“What’s in that?” Helen said.
“Organic catnip toys. Margery’s friend Rita Scott makes them. This is her most powerful batch yet.”
Thumbs was pushing the bag around with his nose.
“It must be,” Helen said. “He doesn’t usually behave like that.” She dumped out the bag on the kitchen counter. There were six cloth packets the size of mailing labels, stuffed with catnip.
Thumbs skidded across the counter, taking a pile of papers with him, and fell off. He stuck his head under the couch and wiggled his tail. He did backflips. He ran through the house and knocked over a footstool.
Helen and Phil watched, laughing.
“Where’d he go?” she said.
They found Thumbs lying in his pet caddy. “He hates pet caddies. They mean trips to the vet,” Helen said. “What’s he doing in there, staring at the ceiling? Look at his eyes. He’s zonked.”
“Thumbs, have you ever looked at your paw? I mean really looked at your paw?” Phil said. “He’s having fun. We should, too. Let’s go out for mojito martinis on Las Olas. You need some romance.”
“I don’t have time for romance, Phil. I’m working on a wedding.”
“Weddings are romantic.”
“Most weddings are as romantic as a root canal,” Helen said. “Especially for young brides. I feel sorry for them. They’re told, ‘This is your day.’ But the wedding isn’t about the bride. It’s the last chance for her mother to have the wedding she wanted.”
“Come to think of it, the romance went out of my marriage with the wedding,” Phil said. “My ex got caught up in making sure the bridesmaids’ ribbons matched the groomsmen’s cummerbunds. I felt like an afterthought. I never lost that feeling.”
“I’ve got an idea,” Helen said. “Let’s skip the wedding and have the honeymoon.”
“Right now?” Phil said.
“Yes.”
Phil picked her up and carried her over the threshold to the bedroom.
Chapter 5
The stark white cathedral shone like an iceberg in the morning sun.
Inside, the deep-blue stained-glass windows made Helen feel like she was in a drowned ocean liner. The
Yet the wedding preparations continued in seamless perfection. Even the iffy winter weather cooperated. The temperature was ideal for the bridesmaids’ strapless dresses. The playful breeze promised to waft the rose petals prettily as the bride and groom ran down the church steps.
When Helen got to the cathedral at six thirty, Jeff, the wedding planner, was already supervising the flower placement.
“No, people, that’s too close to the
He waved, but Helen wasn’t sure if he was greeting her or in a flap over the flowers.
She ran upstairs to the bride’s dressing room. Everything was in order. She checked the Hapsburg princess gown again for bloodstains. In the morning sun, the dress glittered like frost. Just looking at it made her arm throb. But she couldn’t see any trace of blood.
Helen felt sick with relief. If she’d ruined a seven-thousand-dollar dress, she’d lose half a year’s salary. Kiki would make her pay, too—after she had her fired.
Helen didn’t have the nerve to check out the rose gown. Besides, she was not wrestling that monster hoop skirt this early in the morning. It might reopen the scratch on her arm. She hoped her luck held and there were no blood spots on the rose dress, either.
Jeff, bless him, had set out an exquisite breakfast buffet of pastries, bagels, and fruit. The room was fragrant with hot coffee. Helen poured herself a cup, enjoying the last peaceful moments of what she knew would be a long day.
What kind of life would Desiree and Luke have together? They were starting with advantages many young couples never knew: the bride’s money, the groom’s good looks and talent—things couples dream about, yet Helen felt sorry for them.
She wasn’t sure either one was in love. Desiree clung to Luke, but that seemed more desperation than passion. And Luke was an actor, so it was tough to know his true feelings.
Besides, what chance did any marriage have with Kiki for a mother-in-law? The bride’s father didn’t seem to care about his daughter. Brendan had never hugged or kissed Desiree at the rehearsal last night. He’d hardly spoken to her. But he’d certainly had words with her mother.
Poor little rich girl.
She hoped the bride would have as much fun on her honeymoon as Helen had last night after Phil carried her over the threshold. They’d spent the whole night in bed, but they didn’t sleep much. That man was one hot lover. Helen stretched luxuriantly, her body pleasantly tired and sore.
She looked out the dressing room window. Four cars pulled into the parking lot. She downed the last of her coffee and rinsed the cup. It was bridal battle stations.
Four makeup artists and three hairstylists began setting up in the dressing room. They would paint and prep all the women in the wedding party except Kiki. The mother of the bride was having her own makeup artist and stylist come to her home. Kiki planned to breeze in about forty-five minutes before the ceremony.
Why she didn’t arrange the same service for her daughter, Helen didn’t know. But she was grateful for Kiki’s absence. It was more pleasant without her. Kiki left havoc and hurt feelings in her wake.
The first three bridesmaids straggled in at seven, looking hungover. Helen hoped the makeup artists had packed plenty of concealer. Those young blondes had enough bags to stock a Coach outlet.
Desiree and her friend Emily arrived at seven thirty. Emily was wearing what looked like an orange tablecloth. Desiree was a walking corpse. Her skin even had a slightly livid tinge.
The stylists went to work. Desiree’s droopy hair was twisted into a stylish knot. Then the makeup artist started smearing goo on the bride’s face. Helen had painted entire rooms in less time. But the woman was an artist. When she finally put down her brush, Helen thought she’d created a minor masterpiece. Desiree wasn’t exactly radiant, but she no longer looked like she should wear a toe tag. She even had a chin.
Soon the room was abuzz with activity. The blond bridesmaids giggled and gossiped while their hair was done in identical twists. Hair dryers screamed. Cans of hair spray spritzed. One makeup artist brandished a mascara wand and said, “Now look up at the ceiling while I get those bottom lashes.” Another held up a sponge and said, “Let me cover that nasty scrape on your arm.”
At nine o’clock, Desiree was ready to be helped into the Hapsburg princess dress. Helen held it carefully, so Desiree wouldn’t get scratched. The bride already had a long, thin scab on her arm.
“Did the dress do that when you tried it on at the store?” Helen said.
“No, the cook’s cat got me,” Desiree said.
Helen started on the one hundred slippery satin buttons, each the size of an aspirin.
Desiree, who’d been inert most of the morning, began fidgeting.
“Hold still or I’ll never finish by ten o’clock,” Helen said.
“I hate this dress,” Desiree said.
“You don’t have to wear it. You have a beautiful wedding dress in the closet. Let’s put it on.” Helen was in a rebellious mood. She headed for the closet to get out the cobweb dress. She was prepared to battle the dreaded rose dress to get Desiree what she wanted.
“No!” the bride shouted over the shrieking hair dryers. Heads turned. Eight bridesmaids stared like startled gazelles. Desiree had turned pale under her makeup. Was she that afraid of her mother?
“I only have to put up with this dress for an hour or two, and then I can wear what I want. I don’t want to have to deal with Mother.”
Helen understood, but said nothing. She still had eighty-one buttons to go. Where was Mommy Dearest? She should be here by now.
