Sitting on a divan near the Park Avenue side lobby doors, Michelle smiled; she dressed with care in the pink gown that she’d worn on her first date with William; she hoped that seeing it would cheer him up a bit, when he finally arrived back from Brazil. Running her mind over the last two days, Michelle shook her head at the amount of preparation involved in this ‘simple’ endeavor; one knew automatically that a wedding was a lot of work but the number of people to see and things to be ordered irritated even Michelle’s calm nature. The only blight on her happiness was a rather glaring fact that the Bride’s side of the church was going to be almost empty. Sighing, Michelle wondered if Laurel would have a viable solution to that.
The door opened and the genial Laurel waltzed in, followed by Daniels. Michelle smiled at them; it felt good not to have to do this alone. Laurel brandished her clipboard and sat by Michelle.
“Good morning!” she said, adjusting her glasses. “I'm glad you wore something nice. As I mentioned yesterday, we’re going to take you to a photographer this morning; he’s really very good… very edgy, but in a nice way. He doesn’t usually do weddings but when I told him you’re wedding was at the Waldorf, well, he sounded more receptive.” Michelle smiled.
“I suppose so,” she said, amused. “Mr. Chan confirmed last night for the Starlight Roof room. Amazingly, no one will be using it all that week, so the resident decorator won’t be rushed.”
Laurel nodded, checking things off on her clipboard.
“Great. We’re good on the ceremony and reception; we’re also going to visit two florists and lastly swing by the printer to approve the invitations. Your future mother-in-law is to fax over the guest list for the Montgomery side, right?” she asked, looking up at the bride.
“Yes. By noon she said,” Michelle responded. She looked at Laurel for a moment. “I am wondering what to do about my side of the aisle, so to speak. Besides Uncle Oscar, I’ve no family left and very few acquaintances. I am wondering at the logic of the bride-side and groom-side tradition.”
At this, Laurel smiled.
“You do it just how you like,” she said, kindly. Her eyes appeared to twinkle with some secret joke, Michelle thought. “Mr. Maclane informed me this morning that you do have relatives, mostly in Scotland; they’re distant relatives, but family nonetheless. He could make a special point to invite them, if you’d like.” Michelle blinked, and looking at her hands for a moment; she laughed.
“How odd,” she said, shaking her head a little. “I don’t even know their names. Mom was the one who kept track of distant relatives; she’d send pictures and Christmas cards… things of that nature.”
“Oh, I can help you with that,” Laurel said, holding up a piece of paper. “I’ve got all their names and information here.”
“I suppose they would not object to being flown across the ocean and put up in a very nice hotel,” Michelle said, smiling. Daniels snorted.
“Of course not,” he said. “Weddings mean dancin’ and free food.” Laurel hid her smile and gave Daniels a severe look before turning back to the bride-to-be.
“Invite them,” Michelle said, smiling. “At least it will give me an opportunity to meet them. Strangely enough, William is planning to take me to Scotland for our honeymoon.”
“Nice. Well, that settles it,” she said, writing a few notes on her clipboard. “We should get going. There’s a place nearby we can stop at for some quick breakfast. What do you say?” Michelle stood up.
“Sounds good,” she replied, looking up at the lobby clock; only ten hours to wait until she could see William again.
LAUNGUISHING IN Miami International Airport, William tried to get a little sleep in the plastic airport chair. It was two o’ clock in the afternoon. Bob sat two chairs down, snoring under an open newspaper; the briefcases sat between them in the empty chair. Already the two hour layover had stretch to three. Sighing, William rubbed his temples; all he wanted to do was talk to Michelle. He’d called the hotel already, hoping she’d be there, but was informed Miss Gregory was still out.
“I need to get her a cell phone,” William thought, staring at the floor.
Three newspapers and two issues of Forbes sat next to him on another chair, already read.
“Mr. Montgomery, from Felix-Maclane... please come to the desk,” a voice called out over the terminal intercom. Looking over at the desk, William saw a short lady in an airline uniform standing behind it; she looked around with a worried expression. William stood at the desk moments later. The airline lady smiled at him nervously.
