Draw Me A Picture

by Meredith Greene

  Michelle absorbed this information in silence.

  “I want beautiful… but simple,” she said, looking Laurel in the eye.

  “We can do that,” the lady said.

  “Does she ever stop smiling?” Michelle wondered. “Well, maybe just a look, at Vera Wang...” she acquiesced. Laurel beamed.

  “This is going to be so much fun! I’ve never helped plan a wedding before, but I always wanted to...” The young woman sounded like a teenager would upon finding out that they are going to vacation in Europe for the summer. “I’ll just go get us a table downstairs in the American Brasserie restaurant. Don’t be long; they start serving breakfast at 6:30.” With a toss of her blond curls, Laurel skipped gaily down the corridor to the elevators. Michelle looked dazedly at the hall carpet for a moment and then turned to go back into her room.

  “OK...” she thought, smiling. She had a feeling it would be a very long day, but perhaps a productive one.

  Twenty minutes later Michelle stepped through the doors of the restaurant Laurel had mentioned; she wore her gray suit- dress outfit, lightly perfumed with the apple blossom spray. Michelle spied the lady by her sage sweater; Laurel waved her over and beckoned to a nearby server.

  “You look so nice!” she applauded. “You can pull off gray better than me, it makes me look pale, but I really like wearing it anyway. What do you want to eat? I’m starving...”

  Michelle sat down, smiling at Laurel’s undiminished enthusiasm. Glancing up at the server, she asked if they had Eggs Benedict. They did; Michelle ordered it and a cappuccino. Laurel asked for Eggs Florentine and a latte.

  “At least the spinach part of that breakfast is good for you,” she reasoned out loud.

  “Indeed,” Michelle said, chuckling softly. She looked at Laurel, wanting to know a little more about her uncle’s trusted employee.

  “I’m curious… how long have you worked for my uncle?”

  Laurel seemed to appreciate the question.

  “Almost four years,” she said, spreading a linen napkin on her lap. “It was rocky start those first few days I can tell you; he likes everything just so. Most employers do, I know, but he kind of piled it on extra thick to test me out.” Michelle considered this information a moment.

  “He seems to do that a lot,” she remarked. Laurel nodded, taking a drink of her water. “You prevailed, I see,” Michelle continued. Oscar’s assistant smiled very wide.

  “Yep,” she said. “My hereditary cheerfulness was too great a barrier to overthrow.” Michelle laughed.

  “You are gifted then,” she said. “It took meeting William for me to come out of my shell.” Laurel smiled at her in a sisterly way.

  “What a guy... I’m jealous,” she said. “In a good way, though.”

  The women talked about Michelle’s wedding ideas until their food arrived. Michelle brought out her notes and Laurel copied them down in her Blackberry; Michelle was amazed at how quickly the assistant’s fingers worked on the tiny keypad. They had just twenty minutes to eat before they would need to leave for the first appointment.

  “There’s more than one?” Michelle queried, taking a bite of egg. The chef here sure knew what he was doing, she noted; even the eggs were fantastic. Laurel giggled.

  “Yes ma’am,” she said. “I had all afternoon yesterday to work on this. After nearly three years of finding supposedly impossible things for your uncle on a moment’s notice, I have made some great connections.” Michelle admired the lady’s stamina but had to wonder if Laurel had any kind of life. Those questions could come later, she reasoned. They fairly devoured their breakfast, though they managed to appear ladylike doing so. Laurel asked for the check and refills of their coffee to go.

  “We’ll need the caffeine,” she told Michelle.

  Outside, Michelle was about to signal for a cab when Laurel stopped her.

  “We’re over there,” she said, pointing; a car pulled up by the curb, fairly close by; Michelle followed Laurel, her eyebrows raised. By the curb stood a dark-red Mercedes Benz, with a uniformed driver and everything; another man in a black trench coat hopped out and opened the back door for the ladies. “Drake will get us around much faster than a cab. He’s an excellent driver and knows all the shortcuts. This here is Daniels; he’s going with us to prevent us being mugged,” Laurel said, nodding at the man in the black trench coat. She got in and scooted over for Michelle.

