in months. “What Clara’s saying is true: I don’t love you. I love her. And I’ve just been using you to get over my broken heart. For that I really am sorry.”
Clara had no time to relish the fact that Marcus still loved her: Deirdre let out a high-pitched shriek. She raised her skirt, jumped off the platform, and turned her fierce glare on Clara. “You can’t do this to me!” she exclaimed without a trace of a French accent. Her voice had also dropped about an octave. “I—I’ll sue!”
Lorraine burst into laughter. “Oh, please. You’ve duped so many men, I’m sure one or the other of them will press charges once they learn where you’ve ended up. Clara’s got more than a few names in that file of hers.”
Clara nodded. “You’re right, Raine, I do.”
Deirdre’s eyes widened in white-hot fury and she lunged at Clara, who moved out of the way, knocking into an elderly man with a monocle seated on the edge of the aisle. A few women in the row raced from their chairs and left the room, not wanting to get caught up in the commotion. Meanwhile, two little boys a few rows behind rose up on their knees in their chairs and shook their fists, chanting, “Fight, fight, fight!”
Gloria rushed from the platform to help Lorraine and Clara, while Marcus approached his parents in the front row. Mr. Eastman was standing in the front row with a sobbing Mrs. Eastman on his arm.
“Marcus, explain this!” Mr. Eastman yelled.
“Sorry, Dad, I really don’t think I can …,” Marcus replied.
The rest of the wedding party remained on the platform, rooted to their places with shock.
Gloria caught Lorraine’s arm just as she was about to punch Deirdre in the face. Deirdre moved to attack Lorraine and Gloria yanked her out of the way. Deirdre dove straight onto the linen cloth that covered the aisle, while Parker’s photographer called, “Smile!”
Clara laughed as Deirdre pulled herself to her feet. “Thanks for that, Deirdre,” Clara said. “You can look for that photo in next week’s issue of the Manhattanite.”
“I won’t be in this country by next week,” Deirdre growled.
She chucked the bouquet of calla lilies she’d been holding right at Clara’s head—Clara ducked, and Lorraine caught the bouquet easily. “I’ve always wanted to do that!” she exclaimed, holding the bouquet in the air as a trophy and yelling out into the crowd. “Guess all those years of softball at Laurelton Prep really paid off!”
Deirdre raised her skirt and went running straight down the aisle.
“Stop her!” Mr. Eastman yelled. “Someone stop that woman! ”
Mrs. Eastman had stopped crying, and now her arm was around Marcus. She wiped the last of the tears from under her eyes. Her expression was pure venom. “No one hurts my Marcus and gets away with it!”
Clara reminded herself to step lightly around Marcus’s mother in the future.
“Don’t worry, ma’am, she won’t!” Solomon’s police companion called to the Eastmans. “Not if I have anything to say about it!”
Lieutenant Skinner rose from his seat and took off after the con woman. Clara didn’t doubt the copper would catch Deirdre and have her in cuffs before she reached the lobby.
The murmuring crowd had been shocked into complete silence. Clara breathed deeply in and out, her heart hammering. She jerked when she felt a hand on her arm. “Clara, why didn’t you tell me you were looking into Marcus’s fiancée?” Gloria asked. She moved her hand back and forth—maybe she’d hurt her wrist in the fight. “With … Lorraine?” Lorraine looked up hopefully at Gloria’s mention of her.
“You and Marcus are so close—I was afraid you’d tell me to stop,” Clara said. “Plus I know you’ve been busy.”
Her cousin pulled Clara into a hug. “No, I’m so glad. You two belong together. And I have been busy.” When she pulled away her face was distracted. “Actually, that reminds me, I need to go check on something.”
“Secret bureau stuff?” Clara asked.
“Exactly.”
Gloria turned an
d began to walk down the aisle to the exit.
“Gloria!” Lorraine called, and Gloria turned. “Thanks for saving me from that roundheel!”
Gloria smiled brightly at Lorraine. “Thanks for helping Clara save Marcus from her!”
Then she rushed away, leaving Lorraine glowing.
The members of the orchestra, as well as several guests, rose from their chairs and followed Gloria out. Clearly there wasn’t going to be a wedding now.
