Once Upon a Bride

by Jean Stone

  “Nothing,” Sarah said, nursing a glass of carrot juice that she'd brought from home. “He wasn't very nice, that's all.”

  Andrew didn't say a word. He simply looked out to the spiderweb of bridges and the clog of concrete high-rises and wondered why he hadn't been man enough to have stopped it.

  Man enough, he thought with a sardonic chuckle. There's one for the column.

  “Well,” Elaine said, “maybe we'll have some calls.

  Lily took a long swig from the dark Dom Perignon bottle, then tipped back her head and began to laugh. “Andrew, you old poop, you tried to warn us, didn't you?”

  “Lily . . .” he began, but she interrupted.

  “It's okay, darling. Really it is. You're smarter than the rest of us, but we're older, so that's what really counts.”

  They looked from one to another, as if to decipher what she meant.

  “‘Older'?” Jo asked.

  Lily laughed again. “Older friends. You know. But I guess what really matters is that now we're all friends and we're in this together and I think, no matter what, this is one great hoot.”

  After a moment's pause, the others laughed, as well.

  “Like when your boob fell out into that guy's hand during Swan Lake?” Elaine asked.

  “Or when we flew off to Minnesota looking for the Olympic hockey players?”

  They nodded and laughed some more. Then Lily passed around the bottle and they opened up another, and Andrew thought it was very cool that women could have friendships filled with laughter when their entire futures had just gone down the television tube.

  “Here's to Andrew,” Lily said and raised a bottle high. “Our poopy, wonderful new friend.”

  They toasted Andrew and all agreed that, yes, like so many other times together, this was one great hoot.

  41

  He was off the hook, but didn't feel relieved. Instead, he felt like crap, like the bottom of Big Bailey's stall before it was hosed out and fresh hay had been delivered.

  As soon as the limo driver dropped him off at home, Andrew changed from his lavender shirt into a plain, old faded denim one. He removed the black-corded silver chime ball that dangled from the neck (his own) that he might have strangled if he could have figured out a way. He peeled off his too-tight jeans and put on the ones that fit: the ones that were a little worn at the knees and were baggy in the ass.

  He changed everything except the copper bracelet. Hell, he could use a little magic for his chakras.

  Without looking in the mirror, Andrew knew he was himself again.

  Driving into town, he didn't have to remind himself that he'd almost blown everything. Despite that the women had a “hoot” of a good time, Andrew had almost hurt them. If Lily had spilled anything more revealing about Andrew, if Kevin Green hadn't had his swelled head so far up his butt that he hadn't seen through the warnings John Benson had sent out, Andrew might have witnessed the demise of Second Chances.

  It would, of course, have been his fault for his deceit, his fault for trying to make a fast, underhanded buck.

  Sensitive man, my ass, he thought.

  What made him think he was any better than Kevin Green? Andrew, too, had only been looking out for himself, real man that he was. Real ass that he was.

  He turned onto Main Street, knowing that the time had come. It didn't matter that he'd like to bed down with Jo the instant he had a chance. It didn't matter that he was more attracted to Jo than he'd been attracted to any woman since Patty. It was time to confess his sins. It was time to confess that he was not a professor working on his doctorate, but a columnist in search of dirt. It was time to confess that he was not a gay receptionist, but a very straight man who had no clue what he was doing except that he had jeopardized the futures of four very nice women who'd done nothing to deserve this.

  Lesson #8, he thought. When you've screwed up, take it like a man.

  Jo tried to convince herself it had been worth a try, that they were no further behind than they'd been before Sakes Alive! had called. At least Marion's wedding wouldn't cost Lily any more than she'd already spent; at least Jo wouldn't have to feel guilty about that.

  Still, she was disappointed.

  Even though her mother and Ted were getting married, even though Second Chances would end up with a portfolio, Jo was disappointed that her idea hadn't worked, that they wouldn't have publicity on a grand scale after all. She hadn't wanted to be back where they'd been a week ago, back to wondering if this business would take off or fall flat on Lily's lightly Botoxed face.