  Gingerly getting in the car, Michelle thanked the man as he shut her door.

  “Guys… this is Michelle Gregory, Mr. Maclane’s niece,” Laurel introduced. Smiling, Michelle nodded at the two men.

  “I am pleased to meet you gentlemen,” she said. The driver, Drake grinned at her over his shoulder. He had a pleasant look to him which spoke of dependability. The security guard, Daniels, also looked back; he had a wide, ready smile and brown eyes.

  “I didn’t think Mr. Maclane’s niece would be such a lovely lady,” he said, in a strong Brooklyn accent; he gave Michelle a broad wink.

  “None of that,” Laurel said, giggling. “Don’t mind Daniels,” she said aside to Michelle. “She’s engaged, like I told you, blockhead. From what I hear, her man is the most gorgeous, sweetest guy on the planet.” Michelle nodded and smiled.

  “I cannot argue with that,” she said. Daniels shrugged and turned forward again.

  “Vera Wang first, Drake, on Madison and...”

  “East 77th, I know,” Drake said, coolly Michelle smiled. The car took off rather quickly, weaving its way with deft precision through the Manhattan traffic. Michelle clutched her door handle with alarm but forced her face to remain calm.

  “Dang it!” Laurel snorted, retrieving her glasses from the back window. “Drake… I’ve asked you not to do that.”

  “Sorry, Miss Ecland,” Drake said, smiling. “I saw a hole in the line of cars and had to take it.” Laurel mumbled something under her breath. Michelle laughed softly; she wondered if all the people her uncle hired were such interesting characters.

  The sales staff at the Vera Wang flag-store seemed to be expecting them; they drove down an alley behind the store, and were let in a side entrance to a small, secure parking lot. Michelle felt ridiculously like they were being treated as celebrities or something.

  “All the duck and cover is hardly necessary,” Michelle said, quietly. Laurel only smiled at her.

  “It’s much more fun this way, and you don’t have to wait in line,” she explained. Drake chose to wait in the car but Daniels accompanied them inside.

  A tall, thin woman dressed entirely in brown met them; she was in her early forties and wore a black head-scarf and a long, jingly necklace of twisted brass pieces. Michelle thought she looked like a skinny gypsy, but did not say so.

  “Miss Gregory…” the woman intoned, musically; her smile had a just little real mirth in it, so Michelle thought she had some promise. “The bride. A lovely bride. Follow me, please.” Laurel and Michelle exchanged a look; Laurel rolled her eyes. Michelle hid a smile and followed after the lady in brown. She led them into a sort of white waiting room decorated with small, black accents.

  For an entire hour, Michelle and Laurel watched models parade by in gown after gown; nothing appealed to the bride. It was all a little off-center and bold for her; she was looking for something feminine and sweet… but very simple. Also, the model’s hairstyles were very messy, similar to most of the women characters in ‘Les Miserables’. Michelle indicated to Laurel that she wanted to go. Laurel stood up quickly.

  “Well, thank you for your time. Miss Gregory doesn’t see anything she liked so far.”

  The lady in brown arched an eyebrow at this.

  “Oh?” she said, looking at Michelle as if she had no taste.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am,” she said. “It’s all very cold. It may be wonderful design and they are all lovely models but I wouldn’t feel like a bride in any of those gowns.” With that she stood up and followed Laurel out.

  Sighing, Michelle sat back ag
ainst the seat.

  “Oh, my gosh... their hair!” Laurel said, collapsing into giggles as she sat down. “They looked like French whores!” Michelle laughed with her.

  “I know...” she said, chuckling. “I was mentally singing 'lovely ladies ...Waiting for the customers... Who only come at night'...” That only made Laurel laugh harder. In the front seat Daniels cleared his throat.

  “I thought they all looked like walking sticks,” he remarked.

  “That they did,” Laurel said, wiping her eyes. She consulted her clipboard and scratched through one line. “OK… next place.”

  WILLIAM WALKED into his office building a little early; the spring was back in his step and he whistled as he rode the elevator up. The renovations were nearly complete, as far as he could tell. A new receptionist greeted him politely and asked his name; she looked him up on her computer screen.

