by Janet Leigh
“What are you doing here?”
“Aren’t we going shopping for a wedding dress?”
“Yes, for my sister, Melody.”
“Oh, hon, I spoke to Caiyan earlier and he told me the good news. He said you were shopping for a wedding dress. I thought it was for you. My bad.”
“What good news?”
“That the two of you were going to tie the knot.”
“I haven’t said yes.”
“Well, that boy thinks he’s walking down the aisle…soon.”
“Damn.” I sent him a text with several angry emojis ordering him to keep the wedding on the down low.
“Can I come? Please…you know how much I love to shop.”
Ace had washed out the purple streaks from his hair, most likely due to the impending time travel. He wore a stone-colored pair of Vineyard Vines breaker pants and a peach gingham button-down, an appropriate outfit for mingling with the family. I sighed. My family had met Ace on several occasions. The most recent at my cousin’s wedding. They thought he was Jake’s date. A minor miscommunication on my part, but Jake hadn’t quite forgiven me.
Ace and I walked into the store. Wall-to-wall wedding dresses packed into the tiny shop greeted us along with a silver-haired woman. She ushered us back to the dressing room where my mother perched on a white velvet sofa with a mimosa in hand.
I was nodding yes before the woman offered me a mimosa. My mother stood to give both of us a peck on the cheek. Ace told her how fabulous she looked. I had to agree. Her blond hair was styled in a cute pixie cut, and her breezy top layered over a pair of print palazzo pants offered a relaxed demeanor for the mother of the bride.
Melody was in a dressing room with one of the attendants. She squealed with delight when I stuck my head in to say hi and gave another shrill cry of joy when she saw Ace. Being the center of attention was right up her alley. Melody and I got along well, but she had her melodramatic moments that made me want to hide in the closet.
A few other MOBs—mothers of brides—were seated on opposite sofas all waiting anxiously for their daughters to climb the two steps to the stage and stand in front of the oversized wall of mirrors.
Bride after bride emerged from the rooms and were assisted up on the square platform to model their dress. Ace ooed and aahed over a few. Melody came out with a slim fit that flared at the bottom. It had white feathers across the bust and a swirling brocade embossed in the pattern on the fabric. Ace went into full diva mode. Melody’s brown eyes lit up and I liked the way the dress emphasized her slim dancer’s body. I looked over at my mom, and her lips pursed together. Melody bit her bottom lip. And Ace’s appraisal died down. My mom placed her glass on the marble table next to the sofa and stood to examine the next dress to be put on the chopping block.
“What’s with your mom?” Ace asked me.
“If she likes the dress she’ll give a slight nod. If she doesn’t she twists her lips like she ate a lemon. It’s always been that way. She doesn’t like to criticize.” I emptied my mimosa and hoped the silver-haired woman returned with a refill.
“Pretty ironic for a woman who critiques for a living,” Ace said.
Sitting in the dressing room surrounded by white and lace gave me the willies. I tried to imagine standing on the platform modeling the dress I would wear to marry Caiyan. My imagination jumped from the dress to the ceremony. I was standing at the entrance to my church’s sanctuary. Caiyan stood at the other end in a tuxedo, waiting to marry me. His green eyes watching me walk down the aisle. I started to walk. Step pause, step pause, while the music from the floor to ceiling pipe organ vibrated the stained glass windows of our church. My daydream had me meeting him at the altar. He took my hand in his, then his mouth made that weird twitch, and my daydream evaporated.
I signaled the silver-haired lady for another mimosa.
“’Ave you told your mother about your imminent engagement?” Ace asked.
I shook my head and smiled as the woman brought me another mimosa. “No, since I was only asked last night, or actually it was after midnight, so technically it was this morning. No one should know about it because I haven’t accepted, so please do not say anything.”
“Don’t get all touchy, doll, my lips are sealed.” He pretended to lock his lips and toss the key over his shoulder.
A waif of a girl in the dressing room next to Melody came out in a Cinderella style dress. The bell-shaped hoop got full-on pursed lips from my mother. I had to agree the gown swallowed her up like a bird wearing a blanket. The mother of the bride shook her head and made a no way I’m paying for that face. The girl began throwing a temper tantrum. Cinderella liked the dress. She stomped around on the stage striking several poses, trying to convince the mom that this was the dress.
Ace admired the tiny pearls sewn into the fabric as Cinderella stepped down from the platform. Instead of glass slippers, her Converse got hung on the stair tread and she face-planted into the artificial fern potted next to the stage. The cursing that escaped from Cinderella’s lips made the silver-haired sales associate throw back a mimosa of her own. The assistant and the MOB finally helped the girl out of the pot and discussed choosing a different style dress.
Melody was next up in a gown with a sweetheart neckline and a lacy straight bottom. Ace and I leaned forward to watch my mother. She gave the nod. Ace released a long breath, and my mother arched an eyebrow at him as she stood to check the back of the dress.
“That one looks great,” I added, placing my second empty champagne glass down on the marble table.
“Ooh, I like it, too. You could add a long train adorned with tiny butterflies that would glide down the center aisle and at some predetermined moment live monarchs could be released into the air.” Ace clapped his hands together and made the motion of a newly released butterfly. My mom turned to glare at Ace, twisting her lips at him.