“I’m sorry sir, but your two business class seats have been bumped. We over-booked the flight.” William closed his eyes for a moment.
“Coach is fine,” he said, calmly. The lady looked even more apologetic.
“Actually, we have to put you on the next flight,” the lady said, her voice very small. “And there’s nothing left on it but seats in first class.”
Sighing, William rubbed his temples. “If it makes you feel better sir, twelve other people got bumped, too.”
William gave the airline woman a look.
“No, that doesn’t make me feel better,” he said, testily. “I’m supposed to be having dinner with my fiancé this evening, in New York. How long will it be until the next available flight?”
“Eight hours,” came the awful words. William felt like ripping the desk in half. He clenched his fists a moment instead; they could almost drive to New York in eight hours.
“Fine,” William said with resignation. He fixed the girl behind the desk with a steely gaze. “But, tell me… what does the airline plan to do about this incredible inconvenience to representatives from a Fortune 500 company? Do you suppose that we have no business to accomplish today?”
The woman quickly called someone on the desk's phone, and spoke in a low voice for a minute. Ending her call, she turned back to William, smiling a little.
“We can offer you half-off on a first class upgrade for the next flight,” she said, timidly. “You could wait in the VIP lounge that way.” William took out his wallet.
“I’ll pay the difference,” he said. “Hopefully, paying you more will ensure we don’t get bumped again.” The woman looked apologetic again but William was not fooled; they’d squeezed an extra $900 dollars out of him and this woman would be putting on the nervous act for the next poor sod. The woman handed him the new boarding passes and two key-cards to the VIP lounge.
Waking Bob, William told him the news; gathering their things, they ambled over to the more comfortable reserved area to wait. Sliding the card through the magnetic lock, William opened the door and stepped willingly into the cooler environment. In spite of the very long wait, at least they could sit somewhere more comfortable.
“Hey, this is nice...” Bob said, impressed. He sat down in a reclining chair, and let out a low whistle. A server appeared from behind some potted palms and offered them cocktails or cold sodas; he took one of the latter. “I don’t know... after this I may lobby for no more coach flights.” William chuckled.
“Coach wasn’t all that bad,” he remarked, still standing. He took cold bottle of water from the server’s tray. “Michelle seemed quite proud of me for joining the ranks of the 'commoners'.”
Bob seemed to find this information interesting; he sat forward and looked at William closely.
“Your family’s real wealthy, right?” he said; he spoke it as one of those statements which is both question and observation. Nodding, William unbuttoned his suit coat and sat down in another chair; no one was in the lounge but them.
“Yes,” he answered. “Better off than the Windsors, at any rate.”
“So, why do you work?” Bob asked. “I mean... I gotta admit that if I didn’t have to work, I wouldn’t.”
William took in a long, patient breath and let it ease slowly out.
“My father, though he wasn’t the most caring of men, did instill in me a very strong work ethic,” he said, staring at the wall. “He consid
ered a trust-fund-playboy as the very worst waste of a man. Having observed some of the other sons of my parent’s friends and how they lived their lives, I have to agree with him.” William drank some of the cold water; it tasted wonderful after hours of lingering in the humid, Miami air. He turned to Bob with a smile. “Besides, if I had not traveled stateside and gone to work at that firm every single day, I would have never met Michelle.”
Bob smiled; it was a warm smile... the kind a seasoned family man would possess.
“Can’t argue with you there, Montgomery,” Bob said. William smiled.
“It’s William, Bob,” he said, taking another drink. “Hopefully, Felix-Maclane will give you a raise and an excellent retirement package, so you won’t have to work anymore in the near future, unless you want to.” At this, Bob laughed and slapped his knee.
“Contracts and negotiation, my ass!” he said, chuckling. “You should go into politics.” William shuddered.
“No, thank you,” he said, with conviction. “That’s an honor I will forego. Right now I want to keep busy until my wedding to the sweetest girl in the world, so we can go on our honeymoon… the first long vacation I’ve had in years.” Bob listened to this, rubbing his chin a little.