The rest of the guests were still quiet after the others left, watching Clara and her friends with amused disdain. The only sound Clara could hear was slow clapping, and that came from Marcus. He still stood with his parents with a band of stupefied groomsmen on the platform behind them. His mother still had her arm around Marcus, to comfort him, but he just grinned at her.
He walked down the aisle toward Clara and Lorraine. When he reached them, his eyes flicked toward Lorraine while she sniffed at the bouquet in her hands.
“Oh, Raine,” he said, “how I’ve missed you.”
Lorraine immediately got misty-eyed. “Really? Because I—”
He patted her hand. “I’ll find you at the reception, okay? We’ll catch up.”
Lorraine took the hint. She linked her arm with Melvin’s and led him back to their seats.
Which left Marcus and Clara alone. Or at least, as alone as they could be in front of a crowd of people. Clara looked out at the women clutching at their pearls, the men leaning forward to get a better view. She should’ve felt utterly embarrassed to have caused such a scene. But looking into Marcus’s beautiful blue eyes, she couldn’t feel anything but pure elation.
“I think you and I have some catching up to do,” he whispered to her.
Without paying any attention to the hundreds of eyes fixed on them, Marcus wound his arms around Clara’s waist and pulled her close. He leaned his forehead against hers. “No more lies, okay? I think I’ve had enough of those for one lifetime.”
Clara nodded and tentatively placed one hand on the lapel of his tuxedo. “Did you mean what you said to Deirdre? That you still … love me?”
Marcus gave her a sheepish grin. “I’ve always loved you, Clara. And I always will. Now and forever.”
Clara felt everything inside go warm. She hadn’t lost Marcus. Somehow, he’d come back to her—and she was very much aware that this was a second chance most people never got. She wasn’t about to screw it up.
“Then kiss me, you fool,” she whispered.
Marcus didn’t hesitate. He took her in his arms and pressed his lips to hers. Clara’s entire body sighed: Kissing Marcus felt like coming home again. Yet Clara felt she was also traveling somewhere new and wondrous. She hadn’t been sure Marcus would stay interested in her forever, once he got to know the real her. But now she realized he had always known the real Clara, far better than Clara herself did.
When Marcus pulled away, the crowd erupted into applause. Marcus’s parents, much to Clara’s relief, were clapping, too. Lorraine looked the most gleeful of all. Clara thought of the way Gloria had smiled at Lorraine before she left. Could there be hope for those two, after everything?
Marcus took Clara’s hand, sending pleasant shocks up her arm. “This will sound absurd,” he announced to everyone, “but since we have already paid for a party, I’d like for us to have a party. There is food and dancing in the Palm Court, and an incredible band. So please stay and enjoy the near death of my bachelorhood.”
The crowd laughed and a few of Marcus’s college pals stood, ready to kick off the party downstairs.
“It was a close call, friends. I almost married the wrong girl. But now I’ve got the right one back and I’m never letting go. And if that isn’t a reason to celebrate”—Marcus met Clara’s eyes and grinned—“I don’t know what is.”
LORRAINE
Rescuing Marcus had been a lot more glamorous in Lorraine’s imagination.
When she’d pictured saving him from Deirdre—and she had pictured it—she’d imagined hundreds of flashbulbs igniting in her direction, reporters asking, “Lorraine, how can one woman be both so beautiful and intelligent?”
All the Barnard girls would cry how they’d been wrong, and wasn’t Lorraine the zebra’s spots, and she would instantly be invited to every collegiate party for the next four years, and she and all of her new best friends would sip gin fizzes and remark at how many boys there were for them to choose from, and Lorraine would say things like “My oh my, I can’t pick just one—that’s why I’m dating five!” And all of her new friends would laugh and laugh and laugh, and she would graduate summa cum laude and marry someone tall, dark, and handsome and somehow, some way, befriend Gloria Carmody again and they’d dance together at Marcus and Clara’s wedding.
But fantasy was much more engaging than reality.
And here she was, minus the flashing lights and newfound friends, alone with Melvin while everyone else raced to follow the Golden Couple to the reception—even though there wasn’t a wedding, who’d turn down a free party?
All anyone could talk about was Deirdre, Marcus, and Clara.
No one even mentioned Lorraine.
