“Let me get this straight, Judy,” Rylee managed. “Darius has had the samples all along, hiding them someplace?”
“Man, I’ve got a big mouth. I was trying to let you know it’s all going to be okay, not make you mad. Stop biting your lip. You’re screwing up the lipstick. Crap. I’m in trouble.”
“Judy, I promise. No one’s going to hear this from me,” Rylee said. “But just tell me. That’s what happened?”
“Yes.” Judy blew out a breath. “He’s going to bring them to the fashion show”—she drew brackets in the air with her fingers—“in the nick of time.” She looked at her watch. “He’ll be here any minute, though. So please, ladies, don’t get me in trouble. Let me finish your makeup.”
Rylee sat back on her stool and reached a hand over to Kit. She mouthed the word crap to which Kit mouthed bastard.
Rylee’s insides continued to spiral around and around like an apple perched on its torture device. She thought of Rosie again. Her pride in this shop and the way she’d never let anyone know that the finances were subpar. And the old gal had somehow decided her granddaughter was the one to save the day. If Rylee weren’t an apple on a spit right now, she’d laugh. An apple rotating around and around. Ring Around a Rosy. The image of the picture from the Saturday Evening Post affixed to Rosie’s album of brides popped into her head.
Judy folded her arms. “You two are done. Don’t touch your faces.” She lowered her voice. “And don’t forget.” She put a finger to her lips. “Don’t let on.”
Rylee crossed a finger over her heart. “Your secret’s safe with us.” While Judy packed up her gear, she poked Kit’s arm. “I’ve got an idea.”
Kit’s lipsticked mouth curved into a full grin. “I like that look in your eyes, Ry. I see mischief.”
“We have to work fast.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Rylee was ready for him when he arrived. Judy touched up his finely chiseled, lying-ass face with some powder, sprayed his Superman hair, and the camera guys got into place. And Rylee forced a blank face while he recited his bullshit for the camera.
“Since the samples haven’t arrived yet and the fashion show is just two days away, maybe we’d better discuss an alternative.” Darius’s obsidian eyes shone as if he were really concerned, and not just playing to the lens recording this mess.
“What do you suggest?” she asked. “Do we cancel?”
He blew out a long breath, put his hands on his hips, and looked around. “I’d hate to do that.”
“Yeah. That would be a nightmare.” She wanted to tell the truth to that camera, tell the audience what she knew, but she wouldn’t. Aside from the fact that she’d taken that ten grand from the show and had put it to good use and had no way to pay it back if she broke the contract, Judy needed her job as the makeup artist. The guys with their cameras and all the other staff needed theirs as well. But Darius. She should blow the whistle on him. He deserved it.
She was disappointed on a gut level about this guy. This was worse than Freddie and his sudden declaration of love for the triangle banger. Darius Wirth killed the seed of belief that had started to grow in her, mowed it down like a tractor over a flowerbed. She was so done with men. Maybe she’d get some cats. And some M&M’s.
“Well, let’s keep our hopes up, but in case the samples don’t arrive before the fashion show, let’s do this.” Darius reached into a box he’d placed on a chair. He withdrew a stack of what looked like pamphlets. He handed one to Rylee.
It was a flyer of models donning the designer dresses that were supposed to be here and brief descriptions of each one. Rylee scanned the pamphlet and then looked up at him. “So when these women arrive on Saturday, we hand them these papers and hope they won’t be too disappointed that there’s no fashion show after all?”
“We’ll explain. You can introduce yourself, you know, greet everyone. We’ll offer them refreshments, talk to them a bit about the new Rosie’s and your vision. I’ll go over it with you, help you write your speech.”
She felt the camera on her, felt the beads of sweat forming at the back of her neck from the lights baking her. “Okay” was all she could manage. The pretense sat like yesterday’s yogurt in her gut.
Darius patted her arm. “We’ll make it work.”
And that was a wrap. The crew began to pack up their stuff, and Rylee turned to walk away.
Darius touched her arm. “Rylee, wait a minute.”