  Lily, of course, had Frank Forbes now, if she chose to root herself in West Hope. Though it was difficult to believe that West Hope could keep Lily entertained for long.

  Sarah could go back to making jewelry and wait—or not—for another dream.

  But what about Elaine? Would she retreat to her family room indefinitely? Would she marry Martin after all, because she was so upset that she'd hurt him?

  It was less depressing to think about the futures of the others than to speculate on her own.

  When they pulled into the driveway at the secretaries' building, Jo said, “I think I'll stay home for the rest of the day. I'll see you at the shop tomorrow.” She gave her best attempt at a sincere smile. “We'll conjure up our next marketing strategy then, okay?”

  Lily stirred from her nap, smiled, took a pull on the empty Dom Perignon, then went back to sleep.

  The limo stopped, Jo said good-bye, and walked toward the elevator with prideful, undefeated-looking steps in case Lily awoke again and noticed.

  But once in the elevator, Jo let her shoulders drop, her jaw sag. She kicked off her city shoes and tucked them in her bag.

  She could conjure all she wanted, but Jo knew there was a good chance that Second Chances wasn't going to work. Maybe if at least one of them had a background in wedding planning, maybe if one of them had a clue about the business, it might be easier. But facts were facts. Best to cut their losses before the dream got out of hand and they wound up not being friends.

  Sweeping the tired shock of hair from her even more tired forehead, Jo let herself into her apartment. If she'd been a minute more tired, she might have missed seeing the piece of paper on the tile floor.

  She laughed. She picked up the note.

  Sorry it's taken so long to get back to you, the note read, but I have a job, too. I'm a private airline pilot for Global Paper.

  Jo was surprised. Global Paper, she knew, had three or four manufacturing plants still operating in the Berkshires. Global Paper was where her grandfather had once worked, where a good percentage of West Hope residents still were employed. She tried to remember where the corporate headquarters were—Brussels, Stockholm?

  I'm only here part-time, the other part I'm in Brussels.

  Ah, she thought. Brussels.

  But I'd love to have lunch if you're free. How about Friday?

  She set the note on the counter. Well, at least he had a job. He probably also had a woman in Brussels. Why wouldn't he? He was not a bad-looking man, from what she could remember. He probably made a decent salary. So why was he living in such a mediocre building? Did he have a nicer place in Belgium? Did a woman take care of it . . . take care of him?

  She groaned out loud and collapsed onto the couch. She was more tired than she'd realized, if she were obsessing about a man she did not know.

  Yet suddenly Jo smiled. Should she risk having lunch? What would be the harm? She could, at least, learn if he was “otherwise involved” before her imagination boarded a Sabena plane and headed six hours (or was it seven?) to the east.

  Maybe tomorrow she'd get the opinions of her friends. That's what friends were for, weren't they?

  Maybe she'd even ask Andrew. After all, he was a man, wasn't he?

  Then she remembered that tomorrow she had something far more important to discuss with the others. Whether or not to close the shop and the business or to keep deluding themselves.

  42


  When Andrew got to the shop, no one was there except for Lily, who was passed out on a chair. Shit. How could he confess if no one was there to hear? Especially the one who made him ache below the waist no matter if he wore the tight jeans or the loose?

  He helped Lily upstairs to her apartment. If she noticed he had changed his clothes—his look—she did not mention it.

  Returning to his laptop, Andrew shot off an e-mail to John Benson. “I know you're coming home tomorrow,” he wrote. “Please call ASAP.”

  At six o'clock Andrew locked the doors and went home to Cassie.

  “I'm not going to work for John Benson anymore,” he told his daughter over the meatloaf that she'd made, and made damn well for an eleven-year-old. Andrew chewed the mashed potatoes that had been his contribution, because Cassie said he knew how to make them without lumps.

  “Does that mean you're no longer gay?”

  He laughed. He drank his milk. “Honey, I have a confession to make. I wanted the extra money so we could go to Australia.”

