“Tiger, I’m going to miss you,” he said on the morning of his whirlwind trip. Earlier, we’d fucked our brains out as if there were no tomorrow. “Are you going to be okay?”
I nodded. “The telenovelas are moving along great.”
Standing at the doorway, his roll-away bag by his feet, he tilted up my chin with a thumb. “I mean about the wedding and everything.”
I met his gaze. “Yes, baby, I’ll be fine, but I’m going to miss you terribly.”
“Same. I’ll text you whenever I can and let’s try to Skype every day. And you let me know if Enid or Kat cause you any problems.”
The thought of “sexting” him every day and Skyping him—and having virtual sex—cheered me up a little, but I knew the brunt of Enid and Kat was mine alone to bear while he was gone. Thank goodness, I hadn’t had to deal with Kat since that horrific lunch, but who knew how long that would last. Standing on my tippy-toes, I kissed Blake for a long time, not wanting to let go of his kissable lips, and not wanting to say good-bye.
That morning I got into my office, feeling overwhelmed and downtrodden. I already missed Blake. I booted up my computer. My inbox was besieged with a barrage of e-mails from Enid, all Subject: Wedding Detail. One, in particular, marked URGENT, captured my attention and I opened it immediately. It was straight and to the point.
We have our first dress fitting today. Details below. It’s imperative you be there. Be sure to bring a nude strapless bra and heels.
Where: L’Atelier de Monique Hervé
Address: 8420 Melrose Place, 2nd floor
Time: Noon
My stomach bunched up. With nerves, not excitement. What was wrong with me? I should have been excited about picking out my dream gown but strangely wasn’t looking forward to it. Not one bit. And didn’t Enid have any idea I had a high-powered job? She just assumed I could drop everything I was doing and race to meet her. Two words resounded in my head. No buts. I checked my Outlook Calendar, and luckily, my schedule was open at lunchtime, though I had no time to fetch the heels and bra. I immediately speed-dialed an important number. I wasn’t going there alone.
I arrived at Monique’s atelier early. Having boned up on my French in preparation for the Pearl telenovela, I know that atelier meant studio. It was located just above her eponymous boutique on chic Melrose Place—a short drive from Enid’s office.
My eyes took in my surroundings. I felt like I was in some kind of fairy tale. Everything was white, gilt, and velvet with accents of girly hot pink. A regal crystal chandelier bathed everything in a warm glow, including breathtaking arrangements of fragrant white flowers on scattered pedestals. Above a glass console sat a huge, almost ceiling-high gold-leaf mirror, and in the corner, there was another massive tri-fold mirror. Bolts of tulle, lace, silk, and other fine fabrics were stored on built-in glass shelves, and elegant mannequins were clad in the most extravagant bridal dresses ever. There were also several racks of gowns gracing the marble floor.
A familiar breathy voice caught my attention. “Hello, dear.” Theatrically stepping out from a pair of pink velvet curtains was Helen, wearing a stunning one-shoulder coral gown and flanked by Enid and Kat, dressed almost identically in designer black V-necked body-hugging silk dresses. My jaw dropped.
“Oh, Helen,” I gushed with sincerity. “You look beautiful.” She truly did, the magnificent silk-satin gown accentuating her svelte figure and the color complementing her platinum hair, cerulean blue eyes, and alabaster skin.
“Thank you, my dear,” she beamed. “Monique is absolutely brilliant. She came up with the idea of the scalloped edges—so in tune with the theme of your wedding. By the way, Monique needs your mother’s measurements. She has an equally wonderful idea for an oyster-white suit for the mother of the bride.”
“Sure,” I murmured, wondering how my mother would take this and wanting her to look as fabulous as Helen. I suddenly missed her. Terribly. Wishing she was here with me on the day of my first fitting.
An attractive petite brunette woman emerged from a back room. She was clad in a stunning chartreuse sleeveless sheath with matching heels. A tape measure was draped around her neck.
“Helen, darling, you must take a look-see in the mirror.” I assumed she was Monique Hervé. I expected her to have some kind of foreign accent, but she didn’t. She instead sounded very Valley.
Helen slinked over to the three-way mirror to admire herself. “Oh, Monique! It’s positively divine.”
