by Marta Acosta
“Hi, honey pie,” she said, giving me a hug. She threw her straw tote onto the sofa and picked up the phone. “Champagne and a fruit platter, please. No honeydew. Merci.” Hanging up the phone, she smiled at me.
“I’m confused,” I said.
“Have I not taught you anything? Honeydew is never ripe enough. Escrew honeydew.”
“Eschew,” I said.
“Gesundheit.” She dropped into an armchair and swung her legs over the side.
I sat on the chair opposite her and said, “I’m confused because I wasn’t expecting you. I have a couple of appointments today.”
“I’m confused because you set up appointments with wedding planners and didn’t tell me. Luckily, I saw Gigi Barton at a gala for needy hermaphrodites or something, so naturally your name came up, and Gigi told me what you were doing today.”
I hadn’t told Nancy because she thought weddings necessitated expenditures on a par with the annual GDP of a midsize nation. “I didn’t want to bother you. I know how busy you must be, trying to get pregnant.”
She made a pfft sound. “That was Todd’s financial consultant’s idea, but he never had to take his hoo-ha’s temperature three times a day and only do it doggy-style to have a boy. I hired my own financial planner, who says I can wait. I have a pergola of opportunity to guide you. Where’s Oscar?”
“Oswald,” I said. My relationship with Nancy had gone through difficult times, especially since Nancy’s husband and I despised each other. On the one occasion that she’d met Oswald, she’d interrogated him on plastic surgery innovations while contorting her face with her neatly manicured hands. “Oswald is doing consultations today, and I seriously doubt you can influence the gender of a baby by using a certain position.”
“Don’t be silly, Milly. It’s got an amazing fifty percent success rate. Don’t try to change the subject. I bet you want some weird little ceremony in Mercedes’s scuzzy nightclub where you quote odious poetry while a hippie plays the bongos.”
“Mercedes renovated the club. It’s swank and swell.”
“You don’t deny the bongo music and bad poetry!”
I would have objected further if I hadn’t already suggested a nightclub wedding, only to have Oswald burst out laughing. When he’d relayed his mother’s elaborate plans, I realized that I needed professional help.
Room service arrived, and Nancy grabbed the tab and signed my name with a flourish. She lifted the cover off the food plate, took one glance at the blood soaking the burger’s bun, and said, “Major eewh. This isn’t even cooked.”
“I like it rare.” While Nancy poured champagne, I took my food to the table and bit into the hamburger. The salty rich juices from the organically raised, grass-fed, nearly raw beef filled my mouth. Warmth hummed through my body.
“This is the perfect daytime drink,” Nancy said, and I froze, thinking that she’d read my mind. But then she handed me a flute of champagne. “You can drink gallons and never get sloshed.”
“How true.” It was especially true for me: I could drink turpentine and not feel a thing. I wished I could tell Nancy about my condition, but she wouldn’t understand. “Nancita, I’m happy to have your advice, but there’s no way I’m having an extravagant, exorbitant wedding.”
“Why not? Is not Dr. Oscar picking up the tab?” she asked. “Have you even told your parents yet? Not that they’d care.”
“It’s Dr. Oswald. No, I haven’t told them yet.”
“Dr. Oscar’s funnier. Your mother Regina is a sociopath. It’s a miracle you’re only a little slutty instead of completely bonkers like those baby monkeys who are raised with a metal doll instead of a real monkey mommy.”
“We can thank my grandmother for saving me from unmitigated skankitude,” I said, and then sighed. I’d loved my small, brown abuelita, who had raised me until I was ten. “It would be different if she was alive. A wedding is supposed to be a family celebration, but how can I celebrate when my mother Regina will be there looking at me like…like she does? Oswald says I have to invite them anyway.”
“You absolutely have to invite your parents. You’ll invite my husband, too.”
“Toad and I have a mutual animosity for each other.”
“Toad? I like that. It doesn’t matter. This isn’t all about you.” She went to my new shopping bag and lifted the plastic miniskirt. “Muy interesting.”
