The Bride Wore Black

by Montgomery, Shunta

  The Bride Wore Black

  by

  Shunta Montgomery

  ISBN 978-1-4303-1911-5

  Copyright © 2007 Shunta Montgomery

  All Rights Reserved

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.

  Publisher’s Note:

  The Bride Wore Black is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, event or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Tiffany 101…

  If someone had hurt you, I’m talking ripped your heart out, sliced it into little pieces, drove needles through it and then sewed it back up in your chest, would you get even? I am not talking about purposely running them down with your car; but if the opportunity presented itself would you take it?

  The adult in you is probably screaming that I am a raving lunatic and there is no way any mature, responsible adult could ever answer that question with a yes. When it comes to matters of the heart I don’t think any of us are mature and responsible adults. Until the situation for revenge arose in my life, I had no idea what my answer would be.

  It wasn’t until June 4, 2006 that I found the answer to that question. Before I get ahead of myself and tell you my ultimate decision, I think I should fill you in on a few not so delicate details.

  I never thought I would become the cliché wife. Nobody ever enters into marriage thinking that one day they’ll be the woman who has the husband who leaves her for the blonde bombshell. Allison really didn’t seem like Brendon’s type. She’s everything that I’m not. She’s tall, slender and lacking curves in all the right places. I’m five-four, dark hair, dark eyes and perfectly caramel skin. I have curves—which Brendon always seemed to love.

  It was not until after our scandalous separation that Brendon’s friends informed me that I was the “exception” in his long line of girlfriends. Richard had said, “I honestly didn’t believe him when he introduced you as his girlfriend because you were…well you were different.”

  To my surprise Allison was a perfect match for Brendon’s type. I was the experimental detour in a long line of women. I hadn’t asked about his previous girlfriends. I hadn’t needed to because I knew that Brendon loved every part of me. Maybe if I had asked, assuming I would have received a truthful answer, I might have known that disaster was just around the bend. For the “blonde bombshells” of the world I was the other woman. I was the exotic female that came and stole their man away—briefly stole him away.

  As I always say there’s no going back because going back is for sissies and going forward is for the brave. After the divorce was finalized I set my mind to building a solid foundation for my future. My future had no mistakes in it—at that point anyway. I had some very interesting situations ahead of me. As they say, anything can happen. It all started to come together when I joined the staff at Tiffany Weddings.

  April 20, 2006

  I was fresh out of job number sixty-three and eagerly anticipating my new role as wedding consultant at Tiffany Weddings. I needed a fresh start after my divorce; it’s how I justified fudging the truth in the interview. Shelly Pratt had asked me how many weddings I had planned, and before I realized it, “fifteen,” I had said. Fifteen was a drastic stretch of the truth. I had at least planned, in its entirety, one wedding. I knew that Shelly really wanted to know why she should hire a thirty-year-old woman who had ventured down more career paths than Liz had husbands, and had managed to get a mail order education on bridal consulting. So I lied. I told Shelly exactly what she wanted to hear, hoping my lie wouldn’t end my career before it got started.

  “Anise we’re thrilled to have you on board,” Shelly’s perfectly stained pink lips tilted upwards. Her smile was full of warmth and sincerity, putting me at ease instantly.

  “A woman with your experience should have no problem here, but I should probably let you know of a few rules.” I took in her crisp blue eyes. They were a vast difference from the friendly smile I had just been given. Something told me these rules weren’t the normal do the job as I tell you too rules.

  “Screw up and you’re out so fast you won’t see the door that’s going to hit you in the ass on the way out.” At that moment I knew I was in trouble. Shelly, up to that point, had been the very picture of civilized, high-class society. She was a socialite, beautiful even in her fifties, strong and a successful businesswoman, but that curse word had escaped her lips so easily. It was just enough to shock me back into reality. Business was business and most people didn’t take kindly to having their business screwed up.

  “We have never had a Tiffany wedding cancelled and I do not intend to see that change now,” she fixed her eyes on me. “You will be therapist, seamstress, buyer, consultant and if need be you’ll bake the cake. We here at Tiffany’s will do anything to have the perfect Tiffany wedding.” she pointed her finger at me as if to say don’t think I’ll take anything less.

  “Your first assignment,” she waved her hand at me, dismissing me from her presence. I had not exactly caught on that when Shelly Pratt passed off an assignment it was final.

  “I can’t do this one,” I read the name on the pink folder. Brendon Meyers and Allison Hildegrant had been perfectly typed in the corner tab. “He’s my ex-husband.” Any woman with a heart would have understood my position.

  “I’m sorry dear, but we don’t get to pick our weddings.” I could see that my protest was going to be unheard, but I tried anyway. “Perhaps you would prefer I gave the job to somebody else.” I knew the meaning of her words; she wasn’t just talking about the Meyers/Hildegrant wedding.

  “No. I’m sure I can give them the wedding they deserve.”

