Wedding Bell Blues

by Meg Benjamin

  Beside him, Janie Dupree nibbled delicately on a piece of tomato. She hadn’t taken a hamburger, Pete noticed, but she did have one of the rib-eyes Billy Kent had been fixing on the third grill. Nice compromise.

  He watched as her small white teeth nipped a bit of beef off her fork. His groin tightened.

  Right. Knock it off. Clearly this whole thing was getting way out of hand. Competing with Friedrich was one thing, but pursuing Janie Dupree was something else entirely. If he hurt Janie, even inadvertently, Docia would mutilate him, with good cause.

  Music boomed over the sound system Billy had installed around the pool—Willie Nelson and “Yesterday’s Wine”. Pete wasn’t up on country music, but he recognized the basics. Billy and Reba waltzed enthusiastically on a concrete slab at the other end of the pool. Reba threw back her platinum head and laughed.

  “Dance with me.”

  Pete turned to see Sherice standing over Lars, hands on hips. She’d changed out of the minimal strips of cloth that had passed as a bikini into a halter top and pair of shorts that stopped just below her butt cheeks. She wasn’t smiling.

  Lars tipped his head back to look at her. “I’m eating,” he said in a flat voice.

  “You can finish later.” Pete noted a significant firmness in Sherice’s jaw.

  Lars waited a moment longer. Long enough, Pete suspected, to piss her off even further. Then he pushed himself up from his lounge, extending a hand in her general direction. The music shifted to a woman singing a song Pete didn’t recognize as Lars pulled Sherice stiffly into his arms.

  Pete glanced at Cal.

  “Not good,” Cal shook his head.

  “Nope.”

  Pete concentrated on his mushroom, half-listening to the music until he heard Cal’s sharp inhale. He looked up to see Billy Kent waltzing carefully with Mom. “Holy crap!”

  He and Cal leaned forward in unison, bodies taut. The dance would either be terrific or disastrous, depending on how Mom felt about the whole thing. As the music ended, Billy gave Mom a quick twirl under his arm, which she handled with surprising ease. As she walked past, she flashed both of them a raised eyebrow.

  Cal exhaled, collapsing back against his chair. “For a minute there I thought I was hallucinating.”

  Pete drained his bottle, then reached for another beer. “An evening of surprises, Calthorpe. At least some of them are pleasant.”

  A series of guitar chords, rhythmically hypnotic, came over the sound system. Docia jumped to her feet. “Come on, ladies, let’s do it,” she called, heading for the concrete slab. Allie trooped behind her, as Janie turned to beckon to Bethany.

  “Oh, Christ,” Cal murmured. “Here we go.”

  “Here goes what?”

  Cal shook his head. “You’ll see.”

  The song had something to do with a red dress. Pete managed to get his brain to register that much. The singer seemed to be upset because his girlfriend was wearing a red dress he didn’t recognize and he figured she was playing around.

  The slow, sensuous rhythm of the guitar and bass filled the air and the four women moved their bodies more or less in unison, like some cowgirl chorus line.

  Pete glanced at Wonder and saw him swallow hard as he watched Allie.

  Then he looked back at the women again.

  Janie Dupree moved in a graceful swaying motion, her eyes closed, as if she were dancing for herself alone. She raised her arms above her head and moved her body back and forth, the most elegant bump and grind he’d ever seen.

  Every muscle in his lower body went on high alert. “They do this a lot?” he managed to ask.

  Cal’s gaze was locked on Docia. “Only when they’ve had a couple of margaritas. And when the right song comes on. My guess is Docia made sure the right song would come on this time.”

  “I don’t know what you’ve got goin’ on…” the singer crooned. The four women gyrated harder.

  Pete’s blood roared in his ears.

  “Did we ever remember to send James McMurtry a thank-you note for that song?” Wonder croaked.

  “Thank you note, nothing. Let’s bring him to town and buy him a beer. Or a case. Or maybe the whole Dew Drop.”

  Back on the concrete slab, the women had joined hands and were shimmying back and forth as the singer asked his girlfriend again where she’d gotten her red dress.

  Pete couldn’t take his eyes off Janie Dupree.

