by Julianne Lee
They went to a place called a bridal shop, and were presented with rack after rack of fluffy, white dresses. Everywhere. And where there weren’t racks, there were white drapery and mirrors. A raised platform covered in white carpet was surrounded on three sides by mirrors and white doors, with a canopy of gossamer white fabric.
“Only one color? All of them are white.”
Mrs. Mouliné gave a casual, dismissive wave. “Don’t worry, everyone wears white. It’s meaningless these days.”
“If it means naught, then why does everyone wear it?”
“Well, I certainly wouldn’t have wanted to have been married in anything but white. But then, I was married in the early seventies, back when people still pretended it meant something.”
Beth had not the faintest idea what a color could mean in a dress for being married in, but didn’t care to admit it. Her ignorance on this point, or any point, might be a dangerous thing in the hands of this woman, and Beth didn’t care to offer up a weapon. Instead she said, “Did it mean something to you when you married?”
The reply was a cold stare, then, “What a question to ask!” There was a dark pause, then she added, “I’m sure nobody needs to ask it of you.”
Her tone made the comment feel like a slap in the face, and Beth puzzled over what it could have meant. She sighed.
Meanwhile, Nick’s mother glanced her over and said, “Well, I’m sure you’ll be at least a size ten.” It was plain in her voice that this was tragic in her estimation. Beth happened to know, by the dress Nick had already bought for her, that she was a size twelve. Far better than a mere ten, and her endowments were filling out well because of her condition. Nick was pleased by it, and she was glad of it for that, as well as for the promise it gave of providing for the baby.
“Twelve. At the very least.”
Mrs. Mouliné sighed. “Yes, I’m afraid so.”
All these dresses were far too elaborate. One after another Beth tried on, but the skirts were too wide, the bodices too much adorned, the sleeves too long. They were made of fabrics Beth had never touched in her life, and were decorated with pearls, metals, embroidery and laces that seemed too fragile to be worn. Some revealed far too much of her, and others were too ugly for words.
“Mrs. Mouliné, I’m afraid these dinnae suit me.” The area where the mirrors stood was now festooned in dresses hung from stands and chairs. Mrs. Mouliné sat while Beth regarded herself in a frock that was entirely too short. Her legs were bare, and she appeared half naked.
“Nonsense. Just pick one.”
“But none of them is the dress I want.” And by asking a saleswoman to read the price tags for her, she knew none were within what Nick could pay. The price of even the least costly dress was not to be borne by a man who was not far wealthier than her future husband.
“They all look nice on you.” Weariness crept into the woman’s voice.
“I think I’d rather wait until Nick might help choose.”
“The groom should never see the bride in her dress before the wedding.”
“I’ve never heard of that.”
“Well, perhaps it’s an American thing. But it’s true. It’s bad luck.”
Beth thought she knew what was luck and what was not, and had never heard such a thing. “In any case, these dresses are far too fancy for me.”
“What about this one?” Mrs. Mouliné reached over to the next chair and held up a shiny, white dress that resembled a shift but only reached to just below her behind. Far shorter than even the one Beth had on.
“’Tis silk.” And an embarrassment to wear in public. “And too costly to wear but the one day. Nick would have it off of me as quickly as possible in any case, so I surely dinnae need one so expensive.”
She’d expected another quick argument from Mrs. Mouliné, but there was a heavy pause before she said, “But you want a nice dress.”
“I want a pretty dress. I am not so fetching in white, and would much prefer a blue.”
“You want a blue wedding dress?” It sounded as if Beth had asked for a plateful of worms.
“Aye. Blue would be pretty.”
“Nobody wears blue. Not the first time.”
“’Tis not my first wedding.”
Mrs. Mouliné shut her mouth and stared. “Not your first?”
Dread crept into Beth’s gut. If only she’d stayed in the apartment. “No.” She busied herself unzipping to get out of this awful garment.
“Is Nick aware of this?”
“Of course, he is. He’s met my first husband.”
“How long have you been divorced?”
Three hundred years. Beth thought for a moment to count the number of months that had passed before Nick came, while he was in Glencoe, and since they came here. “Five months.”
“And he’s okay with it?” Mrs. Mouliné sounded appalled.
“Have ye heard a complaint from him?” On the defensive now, her voice rose. It was time to go home, lest she let go of any more information.
“When did he meet your first husband? Is he here in the U.S.?”
“No.” But she had to lie, or it would make no sense. “Not any more. He’s left.”
“You said you had no family.”
“Gòrdan is no longer my family.” Another lie, for he was still her cousin and a clansman, but now she was scrambling to keep Nick’s mother from an accusation she could sense coming.
“But you still see him. You introduced him to Nick, and he was here though he lives in Scotland.”
Och. Beth fell silent and didn’t dare to say anything further, for she was only digging herself in deeper. If only Nick were here to know what needed to be said to make his mother stop asking questions!
There was a moment of deep thought from Mrs. Mouliné, and Beth could almost hear the clunk of a decision made. Then, “Well, nobody else knows, and I think you should wear the white as if this were your first. Nobody needs to be told you were married before.”