She faced him, her heart a ball of ice in her chest. She dared not utter a word, but many words, lots of them with just four letters, zipped around in her head.
“Let’s take a minute to go over what you can say on Saturday.” He cast his gaze around the store while the workers were busy with their tasks. He lowered his voice. “And I’d like to talk with you about something.”
She leaned in close and poked a finger to his chest where a heart should be. “Listen up, buddy. I wish I’d known how this was going to go down before I signed up for this mess. But since that’s not an option now, let’s just get through it, okay? I don’t need you to help me write what I plan to say to these women who show up here for the fashion show. I’ve got this.”
“Okay, that’s fine. But can I talk to you for a minute? It’s important.”
“No,” she said. “I’m done listening to anything you have to say.”
****
Kit sat on the sofa in Rylee’s living room and had that look on her face, a mug Rylee knew well. Her face said she was afraid Rylee was ready to bolt or switch gears, join the circus, take flying lessons. And she couldn’t blame Kit. It was Rylee’s modus operandi. The joke was that every time she had switched gears in the past, she always wound up back at the bridal shop seeking Rosie’s comfort. Well, now here she was with nowhere to run.
Rylee brought a plate of cheese and crackers to the table. “I know what you’re thinking,” she said over her shoulder as she went back into the kitchen.
“I’m just waiting to hear your strategy.”
She brought two glasses of white wine into the room, handed one to Kit, and sat beside her. She clinked her glass against Kit’s. “Ready?”
“With baited breath.”
“Okay.” She took a sip of her wine and placed the glass on the coffee table. “This is out there. I’ll just say that up front.”
“Why would I expect anything else from you, my friend?”
“But hear me out.”
“All ears.”
Rylee reached over for Rosie’s thick binder of thank-yous from all the brides from over all the years. She ran her hand over the glossy vinyl cover that showed the picture from the Saturday Evening Post. Ring Around a Rosy.
“See this volume?”
“Yes,” Kit said over the rim of her wineglass. “Rosie’s memory book.”
“All these brides.” Rylee opened the front cover. She slowly turned pages as she spoke. “All this gratitude, all the stories, the love, the hope, the memories—this is what Rosie’s is all about. And this is what we’re going to give the women who show up on Saturday. History. Our calling card. Screw the new dresses and the pirate they’re going to ride in on.”
Kit put her glass down. “What are you going to do, though? I’m not sure I follow.”
“We’re going to get on our phones and hunt some of these former brides down. Lucky for us, Sycamore River has this way of keeping people close, so I’m sure we’ll be able to locate enough of these women and let them know we need some help.”
“We’re going to ask them to what? Come in and tell the fashion show attendees that they were satisfied customers?”
Rylee nodded. “Yes! But we’re going to ask them to be our models for the fashion show. Wear their dresses, tell their story, tell the new brides-to-be why they loved Rosie’s bridals so much.”
“Okay, but what if, you know, their dresses don’t fit anymore. These women could be chunky now or pregnant. Then what?”
“Then they bring their dresses on ha
ngers. See, Kit? It’s more about their stories, their experiences here, than it is about the dresses. Get it?”
“And what do we do with the three stick figures the show provided for modeling the dresses?”
Rylee thought a moment and then snapped her fingers. “We throw some bridesmaids dresses on them and let them be attendants.”
Kit just stared at her with wide eyes. For a millisecond Rylee’s tendency to doubt herself trickled toward her heart. But she stopped it by scooting closer to Kit and leaning in close. “Please tell me what you’re thinking.”
Kit’s eyes filled with tears, and she produced a grin. “Girl, you never cease to amaze. Let’s get to work.”
Then the doorbell rang.
****
Zen Angie breezed into the living room, wearing one of her handmade knit ponchos. As she peeled off her outer garments, she craned her neck to take in the scene. “Wine and cheese? Are we celebrating? Are we all ready for the fashion show on Saturday?”
“Getting there.” Rylee flashed Kit a look she hoped read as a plea for silence. The last thing she needed was a prying Angie when time was so precious.
“Any more chardonnay?”
“Mom, we’re kind of busy.”