  Docia was a seventies fashion model, all long hair and muscled thighs. Bethany Kronk was a good-natured country girl having the time of her life. Allie Maldonado was a Rubensesque vision of generous breasts and thighs. But Janie was like nothing he had a label for. Small and curvy, moving like a beam of light. Like something not exactly of this earth. Maybe that was what sylphs were supposed to look like.

  Assuming that sylphs were the kind of creatures you wanted to jump, which he definitely did at this point.

  She threw her head back and laughed from pure joy, stamping her feet and undulating her marvelous body to the final strains of the music.

  Bethany and Allie applauded. “Go, Janie,” Docia yelled.

  Pete discovered he was holding his breath. He exhaled in a single whoosh as the song drew to a close. “Interesting,” he croaked.

  The women’s laughter fluttered over him like Luna moths as they walked back to the tables. Somewhere in the distance a dog barked as the music segued into something bland and mainstream. Olive’s cold nose pressed against the back of Pete’s hand.

  He couldn’t take his gaze away from Janie Dupree.

  She stood next to Otto Friedrich’s chair. “Dance with me?” she asked.

  Friedrich pumped his fist in the air as someone made a touchdown on the television set. He glanced up at Janie in surprise. “Say again?”

  “Dance with me.” Pete thought she narrowed her eyes.

  Friedrich shrugged and got to his feet, towing Janie to the concrete slab.

  Pete was suddenly absolutely certain that Otto hadn’t seen Janie dance. Either that or he had no functioning body parts below the waist, which was always a possibility, given his steroid-fueled muscles.

  Otto pulled Janie into his arms and moved somewhat jerkily around the concrete slab. Pete shook his head. Did he even know what kind of woman he was dealing with? Apparently not.

  “Peter?” Pete glanced up to see Mom bearing down on him, a cardigan over her shoulders even though the temperature still hovered in the eighties. “I need a ride back to the bed and breakfast. Are you ready to go?”

  Pete pushed himself up from his lounger. “Sure. I’ll tell Cal.”

  His mother shook her head. “Don’t bother. He can ride back with Lars and Sherice. They’re enjoying themselves.”

  Pete glanced at Cal, who was embracing Docia in a slow waltz. He was, indeed, enjoying himself. On the other side of the slab, Lars and Sherice weren’t having that much fun judging by their expressions.

  Beside him, Olive whimpered. Pete reached down to scratch her ears. “Yeah, girl,” he murmured. “I know exactly how you feel.”

  Otto was definitely trying to impress her, Janie reflected as she stared at the ceiling of the truck. Unfortunately, he was trying to impress her currently with his sexual prowess, which involved a lot of wet tongue and heavy breathing. She’d managed not to get wedged underneath him on the front seat, but she was still pinned against the door. Otto was stroking her breast, although “stroking” wasn’t exactly the right word. “Kneading” was closer.

  Janie really liked having her breasts touched, or she had before Otto had started going at it. Right now she wished he’d just move on. The breast thing wasn’t working for either of them.

  She moved her hands lightly across his chest, trying to give him a hint about what she wanted him to do.

  Otto stuck his tongue in her ear and slurped. “Baby, you make me so hot!” he groaned.

  Janie bit back a sigh. What was she supposed to say to that? Yeah, I noticed you were sweating like a pig? She mo
ved her hands to cup Otto’s face, turning him back toward her. She’d give him one more chance.

  Janie pressed her lips to his, slowly, running her tongue lightly across his lower lip. Hoping he’d get the message. Finesse. Subtlety. Build to a climax.

  Otto attempted to stick his tongue down her throat. Simultaneously his elbow jammed up against the horn button on his steering wheel, so that sound blared into the night.

  Janie jumped back, then placed her hands on his chest and pushed. She’d meant it to be light, but it took her a moment to get Otto’s attention, and by then push had come to shove. He raised his head abruptly to stare at her with dark, glittering eyes.

  Janie’s neck muscles felt unpleasantly tight. “I need to go in now. That horn probably woke up everybody on the block, including Mom.”

  “Now?” Otto dropped his hand to her breast again, kneading hard.