“Since when do you know any Spanish?”
“Oh, darling, everyone’s using Spanglish. How else would you communicate with household staff?” My friend looked me up and down. “Fab ensemble, and the broach really makes it work. Broaches are shockingly underused.”
“Thanks. I put it there to cover a moth hole.”
“But you want to show the wedding planner that you have an edgy contemporary fashion sense. Go change into this skirt. If she comes, I’ll entertain her.”
Nancy was being surprisingly helpful. “Okay.”
I took the skirt into the bedroom and closed the door. I changed into a stretchy black T and tugged the white skirt over my hips. It seemed tighter than it had been at the boutique. When I went back to the other room, Nancy had turned on the stereo and was dancing by herself to an old swing song.
“Good, she’s not here yet,” I said.
My friend took hold of me. “Todd hates dancing. He thinks it leads to liberal politics and free-trade restrictions. How do you and Osgood dance together?” She tromped on my feet.
I winced and said, “Like angels on clouds.” But Oswald and I weren’t very good at partner dancing.
“Your lover was a fabulous dancer, all oozy sex,” she said. “Why don’t you marry him?”
“Oswald is my lover, and I am marrying him.”
“No, I mean the lover you brought to my wedding. Lord Ian.”
Old beaux, already insubstantial in character, had faded in my memory as quickly as badly dyed cotton in the wash. But I recalled Ian’s face, his voice, his touch just as clearly as if he’d been groping me yesterday. Sex with Oswald was joyous and fun. Sex with Ian had been exquisitely pleasurable and highly unsettling.
“One, Ian’s not my lover, two, how come you can remember his name, but not Oswald’s?”
“A, I know you had the dirty, dirty sex with him. B, I couldn’t tell if I was terrified of him, or wanted to submit completely to his will. C, I wish you wouldn’t talk in outline form because it reminds me of school, and I miss school.”
I had recalled the dirty, dirty sex more times than I was going to admit, even to Nancy. “Ian’s amusing company, but not exactly marriage material.” He was the kind of man who would slash someone a hundred times as revenge for one cut I’d received. He was the kind of man who had human thralls service his various sordid whims. “Speaking of school, I’m seeing Toodles on my trip east.”
“J’adore Toodles, but I think that if she takes off her pearl necklace, her head will fall off. Let me see your ring.” Nancy turned my hand to examine it. “Brilliant-cut canary stone with lateral diamonds in platinum. Compare and contrast.” We held our left hands together. “You bitch, it’s bigger than mine. I’m going to tell Todd we’ve got to upgrade.”
“You know, I hate to say anything in Todd’s favor, but he did take you on a long honeymoon to Tahiti.”
“Where are you honeymooning?”
“Oswald can only take four days off and we’re going to Baja.” Oswald would be performing cleft-palate surgeries for the poor during the day, and we’d frolic on the beach at night.
“Baja isn’t Bali,” Nancy said as she gave me a final twirl and let me go.
I turned down the music and stared out the window. “You’d think this wedding planner would call if she’s running so late.”
“She’s appallingly irresponsible.” Nancy joined me and we stared down at the street below. “But so are you, waiting all this time to hire someone. Have you even ordered your dress yet?”
“The wedding isn’t until August. I’ve got almost four mont
hs.”
“Shame on you! When you’re planning a wedding, you don’t have months, or weeks. You have days and hours. Right now you have a mere one hundred and seventeen days to put together the biggest event of your life.”
“It’s too daunting. I’m totally daunted. Oswald’s mother thinks it will be a nightmarish carnival of mariachis, chili pepper string lights, and taco tables, and I’ll wear a gown made of purple polyester lace. Why does she think I’m tacky?”
“You’re a lavish girl, and people mistake subtlety for style, when it is no such thing. I’m developing an entire thesis around this. Chapter titles will tell you what isn’t style, such as ‘Mono-chromaticism Isn’t Style.’”
Leaning my forehead against the glass, I said, “I wanted a simple ceremony. But at least we’ve got a location I like.”