  “You are in your former office, sir,” she said, smiling. “Your secretary is already in.”

  “Thank you,” William responded, heading down the corridor. Mabel actually smiled at him when he entered her part of the office.

  “I’m glad he didn’t give you the Axe,” she said, sitting at her new desk; she typed rapidly away on the keyboard of a new computer. The whole office seemed vastly improved, not only in color scheme and materials but the lighting had been improved as well, and there were more shelves for file organization.

  “I am equally glad to see you here,” William answered, smiling at her. “He couldn’t find a more hard-working secretary on the Island.”

  “You bet your life,” Mabel said, concentrating on her work. Grinning, William made his way into his. He was first relived to see his handmade mahogany desk present. A can of Old English furniture polish sat on its top, along with another post it note. Scowling a little, William took up the note. Reading it, he smiled. The note read: “I couldn’t get rid of such a great piece of furniture. It’s a little dusty, though.” William took out one of his spare handkerchiefs and gave the desk a good rubdown with the polish. Despite the tangy smell of citron oil, it did look better.

  William was unpacking some of the old files and sorting them into logical fashion in the new shelves, when his door opened. Turning, William felt surprised by the person in his office, but concealed it. Standing by his desk was Oscar Maclane, though a completely different-looking man than previously seen. This man looked like a serious lawyer; he wore a tailored, expensive suit, proper shoes and had a facial expression that would make a less experienced man shake in his shoes.

  “Montgomery,” the man said; his tone held no trace of pleasantry.

  “Mr. Maclane,” William returned, matching his glare. After a few seconds of silence, Oscar smiled a little and held out his hand.

  “I didn’t get to shake your hand yesterday,” he said. “Welcome to Felix-Maclane.” William put on a polite smile and shook the man’s hand, firmly.

  “Thank you,” he responded.

  “Good grip,” Oscar said. Letting go William’s hand, he stepped back a little. “I was expecting a soft lawyer’s hand, but you have calluses. Now I’m curious.” William grinned.

  “I build furniture,” he said, tapping the top of his desk. “Hobby.”

  Oscar’s eyebrows rose up a fraction of an inch.

  “Impressive,” he said. “What do you know about Brazil?”

  William almost expected a question out of left field from this man; his expression remained unfazed.

  “Not much,” he admitted. “Just what I’ve read in books. Never been there.”

  “Well, you’re going… today,” Oscar said, evenly. He took a large file from a briefcase and handed it to William. “We have been trying to get clients in Brazil for the longest time,” the man continued, sitting down in a nearby office chair. William flipped through the file while Oscar spoke. “Good business environment, lots of money to be had; several corporations relocated there for cheap labor, etc. I’ve set up a meeting for you; all the details are in the file; I’ve arranged the tickets and visas already. The flight leaves in six hours. Better make arrangements; get to the airport two hours early. The lines and security checks are a real hassle.”

  William looked at his boss.

  “Visas?” he asked. Oscar smiled. The boy was sharp.

  “Bob will go with you as an aide,” he said. “You remember Bob, right?”

  “Yes. The man with the watermelon seed-encrusted power-saw, I believe.” William said, looking back at the file in his hands. Oscar chuckled.

  “The very same,” he said. “Convince them to sign with us as their legal firm and I’ll keep you on. Try to get some of the company’s subsidiaries to join too.” He looked at William keenly. “Think you can handle that?”

  William looked him in the eye and resisted grinning. A silver platter--with a golden opportunity perched on top—had just been offered him.

  “I can, Mr. Maclane,” he said, seriously. Oscar stood up.

  “Good,” he said. “Details are in the file. Oh...” He stopped and fixed William with a stern glare. “Keep your nose clean down there; I know Rio De Janeiro’s a party-town but I run a reputable firm here. No seedy lawyers and no seedy clients. Are we clear?”

  “Absolutely, Mr. Maclane,” William said. He felt no worries there; he had but to think of Michelle and no one else existed. His boss nodded and swept out. Sitting down, William ran his hand through his hair. He’d negotiated mergers and so forth before, but this would be his first solo flight in client procurement. He started to dial Michelle’s number but remembered she as out making wedding plans.