  Janie managed to keep the annoyance out of her voice. “Yes, I’ve got to work tomorrow.” She pulled further away from him, reaching for the door handle.

  “Stick around, sweet thing.” His voice dropped an octave. “We’re just getting started. One little horn blast won’t mean anything to anybody.”

  “Not tonight, Otto. I’m tired.” This time she let the annoyance show. For once, she didn’t care if he heard it.

  He hauled himself upright. In the dimly reflected light from her front porch, she could see the firm line of his jaw. “You got somebody else, Janie? Is that why you’re getting all pissy with me?”

  She blinked at him. She’d expected him to be irritated, but not loopy. “Somebody else?”

  “Yeah.” Otto’s voice grated. “You got something going with that Toleffson asshole?”

  For a moment, Janie thought about asking him which Toleffson, but she knew who he meant. “Otto, you’re losing your mind. I don’t have time to have anything going with anybody except you.”

  Otto’s jaw stayed firm. “So how come he’s always watching you?”

  She picked her purse up from the floor. “He isn’t. You’re imagining it. I’m going inside now. Did you still want to go to the movies tomorrow night?” She ignored the brief hollow feeling in her stomach. After all, they always went to the movies.

  He shook his head. “Got a meeting with the department. I won’t be out of it until late.”

  “Okay, then, I’ll see you later. Good night. Drive carefully.”

  Janie climbed out of the truck, telling herself what she was feeling wasn’t really relief.

  Otto stared at Janie’s ass disappearing in the front door. Goddamn it! Three months and the pissy little bitch still wasn’t putting out! He jammed the truck into gear and pulled away from the curb, letting the tires squeal slightly. Enough with Mr. Nice Guy.

  As he drove down Main, he considered his options. The easiest one was just to dump her and move on, find somebody who appreciated him and what he could do in the sack. Clearly, Janie didn’t.

  But now it was sort of the principle of the thing, or anyway, what he thought of as principle. You didn’t invest three months in a woman and walk away empty handed.

  People were still walking down Main, heading toward the Silver Spur or the other night clubs. There were some picnics going in the city park—Otto could smell charcoal and beer, and he almost felt hungry again.

  One of the couples ambling up the street caught his eye, mainly because the man towered over everybody else. Toleffson. That lousy son of a bitch.

  Otto slowed his truck, narrowing his eyes. Maybe now was the time to have that little “discussion” the two of them had been building up to for the past couple of days.

  Then the man turned toward the light, and he realized his mistake. Toleffson, all right, but not the right one. The other one, the one with the wife. And there she was, walking beside him.

  Otto’s already-aching groin grew tighter. She still wore the black halter top along with a white skirt that was a little longer than her shorts had been. He pulled into a parking space a couple of doors down.

  Toleffson and his wife stopped outside the Silver Spur. He leaned down to talk to her while she bent her head back. Not a friendly conversation if Otto was any judge. After a few moments, Toleffson turned around and stalked back up the street.

  The wife stood staring after him.

  Well, hell, no sense letting something like that go begging. “Hey, there,” Otto called. “Remember me? We met at the barbeque up at Billy’s.” Let her think he was on a first-name basis with Billy Kent.

  The wife turned toward him, tilting her head slightly as she pushed her bangs away from her eyes. “I remember you.” Her voice sounded like warm syrup, with maybe a little bit of jalapeño underneath. Oh yeah, definitely one hell of a woman.

  “Can I give you a ride anywhere?” He managed to keep his voice neutral. No need to scare her off.

  The wife watched him for a moment, then her lips spread in a slow, seductive smile. “No thanks. Not this time.”

  She turned and ambled up the street after her jerk of a husband. Otto watched her hips swing until she disappeared around the next block.

  Not this time. His lips moved into a grin. Didn’t that open up all kinds of interesting possibilities?

  Chapter Eight

  Janie opened the shop at nine without seeing Pete Toleffson. She told herself she wasn’t disappointed. Just because she’d seen him on his fire escape for the last two mornings didn’t mean she’d see him every day. He probably had best man errands to run. Assuming he’d ever bothered to find out what a best man did.