Beth wondered if she meant that, or if she was going to speak to Nick about this alone later. She pretended she believed the issue of Gòrdan was settled. “If I wear blue, they will know?”
“They’ll assume. I certainly would. If you wear white it at least doesn’t advertise your previous marriage.” Mrs. Mouliné waited while Beth thought about that.
“Very well.” She didn’t trust this any more than she trusted Nick’s mother to accept the first marriage, but she figured she could ask Nick when he came home whether she should wear white or blue. She began to restore her own clothes so they could leave.
“Good, then pick one out and put it on your credit card.”
“I wish for Nick to come with me to choose the dress.” Hundreds of dollars for even the ugliest garment. Nick would help her find something that wouldn’t cost so much.
“Never mind Nick. This is your day, not his.”
Beth frowned at Mrs. Mouliné. “I’ll not never mind Nick. Now, let us return to the apartment, for I’ve much work to do.”
“But Beth, we’ve got to go to the florist. You need to order flowers.”
“No flowers, I said.” Beth hung the discarded dress from a nearby rack and made for the door. “They’re far too costly.”
“Costly, schmostly. How can you have a wedding without flowers?” Nick’s mother gripped the arms of her chair.
“Come to the ceremony, and ye’ll see.” She couldn’t help the sharp edge to her voice, for her own temper was thin and failing quickly.
Mrs. Mouliné rose and followed her from the bridal shop, and the flower discussion continued. It lasted until Beth was able to say goodbye in front of the apartment building. Then she hurried inside, bolted the door, and leaned against it. Relief flooded her, as if she’d just escaped a bear in the forest.
She looked out the window, across the pool to the front gate of iron bars, and through it watched the little car drive off. This wedding was becoming something she’d never wanted. At home when people marr
ied there was a brief Mass or informal ceremony, then a big party. People ate and drank what could be had, and danced and sang, laughed and told stories, until they fell down from exhaustion or too much ale and whiskey. The celebration wasn’t so much about appearances as it was about the community. It was about the clan coming together to acknowledge the joining. And supporting the new family.
Her heart sank, and she likewise sank into the cushions of the sofa. All she’d wanted was to be married in the church and secure in her position as Nick’s wife. The family would be there, and Nick’s friends. She didn’t care about flowers, nor dresses, nor servants to make the food. The only important thing was the people who would come to witness the joining.
And that would not include her father. Not mother, nor Dùghall, nor anyone she’d known before a short while ago. Her family, even Gòrdan, were all long dead, and would never see her happiness nor acknowledge her new life with Nick.
Loneliness washed over her. She missed the clan. She missed her home. Her hands over her face, she burst into tears.
By the time Nick came home that evening she’d recovered, and didn’t tell him of his mother’s visit. There was no sense in upsetting him, and the issue of the dress was unimportant in any case. They would find a dress that would be acceptable, and it might even be a white one. In silence she served the supper she’d prepared, while he went to the bedroom to change from his work clothes.
But while they ate Nick noticed her state and began annoying her about it. During supper he stared at her, and in the conversation he kept asking if everything was all right. She insisted it was, and though he nodded and said he was glad to hear it, she knew he didn’t believe her. She skirted the subject of his mother and avoided telling him about the shopping trip, though he seemed to know there was something missing from her tales of the day. His probing only resulted in stiff silences from her.
Once the kitchen was cleaned and the dishes put away, he hung the drying rag on its hook and took her by the hand. “Come,” he said, “It’s a clear night; I want to show you something,” and guided her from the apartment and out to his car.
They drove toward the mountains in the east, along one of the wide roads where people drove even faster than usual and they never stopped until after leaving the path. No signal lights and no crossroads; it was like an enormous river of cars cutting a swath through the city. The sun had fully set, and the lights were bright everywhere, cars moving this way and that among the lanes marked for their passage. After a few minutes’ driving, Nick turned off this wide road onto a road that ascended more and more steeply. It soon began to narrow, and grew curvy. As they climbed, Nick turned onto more steep, winding roads. Here there were fewer and fewer lights. Houses were not so close together, nor so close to the road, and they became fewer until there didn’t seem to be any at all. Only trees and rocky slopes. Nick came around a bend where he then slowed, and Beth’s mouth dropped open at the breathtaking sight before her. The car eased onto the dirt shoulder, and stopped.
Spread out beneath them was a blanket of lights against utter blackness. More numerous than stars they were, and infinitely more colorful. It seemed to go on forever into the distance, an endless sea of light points: some moving, some still. And at the center of this panorama the lights seemed to rise from the basin floor. Starting wide, then narrowing at the center, a column seemed to gather and thrust upward in a plume of blinking, dazzling lights in colors she could never have imagined. Higher and higher at the center, like an inverted whirlpool that reached for the star-sprinkled sky and then seemed to meld with it.
“What is that?” She couldn’t speak above a whisper.
“It’s downtown Los Angeles. When the wind kicks up and the air is clear, you can see all the way to the ocean from here. And you can see all the tall buildings in LA lit up. I think it sort of looks like an underwater explosion under a black light.”
“It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
“I like to come up here even when it’s not clear, just to see the stars.” He reached up to pull a lever at the top of his windshield, and a motor began to hum somewhere. The car top broke away from the windshield, and began to move backward.