I told her about the winery we had booked as the wedding location. It was just inland from an exclusive seaside town that had long been a favorite vacation spot for vampires because of its boutiques, fine dining, golf courses, and summer fog. “They grow amazing dahlias, too, and they’re going to take care of all the flower arrangements.”
“Do you have any ideas that aren’t gardening related?”
“A few, but can you believe how late this planner is? I’m going to call her.”
“Darlink, if she can’t be bothered to show up, she’s not the right person. Let’s go out and about.”
“No, I have another wedding planner coming for an interview right after her,” I said. “This whole thing is maddening. Why can’t it be simple?”
“That is the second time you’ve said ‘simple’ in the last thirty seconds. Simplicity is not elegance; it is a lack of imagination. Please refer to Nancy’s Theory of Style.” Nancy refilled our champagne glasses and sat down.
“You’re quite the deep thinker when it comes to all matters frivolous.”
“Muchas gracias. Now, here’s what I think. It would be the most genius thing ever if I was la mistress de wedding.”
I stared at her earnest face for a minute before I said, “No, no, and also no.”
“Yes, yes, and also yes. You know I’m fantastic at parties.”
“You’re fantastic at going to parties. It is a distinction with a difference.”
“I’m fantastic at all party-related activities. I did almost all my own wedding, since my planner was an imbecile.” She sneered, “P.U.”-the F.U. nickname for the acclaimed public university. “Besides, I’ve always dreamed of being a fabulous trendsetting career woman in a pencil skirt.”
“Since when?”
“Since I finished decorating the house and guest quarters.”
“You’ll spend too much money. It’s still no.”
She glared at me. “Milagro, I always keep within my budget. Why are you so determined to be so cheap with Oslo’s money?”
“Oswald. I’m not marrying him for his money.”
“But you’re not marrying a poplar, either.”
I couldn’t argue with that, but I found other points of disagreement, and we were having a heated debate when there was a knock on the door. I glanced at the clock. Either the first wedding planner had finally arrived, or the second one was early.
Nancy was as swift as she was silly. I was fast, but I had an ottoman in my way and my plastic skirt didn’t have enough give to allow me to jump. We reached the door at the same time, and Nancy pointed to the window and said, “What’s that?”
When I followed the direction of her glance, she shoved me. I regained my balance by yanking at her arm, and we were still tussling when she managed to open the door.
“Thank you, but room service already came,” she said sweetly. She was trying to close the door when I got hold of the edge and pulled it open.
The wedding planner who stood there was a very neat and petite young man.
“I’m here for my appointment with the bride-to-be.” He turned from Nancy to me. “Ms. De Los Santos?”
“Milagro,” I said.
Nancy said, “Sorry, but Ms. Los Dos Knockers has already hired me for the job. Thank you for caring and sharing.”
He glared at me and snapped, “Thank you for wasting my time!” Then he stormed off.
I could have stopped Nancy from closing the door, but I thought it wouldn’t be wise to murder her in front of a witness.
“Why are you sabotaging me, Nancy?”
“Because I’m perfect for this job. I’ve helped organize many nonprofit galas. I know all the best caterers, florists, and photographers. I know the right people to print Milagro and Orville in gold English script on tiny ribbons. I know that Mylar balloons are Satan’s party decoration.”
I kept objecting until Nancy said, “If you give me Orloff’s mother’s phone number, I will keep her off your back.”
And that’s how Nancy got her first real job and I got stuck with her as my wedding planner. When she left, I decided to call the wedding planner who’d missed her appointment. “Hello, this is Milagro De Los Santos.”
“Yes.” The voice was cold, almost hostile.
“I was waiting for you today, but I guess you got held up. I just wanted to say that I’ve hired someone else.”
“Are you on drugs? Because you already told me that when I came for my appointment today.” She hung up on me.
