by Amanda Brown
After Thayne got over her shock at seeing Pippa on the doorstep, first thing she said was, “I told you so.” She glared at Lance. “And who is this? The key grip?”
“Lance Henderson, ma’am.” He held out his hand. “Very pleased to meet you.”
“Rosimund’s son?”
He smiled. “You know my mother?”
“I know of her.” The gears were already clicking in Thayne’s head. “Please come in.”
“I’d love to, but the team has curfew.” Lance hugged Pippa. “Good night.”
“Do you know who that boy is?” Thayne cried the moment the door shut.
“I don’t want to talk about it, Mama.”
Next day a courier delivered one ticket to Lance’s football game at SMU. Pippa finally met Rosimund, who said little but observed much: she had been pressing Lance to find a suitable fiancee for years. Lance played brilliantly, snapping a three-game slump. He didn’t blow a game, nor did Pippa miss one, for the remainder of the season. He proposed to her at Thayne’s annual Christmas Eve party.
Come to think of it, that was the only other time she had seen Lance drunk. Pippa watched an airplane slice through the night sky: lucky passengers, going somewhere else! Lance had swept her behind the Christmas tree and pretended to lose a cuff link. They were crawling around on the floor when he said, “Found it.”
In his hand was a platinum ring with a fancy yellow diamond, over two carats, radiant cut, about seven millimeters square, held in place by two half-moon white diamonds. The ring was so big that at first Pippa thought it was a button that had popped off someone’s Santa outfit. “I know just one of us is supposed to be on our knees for this,” Lance said, suddenly serious. “But will you marry me, Pi—?”
Before he could finish the last syllable, a seismic hiccup shook him head to foot. Her name emerged as “Piccup.” “That’s quite a ring,” she said.
“It belonged to my great-grandmother. Rosimund wants you to have it.” Lance crawled over and slipped it on Pippa’s finger. It fit perfectly. “May I take that as a yes?”
Pippa hesitated a moment. She knew she would never find another Andre, which was probably a blessing. But Lance hadn’t exactly filled the month since their reunion with physical ardor. Maybe he was taking libido-suppressing steroids. Maybe he considered her tainted goods and was working that out with his inner self. “Do you love me?” she had asked.
“With all my heart.” For the first time, he kissed her passionately.
Pippa closed her eyes, recalling that blissful moment. Lance did have it in him. “Then I accept. With all my heart.”
Lance had spent most of their engagement either in football camp or hiking in the Andes. Just as well: prenuptial chastity was a sacred oath of Henderson men. After he swore he was not involved with another woman, Pippa let the subject drop. Where on earth would she find a man who understood her, or her mother, so completely? Lance and she were like brother and sister. Every marriage manual in the world recommended choosing a mate from a similar socioeconomic background: so much less explaining to do.
As night became dawn, Lance’s strange speech kept turning over and over in her mind. What had happened to his shoes? Was he a closet alcoholic? What if he got smashed again and couldn’t function on their wedding night? So great was Pippa’s desperation that she nearly called Andre in Prague. Fortunately reason prevailed. Any sane woman would feel terrified the night before her wedding. “Lance is a good man,” she told herself over and over. He would grow. They would grow together. She would return to school: Quarterback’s Wife was not a serious career choice. For a Walker, anyway.
A fiddling at Pippa’s door roused her from a dark trance. Kimberly, her dress barely on, stood in the hallway with a similarly deshabille groomsman. “Oh! I thought this was my room! Sorry!” They stumbled away.
Pippa was almost asleep when someone knocked softly but insistently on her door. A woman stood in the hallway. She wore a navy tweed suit, matching navy hat, and enough scarab jewelry to sink a pharaoh. In her hands was a large lacquer box. “Forgive me for the early hour,” she said, marching in. Her box hit the coffee table like a cinderblock. “Please. Open it.” Inside was a stash of gold coins. “One hundred Krugerrands. Each contains one troy ounce of pure gold. A wedding gift from my husband, Bingo Buntz the fourth, and myself.”
“Thank you so much, Mrs. Buntz.”
“It is absolutely imperative that we be invited to the reception at Fleur-de-Lis this evening.”
