Bride Has Two Faces: A Wedding Caper Sequel

by Briggs, Laura

  “What do you think of mauve?” asked Charly. “I just love those shades when they’re bold.” She pulled a dress from the rack, its sequined bodice making Beatrice crinkle her own nose–but for different reasons. Adrien’s expression showed similar distaste.

  “Oh, I’m just kidding you.” Charly released a peal of laughter. “Of course I won’t have anything so cheap, sweetie, I promise.” She jammed it back onto the rack.

  Adrien relaxed a little. “I rather think the powder blue would do,” she said, “nothing sleeveless because of my skinny shoulders, of course.” She shifted her purse higher as she spoke, drawing attention to the thin blades and knobs beneath her coat.

  “I think we can find something that works for everyone,” said Beatrice. She forced cheerful and confident tones to the surface as she lifted a green foamy dress from the nearest display. Both Charly and Adrien made little noises of approval.

  “Of course, the colors are white and pink...” murmured Charlene. “Let me see what else they have. And of course, we need something just a teensy bit bigger for Beth, don’t we?” Despite her responding laugh, Adrien’s face registered only a tiny smile.

  “You don’t mind if I leave early, do you?” Adrien asked. “I’m supposed to meet Stefan and the planner to discuss invitations. I wanted to mail them out early, even though he keeps insisting that we have plenty of time.” She tucked her phone in her purse and touched Charly’s shoulder. “I’ll call you tonight about the bridal shower.”

  Charly watched her walk away, a look of pouting disappointment on her face. “Now, did she have to go and spoil it?” she said to Beatrice. “Try to have one little day of planning with the girls and what do you get?” She flipped through the rack of dresses with a quick snap of metal hangers.

  “She’s just excited,” said Beatrice. “I mean, I’m sure you understand. Every woman has a soft spot for her own big day.” This seemed like the perfect opening–Adrien as a foil for Gabriella, the big wedding rival. If Charly saw things from the perspective of her own maid of honor, surely she could see them from the perspective of another woman.

  “Her big day?” Charly laughed. “There’s plenty of time for her big day, Beatrice. She just needs to get out of the way of mine for the moment.” She pulled a dress from the rack, a rose pink sequined party dress clipped to a transparent fashion hanger.

  “Lovely, don’t you think?” she asked. “Pink is the perfect color, as you said. Let’s see if they have three more.” Beatrice couldn’t help but notice the gap between the bodice and hanger where the dress sleeves should be–not even so much as a spaghetti strap to hold the dress on its future wearer.

  This needed addressed immediately–before something else went wrong. She was swift to catch up with Charly as the bride’s curls bobbed towards the nearest sales clerk, the strapless gown in hand. Grateful for her sensible shoes in place of her boss’s narrow stilettos, Beatrice stepped over another fallen garment in her path as she caught up with Charly.

  “Don’t you think–” she began. But Charly’s focus was on something else entirely. A red satin dress almost identical to the one in her hand was hanging prominently on a display rack ahead, its sequins glinting in the shop’s soft lighting.

  “It’s perfect,” she breathed. “Look–I would match the rest of the girls at the post-reception party! Same cut, distinctive color. Red is practically me, you know. And I carry off sleeveless so well ...” As she spoke, she strode towards it eagerly, only to be cut off by another woman stepping into her path. A woman who lifted the dress from the rack and was inspecting it just as Charly’s hand closed over the skirt.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” There was a barbed edge to Charly’s voice beneath the sugary sweetness. The woman turned to face her, revealing the profile of Gabriella Cortez.

  “I’m buying a dress, thank you very much,” she answered. She stepped towards the counter–only the dress didn’t go with her, still locked in Charly’s steel grip of resistance.

  “Not with that dress, you don’t.” The barbed edge had become a threatening tone. Gabriella drew herself to full height.

  “And what are you gonna do about it?” she asked. “Tell the clerk that you were here first? All you’ve got is a little piece of the skirt, so that’s not gonna buy it–if you’ll excuse the phrase. I think you lose this time–Ms. Conners.”