“Oh, that was so romantic!” Ginnie Worthington exclaimed, clinging to her pudgy husband’s arm. Her pale blue frock looked like it was wilting under the candlelight. “Why don’t you ever do anything romantic anymore, Wally?”
Wally raised his eyebrows. “You want me to leave you for a con woman so I can come back? Let’s just get some wedding cake so we can go home.”
Lorraine sighed—sure, she’d love a piece of cake. But it didn’t exactly go with fitting into her dress. No, water would have to do. Well … and a teensy bit of vodka.
“You feeling peachy, Raine?”
She whipped her head at the sound of Melvin’s familiar voice. He’d put his glasses back on—thank God—and was turning his white handkerchief gray trying to wipe the drawn-on mustache off his face. But without a mirror he was really just smearing dark smudges all over the lower half of his face.
Lorraine reached over and took the handkerchief. “Let me do that. You look like some kind of deranged chimney sweep.”
Melvin smiled and let her scrub his face. “But a chimney sweep who dresses very well for work.”
She laughed, continuing until his face was as clean as it was going to get without soap and water. She handed the cloth back to him, and there was a slight spark when they touched. Lorraine felt something rush through her—was it just static energy, or something else? “Listen, Melvin … you did a good job earlier. Really great. You were a very believable Southerner. Nice improvisation with all the finger raising!”
“Think so?”
“I do.” She reached up to push his hat back on his head a little so that his flaming red hair waved over his forehead. He needed to wear newsboy caps more—the hat gave him a real scholarly-yet-dangerous look. “And I love that hat on you!”
Melvin ducked his head and gave her a bashful smile. “I know I told you not to get me wrapped up in any of your schemes after the incident at the bridal shop, but this one was pretty … copacetic. Definitely a change of pace from all that reading at Columbia.”
“And how!” Lorraine said. “It’s ducky to get up to some mischief on your own once in a while! The characters in books shouldn’t have all the fun, right?”
“Right. And we were able to help Marcus avoid a terrible fate. Which means we both deserve some overpriced finger food and at least one dance, wouldn’t you say?”
Lorraine took Melvin’s arm and they moved through the nearly empty ballroom down the stairs to the Palm Court. Most of the crowd was already seated at tables beneath the domed glass ceiling; a group of black men dressed in white suits sat on a raised platform at the far end of the room, playing some springy jazz music. A few couples were dancing in the space between the stage and tables.
Clara and Marcus sat at one of the tables, guests on either side of them trying to get their attention. But they only had eyes f
or each other—and surprisingly, Lorraine wasn’t jealous at all.
She leaned against one of the enormous marble pillars by the court’s expansive archway. “Those two look so happy.”
“Yeah,” Melvin replied. “Isn’t it nice knowing you helped that happen?”
Lorraine crossed her arms and pouted. “But no one else knows! All anyone can talk about is Clara. It’s like I wasn’t even there.” The dreams of all the Barnard girls hearing about her amazing detective work and wanting to befriend her, or the Columbia boys wanting to date her, suddenly seemed so far out of reach.
“That’s how it should be! Sometimes you do something because it’s the right thing to do, not because you’re going to get the glory.”
Lorraine let his words sink in. “I guess you’re right.” She glanced at Melvin out of the corner of her eye. He was a genuinely nice boy. So different from Marcus, who had never seen her as anything more than a floozy, or Hank, who had lied to her and used her for his own personal gain. Melvin was here because he wanted to be. It was a good thing, too. If she was going to keep working on this whole being-a-decent-person-without-an-ulterior-motive thing, she was going to need a teacher.
Melvin took a deep breath and moved to stand in front of her. “Besides,” he went on, “we got to know each other much better because of this. And I have to say, Raine, you’re quite the kitten’s pajamas.”
“Really?” Melvin had always been willing to do everything for her. But he’d said himself that he only did that because he was her friend. There had been that moment at Forrest’s party when he’d held her … And then after the bridal shop debacle, he had said that he had a crush on someone. Someone he didn’t think felt the same way about him. Had he been talking about …
She felt her mouth stretch into an enormous smile. “You really think so?”
Melvin took a step closer to her, whipped off his glasses, and wrapped his arms around her. Lorraine barely had time to process what he was doing before he pulled her close and kissed her—hard.
Diva Page 21