Pippa recalled seeing the name Buntz on one of Thayne’s many lists. “Have you not received your invitation?”
“Young lady, are you aware that your mother has an A list and a B list for the reception? And that the B list is not the place for a woman of my social standing? Bingo and I have been pillars of the community for twenty-five years. We are scandalized by this slap in the face.”
“Have you spoken to Thayne about it?”
“Hardly, as she placed us there in the first place. Surely you know of someone who wouldn’t mind a quieter celebration with fewer people. We’re happy to trade places.”
“I’ll do my best, Mrs. Buntz.”
“Thank you, dear. Bingo and I will see you at the wedding. You may send a groomsman to our seats with a proper invitation. I’ll be wearing a pale blue hat with tropical feathers. And please get some sleep. You look exhausted.”
Pippa was disturbed no further until her nine o’clock wake-up call. It was Thayne, beside herself with anticipation. “Did you sleep well, honey? “
“Like a rock.”
“Will Kimberly be rounding up the girls to meet Mr. Simmons in the gym?”
“I doubt it. She had a late night.”
“Damn that Rosimund! Her chocolate buffet was a deliberate attempt at havoc.”
“I’m pretty sure the girls ate of their own free will, Mama. By the way, Mrs. Buntz just dropped by. She would like an A-list invitation.”
“Over my dead body. Bingo is a roue.” He had made his millions in waste recycling rather than fossil fuels, as if there were a difference.
“She gave me a hundred Krugerrands.”
Thayne did the math: forty-seven thousand bucks. “I’ll think about it.”
“I wonder if Lance is awake.”
“I just saw him playing tennis with his mother. He looks fresh as a daisy. I told you he wouldn’t remember a thing about last night. Do you think all the girls were up till dawn in that Halloween tent? I’ll knock on their doors myself. They signed a contract and they are going to stick to it.”
Pippa went to the gym. Only Ginny was there, minus the wig, working out with Richard Simmons. Since she lived down the road from the hotel, Ginny was not sleeping there with everyone else. She had left the Henderson Ball shortly before Lance’s speech to catch the third game of the NBA finals. “Good morning, sunshine! Ready to walk down the gangplank? “
Pippa switched on her treadmill. “I believe ‘aisle’ is the word.”
“Where is everyone? They have some nerve criticizing me for ignoring my contract.”
Over the next thirty minutes the rest of the bridesmaids trudged in. Rosimund’s chocolate buffet had done its damage, as everyone noticed when stepping on the scale. No one but Ginny felt better after an hour of aerobics. Moaning, the girls were marched into the steam room then weighed again. “What did you eat last night?” the distraught trainer cried. “Tell the truth.”
“Three slices of chocolate cake, one brownie, a hot fudge sundae, three chocolate macaroons, and some fudge pie,” Leah replied.
“What did you drink?”
“Anything I could pour into my glass.”
“Mon Dieu! What about your diet?”
“I had a relapse, okay? Give me a break.”
Pippa found Rosimund’s majordomo, Harry, waiting in the hallway outside her room. He wore the turquoise plaid cummerbund that Lance and Woody had purchased yesterday. In his hand was a small package. “From Lance,” Harry announ
ced, weaving slightly on his feet. The poor man had now gone thirty-two hours without sleep. “With profound apologies for his behavior at the ball.”
Pippa took the box. “He couldn’t deliver this himself?”
“It is considered bad luck for the groom to see his bride on the wedding day. Before the event, that is.”
“Oh. Right.” Pippa opened the box. Inside was a pair of yellow diamond earrings that matched her engagement ring. “Good grief!”
“May I tell him he is forgiven, madam?”
“Of course. Get some sleep, Harry. You did a fantastic job last night.”
Thayne smiled when Pippa showed her the earrings. “That is one hell of an apology. You should hope Lance gets plastered at least twice a year.”
“That’s not even funny, Mama.”
They entered the elevator. “You must start remolding him as of tonight. Look what I’ve done with Robert. He was a hopeless mess when I married him.”
“What is he now?”
Thayne thought a moment. “A six-handicap golfer.”
