happened: The groom had cut his hand on the crystal dress. It was a vicious cut. Helen could see blood drops on the white carpet.
A quick-thinking bridesmaid swung the cathedral train away from the dark red spatters. The best man whipped off his cummerbund and gave it to Luke for a bandage.
Muddy brown tears ran down the bride’s face and splotched her dress. So much for waterproof mascara. Desiree dabbed at the tears with her veil, leaving nasty brown smudges on the delicate fabric.
Another couple might have laughed off the mishap. But Luke didn’t laugh, nor did he comfort his new wife. Desiree did not care about his bloody hand. They stood at the altar, separate and self-absorbed. They’d failed as a couple from the first moment of their marriage.
The whole sorry incident was caught by two video cameras and a still photographer. Helen wondered if it would be edited out of the wedding photos or saved for the divorce proceedings.
This marriage was doomed, she decided. The perfect rehearsal led to a wedding-day disaster. All the practice and planning couldn’t prevent these problems. Who knew a randy Kiki would skip her daughter’s wedding for hot sex with her chauffeur? The bride didn’t wear her crystal dress at the rehearsal, so the groom had no idea it was like embracing broken glass.
Luke never did kiss the bride. When the confusion died down the minister said, “Let me present the new Mr. and Mrs. Praine.”
The traditional applause was tentative. Luke frowned. He was used to thundering ovations. He grabbed his wife’s hand and held it up triumphantly, like a victorious boxer. Now the applause was louder and mixed with laughter.
Helen wasn’t sure what Luke’s gesture meant, but she didn’t like it. Was he saying his wife was a prize? The little bride with her tear-blotched face looked confused.
That look pierced Helen’s heart. She felt tears in her eyes. Helen never cried at weddings, but she felt sorry for poor unloved Desiree. She was a showpiece for her parents’ ambitions and a bankroll for her husband’s career.
The organist had the presence of mind to start the recessional music. Desiree walked down the aisle with her new husband. Helen could see the ugly brown stains on her veil. The groom’s hand was wrapped in a bloody cummerbund. He smiled sheepishly. The bride seemed dazed.
Jeff, the wedding planner, was waiting in the cathedral vestibule with his emergency kit. While the receiving line formed, Jeff expertly bandaged the groom’s hand. Then he and Helen worked on the bridal veil. They were hidden behind the bride’s wide skirt, but they could hear the wedding guests.
Some stumbled through the reception line like bomb-blast survivors, too stunned to say anything. They just wanted out of there. Others made spiteful comments in what they thought were whispers. The cavernous cathedral magnified their voices. Jeff winced at every catty remark. He seemed to suffer for the bride.
Two black-clad women with bird legs, like crows in gold jewelry, were typical. Helen could hear snippets of their soft-voiced malice: “Her mother never showed up.”
“She was screwing a chauffeur twenty years younger.”
“Only twenty?”
“Personally, I’d go for the groom.”
“Maybe she already has.”
“Have you seen the bride’s dress? She looks like Michael Jackson marrying Elvis.”
When they got to the bride, the two crows cawed, “Darling, you look divine,” and smothered her with perfume and Judas kisses.
Desiree turned to stone. The groom smiled through clenched capped teeth.
At last, the receiving line ended. The guests who hadn’t fled picked up beribboned baskets of rose petals and straggled out to the cathedral steps. They threw the petals at the bride and groom like they were flinging trash, then rushed away. Helen couldn’t bring herself to touch the mangled flowers. The petals looked like blood spots on the marble steps.
Jeff seemed near tears at his ruined wedding plans, but he pulled himself together and herded the wedding party inside for the pictures. Kiki still hadn’t shown up.
Helen was furious. It felt good. It burned away her sadness for the bride. How could that selfish woman destroy her daughter’s wedding for a backseat quickie? Except Kiki’s quickie was turning into a sexual marathon. The Rolls sat in the parking lot, engine running, windows up. Helen wanted to knock on the black-tinted windows and drag Kiki out by her dyed hair, but it was not her place.
No one from the family approached the car. Helen wondered why.
Emily stayed with her friend, Desiree. The blond bridesmaid Lisa pulled Helen aside and said, “Do you know where the mother of the bride is?”
Her eyes strayed to the Rolls. Lisa already knew the answer.
“No,” Helen lied.
“Do you know when she’ll be coming?” Lisa’s face turned bright red. “I mean, when she’ll be here?”
“I have no idea,” Helen said.
Helen knew exactly when Kiki would appear. She’d wait until Desiree was changing for the reception. Then Kiki would put on that blasted rose gown and make her grand entrance at the reception, glowing from her sexual athletics. She’d revel in the scandal.
Helen also knew why Kiki had pulled this stunt. Her daughter was marrying a handsome young man, but she’d show them she was still one hot mama.
Her absence had an impact on the pictures. The photographer and the videographer had to work around the lopsided wedding party. The bride refused to smile. The groom looked like a department-store dummy. The rest of the wedding party fidgeted like four-year-olds. The photos took two hours, including time out for powdering and hair pinning. Helen thought she would go mad if she had to drape Desiree’s cathedral train on the altar steps one more time.
Finally, every photo opportunity was exhausted, along with every member of the wedding party.
“The photos are finished,” the videographer pronounced.
Desiree brightened. She managed a smile, although it resembled a corpse’s grin. “Now I can wear my real wedding dress.”
Desiree ripped off her heavy veil and crown and dropped them on the floor. Then she ran upstairs to the dressing room.
That’s right, girl, Helen thought. Get rid of what’s dragging you down. She picked up the crown and veil and followed Desiree at a slower pace. She was drained by the wedding’s raw emotions. Helen’s magical night with Phil seemed years away. Today she could not believe any romance had a happy ending.
Memories of her own wedding haunted Helen. She’d been so in love with Rob. At the reception, she’d given him a bite of wedding cake. He’d mashed his piece into her face, to the delight of his cronies. Her maid of honor had applauded. Helen had laughed.
Her wedding photographer caught the scene. Helen thought it was the symbol of her marriage. She had seventeen years of sly humiliation, while she smiled and took it. Later, she learned Rob had had an affair with her maid of honor. She’d learned a lot she didn’t want to know, after she picked up the crowbar and smashed her marriage.
Run, Desiree, she thought. Run away before it’s too late. Luke doesn’t love you. Don’t waste your best years with a man who’ll use you. Don’t make the same mistake I did. You’ve only been married two hours. You can get an annulment.
Could she say that? Helen took on a mother’s duties when she put on the bride’s veil. A good mother would tell her daughter to get out of this mess.
Helen was greeted at the dressing-room door by the bracing smell of hot coffee. The breakfast buffet had been cleared. Jeff had set out plates of chicken and cucumber sandwiches, and dainty cookies.
What tempted Helen was the fresh coffee warming on the burner. Coffee would give her courage. After a cup of caffeine, she could drop some hints to Desiree. If the bride seemed receptive, she’d mention an annulment. Helen draped the dropped veil over a chair and reached for the coffeepot.
“You don’t have time for that,” Desiree said. “I want this thing off. Now.”
So much for Helen’s maternal fantasies. She was a servant and she’d better not forget it.
