And then, Kayla’s dress was ready—designed, fitted, photographed.
She looked beautiful. She looked exquisite. She looked like the most beautiful pink-haired bride the world has ever seen!
I started crying when I saw her.
And then she couldn’t wait anymore. That’s how she is. She wanted to get married...now!
We tried to convince her to give us at least a month to prepare!
“No, now!”
She gave us a week.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
-1-
Kayla’s idea of a bachelorette party was as follows: “We get drunk on Friday night. We sober up on Saturday. But I’m getting married on Sunday!”
Conall would be, of course, the best man, and so would take Brad out on his own bachelor party with the West-End Boys. Brad had lost touch with most of the guys he’d been friends with back home. It’s not that he didn’t like them anymore. “Dey just too far away an’ all, y’know?” he said.
We took Kayla to a club called The Hot Tub in London, about three miles from the West-End. The area outside was a little dingy but inside the club it was pretty luxurious: Golden lights, velvet seats. You could also order food so there were a few comfortable tables to eat at, some booths as well.
And, of course, there was a male stripshow on tonight, with only sexy-ass beefcakes around.
Layla Rudemeyer, our geeky hacker friend from school, joined us. She’d really cleaned up. She’d stopped wearing her huge nerdy glasses and was actually looking, dare I say, pretty damn hot—what with her skinny-as-Kayla’s body-type and all.
I wondered what had changed her so suddenly?
She was wearing jeans torn high on the thigh and an extremely revealing chiffon top. “Whoa!” I said when I looked at her. “What happened to you!”
She just shrugged. “I met a guy. It didn’t work out. But, well...” She gestured at herself like she was a car model. “...I became a little more confident, what can I say?”
Nice! I gave her two thumbs up.
The booze came through hot and heavy. We started early and were laughing and singing loudly within the hour. By the time the strippers came out (my LORD, they were freakin huge and sexy!) I had drunk enough to stare a little longer at their muscles than I should! And I was getting a little turned on...
I felt like I was cheating on Conall. So then I just looked at them and imagined how hot sex would be with Conall later tonight. If I was still awake...
I must confess, I didn’t like the idea of Conall scoping out girls at a strip-club. Were they at a strip-club? And would Brad cheat on Kayla?
Shit! I was so not used to any of this!
One of the beefy muscle-boys in a bow-tie and a speedo came down from the stage and wiggled his delectable ass in Dani’s face. Dani screamed that Kayla was getting married and the guy practically yanked Kayla from her seat and took her on stage! Three buff and nearly naked dudes started swinging their asses and twirling around her.
They brought a massive towel out.
Alex started whistling. Other girls in the room started cheering, “Do it! Do it! Do it! DO IT!”
Two of the men pulled the towel across the sexy, massive, gargantuan, ripped bodybuilder dude and covered the bottom half of his body. Kayla had been playing along and touching her breasts for the crowd, swinging her hips—just fooling around. She had her back to the dude now and seemed...a little out of it.
No, Kayls, don’t do it...
I mean, it just wouldn’t be right to Brad, would it?
When the bodybuilder dude’s speedo suddenly fell to the ground behind the towel, the mostly female crowd went into pandemonium! I think one girl even fainted.
“Do it! Do it! Do it!”
No, this isn’t good...
Kayla still had her back turned to the guy, still dancing to the crowd, unaware of the fact the dude behind her was now naked...
Dani, on my left, called out to Kayla and told her to turn around.
The crowd shouted: “Do it! Do it! DO IT!”
Laughing, Kayla turned and looked at his chest. She was smiling, licking her lips, playing along. She called him to her with a curling finger. The guy grinned widely.
He pulled her to her and their bodies touched—
“WHAT THE FUCK!?” Kayla screamed.
She pushed him away! She looked down!
“WHAT. THE. FUCK!?” She looked up at the sexy monster dude. She stumbled a bit. She hadn’t noticed before that he was naked! “Do you think I’m a slut! I’m getting married to the most incredible man in the world tomorrow! Do you really think I’d fuckin cheat on him!? And”—she looked down at the dude’s cock—“with that!?” The way she’d said “that” had sounded similar to how Conall’s dad had called me an “American.”
