First Dance - [Bridesmaid's Chronicles 03]

by Karen Kendall

  "Syd's busy. But I've taken care of your ride. Can you be ready by nine a.m.? My friend can pick you up then."

  "Absolutely." She stared at Julia, who was humming and checking things off a list. "This dress isn't a scary color of pink, is it?"

  "All I'm going to tell you is that it's fab. Gorgeous. It will be an amazing contrast with the birds-of-paradise I'm having flown in."

  "Do you mean the flower, or are we literally going to be dive-bombed by winged things?"

  "The flower."

  "That's good. Real birds might fly overhead and add natural ingredients to your cake frosting."

  "Viv, that is disgusting. You have to be the single most unromantic person I know! How do you even come up with these warped ideas?"

  "They hatch in the Manhattan water."

  "Switch to juice, I'm telling you." Julia scanned her from head to toe. "Been sightseeing?"

  Step carefully . "I went out for a decent cup of coffee and something to eat."

  "You're awfully pulled-together for a coffee shop."

  Viv shrugged. "Reflex, I guess. I haven't taken a vacation in months. I'm not sure what my casual clothes look like anymore."

  "Want to go grab some lunch? We'll get takeout and swing by the winery. You can get to know Roman better."

  "Sure."

  Viv woke up at three a.m. again. Well, to be precise, 3:07 a.m. Details of various cases had run through her mind until they converged into insomnia and paid her a wake-up call. She also clearly remembered having a dream about J.B. Anglin.

  They were in the Grand Ballroom of the Waldorf-Astoria, doing the rumba, which Viv had never done in her life. Julia was there, too, with Roman. Marv Spinelli danced by with the very proper headmistress of their old school, who was dressed in a toga and downing a pitcher of beer through a crazy straw.

  Alex and Sydney were doing the limbo, and Walter the Wanker, Kiki's ex-husband, was engaged in the Macarena with First Lady Laura Bush. Just as Viv thought the

  dream couldn't get any weirder, they all genuflected while Kiki was crowned Miss America.

  Then she looked down to discover that she was naked, except for a glitzy necklace and a pair of Claudia Ciuti silver sandals. Her scarlet dress had been literally painted on her bare flesh a la Demi Moore on the cover of Vanity Fair. The only other accessory of interest was Viv's new Brazilian wax job .

  She might have a superhuman ability to remain blush-free, but she sprinted for the ballroom's exit while everyone pointed. J.B. followed on her heels in hot pursuit waving a paintbrush .

  When she woke and flipped on the bedside light to behold the bedspread's Garden of Ugly Delights, she felt almost relieved. She looked down to find her "pajamas," a tee and boxers, instead of red flesh. This, too, was a good thing.

  Then she looked around for J.B., but only her laptop stared back at her. That should have been a good thing, but somehow it wasn't.

  Viv found herself reliving yesterday's kiss. What had made him do it? More important, why had she let him? She could not claim that he'd taken advantage. No, she'd pretty much seized him by the throat and clamped herself to his face with an airtight seal. She'd probably made a popping sound when he pulled her off

  She braved the burnt orange carpet again and prowled the room like a caged animal, fingering the scary fringe on the lampshades and wondering how anyone could have come up with a color scheme so vile. Earth tones? I don't think so. More like the tones of the fourth circle of hell .

  There wasn't even a minibar to raid for junk food. Work was the only available distraction. Viv sighed and padded over to her laptop. She got a Styrofoam cup of tap water and planted the machine in her lap.

  She had an e-mail from Tabitha reporting that the dogs were fine but they missed her. There was another e-mail from Julia reminding all the bridesmaids to be sure they had purchased their foundation garments for the dresses and got their fittings. She assured them she had scheduled manicures and updos for everyone on the morning of the Big Day.

  Several work-related e-mails came next, followed by one from her mother.

  Subject: Vivien Anthea! Texas? From: AShelton To: VShelton

  Darling Viv-Ant,

  Do explain more about the trip to the Wild West. MUST Julia marry this rodeo clown? Seems such a waste. She's very pretty and quite well-behaved, in spite of Those Dreadful Parents. And to be perfectly honest, she could do much better now, while she has no cellulite. I'd be happy to introduce her to some of my B-list friends' boys (sorry, the A-list wouldn't have her with That Background. I'm not being a snob, just realistic, darling. So don't get snippy with me.).