“I won’t get in the way.” She came into the room and took a seat in Rosie’s wing chair. “I can help. Give me a job. I’m a good task girl.” She turned to Kit. “Pour a bit of that wine, will you, Kit?”
“Look, I really appreciate your interest and all…” Rylee swallowed hard. She had spent so many days of her life trying to word her conversations with her mother in such a way that she didn’t set her off. Sure, Angie was Zen now, but in the past few weeks, she’d seen hints of the witchy woman she’d been back in the day. She had no time to deal with this now.
Angie lifted her hands from where they were folded on her lap to the arms of the wing chair. She rested them there for a beat while she looked down at her empty lap, as though she were in prayer or meditating, maybe, hopefully. But then she looked up and pushed away from the chair. She pulled her poncho off the back of the chair and punched herself into it like a boxer’s warm-up. She clutched her purse in her hand. “Okay, then.” She marched to the door.
Rylee took in a deep breath. There would be time to sooth Mom’s feathers later. She just couldn’t do it now. She had work to do. “I’ll call you later, Mom.” She followed her mother to the door.
Angie nodded, her face contorted. It wasn’t the wounded-victim look Rylee had been used to back over the years. This was not a Zen look either. This was anger, raw and real. She put her hand on the doorknob and opened the door. But she didn’t walk through it. Instead, she shut it again and turned back to her daughter, eyes flashing with emotion. “I understand that you’re busy, Rylee. And I know that right now the one person you’d love to have here to help you, guide you, champion you is not me.”
“Mom…”
“No. Let me finish. You want, you need my mother. Rosie was more of your mother than I ever was. I feel lousy about that now. I do. I really do. And thank God for Rosie for picking up the slack while I was busy with my head up my own ass.” Angie clutched her purse to her body as if it were a baby. “But I’m here now, kid. Right here. I’m your mother. I want to be your mother.”
Rylee’s heart stalled in her chest, and she couldn’t swallow save for the cinderblock in her throat.
“Let me,” Angie whispered. Still Rylee could not speak. “I’m not good at the bridal business unless you count saying “I do” as many times as I have. And I can’t show you how to make the best pie crust or anything Rosie used to do, but your mother is good for other things.” She licked her lips. “Look, now you can make lentil soup.”
Tears welled up in Rylee’s eyes, and she swatted at the one that dribbled down her cheek.
“I see how much Rosie’s bridals means to you,” Angie continued. “I know I was skeptical when you first said that you wanted to keep the store. Maybe I was scared in a way. Scared that you really wouldn’t ever need me.” She shook her head. “Hey, I’m not Rosie, and I know that she’ll always be the love of your life. But there’s room for me too, isn’t there?”
“Kit,” Rylee croaked.
“Yes?”
“Pour my mom a glass of wine, would you? She’s staying.”
Angie smiled as she wiped the back of her hand over her own wet cheek. “I’m so sorry about everything, honey bun.”
“Thank you, Mom.” She put her arm around her mother’s shoulders. “Hey, you know a lot of people in town, right, Mom?”
“Me? Sure.” Zen Angie clapped her hands and laced her fingers together as if she were about to pray. She cleared her throat and smiled. “I know everybody. Everybody! How can I help?”
“Come on.” Rylee ushered her mother back into the room. “I’ll show you.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Darius pulled the rental car into the parking lot of the show’s building. It was a small vehicle, and the wrapped package took up the entire back seat. Arabella in Repose was sealed within the brown paper, ready to be delivered to Armando Herrera, who was scheduled to meet with him later today after the filming of the final episode at Rosie’s Bridals.
It hurt to think that this legacy of his father’s would wind up in a stranger’s hands. Although a weighty decision, letting go of the portrait was the only way he could think of to keep his father in The Memory Center. Thankfully, his father wouldn’t ever have to know the oil painting he loved so much was gone.
He locked the car and strode into the building, steeling himself in anticipation of Jake’s smug mood. Determination thumped in his chest. Right now he could not believe he’d ever gone along with previous phony manipulations for the sake of the show’s drama. But no more. As long as he lived, he’d never forget the look of disdain in Rylee’s beautiful green eyes. Those eyes saw right through him, and they did not like what they took in, what they knew.
