Bed of Roses (10 page)

“I
know
. It’s just this is Jack. It’s not supposed to be . . .” She waved her arms in the air. “Something to handle. I’m making too much of it. It was just a moment, just the circumstances. Just a thing. Now it’s done, so it’s not a thing.”

“Emma, you tend to romanticize men, potential relationships, but you never get flustered over them. You’re flustered.”

“Because it’s Jack! What if you were standing around, minding your own business, baking, and Jack came in and kissed you stupid. Or Del did. You’d be flustered.”

“The only reason either of them come in here is to mooch baked goods. As Del just demonstrated. When did this happen? The night you broke down?”

“No. It almost did. There was a second there . . . I think because there was a second there, it just led into it happening. During the reception Saturday.”

“Right, right, you said Parker beeped you. Well, how was it? How did it rank on the patented Emmaline Grant spark-o-meter?”

Emma let out a breath, pointed her thumb up, then swiped a hand through an imaginary line. “Slapped the top of the red zone before it broke the meter.”

With her lips pursed, Laurel nodded. “I always suspected that about Jack. He has that red zone vibe about him. What are you going to do about it?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t decided. It’s thrown me off. I need to get my balance back, then figure out what to do. Or not do.”

“Then you have to tell me, and also let me know when the gag order is lifted.”

“All right, but meanwhile, not a word.” Emma picked up the cheese tray. “Let’s go be businesswomen.”

Vows housed its conference room in what had been the library. The books remained, framing the room and giving way in spaces for photos and mementos. The room maintained its warmth, its elegance, even as it served for business.

Parker sat at the big inlaid table, laptop and BlackBerry at the ready. As the morning client meetings and tours were complete for the day, she’d hung her suit jacket on the back of the chair. Mac sat across from her, long legs stretched out, wearing the jeans and sweater that served her for her workday.

When Emma set the tray on the table, Mac levered herself up to snag a cluster of grapes. “You guys are late.”

“Del stopped by the kitchen. Before we start business, who’s up for dinner and a movie night?”

“Me, me!” Mac shot up a hand. “Carter has a teacher thing, and that saves me from working until he gets back. I put in a full one today.”

“As it happens, my calendar is clear.” Laurel laid the cookie plate beside the platter.

Parker merely picked up the house phone, pressed a button. “Hey, Mrs. G, can you handle the four of us for dinner? That’d be great. Thanks.” She hung up. “We’ll have chicken and like it.”

“Works for me.” Mac bit into a grape.

“All right then, the first order of business is Whitney Folk Harrigan, aka Monster Bride. As Laurel knows, I received an e-mail from her wherein she lists several bullet points addressing what she feels we could improve.”

“Bitch.” Mac leaned up this time to spread some goat cheese on a rosemary cracker. “We kicked severe ass on that event.”

“We should’ve kicked her severe ass,” Laurel commented.

“Whitney feels, in no particular order of importance, that . . .” Parker opened a file to read from the e-mail she’d printed out. “The champagne was inadequately chilled, the service during dinner was slow, the gardens lacked enough color and bloom, the photographer spent more time than she deems necessary on the wedding party when the bride deserved more attention, and the offerings on the dessert table weren’t as varied or as well presented as she’d hoped. She adds that she felt rushed and/or neglected by the wedding planner during some parts of the event. She hopes we’ll take these criticisms in the spirit with which they’re offered.”

“To which I respond . . .” Mac shot up a middle finger.

“Succinct.” Parker nodded. “However, I responded with our thanks for her comments, and our hopes that she and Justin enjoy Paris.”

“Panderer,” Laurel muttered.

“You bet. I could’ve responded with: Dear Whitney, you’re full of shit. Which was my first thought. I restrained it. I have, however, upgraded her to Monster Bitch Bride.”

“She must be a genuinely unhappy person. Seriously,” Emma said when her friends just looked at her. “Anyone who could take a wedding day like we provided for her and pick it apart is just innately unhappy. I’d feel sorry for her if I wasn’t so mad. I will feel sorry for her when I stop being mad.”