  I would give them a Tiffany wedding all right. Brendon had left me six months prior to his engagement news. In fact, he had left me for her. After a six month long, embittered divorce we were both finally free. He and Allison were engaged two days after the divorce papers were signed and our marriage legally ended. I knew that Brendon had merely waited until the divorce was final to make the announcement. The truth was they had an agreement long before he walked out of our door. Out of all the wedding planning firms in the Phoenix area they just had to walk into this one.

  Tiffany Weddings was the most elegant and prestigious firm in Phoenix. If I bombed out of this agency, it would be a hot day in Alaska before I set foot in another one. I would give them all the elegance of Tiffany; even though my vision of the nuptials had taken on a much more sinister view.

  “Good girl. Now,” she waved her hand at me as if she were shooing away a puppy. “You have plenty to prepare if you’re to be ready for your ten o’clock appointment with the lovely couple.”

  I felt my heart racing with panic as I left Shelly’s office. Ten o’clock! Today! I needed at least a week to prepare myself. Brendon had been the love of my life. We had been married for ten years and now I was planning his wedding to somebody else. I was not ready for him to get remarried, and I surely was not mature enough to plan the event.

  Megan Finnegan, my assistant and apparently personal cheerleader for as long as I held my office, spent the morning filling me in on the office death traps. Donna Piassecki was the office “keeper of hell.”

  Everybody had assumed the devil had given her the keys in an effort to save himself. Megan warned me that Donna would probably hate me for getting the position she wanted. It was at
that point that I realized my small lie had just landed me in a boatload of trouble. My little entry level position was not so entry level. The office should have given it away, but it was such an upscale company that I assumed all the wedding planners had an office with a window view of Downtown Phoenix. Shelly had even tossed out the term “lead consultant” occasionally during our morning entrance meeting, but I thought she meant that as future tense.

  I guess I should backtrack for a moment. When I decided to go to Tiffany’s and apply for an entry level bridal consulting position I made sure all of my proverbial ducks were in a row. I picked a few of my closest friends and asked them to write references.

  Paul was the first person I saw when I landed at Tiffany’s that fateful day. He thought I was looking for a wedding planner. He jumped at the chance to show me the office. Shelly was his first stop. “Potential client,” he had said. This is when I first realized his standard Tiffany spill was to land an account.

  “Actually I’m applying for a consulting position.”

  Shelly immediately took me away from Paul and instant interview was formed. My portfolio was flawless. Well, if you don’t count the massive lies my friends told in their effort to help me out.

  Taylor had been the most helpful. I had helped her considerably for her wedding and bridal parties that she had written a glowing recommendation on how well equipped I was to handle any task thrown my way. That was ten years ago, so Helena decided to help me out as well. She wrote about my extreme professionalism when assisting her with her wedding plans. I had only helped her pick out the menu. Then there was Eden. She had written the most beautiful and well scripted, lie of them all.

  “Wow, you planned a wedding for over six hundred.” I tried to keep the shock from registering on my face when Shelly revealed that slightly less than true statement. “That is impressive for a soloist.”

  I would say it was impressive. I had attended Eden’s wedding, maybe helped make sure the groom did not fall apart the morning of, but I hadn’t had a hand in the event other than that. She not only greatly exaggerated my assistance, but she also exaggerated the number of people at the wedding. There were barely a hundred people in attendance. Obviously I hadn’t done a wonderful job at advising my friends on their writings.

  I figured it best not to look too surprised. It was my fault really. I was in such a hurry to get things together that I had not read any of the letters. I had assembled some pictures from their weddings, the photos I had taken when I was experiencing my creative side. I put in samples of the invitations and the letters of recommendation. Everything was in its proper place. My interview presence and the beautiful portfolio had sealed the deal. No good lie goes unpunished, and I was getting my punishment two fold.

  It wasn’t until Megan informed me that the people who could plan the big weddings and keep their social life to a minimum were in the “society wing,” everybody else was in “the other wing” that I realized I might just be in over my head.

  “How does one get out of “the other wing”?

  “They don’t,” she said.

  “Watch out for Shannon, she smiles when she’s around you, but she’s a spy in hiding. She tends to stick to Donna on the underhanded schemes, so watch your step. I tried to warn the other girl, but you know I guess she decided not to listen. I’ll just hope you have more sense.” The other girl was Heather, the woman in the office before me.

  “Dave is a sweetie; he’ll be nice to you. Paul is a flirt. He’s slept with most of the women in the company, including me. If Shelly calls put on your running shoes and get in her office stat. The rest of the assistants are too busy covering their backs to care about you. Oh and nobody ever says they’re behind or they haven’t done something, even if they are and they haven’t. You’ll say ‘I’m right on top of that’—except to Paul. He usually replies that he’d rather have you on top of something else…”

  I tried to keep the information from collapsing every neuron in my brain as I watched Megan’s lips move in what my cousin Jerry would have called “warp speed”. The slender brunette had been so eager to share the office gossip that she had barely left room for breathing. My head filled with information so fast I thought I would go into meltdown. Tiffany 101 before planning for Brendon’s wedding was not a great combination.