Sneaky Nancy. I tried to convince myself that I could handle a crazy-ass bitch as my wedding planner. Alas, my world would soon be undone by a swarm of crazy-ass bitches.
four
a separate piece of luggage
W hile I waited for Oswald to return to the hotel, I looked through Don Pedro’s papers. I spread them out on the floor and attempted to sort them. They were not quite the rantings of a madman, but definitely the musings of a nutcase. Shape-shifting was the running theme, and that interested me because I’d once written a story about a young woman who uses her ability to shape-shift to defend the poor and wrongly accused.
I looked through the magazine clippings. One sentence caught my attention: “Boiled dandelions have been used to treat high blood pressure, urinary problems, and digestive complaints. They make a deliciously piquant salad.” Don Pedro had stolen his tribute to the weed.
The door opened, and Oswald came in carrying a small aqua bag. “What are you doing in the dark?” He turned on the lights.
“I was so engrossed, I didn’t even notice.”
He stepped around the papers and handed the bag to me. “Here, for you.”
I saw the label. “Jewelry? Oswald, you didn’t need to.”
“It’s not jewelry, but I thought, well…”
Inside the aqua bag was an aqua box tied with a creamy white ribbon. I opened it and saw a silver penknife resting on white cotton. It was monogrammed To MDLS with Love, OKG.
“Oh, it’s very nice,” I said, feeling guilty. I hadn’t let him cut me and taste my blood since I’d been attacked last year on the night of Nancy’s wedding.
“If you ever change your mind,” he said. “No pressure.”
So why did I feel as if he’d just brought another woman home and asked for a threesome? Except that he didn’t want anyone else-he just wanted all of me. I put the lid on the box.
He shrugged off his jacket and went to the minibar. “How did your meetings go?”
“There’s good news and bad news and good news and bad news. Which do you want first?”
“You choose,” he said and took out a bottle of water.
“Bad news, Pedro Nascimento is as nuts as wearing stockings with sandals. Good news, I got the writing gig. I’m sworn to secrecy that I’m ghosting it, though. Bad news, Nancy is going to be our wedding planner.” I saw the look on his face, so I quickly added, “Good news, she’s very good at organizing social activities, and she knows my style.”
“She’s a complete ditz.”
“No, she only cultivates the appearance of being a ditz because nobody likes smart girls.”
“I like smart girls.”
“Most men like smart girls. But they don’t like girls who tell them they’re stupid,” he said. “Now that you’ve got a wedding planner, don’t you think you should tell your parents that we’re getting married?”
“Uhmm.” I yanked the white plastic skirt down over my thighs and tried to smooth out the creases. “Do you like my new skirt?”
“I’m mesmerized by it.”
“It’s kind of a classic, don’t you think?”
“Uhmm,” he said. “Do we have to go out tonight? The last time we came here, you made me listen to accordion music.”
We’d gone to Mercedes’s club to hear a sizzling klezmer-Cuban alternative band. I loved Juanita and Her Rat-Dogs, but the band’s genius had eluded Oswald. “Didn’t the club look great?”
“There was a serious infusion of money,” he said. “I hope Mercedes didn’t take on too much debt.”
“Oh, no, she said she has a backer.” Mercedes was not chatty, especially about her finances, so I hadn’t expected her to reveal the identity of her investor.
I ran my finger over the lovely curve of Oswald’s lips. “We don’t have to go out now.”
Faster than you could say “hamburguesa con papas fritas” we were undressed and on the floor, pushing my papers aside. I marveled at Oswald’s sleek, firm limbs, and I loved the way he smelled, of himself and herby sunscreen.
Oswald’s mouth was warm and hungry on my wrist, heading as he always did for the vein there. I twisted my body until I could run my tongue up his thigh, sucessfully diverting his attention. Turning my head, I saw skyscrapers against the dark sky. “Anyone with binoculars can see us.”
“Then we better put on a good show,” he said and rolled me back onto the carpet. In a few minutes I had completely forgotten peeping toms, crazy memoirists, and wedding planners.
Later, when Oswald got up off the floor, he glanced at his arm, and I saw the bruises there.