“Well, mad, sorry, or fuck you, the upside is we’ve had four new tours booked through that event. And I expect more.”

“Parks said fuck.” Mac grinned and ate another grape. “She’s very mad.”

“I’ll get over it, especially if we book four more events as a result of the stupendous job we did on Saturday. For now, I’m putting Whitney in my newly designed Closet of Doom, where everything makes her look fat, all the patterns are polka dots, and the color choices are puce or dead-flesh beige.”

“That’s really mean,” Laurel commented. “I like it.”

“Moving on,” Parker continued. “Del and I met about some of the legal and financial issues of the business. The partnership agreement is coming up for renewal, which includes the percentage funneled back into Vows from the individual arms for outside events. If anyone wants to discuss changes to the agreement, including the percentages, the floor’s open.”

“It’s working, isn’t it?” Emma glanced around at her partners. “I don’t think any of us really imagined we’d build what we’ve built when we started Vows. Not just financially, which is certainly more than I’d have made by now if I’d been able to open my own shop. But, Monster Bitch Bride aside, the reputation we’ve earned, together and individually. The percentage is fair, and the fact is, the cut Del takes for his part of the estate is way below what he could’ve asked. We’re all doing what we love with people we love. And we’re making a good living at it.”

“I think what Em’s saying is: Sign me up.” Mac popped another grape. “I say ditto.”

“I’m right there,” Laurel added. “Is there any reason to change anything?” she asked Parker.

“Not from my perspective, but as Del advised—in his legal function—each of you should read over the agreement again, and voice any reservations, make any suggestions before we renew.”

“I suggest we have Del draw up the papers, sign them, then open a bottle of Dom.”

Mac pointed at Emma in agreement. “Seconded.”

“And the ‘ayes’ have it,” Laurel announced.

“I’ll let him know. I’ve also had a discussion with our accountant.”

“Better you than me,” Laurel said.

“Much better.” Parker smiled and sipped some water. “We’ve had a strong first quarter, and are on track to increase our net profit by about twelve percent over last year. I’m advised we should consider rolling a portion of the net back into the business. So, if any or all of you have a need, whim, or selfish desire for additional equipment, or ideas on what Vows could use as a whole, we can work out what we should spend our money on, and how much we should spend.”

Emma shot her hand up before anyone could speak. “I’ve been thinking about this, especially after I looked at my books for the last quarter. We have our biggest event, to date, next spring with the Seaman wedding. The flowers alone are going to outstrip the capacity of my cooler, so we’ll need to rent another for several days. I may be able to find a used one for a cost that could make it more practical, in the long term, than renting.”

“That’s good.” Parker made a note. “Get some prices.”

“This may be the time,” Emma continued, “considering that event, and the increase we’re seeing in business, to buy some of the other equipment we usually rent. The additional outdoor seating, for instance. Then, when we do an outside event,
we
rent it to the client and pocket the fee. And—”

“You really have been thinking,” Mac commented.

“I really have. Since Mac’s already planning to add on to her place, increasing the upstairs living area to accommodate true love, why not add on to the work space, the studio space at the same time? She needs more storage space, a real dressing room instead of the little powder room. And while I’m rolling, the mudroom off Laurel’s kitchen is really redundant, as we have one off the main kitchen. If that was converted, she could have an auxiliary kitchen in there, another oven, another cooler, more storage.”

“We’ll just let Emma do the talking,” Laurel put in.

“And Parker needs a computerized security system so she can monitor all the public areas of the house.”

Parker waited a beat. “I think you’ve spent that net profit increase several times.”

“Spending money’s the fun part of earning it. You be Parker, and that’ll keep us from going wild. But I really think we ought to do at least some of those things, and put the others on the list for as soon as possible down the road.”

“Being Parker then, I’ll say the cooler makes sense. See what you can find. Since we’d need to talk to Jack on how to work the cooler into your space, we can ask him to give us an idea how to add on to Mac’s studio, and refit the mudroom.”

She made more notes as she spoke. “I’d thought of the furniture buy already, and I’ve started researching the cost there. I’ll get projections so we know where we stand on all of this, then we can decide which makes the most sense first.”