  “Oh and Anise,” I looked up realizing Megan had finally surfaced for air. “Don’t trust anybody.” I had assumed she was referring to the hastened way Heather had been escorted out of the office. “Around here you’re on your own. When I say nobody that includes me too. I work for whoever is in this office, but if you’re on your way out I’m not goin’ with ya if you know what I mean.”

  My friend Taylor had once said that the greener grass on the other side of the fence is really the manure of a sick animal, we just don’t realize the stench until we’re stuck knee deep in it. At that point I realized I was knee deep. I was in hell, and my first encounter with its keeper was unavoidable.

  Donna walked into my office as if she owned it. I guess in her mind she did own it, and it was only a matter of time until the unwelcome intruder was ousted.

  “These are yours too,” Donna tossed a pile of unorganized folders onto my desk.

  “Excuse me.” I gave her a look that should have shot down her confident sarcasm, but had only managed to add more fuel to her fire.

  “Well when Shelly told us of your talent, fifteen weddings in one summer…” I tried to keep the shock from registering on my face. I was sure that Donna’s cold, emerald colored eyes would scan out my deceit. “I must admit I was shocked.”

  So was I; especially since I hadn’t heard the question as how many weddings had I done in one summer. Stick a fork in me Phoenix; I’m done.

  “You’re so good at this that I thought you’d be perfect for the Meyers/Hildegrant affair as well as these. Ciao,” she swiveled her hips out of my office. At that precise moment I understood everything Megan had been telling me and everything that she had not. Donna Piassecki was a disaster in waiting.

  Coming in as lead consultant at the start of what I like to call “bridal mania” season meant that all of my brides would be down the aisle within a four month time span. Some of the work had already been started, but that didn’t make my job any easier.

  “Anise your ten o’clock is here.” Megan gave me a thumb up and a quick smile.

  “Show them in.” I quickly removed all sharp objects from my immediate grasp. In all of my years of being married to Brendon it wasn’t until the end that he found my weak spots, my hot zones, and all the buttons to push to send me into a furious rant.

  “Well would you look at this; my ex is planning my wedding.” Brendon nearly laughed. “When Donna recommended I let you plan I was a little skeptical.” At that point I knew Donna and I were simply never going to be peaceful work mates. We would probably kill each other first.

  Thanks to the keeper of hell I had to plan five weddings. Two of which worried me more than any of the others. I had to brave the threshold of maturity and work with Brendon, who had broken my heart and abandoned me; Allison who had been the adulteress that took down what could have been a lifelong relationship; and Evelyn Chase, who wanted to have her wedding in a place where the owner had made adamant broadcast that there never has been and never will be a wedding at North Point.

  I understood Evelyn’s desire to be married at such a luxurious resort, but Alexander Covington, the owner, was not in a hurry to go back on his promise.

  After twenty minutes with my clients, I was assured that my professionalism could far outweigh the darker side of a broken heart. A lie would always come back to haunt my waking hours, and given a chance, good would eternally be linked with disaster. Instead of feeling sorry for myself I decided to turn my seeming misfortune into gold.

  By the end of the day I had began to move slowly out of what Taylor referred to as the manure of a sick animal, and by the end of the week I had reached greener pastures, with the
occasional pile of crap to watch out for. I found that as long as I didn’t step in the pile the stench didn’t follow me home.

  “How’s the job?”

  Taylor had been my best friend since high school. We moved to Arizona within weeks of each other. We were married within months of each other, and even though nobody thought that her marriage would last past the first year she and Dan had made it work while Brendon and I had fallen apart.

  “Fine,” I grunted.

  “I thought it was getting better,” she spoke in her ‘I’m here for you’ tone that she often gave me when things seemed to be going down hill fast.

  “No really it’s fine considering I’ve brought work home every evening. Evelyn isn’t budging on the North Point wedding and my calendar puts me at dress shopping with the enemy tomorrow.”

  For a week I had planned, calculated, shopped and bargained on my own. Now it was time to include the brides. Out of all of my brides, Allison was the only one I wished I could have pawned off on Megan.

  “Look on the bright side.”

  “You mean the one where Allison and Brendon both contract some exotic, yet incurable disease and they die excruciatingly painful deaths.”

  “The other bright side sweetie.”

  “Oh.” Taylor always seemed to handle my battle with maturity much better than my subconscious.

  “You know what you need?” I hadn’t bothered to think of a response. I knew the tone of Taylor’s voice meant she already had an answer. “You need to start dating again.” Her words hit me like a freight train barreling down hill. I hadn’t considered dating again. Until I started planning Brendon’s wedding a small part of my brain actually thought he might come back to me.

  What Donna Piassecki hadn’t known was that in one second of her batting her eyes and swiveling her hips to get Brendon to hire me, she had set in motion my recovery. Of course at that point I hadn’t known it either.