“Your honeymoon is one of the best vacations you’ll ever have,” he said, raising his can of soda.
“I’ll drink to that,” William said; they tapped the containers and relaxed in the relative quiet of the lounge.
“If anyone comes in this room...” William said, after a pause. “... I’m going to pester them for eight hours until they sign on as a client.” From the depths of his chair Bob answered with a tired laugh.
MICHELLE WALKED into the photographer’s studio and immediately liked the frank absence of a ‘waiting room’. Laurel was making a call out in the hall, so she felt free to look around. No receptionist and no photographer... as far as she could see. The wide, white room was also devoid of furniture, save for several dozen white candle stands each set up about a foot away from the wall, all around the room. Each stand had an extinguished candle on it. A far corner of the room held a wide cream-colored drop cloth hanging from the ceiling and high-end photographic equipment set up around it.
“I normally only do portraits.”
A man spoke, from somewhere close by. Turning, Michelle beheld an older gentleman standing a few feet away from her. He appeared to be around fifty-five years of age, with very gray hair; he looked a bit thin and pale but had a sparkle in his eye that showed life was yet present within him. He was dressed much like Mr. Rogers in tan slacks, a red, zip-up sweater and sneakers.
“You don’t startle easily,” he said. “That’s good.”
Michelle raised an eyebrow at him and looked smiled politely.
“Well… that’s all wedding photos are,” she pointed out, softly; the echoing room made speaking loudly unnecessary. “Unscripted portraits of those who attend.” At this the man laughed; it was more of a cackle, but not an unpleasant one.
“I like you already,” he said. He handed held out a long, butane lighter. “Would you help me light all these candles? It’s quite a job, as you can see.” Michelle was puzzled by the request.
“Are we taking pictures now?” she queried. “Just like that?”
“Just like that,” the man said. “I’m James Torville, by the way.” Michelle took the lighter gently from him.
“Michelle Gregory,” she said, smiling. Mr. Torville leaned his head a little to one side.
“That… is a lovely smile,” he said. “Really nice. I’ll get this side of the room.” He produced another lighter and set about lighting the candles very quickly. The door opened. Laurel entered the room and walked quickly over to Michelle; she saw the slender little man lighting candles and arched a brow.
“Is that Mr. Torville?” she whispered. Michelle nodded.
“He wants me to help him light the candles,” she whispered back before walking over to start on her task.
Lighting the dozens of candles proved a rather calming activity; Laurel followed the bride-to-be, looking around.
“Bare room,” she commented, quietly. “I hope he agrees to do the photos; I’ve seen his stuff... really good, very real and stark sometimes, but peaceful.” Michelle smiled, continuing her task. Her uncle’s assistant was amusing in her ability to pile as many adjectives into a thought as it could hold. It was an admirable trait, in that one could always tell exactly what the woman thought and liked about any particular subject.
In a short time all the candles were crowned with tiny flames. Mr. Torville aimed a remote at the large windows. They immediately darkened, shutting out all the outside light. In an instant, the look of the room changed completely; the flickering warm light of the candles glanced of the rounded ceiling, back down on their faces, lighting them perfectly.
“Wow...” Laurel said, an awed expression on her face. “That’s brilliant!”
“Thank you,” Mr. Torville said, appearing behind her. Laurel jumped and giggled nervously. “I had the room designed specifically for candlelight,” he explained. He looked at Michelle and gestured the drop cloth.
“Over here please, Miss Gregory,” he said. “I think you are a person who would sit very well.” Michelle obligingly removed her coat and let Laurel take it from her.
“This guy really knows what he’s doing,” Laurel whispered. “Your skin is glowing!” Michelle smiled at her, but felt a bit silly; she hadn’t had pictures taken of her by a professional since she was in high school. Those school pictures didn’t turn out very well, as she recalled.
“Pick any spot,” the photographer instructed. “The camera will find you.” Michelle admired the man’s artistic way of expressing himself.
Though she was not able to see how the soft, flickering of the descending candlelight illuminated her skin, Mr. Torville was quite enthralled with his new subject.