Ace slumped back into the sofa, and I mimicked the locking my lips and throwing away the key.
* * *
Melody didn’t choose the dress at Mockingjay Bridal; she also didn’t find one at the next two places we went. I was tired and hungry. Each place gave us a mimosa and after about three or four, Ace and I had the giggles. We browsed through some of the after-five dresses, and Ace purchased a silver sequined flapper style dress. He insisted he was still going to the party on Saturday night.
During the drive to the next dress shop, Melody talked about her beau. Her eyes sparkled when she spoke of him. My mom caught me rolling my eyes in the rearview mirror and asked me if I was still seeing that Scottish guy?
I told her I was and tried to catch a glimpse in the mirror to see if my eyes sparkled.
Melody wanted to know why he hadn’t asked me to marry him since we had been dating longer than she and her fiancé.
I shrugged and responded with “I’m not sure if I’m ready to be married.”
“He’s rich, good-looking, and seems to be into you. What’s the problem?” my nosy sister asked, turning around in the passenger seat. Her head showed The Exorcist style flexibility to speak to me directly.
“He lives in New York and works overseas.” He also time travels at the light of the full moon, steals things, and occasionally commits murder.
My sister eyed me curiously. “Oh, he hasn’t asked you. Don’t worry, I’m sure he’ll come around. If not, you might want to try someone else—thirty is right around the corner.”
Thirty was not right around the corner, and besides, lots of people got married in their thirties—even forties—these days.
“Thirty is the new twenty, haven’t you heard,” Ace jumped in and patted my thigh.
The fourth place showed some promise. Melody made it through the first round of dresses with only one mouth twist. Finally, she decided to go back to Mockingjay Bridal and buy the one with the sweetheart neckline. I agreed it was the best.
We returned to the bridal store, and Ace and I said our good-byes.
“See you at base ton
ight,” he called out to me after my mother and sister had entered the store.
I gave him a salute as I got in my car to drive home. The mimosas had worn off along with the tiny bit of excitement about the possibility of being married to Caiyan. Indulging in a good meal before reporting to Gitmo was high on my list of priorities, just in case I was called to travel to a time when people ate with their hands.
* * *
I motored over to the Burger Barn and grabbed dinner: three cheeseburgers, sides, and drinks to go. I knew Gertie would be home from work, and Brodie would be hanging around until he had to report to Gitmo. He convinced his family he worked a sales job to explain his frequent absence from the family ranch.
After the ice cream conversation with the patient earlier in the day, I had a craving for a gallon of Rocky Road. I hoped it wasn't a sign of what lay ahead. I whipped into the supermarket around the corner from my house and came out with a gallon of Rocky Road, marshmallow topping, nuts, and a pint of my favorite flavor of Ben and Jerry's ice cream—Milk and Cookies. There was nothing that Milk and Cookies wouldn’t fix.
I parked in my space and took the food inside. Gertie and Brodie were cuddled up on the couch watching a movie.
“Hey, I brought food,” I said, placing the bags on the table.
“Jen, ya are my new favorite person,” Brodie said, releasing his hold on Gertie and coming over to the table.
“What about me?” Gertie asked, following him to the table. “I give you pleasure.”
“Right now, I need food. You can be my favorite person later.” He wiggled his eyebrows at her and pulled her in tight for a smack on the lips.
I was a bit jealous of the fun they shared. Caiyan and I were still a ways from the cozy, sit on the couch, TV-watching duo.
Gertie stored the ice cream in the freezer for later, and I passed out the burgers, fries, and onion rings. We took our food to the den.
“What are y'all watching?” I sat down, balancing my plate on my knees and making myself comfortable in the cushioned side chair.
“When you mentioned Mitchell was collecting Bonnie and Clyde paraphernalia, I brought home a few books from the library and rented a movie about their life.” Gertie pointed to a stack of books on the end table. “We just got to the good part. Bonnie is begging Clyde not to go kill a jailer who raped him in prison.”
Gertie and Brodie spread their food out on the coffee table and she clicked the play button on the remote. I watched the movie while I ate my food and cringed as Bonnie and Clyde's car got shot into pieces. I knew from my research the couple didn't live a long and happy life. The Barrow gang killed innocent people and they paid for it with their own lives.
“I dunno why Mitch would go back to the thirties,” Brodie said. “A mate can't even buy a drink before 1933.”
Gertie nodded. “Prohibition caused the formation of gangsters and mobsters.”
If Marco's orders were to chase Mitch, he was up to his eyeballs in intel from the 1930's. Until the brigands made the leap back in time, we couldn’t be certain of their destination. Once they traveled, we spent a few hours researching the time period. Since I saw Mitch take the things from the museum, we were preparing for the early twentieth century. If Mitch was going back to the 1930's, I needed to study what the people ate, how they talked, the clothing and customs of the time. It was a real pain in the butt if the brigand changed his plans. All the research time wasted and a cram session of history for the correct era.
