Penelope

by Marilyn Kaye

  “Isn’t that her choice to make?” Lemon asked.

  “I don’t even want to tempt her. She deserves a crack at happiness.” The pain on his face was almost unbearable to watch, and Lemon looked away.

  “I won’t take that chance away from her,” Johnny said quietly.

  Back in his van, Lemon pounded his steering wheel in frustration. Why, why, why had he let himself get so involved? All he’d wanted was a photo and a story. Why did he care what happened to the pig-girl? Or Johnny, for that matter?

  He shook his head wearily. Maybe he was a decent guy after all. And now he couldn’t change back. In grim determination, he started the van and took off.

  His old parking space in front of the Wilhern mansion was available. Was that a good omen or a bad one? Either way, he knew this wasn’t going to be easy.

  The butler opened the door. He took one look at Lemon and started to close it. Lemon stuck his foot in the door frame.

  “Ow!” he yelped as the butler continued to push on the door. “Wait, man! This is about Penelope. Do you care about her at all?”

  “Excuse me, sir?”

  “I’ll bet you do, and so do I. And I’ve got some information here that just might change her life.”

  The butler’s face was implacable, though there seemed to be something going on behind his eyes. He actually opened the door and let Lemon in. “Please wait in the music room. I will see if Miss Penelope is available.”

  Lemon tried not to think about the last time he was in this house. He only had one good eye left and he intended to keep it. With that one eye, he gazed around the room. Pretty ritzy joint, these Wilherns had. He went over to the mirror to check himself and make sure he was presentable.

  He’d barely had a glimpse of his reflection before he heard the scream. Seconds later, the door to the music room flew open and Jessica Wilhern burst in. Lemon shrank against the wall in fear.

  “WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN MY HOUSE?”

  He had a feeling she’d now destroyed one of his ears. And her call brought support in the form of Franklin Wilhern and another woman.

  “I need to see Penelope,” Lemon managed to squeak.

  “OVER MY DEAD BODY!”

  At least the husband seemed to embody an element of humanity. “Why do you need to see Penelope?”

  “I have to tell her about Johnny Martin.”

  “WHO THE HELL IS JOHNNY MARTIN?”

  “I think she knows him as Max Campion.”

  The shriek that greeted this announcement did serious damage to the other ear. “DON’T SAY THAT NAME IN THIS HOUSE!”

  “Calm down, dear,” Franklin Wilhern urged. “Wanda, wasn’t Max Campion the young man who visited several times?”

  “Yes,” the other woman said. “Three times. He refused to marry Penelope.”

  “But he had a reason,” Lemon said. He explained what he’d learned about Johnny, and he showed them what he had in his folder.

  Wanda sighed. “So he was just pretending to be Maxwell Campion. He can’t lift the curse.”

  Lemon nodded. “Johnny Martin is not a blue blood. But…” He took a deep breath. “He’s in love with her.”

  The silence in the room was heavenly. It didn’t last.

  “SO WHAT?”

  But Franklin Wilhern and Wanda actually seemed intrigued. “Really?” Wanda asked. “He loves her?”

  And Franklin’s eyes seemed to mist over. “We must get Penelope. She should know this.”

  Lemon nodded. “That’s what I thought.”

  But Jessica Wilhern didn’t share their opinion. “NO!”

  Franklin was clearly surprised. “What are you saying, my dear?”

  Jessica Wilhern was calmer now, but no less determined. “I do not want Penelope to know about this Max-Johnny person, whoever he is. If he can’t lift the curse, he can’t marry her.”

  “But don’t you think that’s Penelope’s decision to make?” Wanda asked.

  “NO! HE CAN’T BREAK THE CURSE! Jake! Jake! Where is he? Oh, it doesn’t matter. I’ll throw him out myself.”