“Oh, come on, baby,” said the bodybuilder dude. He was still behind the orange towel which was large enough to smother all of Israel. The other two guys, each one a study in perfect human body sculpting, still held the towel out. The middle-man’s red speedo lay guiltily by his feet. “It’s your last night as a single—”
He didn’t finish.
But the strip show did.
Because Kayla had just kneed him in the nuts.
-2-
The towel came down. The middle-man fell to the ground, holding his groin, moaning and begging...
And then Kayla put two hands up, stuck her thumbs out, and screamed, “LET’S GET THIS PARTY STAAAAAAARRRRRRTTED!!!!!”
The crowd. Went. Ape. Shit. Wild.
-3-
Seeing as there were mostly only girls in the crowd tonight, and that the few males that were there weren’t into girls, Kayla proceeded to do a mock-striptease where she mocked the dude earlier and stuck her crotch out, held a long glass above it, then asked for a volunteer from the audience. A lady in her forties got on stage and Kayla said (in a very mocking and buffoon-sounding voice), “Yeah, baby, suck mah dick, hmpf! Hmpf! Hmpf! I’m so damn cool—har har.” The crowd went ballistic. The lady in her forties then pretended to kick Kayla in the “nuts” and Kayla fell to the ground and cried (sounding like a little boy), “Oh, mommy, mommy, I got kicked in the balls by a girl I was trying to rape! Wee-hee.”
We had a blast.
-4-
We were leaning on each other’s shoulders and singing when we got outside. The air was freezing. My vision was blurry.
I thought I saw—
“Hey, is that Conall...?”
No one heard me. We were all so drunk.
I looked again. I saw a shadow. Huh?
The girls were tugging me away, but I couldn’t see properly.
Conall?
And then the shape disappeared, swallowed up by the darkness of the wall he’d been leaning against.
Much later, after sobering up a bit and after some hot sex with my fiancé, I would think back to this moment. And I would realize something:
It hadn’t been Conall.
It had been his brother.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
-1-
I confess, I had drunk sex with my fiancé when we got home. It was pretty awesome. He was also drunk—well, tipsy, because Conall holds his liquor much better than I do.
“So,” I said, stumbling and trying to get his dress shirt open, “did you look at a lot of naked girls?” We were standing next to the bed.
“Never.”
“You lie!”
He held me tightly, moved down to kiss me.
“I can taste booze on your lips,” I said.
“And I on yours.”
The room was spinning, and the button I was toying with on his shirt just wouldn’t come loose!
Conall ripped his shirt off.
I giggled. “I’m so drunk, baby,” I said to him.
He held himself up by the bed. “I’m...” He made a wavy motion with his hand which said, So so.
“Bullshit,” I mumbled, “you’re also drunk!” It sounded as if I’d said, Yowalzhodjunk
.
I laughed at myself. Things were pretty funny.
“I love you, you know that? Drunk and all,” Conall told me.
And, inebriated or not, that sank home. And I felt warm and gooey everywhere. “OK, now you need to fuck me. And it needs to be romantic. Because whatdjoo juz zed was unbelievably romantic!”
He grabbed me by the waist and lifted me so I was on my toes! We fell on the bed. The room was spinning. My head was spinning. “Oh, God,” I mumbled, putting my arm to my forehead.
“Leora, if you and I weren’t engaged, I’d have some serious reservations about doing this now.”
“But we are. So get your pants off. And get this over with before the ceiling falls on me!”
Conall waited.
“WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR!” I pulled my panties off. I pulled his pants off. He started laughing. I started laughing.
I giggled a lot as he entered me.
And I held him a lot.
Because no matter how utterly sloshed I was, I knew damn well that this was the man I loved, the only man I loved, and the man I would spend the rest of my life with.