Enid echoed the sentiment while Kat’s poisonous eyes stayed focused on me. Monique turned her gaze to me and gave me the once-over. “So you must be the bride-to-be.”
“Yes, I’m Jennifer.”
She plastered a big fake smile on her face. “Wonderful. I have another very important client coming in shortly so let’s get started.”
“If you don’t mind, I’m waiting for someone.” Where was he?
Enid sneered at me. “Dear, we can’t be wasting Monique’s precious time. She squeezed you in today as a favor to me.”
“Well, I guess I can start looking through the dresses on the racks.” Having perused bridal magazines, I had in mind what I wanted—something with a vintage feel, either flapper-like from the twenties or Grace Kelly-like from the fifties.
Monique rolled her eyes. “Please, darling, there’s no need. Enid and I have already chosen your dress.”
I felt my blood bubbling. Didn’t I—hello, the bride!—get a say?
My stormy eyes stayed fixed on Monique as she waltzed over to one of the racks and pulled out a gown. Folding it over her arm and not giving me the slightest chance to view it, she headed back my way and ushered me into the fitting room.
Fifteen minutes later, I shuffled out of the fitting room wearing “my” wedding dress and a pair of heels that were three sizes too big for me. Monique trailed behind me. Kat shot me a smirk.
“Take a look-see,” trilled Monique.
I wobbled over to the tri-fold mirror. I glimpsed all three angles of my bridal self and not one put a smile on my face. My heart sunk.
“It’s magnifique!” I heard Monique say.
Yes, maybe the dress was magnificent, but it was just not right for me. It was an extravagant shimmering white satin sheath that flared out in a cascade of ruffles below the knee. A mermaid-style dress, apropos to the wedding’s under-the-sea theme. I could barely fill out the strapless top, which was encrusted with crystal starfish, and what was supposed to be a body-hugging column hung loosely on my petite, boyishly narrow body. It was so baggy you couldn’t even see my panty lines. The dress was definitely made for someone much taller and curvaceous. Someone like—
“Katrina, what do you think?” asked Enid, cutting my thoughts short.
She smirked again and snickered. “Personally, Mommy, I think it would look much better on me.”
Her words stung me like a stingray but ran true. That’s who this dress was made for. Blake’s wannabe bride.
Enid absorbed her daughter’s words and then turned to Monique. “Monique, darling, it is a little big.”
A little big? I was swimming in it. No pun intended.
Grabbing a heart-shaped pincushion from a nearby table, Monique asked me to step up onto a pedestal and began sizing the dress. “Don’t move,” she murmured, pinning the edges. My eyes stayed on my reflection in the three-way mirror. Even with all the nips and tucks (there were almost as many pins as there were crystals), the dress did nothing for me.
Monique admired her handiwork. “Much better. And we’ll pad the top, maybe add a couple of spaghetti straps to hold it up, and sew in a butt pad to give you some curves.”
“A butt pad?”
“Of course, darling. Everyone’s wearing them ever since Pippa wore one to the royal wedding.”
So I was going to be sitting on some kind of whoopee cushion at my wedding. My heart sank deeper as if an anchor was pulling it down. This was supposed to be one of the best days of my life, but it was so far from it. I felt l
ike the Titanic.
Blake’s mother glanced down at her gold and diamond beveled-faced watch. “Oh, dear, I’m going to have to say ta-ta. I have a board meeting downtown for the Philharmonic at one thirty.” She scurried back into the dressing room and five minutes later, reappeared in her gazillion dollar designer pink silk suit.
She kissed me good-bye. “Darling, it’s going to be perfection. Sorry to have to go, but I’m leaving you in good hands.” Hugging Enid and then Monique effusively, she asked them to send her a photo when all was said and done. In a breath, she was gone. I was shocked she wasn’t staying for the entire fitting and more than ever wanted my mom to be here. Along with the other person I’d invited. Coming from downtown, maybe he was stuck in traffic. Hurry!
Monique made a few final nips and tucks. “You know, Jennifer, given how close your wedding is, you are so lucky this dress was available. I custom-designed it for a very famous rock star—whose name I can’t divulge—but TMZ caught her equally famous fiancé in bed with an even more famous supermodel so she called the wedding off.”