  Charly stood frozen in place; Beatrice held her breath, wondering if she could step in at this point and save the day somehow. Why didn’t Gwendolen Miller have a survival guide printed to cue her planners on this kind of risk?

  In a moment, Charly relaxed slightly. “Of course you’re right,” she said, sweetly. “What am I thinking? You were here first–fair and square.”

  As she spoke, Beatrice saw Charly’s fingers fumble with the latch on her purse. A small blade emerged from the pocket, flashing briefly in the light from an angle where only Beatrice’s eyes could see it. With growing horror, she watched Charly’s razor slit the back of the dress from below zipper to top in a lightening-swift motion that defied warning or intervention.

  Charly released her grip on the skirt as her rival snatched it away, the blade already discreetly hidden again. As Gabriella huffed her way towards the counter, Charly directed her sweet smile in the direction of Beatrice as she adjusted her hold on the pink bridesmaid’s gown.

  Beatrice could almost swear her client winked at her.

  *****

  The Bridezilla. It was a subject of horror for wedding planners. Beatrice had overheard countless stories from Gwendolen’s senior planners–past and present–about women gone wild in their attempts to achieve the perfect wedding. She was fairly sure none of those stories to date had involved razor blades.

  But Charly was so ... so ... The words that she wanted to say were saccharin, ditzy, and bubblehead; instinctively, she substituted adorable.

  Daniel would approve of her substitute phrase. Clearly, he adored Charly; after all, his emotions were deep enough to lead to a proposal. But how did someone like Daniel–so kind, so honest–fall in love with a girl capable of fiendish deception?

  “How long have you and Charly known each other?” she asked, glancing at Daniel with what she hoped was a disarming smile. He was driving her to the potential wedding site; it was an experience Charly was supposed to share as well until her family’s flight was moved up. Providing Beatrice a perfect opportunity to pose this question–casually, of course.

  “We met three or four months ago,” he answered. “She’s only been in the city a couple months since Pittsburgh. A friend who talked her into the move. But we had been emailing back and forth and when I saw she was settling down, I thought–why not?” He glanced away from the road to give Beatrice a goofy smile.

  It was way more information than she needed, a sign that Daniel was definitely in love with this girl. But not the Daniel of her college years, she kept reminding herself. Not the boy of plaid shirts and the geeky, boney frame who taught her how to assemble a telescope.

  “So what’s her life like? Her friends, family ...” She tapped her fingers on her portfolio, stretching her legs longer beneath the dash. Unconsciously–well, maybe on purpose– she had chosen a fitted black skirt and pink sweater today, her most feminine business outfit.

  “You’ll meet her family,” said Daniel. “And you met her friends. Adrien, Stefan, the gabby girls in the bridal party.” He ticked off the names as if reading a shopping list.

  “What about her Pittsburgh friends?” asked Beatrice. “Any of them coming?”

  His expression became quizzical. “Why would they? She was only in Pittsburgh a couple of years at the most.”

  “But she was popular there,” said Beatrice. “So people must have known her pretty well. You know, her character. Funny stories about her past and all that.”

  He shrugged. “All the stories she told me were pretty boring,” he said. “I got the impression that what happened mostly in Pittsburgh was crime a few blo
cks from her apartment and news stories being read from a desk.”

  Beatrice bit her lip. This wasn’t the right line of questioning to lead to her next topic–what he knew about Charly’s nature. The second side of it that emerged discreetly when weddings were at hand.

  “She seems really ... sweet,” said Beatrice. “Is she like that all the time?” She glanced at Daniel to search his face for a hint of comprehension. Instead, she found herself mentally tracing the familiar features, seeing Daniel bent close to the telegraph lens, adjusting it with a look of intense concentration before letting her gaze up at the stars.

  The present-day Daniel snorted. “Nobody’s that perfect,” he answered. “Charly’s sometimes a little upset about stuff. The other day, she practically cried about some friend’s voicemail. It took me a half hour to convince her to let it go.”