After our fiasco in Berlin a few months ago, the WTF tightened the restrictions on the transporters traveling with their defenders. I consider myself the Robin to Caiyan's Batman, but lately, I've felt more like the Batmobile. Transporters were only allowed to travel with the defenders if there were extenuating circumstances. Unfortunately, this meant we had to wait until the defenders summoned us. But the WTF always wanted us to be prepared in case of an emergency.
I thumbed through one of the books. Gertie was correct about the information she told me at the pizza place. Both Bonnie and Clyde came from poverty-stricken families who lived in an area of Dallas referred to as “The Devil's Back Porch,” a shantytown made up of indigent farm workers.
“I don't know much about the 1930's, and I can't imagine why Mitch would go back to that time. Petty criminals who don't have a key or valuable assets wouldn't be a likely target for the Mafusos.”
“I agree,” Gertie said. “Maybe it has something to do with politics or the FBI. Bonnie and Clyde had everyone after them.”
“What do you mean?”
“Before Hoover made bank robbery a federal offense, a criminal committing bank robbery or murder could just cross the state line and the cops from that state couldn't keep after them. But when they stole a car and crossed the state line it became a federal offense and the FBI got involved. Killing those policemen pissed off the governor and the Feds. That's what did 'em in.”
“They should 'ave just robbed the banks and been done,” Brodie said, scooping up a handful of fries. “Some criminals just don't know when to stop, like the Cracky Clan. They've been stealing for the last twenty years and have nothing to show for it. They either sell the contraband for money they squander away, or they lose it gambling. I hate following those wombats. I always have to stay at some shithole.”
I envied Brodie. He had chased the Cracky Clan so often he knew their favorite travel times. He didn't need to research anymore. They always went back to the Renaissance age to steal art and get drunk. They buried the art, then Brodie would dig it up, return it to the owner. The Cracky Clan would be left with their shovels in their hands, wondering where they went wrong.
“Too bad McGregor is not going with me. He has ways to secure better lodging for us, and I've someone to share a pint at the pub.”
“He's good at stirring up trouble.” Gertie slid her arm around Brodie. “I feel safer knowing you will be watching from a distance.”
Brodie and Caiyan often traveled together. Since I joined the WTF, Brodie had been assigned more independent missions and it sounded like he was missing the old Caiyan.
“Have you noticed anything different about him recently?” I asked, toying with the idea if I should tell them Caiyan asked me to marry him.
“Like what?” Brodie stuffed another handful of fries in his mouth.
“Like he doesn't act like himself.”
“That's a man in love.” Brodie chewed. “We do all kinds of stupid things.”
“Are you saying you're in love?” Gertie asked, her face flushing a bright pink.
Brodie sat up straight, a deer in the headlights. “I meant men in general act thatta way when they're in love.”
Gertie harrumphed, “How is he acting strange?”
“Caiyan's moods have been exaggerated. He's doing everything with a passion I haven't experienced before.” I paused. “He asked me to marry him.”
“What?” Gertie leaped off the couch and wrapped me in a bear hug. “Oh my god, we can do a save-the-date for y'all. Now one of us,” she said, cutting her eyes at Brodie before continuing, “can be on the refrigerator with all those tramps from high school.”
“Congrats, Jen.” Brodie got up off the couch and bent down to kiss my cheek. “It's strange he didn't mention he was going to ask ya. He normally confides in me.” Brodie sulked into the kitchen and came back with the tub of Rocky Road and a spoon.
“I haven't said yes, yet.”
“How did he ask you? Did he get down on one knee?” Gertie wanted the details.
“Not exactly.”
“Did he take you to the top of the Empire State building?”
“No.”
“Was it at that restaurant the two of you like to eat at? Madera or Mahadra or whatever?”
“Madea. No”
“Oh, I know, he got you to transport the two of you somewhere romantic like Paris?”
“No, Gertie, he just asked.”
“That's it?” Gertie seemed disappointed.
Brodie chuckled softly.
Gertie crossed her arms and huffed. “No man better just ask me, if they know what's good for them. A girl dreams about the proposal. It should be special.”
Brodie blinked twice, handed me the tub of ice cream, then tip-toed toward the stairs.
“Where are you going?” She asked him.
“I thought maybe I'd go pack my things. I don't want to get in trouble.”
“You're not in trouble, we’re talking about Caiyan.” Gertie stood hands on hips.
“I'm a man, I'm in trouble. And I'm leaving.”
“Wait, I want to hear more about you being in love.” Gertie gave me a wink and headed up the stairs after him.
I picked up the ice cream and scooped up a spoonful of the Rocky Road Brodie left behind. Pulling my legs under me, I finished off the tub and watched the credits roll on the movie. I didn't think Caiyan and I had the same kind of love that Bonnie and Clyde shared. Would I support him if he made a dumb decision? Yes, I already had. Would I risk my life for him? Maybe. He risked his life for me and had given up the most sacred thing he owned to protect me. Why did I have cold feet when it came to saying yes to the dress?
I yawned. A nap and a wardrobe change would be required before I reported to Gitmo. I headed upstairs to select an outfit. Gertie's room was quiet, but a slow rhythmic knock sounded against my bedroom wall.
Chapter 11