Take on Me

by Sarah Mayberry

  “Pinch me, quick,” she said to Grace as her friend came over to collect a glass of champagne.

  “Sure,” Grace said, obliging with a gentle nip on Sadie’s arm. “Better?”

  Sadie grinned and slid an arm around her friend’s waist. “Where would I be without you guys?”

  Claudia joined them, and she slid an arm around her waist, too. Across the room, the mirror reflected their images back at them and Sadie couldn’t help smiling. What a mismatched set—Claudia the pocket-rocket, string-bean old her and Grace the va-voom vamp.

  “I love you guys. Thanks so much for doing this with me,” she said.

  Claudia and Grace squeezed their arms tighter around her waist, and she had to stare at the ceiling for a few seconds and blink like crazy to avoid crying.

  “Suck ’em back in, Sadie—no brides with panda eyes on our shift,” Claudia said encouragingly.

  Sadie laughed, the humor helping to restore her equilibrium. Bang on time, the doorbell rang.

  “God, the car’s here already,” she said, her nerves ratcheting up a notch.

  The next five minutes were spent in a bustle of activity as they gathered all the items Grace and Claudia considered necessary to maintaining her appearance through the ceremony and reception—including the rest of the bottle of champagne. Her bridesmaids spent another five minutes out in the street discussing the best way for Sadie to sit on her skirt, until finally Sadie stepped past them and squished herself into the seat.

  “Easy,” she said when they stared at her, scandalized.

  The church was a ten-minute drive away, and she sat back and tried to let the sunny blue sky soothe her. It was useless, however—her brain was like a hamster on a wheel. What if she forgot her vows? She’d always been hopeless at remembering lines. And what if she tripped when she walked up the aisle and her skirt flipped up and—God! Had she even remembered to put underwear on? She clapped a hand to her hip, but was unable to feel anything through all the layers of fabric.

  She turned to Claudia on her right. “Did I put underwear on? Can you remember?” she asked urgently.

  Claudia patted her arm reassuringly. “You need to stop thinking, sweetie,” she said firmly.

  Sadie opened her mouth to protest, then her sense of humor caught up with her and she collapsed into laughter.

  Which was why she almost missed seeing her uncle Gus standing out front of the church, frantically waving the driver on as they approached. At the last minute, however, as the car swept past the church, she registered the formally dressed man gyrating like a maniac on the sidewalk.

  Swiveling in her seat, she craned her neck to look out the rear window and confirm it really was Gus, and that they really had driven straight past the church.

  “Um…hello?” she said, leaning forward to tap on the glass dividing the back of the limo from the driver. “Wasn’t that the church back there?”

  “Yeah, but we got waved on. I’m going to do a lap,” the driver explained.

  Sadie sat back with a thump and stared first at Claudia and then Grace.

  “What the hell?” she finally asked.

  Both her friends were looking equally confused.

  “Maybe they’re waiting on something,” Grace suggested.

  Sadie bit her lip. A horrible, dark thought slithered into her mind and she tried not to look in its direction. It was useless, however—she worked on a daytime soap. She’d written or helped plot this scene too many times over the years. Happy bride, perfect day, laughter—then disaster. Dead groom. Groom gravely ill due to car accident. Revolt in groom’s far-off European principality—she’d done them all over the years.

  “Can we go back, please?” she asked the driver anxiously. “I don’t want to do a lap of the church.”

  “But—” the driver objected.

  “You heard the bride. Turn the car around,” Claudia ordered, her producer’s voice firmly in place.

  Sighing audibly, the driver spun the wheel and the car turned back toward the church.

  As they approached from the opposite direction, Sadie could see her uncle had been joined by her pale-faced aunt, Martha. His shoulders were slumped and he shook his head as they discussed something intently.

  “Oh shit,” she whispered under her breath. Another series of worst-case scenarios flitted across her mind: groom runs off with best friend. Bomb threat on church. Groom turns out to be bride’s secret brother.