  Now, I should tell you that I've met the most wonderful maneven though Dr. Hagan has been utterly useless in regard to my own cellulite. So I'm keeping the lights turned low who knows, you may just have a new stepfather soon! I think he's The One. Picture me blissful.

  Phone me when you return! If you drop by 7 leave the horrible hounds behind. Five of them what are you thinking? Tsk, tsk. Your apartment must smell like a kennel.

  All right. Toodles, darling, xoxoxo, Mummy

  (PS I have taken your day-care suggestion under advisement. Let's chat.)

  " 'Let's chat' ? And my apartment does not smell like a kennel," Viv said aloud, clicking away on a polite, generic reply to her mother.

  "Greyhounds are the cleanest dogs ever. As for The Most Wonderful Man, wake up. Mum! He's not The One. He's Number 96. Or Number 97I can't remember. By next month you'll have a tiny replica of him, prone on the kitchen table, while you paint a mixture of cayenne pepper and mint toothpaste under its arms and in its crotch and probably on the bottom of its feet.

  "The Most Wonderful Man will be itching violently and scratching himself in uncouth places probably in front of important business associates. And you'll be cackling away over your third vodka martini, after which you'll get morose and self-pitying."

  Viv sighed and scanned her generic, soothing message about how wonderful it was that Mummy was happy; that's the most important thing; blah blah blah. She urged Mummy again to think about funding the Displaced Homemakers' day care. Viv didn't see any obvious Freudian bloopers that would have revealed her true feelings, so she hit the send button and logged off of e-mail.

  She opened a research document she needed for a pro bono animal rights suit against a dog-racing track. Though the details of the case (starving, neglected, malnourished greyhounds) made her physically ill, at least it wasn't another divorce.

  She settled back into Marv's lumpy pillow, bracing herself psychologically for what she was about to encounter. The words were difficult enough, but the pictures would haunt her: mass graves, dogs who were literally no more than skin and bone, dogs trapped in tiny kennels that they could barely turn around in. How could human beings do this in the name of sport and profit?

  As she read, rage and disgust mounted inside her. These greyhounds were defenseless, loving creatures who couldn't hire attorneys to fight on their behalf. They relied on the kindness and civilization of humans, and yet were betrayed by them every day. Viv was going to nail these sons of bitches to the wall if it killed her.

  Unable to sleep himself, J.B. entered his workshop at precisely 4:53 a.m., a steaming cup of coffee in his hand and his dog by his side.

  "You're gonna get sawdust all over you, Harley." Harley wagged his tail and didn't seem too worried about it. He made a snuffling lap of the room, enjoying the familiar smells of the shop and fascinated by the unfamiliar ones. He sneezed once, then twice.

  J.B. inhaled the scents, too: the earthiness of raw wood, the metallic tang of machine parts, the pungency of wood-stain and mineral spirits.

  He yawned and headed for his workbench, where his latest project lay in pieces. A wedding gift for Roman and Julia, it was a bird's-eye maple console table. The two end pieces were subtly shaped like wineglasses, and he'd added a shelf underneath for greater stability. His next step was to sand each piece, wipe it with a tack cloth and carefully stain it in
a light cherry, wiping off the excess stain.

  J.B. got to work, interrupting the peaceful morning with the buzz of the sander and spraying himself with sawdust. It was messy work, but there was nothing more relaxing or satisfying for him than bringing a piece to life under his hands.

  Harley didn't like the noise of the sander or the automatic dust-collecting system, and generally went outside during this stage, but he came over periodically to check on J.B. when he stopped the sander. That's when he liked to roll in the sawdust, paws in the air, a blissful expression on his doggie face.

  J.B. cast an indulgent glance his way and used an old T-shirt to wipe off the piece of wood he was working on. Then he switched on the sander again. He'd be at this for a good while, perfectionist that he was.