Unfortunately, knowing that didn’t stop the searing headache that hit me when I orgasmed, or the sense of nausea the shook my straight after it was over.
We did it only once. And I don’t think I need to tell you why.
-2-
The entire previous week had been mad production. Since Monday, somehow we had pulled together a wedding cake, catering, guests, a bouquet, and even a live band. It amazed me how many people Conall could call upon to help him.
What we hadn’t planned on—was the snow.
It started coming in hard and heavy on the day of the wedding—Sunday.
By the time Kayla and Brad were saying I do, we were all shivering so hard that “I do” came out as a mad chatter of teeth. The crowd there (basically, The West-End Boys, Girls, and almost everyone from Fabiano’s!) erupted into cheers. Kayla threw her bouquet and Dani caught it. Kayla wasn’t happy with that so she pulled together a bunch of leaves from an evergreen tree, tied them together haphazardly with an electrical wire she found on the floor, shoved them in my hand and then said, “There, you're next!”
I was cool with that.
Conall had arranged a large tent for the garden and there were heaters inside and, honestly, it looked like the wedding had been planned months ahead!
Kayla’s mom (“Priscilla”) was there. Despite the short notice, she’d made it go right to make an appearance. She wore a fur boa and extremely high pumps. Red. Always in character, Mrs. Mitchell.
She was all smiles and proud and teary-eyed. She hugged Kayla and cried and then hugged her again. She slapped Brad a few times on the chest and then warned him that if he didn’t take care of her daughter she’d rip his “fucking cock off and feed it to a rooster!” And then she smiled, and hugged him one more time.
What motherly love.
Kayla was happy, and also a little teary at having her mom here. They’d both been through a lot together, what with Priscilla Mitchell’s ex—Kayla’s dad—and how he’d treated them both. Although Kayla and I had always been sure that her mother’s business offered far more than merely “escorting,” we’d never been told (or seen) anything to the contrary.
Kayla introduced her mom to the gang—Priscilla Mitchell had never met any of them, not even Conall. She seemed to take quite a liking to Trey, I noticed. But Alex was soon there, holding her husband’s arm, making sure Priscilla knew he was a taken man.
Priscilla smiled demurely, and respectfully bowed out of the challenge.
Kayla leaned up to her mother’s ear and said something to her, clearly about Trey. Priscilla’s eyes went wide, she smirked. But Alex was still there, standing her ground.
But then Priscilla Mitchell started flirting with a guy who was clearly twenty years her junior. And before we knew it, both she and the mystery man had disappeared out of the tent. I didn’t see her again after that.
Who was that guy!?
I looked around and realized I didn’t know thirty percent of the people here. Not serving people coffee at Fabiano’s anymore meant I didn’t know a large portion of the people who worked there!
I sat on a chair and Conall had his arm around me. “We should also get married earlier,” I said.
The only reason we’d chosen August was because I would have been between years in college. Now there was no reason to wait.
“And have a winter wedding?” he said.
“Uhm, no, maybe that’s a bad idea.”
“Do you think our friends will work for a week solid to put together a wedding like this for us?”
“I think our friends would go to the ends of the world for us. Just like we do for them.”
He squeezed my shoulder tightly, showing his agreement.
“Thanks for your help,” I said. “With everything.”
He kissed me on the forehead.
I looked around at the people dancing, the light jazz band that was playing, men in suits and women in exquisite dresses. Everyone looked so happy. Kayla, my pink-haired crazy girlfriend, was married. Her head was on the shoulder of her new husband, Brad from Bushwick (actually, Bradley “Dauber.”)
My girlfriend was no longer Kayla Mitchell, but Kayla Dauber. (Or, Kayla from Bushwick.)
I rested my head on Conall’s shoulder. I sure hoped Brad hadn’t cheated on Kayla. I’ve never believed in that “last night of freedom” crap. Conall isn’t that kind of guy, but American guys are brought up with different ideals. They get taught it’s OK to cheat on a girl before her wedding—Hollywood teaches us that shit. Not in so many words, but the idea is there. It’s in our cinema, our books, our TV shows. Brad might be a good guy (and he is), but education is education.