  Now it was Lemon’s turn to shriek and run. And he managed to get himself out of the room before she could get anywhere near his good eye.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  I opened my bedroom window and stuck my head out. It was a gorgeous day, one of the earliest days of summer. There were no clouds in the brilliantly aqua blue sky. The sun was bright, and warm, but it wasn’t sweltering hot outside. I’d read about days like this in books. Writers could get very poetic when they described days like this. With the right words, they could make you hear bluebirds, feel the warmth of the sun, smell the faint sweetness of the honeysuckle and the newly mown lawns. I used to wonder if I’d ever experience a day like this in my real life.

  And here it was, finally, a day just like the writers described. A day that I could actually appreciate, and in person. A perfect day for a wedding.

  I checked out the scene from another window. This one looked directly down onto the grounds where the ceremony would take place. It was only eight in the morning—the ceremony wouldn’t start until seven in the evening—but people were already hard at work getting things organized. Rows and rows of white chairs had already been set up. My mother had invited everyone who was anyone. Plus my friends. Annie, of course, the bartender, and some of the regulars from the Cloverdilly. That was the only real request I’d made in regard to the wedding.

  I’d pretty much left the whole business in my mother’s hands, and I didn’t have to feel guilty about that because I knew she’d enjoyed every minute of it. Every now and then she would demand my opinion about something, or ask me to make a choice—pink, peach, or lavender? Shrimp or crab? To get her off my back, I’d choose one, knowing full well she would automatically decide on the other. It didn’t really matter to me.

  For me, the great significant event of the day would come after the ceremony, and it wasn’t the reception I was thinking about, either.

  I took my secret mirror, the compact that I’d stolen long ago from my mother’s handbag, and looked in it. Holding it with one hand, I put the other over my snout. Of course, I’d done this a zillion times, but this time I was trying very hard to get a real sense of what I was going to look like in just a little while.

  I remembered when Annie told me about her girlfriend who had a nose job. Annie said that when the bandages came off, the girl looked completely different, as if more than her nose had been changed. Would my face be completely different? It didn’t really matter to me. However it looked, at least it would finally be my face.

  There was a rap on my door, and as usual, my mother walked in before I had a chance to invite her. “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “I was just wondering if I’m going to miss my old face,” I said.

  As always, she didn’t pass up an opportunity to recite her mantra. “It’s not your face, it’s never been your face, it’s your great-great-great-grandfather’s face. Today, my darling, we will all finally see your real face.”

  I looked at her thoughtfully. “What if it’s worse than this one?”

  “Don’t talk nonsense,” she snapped. “We’ve got too much to do today. The beautician is coming to do your hair and your nails and your makeup. The seamstress will be here while you put on your gown, just in case she needs to make any last-minute alterations to the dress. Then you’ll meet with the photographer….”

  I was surprised. “Before the ceremony? I thought you’d want to wait until I had my own face.”

  “Your face, I mean, your great-great-great-grandfather’s face, will be covered with the veil,” she assured me. “By the way, did I tell you I had a double lining sewn inside the veil? I was afraid the lace alone might be see-through.”

  I rolled my eyes in exasperation. “Mother! My picture’s been in newspapers and magazines. Everyone’s already seen my—this—face a thousand times. They all know what I look like.”

  “Memories are short,�
�� my mother said firmly. “Once everyone sees the real you at the reception, they’ll forget all about the pig-girl.”

  She could be right, I supposed. I was suddenly glad I’d kept a scrapbook of my time as a celebrity. For some reason, I didn’t want to forget.

  The day passed quickly, with all my beauty treatments and pampering. I was coiffed and made up and dressed long before necessary. So I was pleased when Annie arrived early and came up to my room to see me.

  We embraced, and Annie admired my dress, my hair, my jewelry, every detail down to my pedicure.

  “You look fabulous!” she exclaimed, and I knew she meant it. But I could tell from her expression that there was something else she wanted to say.

  “Talk,” I commanded her. “Because my mother will be coming up here soon and then you’ll never get a word in edgewise.”

  Annie hesitated.

  I tried to help her out. “I know you don’t like Edward. But maybe he’ll grow on you. Better yet, maybe he’ll grow on me.”