  Predictably, Harley scrambled to his feet and took off, leaving J.B. alone with his thoughts. They turned to Vivien Shelton, her talk of a prenup, and the way her lips had felt under his damn her.

  He couldn't get her out of his head, and she was undoubtedly the reason he was awake at this hour of the morningbecause he was going to have to spend a great deal of the day in her company. He checked his watch. A couple more hours out here, and then he had to go in and get showered.

  Julia was up to something, and J.B. didn't appreciate it. The last damned thing in the world he wanted was to be saddled with Vivien for the next four to five hours. But when your best friend's bride begged you ever so prettily to help her get something done for the wedding, you automatically opened your stupid fat mouth and said, "Sure, honey! Anything! Shoot."

  And shoot she had. She'd shot Viv out of a cannon and straight into his pickup for the ride from hell. J.B. didn't want to get fitted for a penguin suit. The last time he'd worn one was three years ago, when he'd squired the lovely but merciless Miz Shelton to that black-tie thing in New York. Fond memories .

  He refused to buy a tuxedo on the grounds that it was a useless rag that would hang in his closet, ignored, for the next ten years. By the time he dusted it off again and tried to wear it, he'd have a paunch, and only three strands of hair left, and the thing wouldn't fit himnor would it be in style anymore.

  J.B. had absorbed with disbelief the news that Vivien couldn't drive. What kind of grown woman had never gotten a driver's license?

  At ten minutes after nine, however, he pulled his cranky ass up to Marv's Motor Inn to behold Miz Shelton glaring at her watch and tapping her foot maniacally on the sidewalk.

  He grinned. That's rightshe lived by the clock, with every minute accounted for. J.B. lowered his window, and then his shades. " 'Mornin', Honeybun. You ready to go?"

  Awareness dawned on her face. "I don't believe this," she said. "I knew Julia was up to no good."

  "You ever set your Park Avenue buns inside a pickup truck?"

  "No. And I don't intend to do so today, either. I'll call a cab."

  "This ain't Manhattan, Sugar Lips. No cabs to call."

  "Refer to me as Sugar Lips again and you can yodel for an ambulance. Got that, Anglin?"

  He was starting to enjoy himself, he really was. "You are right terrifyin' before coffee, darlin'."

  She glared at him. "I've had coffee, thank you."

  "Really." He shuddered. "Well, then, my little Morning Glory, hop into the chariot."

  Viv muttered something very rude.

  "Be nice, now, or I'll make you ride in the bed of the truck, on a hay bale."

  "I'll call and hire a car and driver, thanks."

  J.B. sighed, put the gears in neutral, and swung out of the driver's side. A few strides and he stood looking down at her. "Get in, Vivvie, or I'll pick you up and toss you in."

  She pokered right up. "I dare you to lay one finger on me, Anglin. You so much as breathe on me wrong, and I will slap you with a suit for assault so fast your head will spin."

  "Aw, honey. Don't be that way. My head's already spinnin', on account of your radiant beauty and your winsome personality."

  "I'm going to puke."

  "Such a romantic." J.B. took another step toward her. "Gimme a kiss."

  "No!" She took a step backward.

  J.B. stepped to the right.

  She stepped to the left.

  "Just a little kiss?" He backed her another few steps, then blocked her with an arm, resting it on the open passenger door. He almost had her now.

  "Get away from me."

  "For charity, you know." He stuck his neck out and puckered, only to encounter the palm of her hand. He licked it, and then nipped it.

  "Stop slobbering on me, you lunatic"

  He took one more step forward and slapped his other hand on the side of the truck, trapping her. "The way I see it," he said, "you've got two choices. You can kiss me, or you can sit your derriere down on that passenger seat. Which will it be?"

  '' Aaaarrrrrggghhhh!"

  "I'm sorry, honey, but I don't recognize that as a functional word. I think you want a big wet one" And he angled his head.

  Viv skittered into the truck like a crab running for the end of a dock.

  Excellent . J.B. slammed the door on her and punched the lock button. "Gotcha." He strode around to the other side and climbed in himself.

  Her lips fought off a smile. "What are you, part sheep dog?"

  "Exactly." He nodded. "And I just had to have ewe."

  Viv groaned.

  He grinned.