I didn’t ask, because if I found out, I’d have to tell Kayla. And I just couldn’t do that.
“Why so silent?” Conall asked.
I lifted my head, popped my neck. “Nothing.”
“Rubbish. What is it?”
“Nothing, I swear it.” I looked at my knees.
“Leora?” He sounded worried.
I turned to him, put my hand around his neck. His blue eyes seemed to go on forever. I ran a hand through his curly hair. “Babe,” I said, feeling small under his gaze. “I never want to know what you guys did on Friday night. Because if I found out, I’d have to tell my friend. And I want her to live happily ever after.”
Conall’s left eyebrow moved down. “Why wouldn’t you be able to tell her?”
I shook my head. “Just keep it to yourself. It was a boys’ night out. Let’s leave it at that.”
He looked more suspicious. “Are you saying— Did something happen with the girls!?”
“No! In fact, Kayla kneed a guy in the balls!” I told him the story and he laughed his ass off.
“Leora, you know Brad isn’t that kind of guy, don’t you?”
“Uhm, excuse me, he and Kayla fucked on the night they met at a club!” I said it softly.
Conall shrugged. “So?”
“Are you saying...nothing happened?”
“We went to a bar, we got drunk, we walked the streets collecting money for drinks—”
“You’re kidding.”
“I’m not. We had on the same tee-shirts, we made him wear a Donald Duck mask, we carried a bucket, we sang, and we got drunk.”
“And you collected money? Aren’t you a millionaire?”
“Billionaire, technically. But who’s counting? Of course we collected money for drinks—it wouldn’t be any fun if we hadn’t!”
I sniggered.
“Look, you must have had strippers! I mean, we also had a naked guy—”
“Maybe it’s best...you don’t tell me what you girls did in so much detail.”
“No, I swear—it was just as I told you! That guy was naked behind a towel. The others had clothes on!”
“And you were worried about us?”
“How is
it that the tables turned against me on this one?” I asked.
“Hey, you’re the one hiring strippers, not me.”
“I never hired strippers!”
“Sure you didn’t.”
“Hey!”
He was smiling. “Come here, babe.” He grabbed me by the shoulders and moved me toward him. “So, when do you want to get married?”
“July. But only because it’s the only month with sunshine in this country. Otherwise I’d get married tomorrow.”
“I’d also marry you tomorrow.”
Every organ in my body melted. “I hope you keep making me horny like this forever, my love.”
“That’s a good line. We should write our own vows, and you should use that one.”
“Men.”
-3-
“We could go to Africa,” he said.
“Huh?”
“Africa. Deep South, because the seasons are different there. So we could get married even earlier than July. Much earlier.”
Hmmmm.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
-1-
Conall hadn’t yet recruited anyone else into the business, so he was on his own for two weeks during Brad and Kayla’s honeymoon. They went to the Seychelles and Kayla kept sending me emails telling me “how great sex is in this warm weather. Especially outside!”
I missed her.
But Dani and Alex and I still hung out Saturdays, and the West-End Gang still got together on Saturday nights when it could.
During our fast apprenticeship with Carlo for Kayla’s dresses, we’d come to discover that I was better at designing, and that Kayla was better at picking fabrics, as well as accessorizing. “She has a certain...bohemian chic-ness...that’s curiously appealing in her choice of accessories,” one of the stylists had said. So I’d ended up doing most of the designs, and Kayla ended up doing most of the Technical Designer and stylist stuff.
I was now designing my own wedding dress. And let me tell you, it’s easier to design a dress for someone else! Other people are much easier to please! I was doing it mostly on the side, carrying an iPad with me all the time and drawing on it with a super-duper artist’s pen. Dani and Alex were excited when I showed the designs to them. So was Kayla. I kept sending her photos by mail. She’d set up an address that only I knew so that she could stay in touch but not be bothered by other people’s emails.
Deep South (Naive Mistakes #4) Page 13