  “I know what you’re thinking, and I know it’s hard to rein in that imagination of yours because of what we do for a living, but this is not Ocean Boulevard,” Grace said firmly. “It’s probably something lame like the priest has had too much altar wine, or Greg’s allergic to his boutonniere.”

  Sadie took a deep breath and forced herself to let go of the awful, over-the-top scenarios racing across her mind. Grace was right. She was overreacting. She wouldn’t go borrowing trouble—she’d simply face whatever was wrong and deal with it.

  Her uncle must have heard the car, because he turned and frowned as the limo came to a halt.

  Despite her vow to herself, Sadie leaned across Claudia to push the door open, unable to wait for the chauffeur to do it. Claudia slid out instantly, turning to help Sadie drag herself and her silk train from the car. The click of heels on the pavement told her that Grace was circling the car from the other side, but all Sadie’s attention was on Gus.

  “What’s going on?” she asked. She was clutching her bouquet in a death grip, her knuckles white.

  “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Gus said, and Sadie knew then, without a doubt, that she was about to have a Soap Wedding.

  Behind her, she heard Grace’s swift, shocked intake of breath, and Claudia muttered a four-letter word.

  “He’s not here?” Sadie guessed, taking a stab at which soap cliché she was about to get sucked into. Of course, she could rule out a few right from the start. To her knowledge, Greg was not the prince of some far-flung European country. And she was pretty sure he wasn’t her brother, given that he was the spitting image of his father. Also, her two best friends in all the world were standing behind her, so neither of them had run off with him.

  “He had a note delivered,” Martha said, handing over a plain letter-size envelope.

  Sadie stared down at it for a long moment before passing her bouquet to Grace. Her hands were trembling as she slid a finger beneath the seal and tore the envelope open. There was a single piece of paper inside. Greg had gone to the trouble of printing it, she saw, rather than writing it by hand. She had a flash of him mulling over the composition of the letter on his notebook computer, adding and deleting words as he pondered how best to break it to her. He obviously hadn’t mulled for too long, however. The note was devastatingly short.

  Dear Sadie,

  I know I’m the one who wanted to hurry, but you were right. It’s too soon to get married. Don’t worry, I’ll pay for everything. I just need some time to get my head together. Forward the bills as they come.

  Yours, Greg

  Her hand dropped to her side and she blinked back the storm of tears that was pressing against the backs of her eyes. That was it? He was dumping her at the altar, and she only got a handful of words?

  “What did he say?” Claudia asked.

  Sadie held out the letter. There was a short silence as Claudia and Grace read the note then passed it to her aunt and uncle.

  “He never said anything, hinted at anything…?” Martha asked, bewildered.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Claudia’s head come up.

  “You mean like, ‘Sadie, I don’t think I’m going to turn up tomorrow’? That kind of thing?” Claudia asked in a dangerously calm voice.

  Sadie laid a hand on her arm. “Claud,” she said. This was not her aunt’s fault. She was a good woman who’d done her best to fill in the gaps in Sadie’s life when her parents were killed in a car accident seven years ago. Martha was blown away—as they all were.

  “I can�
�t believe this,” Grace said, her eyes scanning over and over the few words on the note. “This is…unbelievable.”

  Sadie lifted her eyes to contemplate the stately church in front of her.

  Inside, more than two hundred of her and Greg’s friends and relatives were waiting to celebrate their wedding. The men would be in suits, the women in gorgeous-but-deadly designer high heels that they knew they’d regret by the time the reception was over. In their cars, presents would be sitting, wrapped and ready to put on the gift table once they arrived at the reception. Toasters, kettles, towels, glassware. The wherewithal to set up a new home. Her and Greg’s new home.

  She hoped they’d all kept their receipts.

  She clenched her hands together as a wave of humiliation and hurt threatened to descend. She wanted nothing more than to turn on her heel and get the hell out of here. To pretend that she had never been so foolish as to believe the words of handsome Greg Sinclair when he’d looked into her eyes and told her he adored her. That he wanted to marry her, as soon as possible. That he’d never felt more sure of anything in his life.