Nodding, she flipped over to the next order of business.

“Now, upcoming events that will help pay for our hopes and dreams. The commitment ceremony. They got their vows and the script for the ceremony to me today. Friday evening ceremony with, after a coin toss, Allison, now known as Bride One, arriving at three thirty, and Marlene, now Bride Two, at four. Bride One takes Bridal Suite, Bride Two Groom’s Suite. As they share a MOH, she’s going to float between the suites. Bride One’s brother is BM, so we’ll use the second floor family parlor for him, and the FOBs, as needed. BM will stand on B-One’s side during the ceremony, MOH on B-Two’s.”

“Wait.” Mac held up a finger as she keyed the details into her laptop. “Okay.”

“These ladies know exactly what they want and stick to a plan, so they’ve been extremely easy to deal with on my end. MOB-One and siblings of B-Two aren’t particularly happy with the formalization of this relationship, but are cooperating. Mac, you may have to work to get the shots the clients hope for that include them.”

“No problem.”

“Good. Emma, flowers?”

“They wanted unconventional, but feminine. Neither wanted to carry a bouquet, so we’ve gone with a headpiece for Allison and flower combs for Marlene. A halo for the MOH who’ll carry four white roses. They’ll exchange single white roses during the ceremony, right after the lighting of the unity candle. And each will give her mother a rose. White rose boutonnieres for the men. It should be very pretty.”

Emma scrolled over to arrangements as she sipped her Diet Coke. “They wanted an airy, meadowy look for arrangements and centerpieces. I’m using a lot of baby’s breath and painted daisies, Shastas and gerberas, branches of blooming cherry, wild strawberries, and so on. Minimal tulle, and garlands I’m doing like daisy chains. Bud vases for the roses during the reception.

“A lot of fairy lights and candles, Grand Hall and Ballroom, with a continuation of the natural look for arrangements. It’ll be simple and very sweet, I think. If one of you can help me transport, I can do the setup solo.”

“I can do that,” Laurel told her. “The cake’s the vanilla sponge with raspberry mousse filling, topped with Italian meringue. They wanted simple flowers there, too, echoing Emma’s. I don’t need to add those to the cake until around five, so I’m clear for setup. Otherwise, they want assorted cookies and pastel mints.”

“We have the standard Friday night itinerary,” Parker added, “excluding bouquet and garter toss. Rehearsal Thursday afternoon, so if there are any glitches, we’ll deal with them then. Saturday,” she began.

 

 

 

W
HENEVER EMMA THOUGHT OF HER PARENTS, HOW THEY MET, fell in love, it ran through her mind like a fairy tale.

Once upon a time there was a young woman from Guadala jara who traveled across the continent to the great city of New York to work in the business of her uncle, to tend the homes and children of people who needed or wanted their homes and children tended. But Lucia longed for other things, a pretty home instead of a noisy apartment, trees and flowers instead of pavement. She worked hard, and dreamed of one day having her own place, a little shop perhaps, where she would sell pretty things.

One day her uncle told her of a man he knew who lived miles away in a place called Connecticut. The man had lost his wife, and so his young son had no mother. The man had left the city for a quieter life—and, perhaps, Lucia thought, because the memories were too painful in the home he’d shared with his wife. Because he wrote books, he needed a quiet place, and because he often traveled, he needed someone he could trust with his little boy. The woman who had done these things for the three years since the sad death of his wife wished to move back to New York.

So Lucia took a great leap, and moved out of the city and into the grand house of Phillip Grant and his son, Aaron.

The man was handsome as a prince, and she saw he loved his son. But there was a sorrow in his eyes that touched her heart. The child had had so many changes in his short four years, she understood his shyness with her. She cooked their meals and tended the house, and looked after Aaron while the man wrote his book.

She fell in love with the boy, and he with her. He was not always good, but Lucia would have been sad if he had been. In the evenings, she and Phillip would often talk about Aaron, or books, or ordinary things. She would miss the talks—she would miss him—when he went away for business.