Fenniman had been unhelpful. They'd talked Eileen out of a number of truly horrible dresses, usually with graphic descriptions of how awful Eileen would look in them. But we didn't really seem any closer to a decision.
'Perhaps it's time to order in lunch,' I said.
'Good idea,' Michael said, and strolled over to the counter to pick up the phone book.
'They have lovely salads and pastries at the River Cafe,' Mother said brightly. 'It's just two blocks down.'
'Do they do carryout?' I asked. 'We're not leaving till Eileen makes a decision.'
'I suppose they might, but you can't carry out a nice pot of tea. Why don't we just--'
'Tea?' Michael said. 'I'll be happy to make some tea. Mom and the ladies have quite a selection. Earl Grey, jasmine, Lapsang souchong, gunpowder, chamomile, Constant Comment, plain old Lipton tea bags ...'
Deprived of the prospect of an elegant luncheon, Mother lapsed into decorative melancholy after I placed our sandwich order with the cafe. Even Mrs. Waterston's best jasmine tea in a delicate china cup produced little improvement.
'I can see why Eileen is having so much trouble.' She sighed to Mrs. Fenniman. 'They simply don't make gowns like they used to. I mean the styles, of course,' she said quickly to Michael.
'I like to split a gut laughing the first time I saw a bride in a miniskirt,' Mrs. Fenniman cackled. 'And that Demerest girl last year--out to here!' she exclaimed, holding her hand an improbably three feet from her stomach. 'It's a wonder she didn't go into labor right there in the church, and her in a white gown with a ten-foot train.'
'I always thought the gowns Samantha had made for her other wedding were really sweet,' Mother mused.
'Her other wedding?' Michael and I said in unison.
'Oh, dear,' Mother said. 'That's terribly bad luck, two people saying the same thing like that. You must link your little fingers together, and one of you has to say, 'What goes up a chimney' and then the other has to say, 'Smoke.'' Michael was wearing the you've-got-to-be-kidding look that was becoming habitual these days. At least when my family was around.
'Just do it,' I said, extending my little finger. 'For the sake of all our sanity. What goes up a chimney?'
'Smoke.'
'I hope that was in time,' Mother said. 'Well, you'll know next time; at least you will, Michael. Meg is so stubborn.'
'I'll work on it,' he said. 'Tell us about Samantha's other wedding.'
'You remember, Meg, it was supposed to be at Christmas, a year and a half ago. She was engaged to that nice young boy from Miami.'
'Oh, yes, the stockbroker,' I said. 'I remember now. And how many millions of dollars was it he embezzled? Or perhaps I should say cruzeiros; he skipped to Brazil if I remember correctly.'
'No, dear, that was his partner. They arrested Samantha's young man in Miami before he got on the plane. And he said his partner got away with all of the money. The partner claimed otherwise, of course, but they never found a penny of it.'
'Poor thing! So Samantha dumped him and went after Rob,' I said.
'That's so cynical, Meg,' Eileen said, looking up from her catalog.
'That's me, town cynic,' I said. 'Anyway, I do think her first gowns were lovely,' Mother continued. 'Not that the new ones aren't lovely too. But these were rather unusual, too, and your mother's ladies did such lovely work on them.'
'Mom made them?' Michael asked, surprised.
'Why, yes,' Mother said. 'They might still be here; I remember when we told her about Samantha and Rob's engagement she said something about hoping Samantha would finally take them off her hands, but of course Samantha didn't want anything to remind her of that ill-fated first engagement.'
'I'm beginning to wonder if your mother breaking her leg just now was entirely an accident,' I said to Michael.
'What do you mean?' he asked, with a start.
'Perhaps subconsciously she preferred to break it rather than stick around for Samantha's second wedding.' He laughed.
'Why blame her subconscious? Seems like a rational decision to me.'
'I thought it was her arm she broke,' Mother said.
'No, I'm sure Michael said it was her leg,' Mrs. Fenniman said. They both looked at Michael.
'Both, actually,' he said, nervously. 'They knew the leg was broken right away, and at first they only thought the arm was sprained, but then when they x-rayed they found the leg was a simple fracture and the arm was some sort of more serious kind of break so we were more worried about the arm and I might have forgotten to mention the leg at that point, but now we know they're both broken, but mending nicely.' Only a trained actor could have gotten that out in one breath, I thought.
'Poor thing,' Mother said. 'How did she do it, anyway?' Michael looked nervous again and hesitated.
'To tell you the truth, I don't really know,' he said finally. 'She's told me several completely different stories, and I've decided she probably did it while doing something she thinks I would disapprove of or worry about. We may never know the whole truth.' He walked over to the curtained doorway and called out something in-- Vietnamese? Whatever. Mrs. Tranh appeared and they talked rapidly for a few moments, then Mrs. Tranh disappeared behind the curtain.
'Mrs. Tranh says the gowns Samantha originally ordered are, indeed, here, and she's going to bring some of them down.'
'Oh, how interesting,' Mother said.
'If by some miracle they appeal to you, Eileen, we can probably give you a really good deal. At cost, even; they've been hanging around taking up space for nearly eighteen months now.'
And tying up cash, no doubt; I felt sure that if Samantha's family had paid for them, they'd have the gowns in their possession. I wondered how they managed to weasel out of paying. I would have to consult the grapevine on that one. If it were my wedding I would never stoop to taking Samantha's castoffs, but I suppressed the thought. At this point, I'd like anything Eileen could be persuaded to choose. Mrs. Tranh and one of the other ladies appeared lugging garment bags taller than they were, and Samantha's rejects were pulled out and lovingly displayed.
'Oooohhhh,' Eileen said as the bridal gown emerged from the bag. I hurried over to see what we were in for.
Maybe it was seeing the actual garments instead of a lot of pictures. Maybe she'd had a brief attack of frugality and focused on the words 'at cost.' Probably it was because Eileen has always longed to live in another century--any other century--and these gowns were in a rather ethereal pseudomedieval style. The more Eileen looked at the bride's dress, the more infatuated with it she became, and she was just as enchanted with the bridesmaids' dresses. Mother and Mrs. Fenniman were also oohing and ahhing. The owner of the River Cafe, arriving with our lunch, was equally enthusiastic. Mrs. Tranh and the other lady were beaming and pointing out wonderful little details of the construction and decoration and I was the only one paying any attention to the practical side of things.
'Eileen,' I said. 'They're made of velvet. Your wedding is in July. Outside!' I was ignored.
'I'm so sorry,' Michael said.
'Correct me if I'm wrong,' I said, 'but even at cost, those things aren't going to be cheap. All that velvet and lace, and the pearls and beads stitched on by hand.' He winced and shook his head. 'And they look as if they were made either for Samantha's current flock of bridesmaids or one similarly sized. I don't suppose you've noticed this, but Samantha's friends are all borderline anorexics and Eileen's friends tend more to be earth mother types, so they'll need alterations. Major alterations. You may even have to make some of them from scratch.' He nodded.
'If I'd had any idea--' he began.
'Skip it,' I said. 'It's done.' 'Look on the bright side. She's made a decision.'
'In front of plenty of witnesses,' I added.
'And Mrs. Tranh and the other ladies will be so happy.'
'True.'