  “Let’s go,” Claudia said decisively. She gestured toward the waiting car where the chauffeur was doing his best not to look too interested in what was going on. This would be a bit of a treat for him, Sadie reflected distractedly. A twist on the usual.

  “Yes, your friend is right, sweetheart,” Gus said. “You go, and we’ll let everyone know that there’s been an incident, and the wedding’s been postponed.”

  Sadie winced at her uncle’s choice of words. She knew he thought they’d save her face, but everyone in the church would know the truth. It was pretty damned obvious what had happened—the groom hadn’t shown up.

  She could imagine them all whispering behind their order-of-service booklets while she stood outside trying to work out what to do. Why is it all taking so long? Where’s the groom? Shouldn’t he be waiting at the altar?

  Suddenly it all felt suffocatingly familiar. The refrain from Sheryl Crow’s “All I Wanna Do” tinkled its way through her mind, and for a horrible moment she was standing in the middle of the gym again as her classmates mocked and pitied her.

  “No!” she said suddenly, determined to shake the past off.

  Everyone stared at her.

  “No, what?” Grace asked.

  “No, I’m not going,” Sadie said. She turned toward the church and started walking before her courage failed her.

  The others scrambled to keep up.

  “You don’t have to do this, Sadie,” Claudia said, trying to hustle in her ankle-length sheath and high heels.

  “Yeah, I do. They’re my friends and family. I invited them all here,” Sadie said with determination.

  “We can do it,” Grace said, dodging in front of her. “Let us do it. Please.”

  “I want to do it,” Sadie said through gritted teeth. “I need to do it.”

  It was true. She knew they’d all feel sorry for her, and she didn’t want or need their pity. Would do anything to avoid it, in fact.

  Grace slowly stepped aside, and Sadie continued her headlong march toward the church door. The coolness of the vestibule enveloped her as she pushed open the ornate double doors. She almost tripped on her voluminous skirts, and she looked down to see her train had gotten caught in the door. She felt tears looming again as she tugged her dress loose, as though the act of pausing had allowed the shame and hurt to catch up with her.

  God, she couldn’t do this. But she had to. For herself. She took a step forward.

  “Wait,” Grace said.

  Sadie steeled herself to be firm again, but Grace pointed at her mouth.

  “You’ve got lipstick on your teeth,” she said quietly.

  Sadie rubbed her thumb across her incisors and smiled for her friends.

  “How’s that?”

  “Good,” Grace said tightly.

  Nodding her thanks, Sadie grabbed a big fistful of silk and lifted it to her waist so she could walk more freely. Claudia and Grace stepped ahead of her, their expressions tortured as they shoved the inner doors open for her.

  An abrupt silence fell as two hundred and twelve people swiveled in their seats to stare at her as she stood at the top of the aisle. At the front of the church, the organist gasped with surprise and automatically dropped her hands down onto the keyboard. The first few notes of “Here Comes The Bride” sounded before the woman snatched her hands away, blushing furiously.

  Humiliated heat rushed to Sadie’s cheeks as the echoes died. Eyes straight ahead, she strode briskly up the aisle toward the altar where the priest, Father Baker, was eyeing her sympathetically.

  Claudia and Grace flanked her, their faces set. Sadie had no idea what her own face was doing. She was just concentrating on not crying, not throwing up and walking. That was about all she could handle at the moment.

  The priest came down off his three-step elevation to meet her.

  “Sadie, my dear,” he said, reaching out a hand.

  “I’m sorry for wasting your time, Father,” she said stiffly. “If you’ll give me a moment, we’ll get out of your hair.”

  He looked surprised when she swept past him and stepped up to the microphone on the pulpit. Flicking the switch on the microphone’s side, she took a deep breath and lifted her gaze at last to confront her waiting audience.