  Annie smiled. “Look, I know why you’re marrying him. And I know how much it means to you, and I’m not going to try to talk you out of it. There’s just one thing I wanted to say.”

  “Congratulations?”

  “Well, that, too. But Penelope … you’ll still be you, you know.”

  I looked at her in disbelief. “You don’t think marrying Edward will lift the curse?”

  She shrugged impatiently. “Okay, maybe you won’t have a snout anymore. But it doesn’t matter if you shave your head or cut off your ears or grow a third eye. You don’t have to get married, not to Edward, not to anyone. With or without a snout, you’ll still be you. And as far as I’m concerned, that’s a good thing.”

  I didn’t know what to say. Annie came over and kissed me on the cheek. “I’m going to grab a seat,” she said. “I want to be in a good spot to catch the magic moment. I’ve never seen a nose fall off before.”

  The next time I looked out the window, the arrangements were complete. Having been unable to choose between peach, pink, and lavender, my mother had gone for an all-white theme. The white chairs were now adorned with white satin ribbons and drapes of white silk. At the end of each row was a huge ornamental display of white lilies in white organza, and the aisle I would walk down was strewn with the petals of a hundred white roses.

  The vows would be taken under a bower of white lace held up by white alabaster pillars. Edward would wear a white suit. My mother had requested—that is, demanded—that all guests wear black, and I wouldn’t put it past her to throw out anyone who showed up in navy blue. She’d hired public relations people to bring in all the people the Wilherns had been hiding from for so long—press, television, magazine people. She wanted to make up for twenty-five years of social hibernation.

  She came in my room, carrying a large wrapped package in her arms. “Oh, Penelope. You look beautiful. I mean, you will look beautiful.”

  How could a person respond to a compliment like that? Should I tell her I would thank her in the near future when it was true?

  “And just look at what I’ve brought you.” She set the package down on my desk and ripped off the brown paper wrapping. It was a mirror.

  “You can come right back up here after the ceremony and get a good look at yourself before the reception!”

  “Would you mind if I look at myself right now?” I asked.

  “Why would you want to do that?” she asked, but she stepped aside to give me space. I posed in front of the mirror, and I had to admit, I wasn’t unhappy with the reflection. Somehow, despite my lack of interest, I’d managed to pick the right dress. The pearl jewelry I wore made my skin glow. My hair was perfect, the shiny dark brown curls cascading to my shoulders.

  I tore myself from the mirror and went to the window. My mother joined me there, and we looked at the setting for the wedding. “Isn’t it glorious?” she enthused. “You’re going to have the wedding of a princess, my darling. And once it’s over, you’ll look like a princess!”

  I wished her enthusiasm was contagious.

  I could see guests arriving and taking their seats. Most of them were utter strangers to me, people my parents had known before I was born. I did spot Annie and the gang from the Cloverdilly.

  But not Max. I’d lifted an invitation from my mother’s stack, I’d looked up his address in the phone book, and I’d given it to Jake to mail. There had been no reply. Still, I could always hope …

  My mother finally left, to take her place in the front row, and my father appeared at my door to escort me outside and walk me down the aisle.

  “Just a second, let me put on my veil,” I said. I fastened the heavily lined headpiece to my hair, and realized that it was so thick I couldn’t see through it.

  “This is ridiculous,” I fumed. I found a scissors and cut two tiny holes in the cloth for my eyes. Only a person who got very, very close to me would confuse me with Casper the ghost.

  I took my father’s arm, and he led me downstairs. “Penelope …,” he began, then stopped.

  “What is it, Dad?”

  “I just want to tell you how very, very sorry I am.”

  “For what?”

  “For your face! For the way you’ve had to grow up, alone, hidden away. I’m so sorry.”

  “Dad, there’s nothing to be sorry for.”

  “Oh yes, there is,” he insisted. “Because of my family, you haven’t had a normal life. It’s the Wilherns who have made you suffer.”