Great. So, I was going to be wearing someone’s doomed hand-me-down.
“It would have taken months for the silk fabric to get here from Italy and forget about the genuine Swarovski crystals.”
I gazed down at the glittery crystal starfish cupping my tits and hugging my hips, thanks to the pin-job. They did little to cheer me up. A welcomed familiar voice, however, did.
“Oh my frickin’ God! That is so wrong!”
Chaz! Finally! Tearing my eyes away from the sad image in the mirror, I watched him storm into the atelier. His eyes clashed with Kat’s. Poison daggers were going back and forth. Kat’s lips snarled.
“What the hell is he doing here?” she snapped at me.
“I invited him. I wanted him here to give his opinion.”
Chaz jumped back in. “Jenny-Poo, you look like Bridezilla! Take that hideous thing off immediately.”
Monique’s face darkened. “Excuse me? Did you just insult my one hundred thousand dollar creation?”
Gah! One hundred thousand dollars? Maybe some of the crystals were real diamonds.
Chaz held his own. “I don’t care if it cost one dollar. A Las Vegas showgirl wouldn’t be caught dead in that rag!”
God, I loved Chaz. He just told it like it is. He was so brutally…no, beautifully honest. He was right. Who was I kidding? The dress was vomiticious.
Flustered and obviously having a hot flash, Enid began to fan herself. “Jennifer, who is this intruder?” she panted.
Kat retorted before I could say a word. Her scrunched up expression was one of pure disgust. “Mommy, he’s that man I told you about who called me rude at that Beverly Hills Hotel event back in January. The one Blake was at.”
“Shut up, bitch!” Chaz barked. “Or I’m going to have to slap you.”
All at once, Kat, Enid, and Monique gasped. I stifled a laugh.
Monique was the first to respond. “Whoever you are, I’d like you to please leave.”
“My name is Chaz Clearfield, and I happen to be LA’s hottest new designer and one of Jennifer’s best friends. And she’s going to wear my dress.”
“Excuse me?” breathed Enid.
Kat turned to her mother. “Mommy, do you want me to call 911?”
My heart was in a flurry and my stomach twisted. A sharp pain stabbed me in the gut. Clutching my belly, I winced.
Chaz’s eyes grew wide with alarm. “Are you okay, Jenny-Poo?”
I nodded, still in pain; I was sure, just stress. “Chaz, why don’t I meet you at El Coyote. I’ll be done here soon.”
“Sure, honey.” After a bear hug, he proudly sashayed out of the atelier, leaving me alone with the three barracudas.
Fifteen minutes later, the fitting was done and I was back in my work clothes. I grabbed my bag and headed to the stairs.
“Don’t forget, Jennifer. Geary’s at three o’clock sharp,” Enid called out.
I stopped dead in my tracks and flipped around. “What do you mean?”
Enid scowled, making the tiniest crease in her Botoxed forehead, while Kat smirked. “Darling, don’t tell me you’ve forgotten.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Didn’t you read Katrina’s e-mail? I’ve set up an appointment at Geary’s to create your bridal registry.”
“I never got it.”
“Well, I sent it,” snapped Kat in a snide singsong voice. “Maybe you need a new pair of eyeglasses.”
Inside, I was fuming. She was lying. She never sent it. And probably deliberately.
“Where’s it located?” I asked, trying hard to mask my anger.
Enid rolled her eyes in disgust. “Seriously, darling? It’s on Rodeo Drive. I’m sure you’ll find it. Helen is meeting us there, so please don’t be late.”
My eyes clashed with Kat’s before I powered out the door.
“Oh God, Chaz. You’re so lucky you missed the headpiece. It’s some super-weird sequin headband concoction with this ugly rhinestone starfish that sits in the middle of my forehead.” Another leftover from the rock star, who was obviously in love with being a star.
Seated in a booth at the popular Mexican restaurant El Coyote, I was on my second margarita and my thoughts were flowing freely. I dug into my tostada.
“Thank you, honey, for sparing me,” replied Chaz, helping himself to another shot from the pitcher we’d ordered. He took a long sip and set his margarita glass on the table.