  Cassie set down her fork and frowned. “Why would we do that?”

  He leveled his eyes on her turquoise ones. “Well. To see your mother.”

  Her freckled nose wrinkled like the linen “poets” shirt he'd worn one day to Second Chances. “Yuck,” she said.

  His eyebrows shot up to the ceiling of the wood-beamed, cozy kitchen. “‘Yuck'?”

  Cassie picked up her fork again, played with her green peas, gluing them to her mashed potatoes and creating polka-dotted piles. “Dad,” she said, “why would we want to see her?”

  “I thought you would. It's been so long. Besides, you have a brother now.”

  “Dad, if Mom wants to see me, she knows where I am. It's okay, really it is.” Her small shoulders gave a very grown-up shrug. “Sometimes it hurts me when Mom forgets my birthday. But it's no big deal, Dad. It's her loss, you know.”

  “But . . .”

  “If you want to go to Australia because you want to see her . . . well, gee, do I really have to go, too?”

  He wished that Cassie was saying one thing and meaning quite another. He wished that she were holding back the denial of her childhood, that the truth was that she'd been so traumatized by her mother leaving, that she didn't realize how much she longed to see her. He wished Dr. Phil would take one look at Cassie and say, “Someday this repression will hurt even more deeply.”

  But that wasn't happening. Even without Dr. Phil, Andrew knew his daughter was saying exactly what she felt. “Yuck,” had been her word, and “yuck” was what she meant.

  “It's not that I don't love her,” Cassie continued. “But I need to be in school, Dad. I like school this year.”

  “I was thinking we could go over Christmas vacation,” Andrew said.

  “‘Christmas'? In Australia? But it's summer there then. How can we have Christmas without snow?”

  Well, Andrew supposed she had a point. “I just thought it would be nice,” he said. “I've felt bad that since I changed jobs and we moved up here that we haven't had the extra money to take the trip.”

  Cassie put on her baseball cap that was never far from sight. “Dad,” she said, “is that the only reason you're writing that column for John Benson? So we could visit Mom?”

  What Cassie didn't ask was if he was writing the column so he, not she, could visit Mom, so he could see Patty again. “Well,” Andrew said, “I started writing it for the money. And, yes, so we could go to Australia. But then it became fun. And now . . .”

  “And now you're afraid you're going to get caught.”

  “‘Caught'?”

  “You're afraid the women will find out you're straight. That you've been writing the column behind their backs.”

  “Well, John Benson says the readers love it. Maybe I'm actually helping men understand women.”

  “Right,” Cassie replied with a smile and squished another pea. “Dad, the kids at school were talking about Sakes Alive! today. This is a small town. Everyone knew the women from Second Chances were on the show. And that Kevin Green was a total jerk.”

  Andrew stood up and carried his plate to the sink. “Cassie,” he said, because his daughter was so much more mature than he wanted to believe, “I think I've sabotaged their business, though I never meant to.” He supposed he could elaborate, but what was the point? Besides, Cassie had reminded him more than once that she was only eleven. “Anyway,” he added, “now I think I really like one of the women. And I don't know what to do.”

  “Jo?” Cassie asked.

  “Well. Yes.”

  His daughter laughed. “Then I suppose you have to find some way to unsabotage their business. Tell her you're not gay. Ask her out for dinner. Then forget about Australia. Geez, Dad,” Cassie said with a sigh, “sometimes things are really pretty simple.”

  Andrew stayed up most of the night.

  Forget about Jo, forget about his pride. The most important thing, he knew, was trying to find some way to salvage the business. Maybe the rest would fall into place once he'd paid his penance.

  Then, an hour before his alarm would have awakened him if he'd been able to sleep, that too-infrequent lightbulb went off over Andrew's too-thick head. Cassie had been right; sometimes things were really pretty simple.

  When John Benson called early in the morning, Andrew outlined his plan.

  43

  DO

  Remember this is just a wedding, and while it is important, don't sacrifice your sanity for the sake of the “perfect” preparation. Remember all the chaos of the first time around? Strive to make this different, more truly filled with peace and joy.