  “I hope she gets back before I leave for Brazil,” he said to himself.

  Michelle and her new entourage visited two more dress designers before ending up at a boutique called Bridal Accents.

  “You have to call to get an appointment to even get the directions to this place,” Laurel informed her as they parked. The store itself appeared to have no unusual outward characteristics; just another office in an office building.

  A tall, elderly woman met them at the door with a warm smile; she reminded Michelle of Sophie and the comparison put her more at ease. The boutique’s decor seemed more femininely decorated, in flowing white fabric and rose garlands of various, muted pink tones; here and there stood an elegant mannequin, draped in a white gown. The woman sat down with them on some small, comfy chairs near a window.

  “Please call me Amelia,” said she. The woman possessed white hair swept up in French twist; she wore a dove-gray tailored dress. Michelle noticed the wedding ring on her finger and felt a bit more comfortable; it made sense to have someone like her help choose dresses for brides, having been one herself.

  “I love your shop,” Michelle said, looking around. “It’s the first place we’ve been to that actually looks like a bridal shop, and not a mens shoe store.” Amelia laughed, softly.

  “Thank you, dearie,” she said, smiling. “Now, tell me what you’d like.” She looked at Michelle’s face carefully as the young woman told her what she liked and was hoping to find.

  “I just want a white gown that is beautiful in its simplicity… and doesn’t hide the fact that I’m a girl,” Michelle said, all in one breath. It seemed to her that she'd said the same phrase a hundred times already.

  Amelia seemed to consider this a moment.

  “Come with me,” she said, standing up. Michelle and Laurel followed the older lady back behind the mannequins. Walking through an archway, they came into a large, white room with three walls of mirrors. A wedding-cake style display of bridal shoes sat in the middle, with a few chairs.

  “Sit,” Amelia said before disappearing through a small archway to another room. Laurel sat down with a sigh; Michelle looked at all the pretty, dainty shoes on the display. One pair caught her eye and she picked them up; they looked like princess shoes, all white satin. Lovely antique white embroidery dressed up the shoes subtly, with a few clear cut stones here and there; a single, tiny white-silk rosebud f
inished the shoe perfectly. Hearing a rustling sound behind her, Michelle turned. Amelia stood there with a gown; she looked at the shoes in Michelle’s hands and smiled.

  “I am so good at this,” she said, in a satisfied tone. Incredibly, the dress she held matched the shoe Michelle had just picked out. It was a white princess silk-satin sheath gown, with A-line embroidered tulle overlay, empire sweetheart bodice and a chapel train. Michelle was speechless; it was by far the most beautiful gown she’d ever seen, and it was simple. She could actually envision herself in this dress, standing by William at the altar.

  “It is a Lazaro,” Amelia said. Laurel gasped a little and smiled very big. “So are the shoes. The gown comes in white and ivory.” She looked at Michelle with a kind smile. “I am guessing you want white.” The young bride blushed and nodded. Amelia looked at Daniels; the man stood nearby, looking at the ceiling with a bored expression.

  “She must try it on,” she said, giving the guard a meaningful look. Daniels took the hint and ducked out to wait in the lobby. Amelia opened a door in the wall that Michelle hadn’t even seen and put the gown inside. She stepped into the dressing room and shut the door behind her.

  Michelle looked at the dress for a moment, almost afraid to touch it; it looked like it had been made by delicate and fair elves in some secret, moonlit forest. Undressing, she put on the gown with great care. The skirt was not too long in front but had a short train in back like a graceful circle; the back of the bodice was shaped like giant ‘v’ up to the spaghetti straps. The neckline showed off most of her assets, Michelle noticed with a blush. The skirt swept up from its circle base on the floor up a smooth, clean line until connecting with the bodice; the small bodice was embroidered beautifully with the antique white thread over the pure, white-silk fabric studded here and there with a tiny, clear stone. Michelle loved this dress already and she hadn’t even seen herself in it. It occurred to her that this design it would be a bit cold for a late fall ceremony, but she figured that wherever they were, they’d be inside.