“Jenny-Poo. Listen to me. Go along with those bitches. I’ve moved forward on your dream dress and I’m not stopping.”
My heart fluttered with happiness. “Oh, Chaz! Really?”
“Trust me, they’re not going to stop you from wearing it on the day of your wedding.”
Where there’s a will, there’s a way. Blake had ingrained these words in me. Chaz and I would make things work. Somehow. Someway.
A delicious lightness swept over me. I was going to be a beautiful bride after all. Wearing my dream dress. I couldn’t wait to marry my Blake.
“When can I see it?”
“In a few weeks.” As Chaz reached for the check, he looked at me sheepishly. “I have a big favor to ask.”
“Anything.”
“Would you find out if Jeffrey, Monique’s receptionist, is single? He’s so cute.”
“Sure.” A big smile lit my face while Chaz blushed. My father always said something good always comes out of the bad.
Geary’s in Beverly Hills was a glittering spectacle of china, crystal, and silver. It smelled of money. I was sent to the second floor where Enid, Katrina, and Helen were already gathered with a spindly silver-haired sales woman, who was holding an iPad. I recognized her. She was the woman who’d helped me at Bloomie’s earlier in the year with picking out a gift for Gloria. And the woman who’d assisted my ex, Bradley, and his new fiancée, Candace, with their registry. She must have switched jobs.
“You’re late,” snapped Enid.
I glanced down at my watch. It was 3:05.
“We don’t have all day so let’s get started.” She introduced me to the woman who would be working with us. Her name was Bea.
“Lovely to see you again,” she said in her husky smoker’s voice.
Enid looked puzzled. “Do you two know each other?”
“Yes, we met last year when I was still at Bloomingdale’s”
“Such a despicable store,” huffed Enid.
“Can I offer you ladies some champagne?” asked Bea, ignoring the putdown.
Everyone except me agreed to a glass. I still had a buzz from the margaritas. Bea sauntered off, telling us to start earmarking items while she got the champagne.
“Shouldn’t we wait to do this until Blake gets back in town?” I thought engaged couples were supposed to pick out their registry together.
Helen laughed lightly. “Puh-lease, darling. Men have no clue whatsoever when it comes to these kinds of things. You�
�re so much better off he isn’t here.”
“And Blake obviously doesn’t have a handle on the finer things in life,” added Kat with a smirk. It was clearly an insult directed at me. It took all my effort to let it go.
“Jennifer, chop chop. Stop wasting precious time and get moving,” urged Enid with a clap-clap of her bony hands. “I’m going to use the restroom and then I’ll be right back.” Helen and Kat joined her.
Truthfully, I didn’t know where to begin. All around me were hundreds of dazzling china patterns, crystal glasses, and silver settings. Fit for royalty. Truthfully, I didn’t want or need any of this stuff. Blake and I needed basics. Things like everyday china, dishwasher-safe silverware, pots and pans, and the like. Being a player and dining out most of his adult life, Blake had very few of these things, and we’d purchased just a few essentials when I’d moved in with him. I should be at Crate & Barrel. Not here.
I forced myself to meander through the store. My eyes bugged out. Everything was so super expensive. Can you imagine—three hundred dollars for a teeny weenie eggcup? I mean, who in their right mind would gift such a thing? None of my friends or my parents’ could afford even one. If they asked what to get us, I was just going to tell them whatever. Or to make a small donation to a charity in our names.
Examining a silver-rimmed dinner plate that at least reminded me of my mother’s lovely Lenox china, I was distracted by a familiar voice.
“I should be registering, not you.”
I spun around. Kat with a flute of champagne in her hand.
“What are you talking about?” My tone was sharp.
“Blake should be marrying me. I’m the one he really loves. You whored your way into his heart.”
At her untrue words, a deluge of anger swept through me. “You’re delusional. Blake even told me himself.”
She narrowed her eyes at me. “Oh, and did he tell you about—”
“Darling.” Kat’s mother cut her off. “That’s wonderful you’re working with Jennifer. She can learn a lot from you.”
She smirked again. “Yes, Mommy, she can.”
THAT MAN: The Wedding Story Page 8