  We need to talk,” Jo said. “All of us.” Her eyes scanned the back room. “Is Lily here? Is Elaine?”

  “I'm here,” Lily called from the stairs to her apartment.

  Andrew said Elaine had phoned that morning and said she had to run an errand. She hadn't come in yet.

  It was a couple of minutes before they were seated on the various stools and chairs in Sarah's back room.

  “We could wait for Elaine, but it doesn't really matter,” Jo said. “We've tried our best, but I think we should face that this business isn't going to work. Yesterday was the last straw.”

  They moved this way and that on the chairs and the stools. Then Sarah asked, “Why? Because some ass of a TV personality made us look like a bunch of frustrated, middle-aged spinsters?”

  No one responded. Who wanted to admit that, among other things, that had happened?

  “I have a headache,” Lily whined as she massaged her temples. “Do we have to do this now?”

  “We do,” Jo said. “We have to stop deluding ourselves. We have to face it—except for that ass, Kevin Green, no one else wanted us on their show. The media apparently thinks the concept is absurd, unworthy of promoting.” It's what she would have told a client if she felt the odds of failure had surpassed the potential to succeed.

  “If Elaine hadn't broken her engagement,” Sarah said, “things would have gone according to plan.”

  It was odd that Sarah had become the greatest defender. Sarah the Freethinker. “No,” Jo replied. “I got carried away. I'm the one who thought there was a real market for second weddings. I guess I needed to think there was the possibility of a second chance . . . for love.” She nearly choked on her tears as she said the last word. God, why was she embarrassed?

  “Wait,” Andrew said, “there are a few important things that you don't know.”

  But Lily shushed him. “Nothing is more important than what I'm about to say. I haven't exactly been truthful with you all.”

  Andrew blinked.

  Jo blinked.

  Sarah didn't move.

  “Right now,” Lily continued, her voice dropping a few octaves, “I'd love say, ‘Hey kids, everything will be fine because I have unlimited funds from dear, dead Reginald.'” She dropped her gaze and added, “But that's not the way it is.”

  They all stayed silent, staring at Lily.
<
br />   “The truth is,” she continued, “we've nearly spent all of my allowance from the inheritance. Unfortunately, Reginald left his beastly sister in charge of dispersing my money to me. There's plenty left, but I can't get to it without going through her. Without begging her.” She sighed an out-of-character sigh. She rubbed her temples again. “I had so hoped to stretch my allowance by investing in our little business. I was hoping to thumb my nose at Reginald's sister. But the truth is, unless we get some kind of income soon, I'll be out of ready cash, so we'll be bankrupt anyway.”

  Eyes moved around the room, not knowing where to land.

  “Oh, Lily,” Jo said at last. “Honey. I thought you had enough to fund us for a year.”

  “At first I thought I did. But you know me. I've never been good at doing the math. And besides, why would I want to alarm any of you? This is the most fun I've had in years.”

  Fun? Yes, it had been fun. It wasn't as if Second Chances had been a lifelong dream for any of them. It wasn't as if their lives depended on it. It had only been a spontaneous idea, another hoot. It had only started because Elaine had picked out such a tacky second-wedding dress.

  They could go back to being once-a-year friends, couldn't they?

  “Well,” Jo said, “I, for one, have nothing better to do right now. And the rent's paid until November. My mother really wants to have a wedding and there would be no refunds at this late date. Maybe I'll stick it out. For a while, anyway.”

  “I don't need a paycheck,” Sarah said. “I can't let Marion and Ted get married without my golden linden leaves.”

  Jo saw small tears begin to slide down Lily's always-happy face. “I love you guys,” she said. “I'm really sorry.”

  “Me, too,” Andrew interrupted, “because the picture's not as bleak as everyone seems to think.”

  Just then, the small bell over the showroom door tinkled.

  “I'll get it,” Sarah said. “Hey, maybe it's our first real client. Maybe it's Lassie or the Bionic Bride who's come to rescue us.”