  Every last person was holding their breath. Some of them were even leaning forward in anticipation. It was almost funny. Almost.

  “Sorry to keep you all waiting,” she said. Her voice broke on the last word, and she cleared her throat and blinked back the tears that had rushed to her eyes. She was not going to cry. Not yet.

  She felt Grace’s hand on her back as her friend moved behind her. The warm knowledge that Grace and Claudia were here helped her focus.

  “As you might have noticed, we seem to be short a groom. Don’t you hate that?” she said wryly.

  Her audience stirred, and a few people tittered. They hadn’t expected wise-cracking, but it was all she had to offer at the moment.

  “I don’t suppose anyone wants to volunteer on short notice?” she asked, raising an eyebrow and looking around, pretending she was waiting for someone to step up to the plate. More embarrassed laughter and uncertainty from her audience. “Can’t be tempted? Bummer. I guess it’s party time, then. And I expect to see each and every one of you at the reception—Greg has assured me he’s paying, so let’s make sure we blow out the bar tab.”

  Pinning a bright, confident smile on her face, Sadie stepped back from the mike.

  Claudia’s face was pale as she helped gather up Sadie’s skirts so she could march back up the aisle.

  “Are you sure…?” Claudia asked in an undertone. “I mean, the reception…?”

  “Yes. No. I don’t know.”

  Sadie had no idea how she was going to get through finger food plus three courses, but somehow she had to.

  There was a muted murmur as she strode up the aisle, head high.

  Then she was outside, heading toward the limo. The chauffeur hastily butted out his cigarette and leaped to open the door for her. She practically dove into the rear of the car, one hand reaching for the half-full champagne bottle before her dress train had even made it through the door. All pretense at grace or composure gone, she lifted the bottle to her mouth and guzzled greedily. A small rivulet of golden champagne trickled over her chin and down between her breasts. She didn’t give a hoot.

  Claudia and Grace wedged themselves in beside her, and Claudia reached over to secure the seat belt over the scrunched-up folds of Sadie’s dress.

  Sadie took another hearty slug of champagne before speaking.

  “I hope you’ve broken those shoes in, ladies, because tonight we are dancing,” she announced bravely.

  DYLAN ANDERSON SMILED to himself as he pulled down the last photo from the corkboard in his office. It had been taken using a Polaroid camera during a long, crazy afternoon in the story room when everyone had been
banging their heads against the wall, trying to come up with something to fill sixty minutes of commercial television for Box-Office Cable’s hit drama, The Boardroom. The smile turned into a grin as he studied the shot—six grown, adult people crowded together, their features hopelessly distorted by the adhesive tape they’d used to fix their faces into weird, strange configurations. It was puerile, adolescent—and that was being generous. Particularly given the net total of their salaries. But sometimes the pressure cooker of the writers’ room had to blow. And, in his experience, something strange, funny and wonderful always came out of it.

  Okay, maybe the day of the taped faces wasn’t the best example of the phenomena—but it was a great memory, which was why he was taking all his Polaroid shots with him. Each one represented a moment he wanted to remember. The Boardroom had been his best TV writing experience to date, a rare convergence of inspired creator, simpatico writing team and talented directors, cast and crew. An absolute gift, from beginning to end. But Dylan had still opted not to renew his contract with the show for another year.

  He’d been tempted. It was always tempting to stay where you knew you were appreciated, and your work was consistently affirmed by the television industry in the form of award nominations, stellar reviews and high ratings. But Dylan had never been the kind of guy to rest on his laurels. Despite what certain people in his past might think. He had goals, and nothing short of the extinction of the entire human race was going to stop him from achieving them.

  His hand dropped to the thick envelope sitting on his desk, already addressed and ready for the courier to pick up. His feature screenplay, finished at last. The first of many, he hoped. Ready to send off to his agent so she could begin shopping it around. He patted the envelope, thinking of all the long hours he’d spent plotting the damned thing, writing, rewriting, then rewriting again to get it where he wanted it.