The bridesmaids were waiting for them in a spacious terrace suite crammed with ornately wrapped boxes: Thayne thought a gift-opening party would provide a pleasant pastime for Pippa and her attendants on her wedding day. After setting up a video camera to record events for those who couldn’t attend, like Rosimund, Thayne sat on a couch with her laptop, ready to record incoming gifts on a spreadsheet program that would also format the thank-you notes.
“Please monitor the hallway,” she told the armed guard who had been protecting the boxes all week. Once he left, she turned off the video camera. “Today is the moment of truth, girls. I hope you’re up to the task you’ve been training for these past six months. If I may be frank, last night’s rehearsal was ghastly. Your behavior at the Henderson Ball was an embarrassment.”
“The boys made us do it!”
“Surely you’ve been in contact with the male species prior to last night. By now you should be familiar with the proper countermea-sures.” Thayne sniffed the air. If anything, it smelled of alcoholic halitosis. “Have you forgotten to wear my perfume?” Many sheepish faces affirmed her suspicions. “That won’t do. Kimberly, a small question. Early this morning I received a phone call from the Dallas Morning News. Their society reporter claimed you had relayed some information about Lance’s unfortunate toast. Is that true?”
Despite her fierce hangover, Kimberly turned three shades greener. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mrs. Walker.”
Thayne gave her a small envelope. “Open that, please.” Inside were two tickets to a performance that evening at the Dallas Ballet Theater. “Enjoy the show. You are expelled from the wedding party.”
“Mama!” Pippa cried. “You can’t do that!”
“Don’t cross me again, Pippa. The alternate is already en route. Leave the room, Kimberly. You are a traitor.” Thayne watched as Kimberly stumbled out. Following a door slam that must have set the chandeliers quivering five floors below, she calmly continued. “I want nothing to stand in the way of a perfect day. Remember that I still have one more alternate just praying for the phone to ring.” As Thayne switched on the video camera, her demeanor brightened for posterity’s sake. “Our first gift is from Miss Louella Hackers of Houston.” She handed a box to Pippa. “Read the card, darling.”
In a daze, Pippa opened a box of napkins that looked as if they had just been ordered from Horchow. “ ‘Dear Pippa and Lance, These napkins belonged to my great-great-aunt, the Duchess of Saxony-Coburg-Gotha. They were used to entertain royalty, politicians, and legendary artists. The napkin with the corner missing was used by Charlie Chaplin as he demonstrated a new trick during a dinner party attended by the Duke of Bedford. I hope these napkins’ history will enliven your dinner parties for years to come.’“
Six of the twelve napkins had corners missing. “They will certainly enliven dinner parties at the Salvation Army.” Thayne tossed the box aside. “Continue, Pippa.”
“From Mr. and Mrs. Trevor Hingham of Houston. ‘We hope you will love this new hobby as much as we do.’“ Pippa unwrapped His and Hers square-dancing outfits in a bright purple check. “ They were designed by Bill Blass.’“
“Square dancing must be popular in Houston.” Thayne sniffed, tossing that box atop Louella’s. “What is in those pink boxes?”
A huge soup tureen and forty soup bowls, all embossed with a gold seal. “From the estate of Sam Houston,” wrote the Digbys of Houston. “Our idol.”
Thayne shook her head. “Couldn’t they have found anything from the estate of John Neely Bryan?” He had founded Dallas. The soup set joined the reject pile. “Open a few of those envelopes, Pippa. Maybe we’ll see some nicer things in small packages.”
The first envelope contained a certificate of ownership for ten thousand barrels of crude oil, a gift from the Trumbulls of Corpus Christi. “That’s more like it.” Thayne nodded.
The next envelope contained a picture of a white pony. “We hope you and Lance will enjoy owning a genuine Lipizzaner stallion. Her name is Trudy,” wrote Mrs. Anthony Ludling of Houston.
“Why didn’t they just send a Ducati?” Thayne sighed. “Trudy can stay in the Henderson stables until you and Lance find a house.”
Next Pippa opened a few gifts from Lance’s friends: a gold-plated football, a case of bourbon, and a two-person sleeping bag. She got ten bread machines. Another small envelope contained a photograph of a white Yamaha baby grand piano. “We know Lance is musical,” wrote the Pembertons of Houston.
“Yamaha?” Thayne frowned. “That sounds Japanese.”