  Still not right. Beatrice tapped her foot against the floor–her high-heeled foot, a pair of leather pumps so new they still squeaked on occasion. For some reason, she felt guilty just looking at them.

  “What’s with the change?” he asked.

  “What do you mean?” Beatrice snapped out of her thoughts again. Daniel glanced towards her, one hand motioning towards her ensemble.

  “Pink’s a little girly for you,” he said, “unless it was in the form of a ‘save the trees’ t-shirt or something. I think when we were together, the only time you were in heels was if someone held you down and crammed them on.”

  “I have a job now, thank you very much,” said Beatrice. “I’m supposed to be girly if I’m planning weddings.” A smothered laugh escaped Daniel’s closed mouth.

  “It’s nice,” he said, after a moment. “I mean, you look nice.” When he looked at her again, she saw a hint of something in his eyes–not humor, she was certain. For a moment, her mouth trembled before she turned away, her fingers brushing aside a strand escaped from her groomed curls.

  “I know it doesn’t seem like me,” she said. “But you know ... forestry didn’t exactly work out. History is kind of past and it turns out you need more than just a diploma to be an archeologist.” She gave him a sheepish smile. “I needed to make a living somehow.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with that.” Daniel’s voice had become gentler.

  “Do you really love astronomy?” she asked. “Or do you miss the weather, sometimes? Your first love, that is.” Her tone was playful, but she didn’t trust the slight catch lingering beneath it. Almost wistful, mushy compared to the tougher, casual exterior of Beatrice Bailey.

  “I do,” he said. “But I didn’t look back when I switched majors. It just ... felt right.”

  Beatrice was momentarily absorbed in smoothing her hemline, creating a moment of quiet in response.

  “You would have made a terrible weatherman,” she said, with a little laugh. "You were right to make the change."

  “I definitely would have,” he answered, laughing in turn. “Now, that sounds more like the girl I used to know.” As he turned into the open gates for the country club.

  Penderland was a “little much”, in the words of the bride, with its rolling green hills for golf and walkways bordered by stone urns and carefully-pruned poplars. But it had the additional charms of a ballroom for the orchestra and reception, as well as a spacious lawn facing a Victorianesque gazebo–the perfect spot for a romantic couple to exchange vows.

  “What do you think?” asked Beatrice, as they strolled along its walkway. “It‘s up to you–and Charly, of course.”

  He shrugged his shoulders, his fingers tugging at some of the leaves from a nearby poplar. “I like it,” he said. “I mean, it‘s got romantic charm. It‘s got plenty of space– which is good, because Charly seems to have a million people invited now.”

  Beatrice chuckled. “But not you?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “The crew from the grant study is coming, of course. And Brent–you remember Brent? He’s the best man.”

  “Of course I remember Brent.” She punched him in the arm, playfully. “According to you, he was the best roommate in the world for not coloring that black and white poster of Copernicus on your wall.” A massive thick-bearded sophomore, Brent had also picked the lock to the college’s meager weather lab, where Daniel once released his own experimental weather balloon during storm season.

  “There’s a couple of other people–but you’ll know all this anyway, right? You’re the planner. You see the guest list before I do.” He loosened his tie after this statement. The green and white striped fabric seemed louder than his previous choices, in contrast to the pale blue shirt beneath.

  “Ties,” scoffed Beatrice. “You know, the Daniel at WUNY thought it was torture to wear ties. I would have assumed that’s the real reason he gave up meteorology.” She glanced skyward, to the snatches of blue heaven and clouds drifting between columns of tapered green.

  “Even stargazers have to wear ties if they want impress the science community,” he answered. "Kind of like a tomboy wears high heels to–" His words cut off with a blush a second later. “Beatrice, I didn’t–that was–”

  “I know you were joking,” she answered, suppressing a laugh. “You don’t have to apologize–”

  “Not exactly appropriate of me, was it?” he said, rubbing the back of his neck as he spoke. “I mean, we’re not kids anymore fooling around in some lab. And you look so ... so professional now.” For the first time, his voice betrayed the depth of his surprise. His changes were on her mind every day–so why was she startled to think he had noticed her own with the same astonishment?