“Here he is,” Jake said from behind his desk. “Our superhero. Did you remember your cape?”
He ignored the comment, and Jake’s good mood only served to piss him off. “Everything all set?”
“No problem,” Jake said with a sideways smile. “Easy as pie. The dresses are all in plastic bags in the back of the rental van. We’ll head over to the store just as they begin to film the episode. How long do you think it will take your friend to make her apologies to the ladies who show up for the fashion show?”
“Not long.”
“Five minutes, ten minutes? Come on, Darius. Timing’s everything. You know that.”
Darius blew out a breath and closed his eyes, regrouped his thoughts, tried to turn off the scoffing sounds in his head. “Ten minutes.”
“What’s wrong with you? Are you afraid this chick’s going to wig out or screw it up somehow?”
“No, and shut up, would you?”
“You’re acting like somebody stole your puppy. This isn’t about the girl, is it? It’s hands off for a long, long time, pal, so if that’s the case, you should just get over it. She’s cute, but so what? There’s a whole world of good-looking, even better-looking, broads out there.”
“Stop.”
“Stop what?” Jake got up and came around the desk. He punched Darius’s arm. “Come on. Let’s go get the van and get this show on the road.
“I can’t do this anymore, Jake.”
“Okay, now you shut up.” Jake shrugged into his jacket. He patted the pockets and pulled out a key on a ring. “Let’s hit it.”
“I mean it. This isn’t what I want anymore.”
“Really?” Jake stared at him with wide eyes. “Well, I have a contract that tells me otherwise.”
“No, you don’t. The contract is up after this episode, and if the sponsor wants another season, it’s a whole new set of paperwork.”
“What are you saying?”
Darius’s heart thudded in his chest. Was he really saying this? The words tumbled from his lips. “I’m ou
t.”
“There’s no time to debate this right now. We’ve got an episode to finish. Let’s bring this nonsense up later over some beers. Okay?”
“We’ll discuss it later, fine,” Darius said. He followed Jake as they made their way to the van parked behind the building.
Jake swung open the double doors at the back of the van to check the dresses, which hung in zipper bags on a bar fastened to the insides of the cabin. Darius thought of Rylee back at the bridal shop getting ready to greet her customers-to-be and do some explaining. He hadn’t seen the truth during the filming of previous episodes, but he saw it with full clarity today. This was bullshit. Unnecessary bullshit and he didn’t want to be part of it anymore.
****
The small store was packed. No chair was left empty, and the narrow runway that came out from the workroom sat waiting. Rylee’s heart did a dance in her chest. Her brain hummed. She was awed at how it had come together. She shared a look with Kit, and they gave each other a thumbs-up. Her mom sat on the window seat behind the chairs where brides-to-be waited for the show to begin. When their gazes locked, Mom winked. The truth was that Angie had been an amazing help while they hunted down former brides. Working side by side in this cause for Rosie’s Bridals had done them both good. Rylee was sure Rosie herself was up there in Heaven enjoying the show.
“Ready?” Jimmy the cameraman said.
“As I’ll ever be,” she said.
Rylee looked down at her outfit, a pair of black trousers and a black turtleneck sweater. Her hair was pulled back in a tight high ponytail, sprayed slick by Judy’s capable hands. She sported her silver hoop earrings and the charm bracelet Rosie had given her for her sixteenth birthday.
The three skinny models who were part of Wirth More agreed to wear the bridesmaids’ dresses Rylee and Kit selected. Yeah, they were all “I don’t know if the producer will approve, maybe we better ask him first” and all that, but Angie had been great at convincing them. She enjoyed standing by and watching Mom talk with the models and cajole them with her Zen-like verbiage. Feel the flow of the fabric and compare it to the flow of this event. Free, easy, beautiful. Go, Angie. The ribbon-adorned baskets filled with the pamphlets of the sample gowns slung over the models’ narrow arms were a nice idea. Angie again.
Saying Yes to the Mess Page 17