“It looks like a nice piano, Mama. Maybe I’ll take lessons.”
“They didn’t include a year or two of lessons?” Thayne’s eyeballs rolled toward the ceiling.
Mr. and Mrs. Harve Pruett V of Fort Worth sent six Fujiwara chef’s knives. Thayne’s annoyance at receiving another Japanese import abated when Chardonnay informed her that they retailed for four hundred dollars each.
Noticing that the bridesmaids were having difficulty staying awake, Thayne asked everyone to read a line from the bridal registry that she had been compiling for months.
“Eight settings of Flora Danica,” yawned Leah.
“From?”
“The Burtons of Amarillo.”
“Very nice. Pass the book along, Leah.”
“Eight settings of Flora Danica,” read Cora, passing the book to the next lap. “From the Huddlestons of Dallas.”
“Eight settings of Flora Danica,” read Francesca. “From the Craw-fords of Piano.”
“Eight settings of Flora Danica,” read Tara. “From the Jeffersons of El Paso. How many place settings do you need, Pippa?”
“Fifty,” Thayne replied. “Pass the book along, dear.”
“Thirty settings of Waterford crystal, Lismore pattern,” read Ginny. Rather than a wig, she wore a monumental polka dot turban and gigantic reflective sunglasses. Neither Pippa nor Thayne had the energy to inquire what kind of statement Ginny was making today. “From my mother.”
“How nice of her,” Pippa said.
“My father sent the other twenty settings.” Ginny’s parents were divorced. “You’re going to have to buy a castle to store all this crap.”
“Are you calling Waterford and Flora Danica crap?” Thayne inquired icily.
“I’m just wondering where one might find a cupboard for fifty place settings. Not to mention a dining room table.”
“They will be custom built,” Thayne informed her. “Pass the registry along, Ginny. We’ve barely made a dent in that mountain of gifts.”
“Fifty place settings of silver from James Robinson in New York,” read Hazel. “Who’s that? Is he married?”
“That is a company, one of the last in the world making handmade silver. It is very difficult to scratch. What a fantastic gift. Who sent it, Hazel?”
“Dusi and Caleb Damon of Las Vegas.”
“My college roommate.” T
hayne smiled at Pippa. “She and Caleb are in Rangoon for double surgeries. They send their regrets.”
Pippa smiled vaguely. Rangoon sounded pretty good about now.
The opening of boxes dragged on for three hours, by which time six of the girls were snoring robustly. Thayne did not dismiss them until every last gift had been catalogued and critiqued. Pippa received more ewers, decanters, candy bowls, salt and pepper shakers, butter dishes, and platters than she could use in ten lifetimes. She received enough food processors to open a kitchen supply store. She got Italian mirrors, Aubusson rugs, Tiffany lamps, rare maple trees, a Nakashima table, and a pair of historic Smith & Wesson revolvers with pearl grips. Her arms ached from tearing open the wrapping paper. Her face ached from smiling.
Finally Thayne looked at her watch. “My goodness, time to get our hair done again! Hurry upstairs, girls.”
The room emptied. “Thank you for keeping track of all that, Mama.”
“We didn’t do too badly.” As she switched off the video camera, Thayne was already calculating changes in a dozen of A- and B-list invitations. “A Lipizzaner! Now that takes the cake.”
“I wish Lance could have been here.”
“Truly you don’t. Men find this sort of event boring to the hilt. Honey! What is it?”
A sharp pain in Pippa’s stomach had doubled her over. “I’m getting nervous.”
“Why, baby? Cedric has been at Meyerson Center all night reinforcing the chorus bleachers and your train. The girls will pull themselves together. They always do. All you have to do is walk a decently straight line on your father’s arm. If you can’t remember to say ‘I do,’ simply nod your head. Just don’t faint on me! That would be the mark of a rank amateur.”
“I’ve never fainted in my life. I’m not going to start today.”
Sliding an arm around Pippa’s shoulder, Thayne walked her to the elevator. “I am so proud of you. This is a historic day for the Walkers.”
“Or else?”
“Don’t even make a joke like that.” They boarded the elevator. “Rest a bit, Pippa. Wipe that look off your face. You’re too young for worry lines. I’ll send Brent down as soon as he’s done with the girls.”