Beth watched it go. “Do all cars have this ability?”
Nick chuckled. “No. Just convertibles.”
“Convertibles,” she repeated. Her English wasn’t as good as she’d once thought; she’d learned many new words since coming here.
The car top tucked itself behind the rear seat, and Nick reached across her lap to pull another lever. “Lie back.” She did so, and her seat lay flat so she was staring up at the starry blanket of sky above. She’d not seen so many stars in this time, and now realized she’d missed the glittering sky over Glencoe. “It’s beautiful.”
Nick pulled the lever on his own seat and lay back beside her. Hands tucked behind his head, he sighed as he looked upward. “Let me know if you get cold.”
“The temperature is quite comfortable.”
He grinned and looked over at her. “Oh, yeah, I forgot. You like it chilly.” He rolled toward her and propped his head on an elbow. “You don’t need anyone to keep you warm.” He was no longer smiling, and she kept her eyes on the stars above. His voice became a low murmur. “You won’t tell me what’s bothering you.’
“Naught bothers me.”
For a moment she thought he would let the subject drop, but then he said, “I’ve only known you for a few months, Beth, but I think I can tell when there’s something you’re not saying. Especially when you know it’s something you should be telling me.”
“There’s naught.”
“What happened today? Did you see something on TV again you didn’t like?”
“No. ’Tis the TV I dinnae like, so I dinnae turn it on.” A lie, for it was the stories of divorce, adultery and betrayal she’d seen that made her avoid the contraption.
“Then, what?”
He wasn’t going to let her just not tell him. And if she kept on resisting, he would think it worse than it truly was. So she said, “Your mother came to see me today.”
“Ah.” Nick laid his free hand over his face, then ran his fingers through his hair. “Good ol’ Mom. What did she say this time that I’m going to have to deny or explain or whatever?”
“Naught. ’Twas myself who spoke too much.”
Now he frowned. “Of what?”
“Gòrdan. I told her I was married before.”
“Did you tell her Gòrdan has been dead for, lo, these several centuries?”
“Of course not. But she was terribly interested in who he was and how long since we’d been married. I’m afraid I’m not a very skilled liar.”
“I’ll say, you’re not.”
“Indeed. I expect she could try to make trouble over it.”
“How?”
Beth shrugged. “However she might. I told her you’ve met Gòrdan—”
“Why’d you do that?”
“She’d suggested I was hiding the truth from you. Hiding Gòrdan. So I wanted her to know how well you kent the truth.”
Nick grunted. “I see.”
“I apologize for my clumsiness.”
“Nah. Don’t worry about Mom. She can bitch all she wants; she can’t cause any real trouble. Darlene knows better and ignores her, and if Dad wants to listen to her he can kiss my ass the same as her.”
“Your mother kisses—”
“Figure of speech, hon.”
“Och. Good.” She returned her attention to the diamond-studded sky and felt the gentle night air move in a slight breeze.
He reached over to fiddle with a bit of hair that had come loose from her ribbon. His voice went soft again, and he murmured, “Relax, sweetheart, I won’t let them hurt you. Not the English, not anyone.”
She took her eyes off the stars and looked over at him. His face was in shadow, outlined only in moonlight, but she could see he was serious. She touched her cheek to the back of his hand, an
d he stroked it. Then he shifted toward her on his seat and leaned down to kiss her.
Here in the mountains the air was cool and Nick’s mouth was very warm. Beth laid her hand aside his face and opened to him. She felt safe, as if she were still in the glen. She wanted him, to give herself to him again so he would know she was his and she trusted him.
“A Neacail. Let us go home. I wish to love you.”
He made a pleased sound in the back of his throat and reached for the button on her trews. “Your wish is my command.”
“We cannae do it here; the seat is too small.”
A grin brought light to his face under the moon. “You need to learn about good ol’ American ingenuity. Nothing is impossible.” He opened her trews, then reached under the front edge of her seat between her knees. A yank of a lever, and her seat slid back, nearly all the way to the rear seat. Then he shoved her trews and drawers from her hips, and she helped him, wiggling them down until they were over her bare feet and off. He took them in a wad and set them on the rear seat, then raised up and let himself down onto the floor before her seat to kneel between her knees. The night air was chilly on her privates, and exhilarating. Goose bumps rose all over, and especially when he raised her sark over her breasts to unhook her bra, lift it as well, and take one of them into his mouth. The stars above twinkled at her, and the branches of nearby pine trees swished in the breeze. Nick held a nipple between his teeth for a moment, then said in a husky, amused voice, “A cop drives by, we’re busted.”
To be sure, for she had learned the word “cop” and could guess what “busted” meant. But she wanted him, and she wanted him to hurry. She reached for the button of his trews.
He loosened them himself, and shoved them down as far as he could, so they crumpled about his knees. “Here, sit up.” He reached for the lever at the side of her seat and slipped a hand under her arm to draw her toward him. Not far, but enough so she was now looking at him instead of the sky. He leaned over her, kissed her deeply, and slipped an arm around her waist to shift her hips downward toward the front edge of the seat.