  “Oh, Dad, just let it go. I’m not suffering anymore.”

  I really wasn’t suffering. We were coming down the aisle now, and I had spotted my friends. It dawned on me that I hadn’t suffered for quite a while now.

  Edward was waiting under the arbor. His expression was familiar—once again, he looked like he was about to throw up. He was probably thinking about the fact that he’d be expected to kiss me after we were pronounced husband and wife. I wished I could communicate to him that it wouldn’t be any more pleasant for me than it would be for him. However, I knew that I would have the self-control to keep from vomiting. I wasn’t so sure about him.

  As we approached the judge who would be conducting the ceremony, I found that I was grateful for the ridiculously thick veil that covered my face. Not because I wanted to hide my snout. I was more concerned with hiding my expression. I had a feeling I didn’t look very much like a bride was expected to look on her wedding day.

  My father left me at Edward’s side, and we faced the judge.

  “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here to join this man and this woman …”

  Out of the corner of my eye, thanks to the hole in the veil, I caught a glimpse of my mother. She was clearly ecstatic, and for the first time, I really understood why. This was more her day than mine.

  I also saw Annie. She was smiling, too, but in a different way, like she was forcing herself to smile. Her forehead was puckered, as if she was worrying at the same time.

  The judge had reached the point in the service that usually provided the high moment of drama in every soap opera I’d ever watched. “If there are any among us who object to this marriage, let them speak now or forever hold their peace.”

  I had a brief moment of fantasy—Max, rising from the audience, shouting “I object!” But the judge’s words were greeted with the usual silence. This was real life, not a soap opera. Not a fairy tale.

  “Edward Vanderman Junior, do you take this woman, Penelope Wilhern, as your lawful wedded wife? Do you promise to love and cherish her, in sickness and in health, for richer and for poorer, forsaking all others, till death do you part?”

  I wouldn’t say his response was wildly enthusiastic, but he did manage to squeak out an audible “I do.”

  “And do you, Penelope Wilhern, take this man, Edward Vanderman Junior, as your lawful wedded husband? Do you promise to love and cherish him, in sickness and in health, for richer and for poorer, forsaking all others, till death do you part?”

 
I’d always heard that right before you die, your entire life flashes right before your eyes. I didn’t know it happened when you got married, too. But I saw it all, rushing before me, fast but clear. The lonely childhood. Someday your prince will come. That’s not your face, Penelope. Walking through the park for the first time at night … and the recent times. Good times, with friends, having fun, talking, laughing, sharing thoughts and feelings.

  I had a life now. And suddenly, I knew what I had to say. And I had to say it fast before I could have second thoughts.

  “No. I don’t.”

  Chapter Thirty

  I knew that my mother would be hot on my heels as I ran back up the aisle. Halfway back to the house, the veil on my head shifted and I couldn’t see out of the holes I’d made, so I pulled the whole headdress off and tossed it. That was when I knew she was close—her shriek seemed almost as loud as the one she’d bellowed when I’d said no.

  It wasn’t like I could avoid her tirade forever, and I really didn’t want to give her a heart attack, so I let her catch up once I was inside the house. She was on the step behind me as I started up the stairs.

  “Penelope! What are you doing? Get back out there right this minute!”

  “No, Mother. I’m not going to marry Edward.”

  “Are you crazy? What is this, last-minute jitters? It’s all right, it’s not too late, people will understand. I’ll explain to them. Of course, you’ll have to apologize to Edward. Or I could apologize for you. Penelope! Are you listening?”

  “I’m listening, Mother. But I’m still not going to marry Edward. I don’t love him, Mother. I don’t even like him.” I’d reached my bedroom by now. “And I’d like to be alone for a while.”

  I closed the bedroom door, but that didn’t stop her from standing on the other side and talking through it.

  “Penelope, this is insane! This is your chance, your one and only chance. This is what we’ve been waiting for, hoping for!”

  “What you’ve been hoping for, Mother.”

  “What are you saying? You don’t want to be happy?”