  They both lapsed into silence for a moment; in Beatrice’s mind, it was no longer the path to the gazebo lawn they traversed, but the campus street that led to the agro-science building where her first semester of classes were located. Where Daniel would walk her, his hand wrapped protectively around her own, two arms swinging together beneath the weight of backpacks.

  “It was a good choice. I think you’re good at this,” said Daniel, suddenly. “This planning thing. Charly talks about what a great job you’re doing all the time.”

  “Based on what?” Beatrice quirked an eyebrow. “My punctual phone calls? The emailed lists of florists and caterers? I pretty much haven’t done anything until now.” Anything but watch your fiancé morph into some kind of villain whenever another bride appears on the scene, she mentally added.

  “Based on how well you handle her,” he answered. “Charly needed somebody with a strong personality to help bring her down to earth. She’s kind of ... she tends to float from one idea to the next without sticking to a decision. She needed somebody grounded.”

  This sounded like a string of hollow compliments to Beatrice, but she molded her lips into a polite smile of response. Her arm brushed his sleeve as they walked, the fabric’s softness almost the same as the worn plaid shirts she remembered from the past. Daniel lifting her up from the ladder to the roof of the observatory...

  “What about Adrien?” she asked, the question popping into her head like a sudden inspiration. “I would have thought she would be a grounding force for Charly. She seems so mature, so quiet.”

  “I don’t think she knows Adrien all that well,” answered Daniel. “I can’t figure out their friendship. It’s kind of new to both of them, so I think they’re still figuring it out. Compared to Stefan, she’s pretty reserved.”

  Maybe Adrien had witnessed one of those sinister acts on Charly’s part. Beatrice considered this possibility as the lawn came into view. The gazebo possessed gingerbread trim and elaborate scrollwork, a spire rising to the heavens like a cathedral’s point. Beneath the glow of the afternoon sun, it seemed bathed in an ethereal light.

  Daniel paused on the pathway, his eyes transfixed by the sight. Beatrice glanced at his profile, seeing the shaggy bits of hair which escaped his groomed hairstyle, the familiar sinews of his neck which seemed too thin beneath his collar. As if the lean, boney boy from the past was beside her in the sunshine of WUNY’s student squa
re.

  “It’s perfect,” said Daniel. “Perfect.” He never noticed Beatrice as she turned away, her eyes suddenly blurry as she fumbled with the portfolio in her hands.

  “Good to hear,” she answered. Her voice tightening in a strange way with these words.

  *****

  “Isn’t she just the sweetest thing?” Charly’s mother was talking not to Charly, but to Beatrice; her fingers lovingly pinched Charly’s cheeks with this statement.

  They were traipsing into the hotel lobby–traipsing was the word Beatrice’s mind chose, given the light, buoyant steps of mother, daughter, and family ensemble. Bianca, as Daniel's future mother-in-law was titled, was a generously-endowed, motherly figure; her husband Gil was a somber man who seemed predisposed to silence. They both seemed unlikely sources as Charly’s parents. Charly, whom they had repeatedly defined as the homecoming queen, the little starlet who loved karaoke as a kid.

  “I don’t sing anymore,” Charly had whispered to Daniel, hugging his arm as they led the way to the hotel parlor. “One talent show was enough, thank you very much.”

  “That’s where she gets her skill for the camera,” beamed Bianca to the wedding planner. “She was a real star up there in Pittsburgh.” Pittsburgh was below them at this moment, but Beatrice felt no desire to point this out.

  “Pittsburgh,” grunted Gil. “Too much smog there.”

  “Oh, papa, don’t talk like that,” Charly shushed him with a teasing glance. Gil re-adjusted his tie and shifted his suitcase from one hand to the next before allowing the hotel attendant to claim it with the rest of the luggage.

  The wedding party was supposed to be waiting for them in the hotel dining room. Beatrice had arranged for dinner reservations for the parents to meet the rest of the wedding ensemble while they her here for the weekend–Charly had explained her parents would be departing shortly until the actual wedding day.