“She looks a fairytale heroine...” he murmured, peering through the camera. “Talk to me about your groom,” he said, loud enough for Michelle to hear. The young woman immediately blushed and smiled, looking down. Snap. A hauntingly beautiful picture resounding with innocent dreams... right off the bat.
“I’ll take the job,” Mr. Torville said, speaking to Laurel. “Just let me know the time and place.” Beaming, Laurel scratched off another line on her clipboard.
A half-hour later they left the studio with warm goodbyes.
“I never thought we’d convince him to do it,” Laurel said, smiling. “Mr. Maclane will be really pleased. He suggested James Torville because he’d seen some of the guy’s work in a magazine article on war veterans. I saw his portrait of Elizabeth Taylor and thought she’d never looked better. Are you hungry?” Michelle laughed.
“Not really,” she said. “I ate a fairly solid breakfast.” Laurel looked around as they gained the street. She pointed at a little café across the street; it looked sunny and flew Italian and American flags from its upper level.
“Oh, they have fantastic gelato over there!” she said, smiling. “Could you manage to choke down some sorbet?” Chuckling, Michelle nodded.
“I’m certain it’s too good to choke down,” she tempered. “Let’s go.” Laurel grinned and signaled to Drake in the car; she joined Michelle for a short walk across the street to the café.
The café embodied all the good sounds and smells of Italian-American light cuisine, complete with a solid row of scrumptious-looking gelato under glass. Soon, the girls were settled at a tiny table by the window, with Daniels at the next one eating two different flavors. Drake surprised them by joining them soon after.
“I like gelato,” he informed them, shortly. Laurel giggled into her napkin while Michelle hid a smile in her hand.
They ate in relative quiet until someone else came into the shop; someone by the name of Luca D’Angelo. Michelle saw him the moment he entered the café; she turned to Laurel and began to ask a question about the florist they were going to see.
&nb
sp; “What on earth is he doing here?” she wondered silently. Michelle didn’t really want to know but hoped he’d leave them alone. She was not in the mood for fending off the seemingly unending advances of Sophie’s son. She glanced at Daniels. “He’s armed; maybe I can just ask him to shoot the guy...”
Across the tiny table, Laurel obliviously studied her notes.
“OK... next we’re going to see Ermine over at Le Fleur and...” The young woman stopped mid-sentence and actually hid behind her clipboard. “Omigosh! Who is that?” She peered over the top at the tall figure standing by the counter ordering gelato. Michelle glanced over her shoulder.
“You mean the over-confident predator skulking by the counter?” she asked, coolly, taking a bite of her raspberry sorbet. Laurel gaped at her.
“Are you blind?” she whispered, fiercely. “No! The gorgeous guy standing over there, with the dark curly hair... oh, wow… he could be a model. Definitely.” The young woman sighed, peering over her clipboard again at Luca. Michelle laughed, softy.
“Yes, he could,” she said, smiling at Laurel. “But, a guy like that is used to women throwing themselves at him, trying to get something from him; so, he uses them and tosses them away. He’s an acquaintance of William’s and not a close one. I met him at the party where William proposed to me.”
Laurel stared her.
“He’s the guy who flirted with you all night?” she asked, quietly. By now Laurel knew most of the details of that night, barring the tender ones. Michelle saw the young woman began to look a little less enamored with Luca. “Oh, crap... he’s looking over here!” She busied herself writing some notes on her clipboard and flipped open her cell phone.
Luca did not see the two women at first. He came in here often; he owned this café… well, the bank did, but he was slowly paying it off. He spent a great deal of time here working the tables, trying to find out if the local market was receptive to light, healthy Italian cuisine. Hearing a familiar, soft voice from across the room, he turned and saw William Montgomery’s lovely fiancée--of all people--sitting at a table in the corner. About to walk over he spied another young woman sitting with her, one who gave him bashful glances over her clipboard. She looked very sweet dressed in fashionable business attire, with warm, brown eyes and bouncy, natural blond curls; Luca felt an inexplicable urge to feel those springy curls in his fingers.
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