  They headed down Main Street, past the light at Goehmann Road, and hit the highway. The windows were partially down, even though the morning was characteristically warm, and he noticed Viv inhaling the fresh air with something that came close to appreciation. A few rays of sunshine bounced across her nose and shone in her hair, revealing unexpected touches of honey in the mahogany color.

  She's one gorgeous woman.

  Yeah, J.B., and she's packed full of TNT. Do you need to learn this lesson again?

  Nope. I need to teach the same one to her.

  * * *

  Chapter Nine

  Viv leaned her head back against the surprisingly comfortable seat. I am riding in a pickup truck, hurtling down the highway with a bad punster. A bad punster who just herded me into this redneck vehicle as if I were a wayward cow. Worse, I have an appointment with a Bridesmaid's Dress. Will somebody please just shoot me ?

  "So," J.B. said conversationally. "What's with a grown woman not having a driver's license?"

  "I live in the City. I've never needed one. What's with you Southerners that you don't know how to take public transportation?"

  "Honey, in case you haven't figured this out, it doesn't exist here."

  "So everyone just drives around wasting tons of gas while we become more and more dependent on foreign oil. That's great."

  J.B. ran his tongue over his teeth and cast her a sidelong glance. "Tell you what, Miz Environmentally Conscious. If you'll hand over your trust fund and about a hundred of your closest friends' trust funds, we might be able to get started building a trans-portation system that would be a ludicrous waste for this area. In case you haven't noticed, we don't have quite the same traffic patterns as your Big Apple."

  She folded her arms. "People could at least drive hybrids."

  He nodded. "Sure. As soon as they come out with hybrids the size of a Suburban, folks around here will jump right on 'em. Until then, good luck."

  "Demand creates supply, not vice versa."

  "You're just full of wisdom today, Slick. Why don't you stick around and run for mayor? Then you can direct operations for the whole town."

  "Very funny."

  "See, I think all this finger pointing and soapbox stuff is coming from a personal inferiority complex because you can't drive."

  "That's ridiculous," said Viv. "Besides, how hard can it be? Driving is a simple mechanical task that any moron can perform. It's not like you need a university degree to get a driver's license."

  "Mmrnmmmmm." J.B. said nothing further. He just smirked, which made her a little uneasy.

  Viv decided to
change the subject. "So have you thought any further about advising Roman to sign a prenup?"

  His smirk disappeared. "No. We've had this discussion."

  "But"

  "N-O. Word meaning to answer in the negative. No, nein, nyet, non , no!"

  "Don't you think you should at least consult him? Maybe his opinion will be different from yours."

  "I'm not going to bring up the topic with Roman. And let me tell you, Vivvie, that if you go anywhere near my client waving a prenup, I will hog-tie you. I will throw you into the back of this pickup, and I will personally drive your ball-busting butt back to New York. Do you understand?"

  "There's no need to be quite so rude about it."

  "Yes, there is. I don't want there to be any misunderstandinganything you can construe as a loophole to wriggle through. You damned divorce attorneys are snakes in the grass."

  Her jaw dropped open. " Excuuuse me? I don't believe you just said that to me."

  "You want me to repeat it?"

  "What in the hell did you think you were doing representing Kiki in her divorce, you hypocrite?"

  "I represent the entire family, and you know it. You couldn't pay me enough money to do divorces on a regular basis. What a racketall about ego and paycheck."

  "I see. Well, let me tell you something: I'll bet you wished you'd signed a prenup yourself when your ex-wife took you to the cleaners for your pro ball money."

  J.B.'s jaw tightened and his mouth went flat. He took a deep breath. "You are so over the line with that comment, Shelton."

  "And calling me a snake in the grass wasn't?"

  "Let me give you a little warning, here. Number one: Mention the word 'prenup' again and I'll put you out on the highway. Number two: The topic of my ex-wife is not up for discussion. Bring her up again and I throw you onto the highway going full speed. Understand?"

  "Are you threatening me, Counselor?"

  "Are you badgering me, Sugar Lips?"

  They stared at each other, neither blinking an eye, until Viv noticed that the truck was drifting toward the double yellow line on the highway.