  Docia clumped in around ten, her jaw set. “Okay, you’re on Mama duty today. Sherice is going to be at the Woodrose at noon to try on her dress and I can’t trust myself not to say anything nasty to her.”

  Janie raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t know you knew her well enough to be nasty.”

  “I talked to her last night.” Docia shrugged. “A little Sherice goes a long way.”

  “Lars seems nice,” Janie said tentatively.

  “Lars is a sweetie. Yet another reason I’d like to say a few nasty things to Sherice. She doesn’t deserve him. Anyway, Mama asked me specifically to send you over to help. She doesn’t trust me either.” Docia’s mouth spread in a sly grin. “I’m crushed, of course.”

  The Woodrose dining room was filled with an even greater clutter of table runners, candles, favor bags, and something that looked like a silver fountain. The Wedding in all its various pieces. Reba looked a little fragmented herself.

  Janie didn’t think she’d ever seen Reba scowl before. She definitely wasn’t the scowling type. Even when she was unhappy, she managed to keep a broad smile pasted firmly in place.

  However, right now, Reba was staring at Sherice Toleffson with a very definite scowl.

  Sherice was wearing a bridesmaid dress identical to the ones for Allie and Bethany. She regarded herself critically in the three-way mirror. Mrs. Toleffson, her mouth a thin line, sat behind her in one of the few empty chairs.

  With a quick turn, Sherice studied herself from all sides, then shook her head. “Sorry. It doesn’t work for me.”

  “Doesn’t work for you?” Reba drew in a deep breath. “How do you mean?”

  Sherice shrugged. “The color’s all wrong. It makes me look washed out. Blondes shouldn’t wear beige, you know.”

  “It’s champagne,” Reba said between gritted teeth.

  “Whatever. It’s the wrong color for me. Sorry.” Sherice didn’t sound sorry at all.

  Mrs. Toleffson nodded slowly. “She’s right, Reba. The color’s all wrong for her hair.”

  Janie thought about all the possible responses to that statement, including pointing out that beige might work very well with Sherice’s real hair color, whatever that color was. “That’s too bad.” She stepped beside Reba’s chair. “The color looks wonderful on both the other bridesmaids.”

  Sherice glanced back at Janie briefly, and then studied herself in the mirror again. She reached around to the back
, unfastening the top hooks. “Sorry,” she repeated, “I just can’t wear this.”

  “What a shame,” Reba said through clenched teeth. “I guess we’ll just have one less bridesmaid.”

  “But then Lars won’t have anyone to walk with.” Mrs. Toleffson’s chin rose to combat level. “That’s not right. Sherice needs to be there too.”

  “The wedding is at the end of the week.” Reba’s voice was very quiet, but Janie felt like ducking suddenly. “There’s no time to have another dress made in a different color. I had a hard enough time getting this one.”

  Mrs. Toleffson pushed herself to her feet and began to prowl around the room, pausing to inspect candles and fountains and the yards of tulle table runners. Suddenly, she stopped. “What about this one?”

  Reba walked up behind her, peering over her shoulder. She shook her head. “No. That’s Janie’s. It’s the maid of honor dress.”

  In Janie’s heart, the last flickering ember of optimism promptly went out, to be replaced by a cold spike of dread.

  Sherice walked purposefully across the room to stare over Mrs. Toleffson’s shoulder. “That could work,” she mused.

  “No it can’t.” Reba’s voice was tight. “As I said, that’s Janie’s. It’s for the maid of honor.”

  Mrs. Toleffson turned to give Janie an assessing look. “They could switch. Sherice could be matron of honor. Then she could wear the dress. Janie could wear the other one.”

  Sherice picked up Janie’s glorious lavender gown, holding it tight against her. “Needs to be taken in,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “Particularly around the hips.”

  Janie had a sudden memory, so strong it made her catch her breath—twirling in front of the mirror in her lavender dress. Mysterious. Ethereal. Beautiful.

  Shit.

  “That dress was designed specifically for Janie!” Reba’s voice was low and sharp. “It fits her perfectly.”

  Sherice nodded. “Yes, as I said, it’ll have to be taken in for me. But the color’s better.”

  “Now look here…” Reba’s voice rose dangerously.