Elly In Bloom (4 page)

Elly sighed. Wedding deliveries, no matter how planned and organized, were always stressful.
God help me
, she thought. She grabbed her directions from the table, along with two flower girl baskets and jogged out to the van. Once there, she ran through her contract verbally with her hormonal worker.

“One Bridal Bouquet?”

“Check”

“Four Bridesmaids…plus the new one you forgot?” Elly arched her eyebrows.

“Check.”

“Personal flowers?”

“Check”

“Twenty centerpieces?”

“Check.”

“So we are good to go?”

Snarky Teenager nodded. She peered at Elly. “Why are you so sweaty?”

Because I’m a heifer
, Elly thought. She ignored the question, but wiped her hand against her drenched forehead.
Geez, I haven’t even left the parking lot yet and I’m soaked – can it really only be the first weekend in May?
Elly climbed in the car, slamming the door next to her.

“Make sure you don’t forget the Meske pick-up at 4,” she instructed. “I’ll call you on my way back.”

Snarky Teenager nodded and walked back into the shop, butt cheeks hanging out of her underwear that Elly believed were masquerading as shorts.
I have got to talk to her about those.
She knew she wouldn’t.

Elly pulled her van onto the street, heading for Interstate 40. The air conditioning blew on her freckled skin. The wedding today was at the Botanical Gardens. While beautiful and romantic, Elly loathed delivering there. Not only did the ceremony site feel like it was approximately 100 miles from the entrance, it was in the African Garden – Elly snorted - but it was hot as Hades and she was going to have to truck it all out there on her little cart. Elly turned up the radio, trying to ignore the oncoming trauma.

When she arrived at the gate, she was first waved through to the wrong entrance, where caterers’ unloaded white push carts and frozen shrimp platters. She drove around until she found a suitable entrance, which was still across the garden from the ceremony, quite the distance from Elly’s perception. Lifting the first box of flowers holding the bouquets, she carried it across the parking lot and into the bride’s room. The bride was not there yet – thankfully – so she unloaded the vases, taking a minute to admire their simple loveliness. The bride’s bouquet was white orchids, Queen Anne’s lace, white mini-callas and white roses with green berry accents. Next to the bright pink, green and yellow, the whites looked even more radiant in their crystal vase.

Huffing back out to the van, Elly threw the box in the back and proceeded to grab the men’s flowers. The handsome young men dressed in khaki suits were actually nearby in the garden lobby, much to Elly’s relief.

“Um, excuse me. Excuse me?”

The men ignored her.

“You!” she pointed at the groom, who was taking swig from a small bottle of liquor. They looked up, annoyed.

“I need to pin you.”

The boys snickered. Elly suddenly felt small.

“Please put on your jacket and come over here.”

The groom sauntered over, sizing up Elly with red bloodshot eyes. She grabbed his tea rose bout and held it up against the jacket.

“Don’t stick me” he joked, leaning backwards.

Elly looked up at him with wide eyes. “You know, that is the first time I have EVER heard that. You’re so hilarious!” She tilted her head sideways. Elly hated guys like these, the same type of guys who had picked on her for her weight in high school, the kind of guys who didn’t take their wedding day seriously, the kind of guys who thought affairs were a given. She arched her eyebrow. “Also, you shouldn’t drink before your wedding. Your bride has spent a year planning for this day and you shouldn’t be drunk for it. The ceremony is sacred.”

The groom’s smile faded. His groomsmen stared at her, open-mouthed.

“Okay then!” she said nervously and bounced back to the car. Sometimes her mouth was a problem.

Elly took a second to drink some water, and then started loading her centerpieces onto a small cart. The large glass trumpet vases went first, followed by small fishbowls, filled with delicately wrapped lily grass and pink lotus flowers. This was the first trip. Twenty sweaty minutes later, she returned – after fighting her way, cart and all, across the Japanese and Victorian gardens with glassware bouncing on gravel paths – to get the second part of the centerpieces. The back of the van held clear glass dishes dripping with amaranthus, fuchsia tea roses, Green Goddess callas, yellow dahlias and pink gerbera daisies. Flowers covering the cart, carrying two arrangements against her hip, Elly proceeded out to the garden. In the middle of the African garden, a gorgeous white tent billowed in the wind. Elly set down the centerpieces and took a moment to catch her breath. Then she started setting up. Fishbowls and lotus flowers were set lining the bar, the buffet and the head table. She then interspersed delicate white votives between them. The trumpet vases went up after that, set onto the bright fuchsia tablecloths, and surrounded by loose green orchids.

Elly was finally starting to relax, to enjoy decorating for this beautiful event, when she heard a familiar shrill voice echo across the garden: “Why are mah strawberries dipped in pink sprinkles? We wanted yellow! We sent that over in a contract YESTERDAY!”

Oh God
, thought Elly.
The wedding coordinator is here.
Striding across the lawn in neon pink leopard heels was Lizette Kobul, the owner of Kobul Creations, one of the larger wedding coordinating companies in St. Louis. Lizette was beloved by brides for her eye for details, her elite connections, and her military-esque approach to planning. She was universally hated by most vendors for the way she treated them: barking orders, belittling and muttering comments dripping with classism. She relentlessly pursued Elly to recommend her to Posies’ brides, but Elly had a deep desire NOT to network with a crazy lady.

Give me strength Lord
, Elly thought,
please give me the strength to not murder this woman.

“Ellllleeee Jordan, is that you??” she shrieked, shielding her eyes, “I should have known by that beautiful round behind!”

The hint of a Southern twang got her every time. She had heard from her wedding cake friend that Lizette was actually from Rhode Island. No one really knew where the accent had come from. Elly turned around and dusted her hands off.

“Hello Lizette. How are you?”

“Oh, I’m fine, I’m fine. These people are all idiots and my bride is freaking out, but I’m fine. How are you? The flowers are beautiful, as always.” She fingered one of the green orchids. “I had told Leslie that she should have a clover green, but she insisted on lime…after meeting with you. Oh well, I guess it looks pretty. Clover would have been really nice though, don’t you think?”

She smirked at Elly. “These centerpieces are marvelous. We had some from Clayton Flowers at the wedding last week. They were incredible. Just incredible.”

Elly felt anger rising up inside of her, but she forced it down, a ball of boiling wax, and told herself that she would ignore the backhanded insults.

“I’m sure they were lovely. They do a nice job.”

Lizette nodded and eyed her suspiciously. “You know, hun, I always wonder how you got your business started up so fast. It was just like one day, everyone was fussing about Posies. And then all of a sudden, here you are at a ton of weddings with your,” she made quotes with her fingers, “‘garden style’ and your Tuscan urns, and I get to see you all the time. Yaaaay.”

Elly rolled her eyes when Lizette turned around. She steeled herself.

“Yes. We’ve been very blessed and we love our brides. I should really get back to decorating. I’m sure you have people to…get in order.”

Lizette peered at the centerpiece. “Yes. I think I will ask Leslie if she does indeed want the orchids up on every side, or just in the middle. It looks a little…off.”

Lizette smirked and snapped at her assistant, a nervous looking doe-eyed brunette who quickly ran up behind her. “ASHLEE!! Why are you just standing there like some ignorant stick? Go ask Leslie about these orchids. I want you back in five minutes. Also, please bring those strawberries back to the kitchen and tell them that if they can’t get sprinkle colors right, they deserve to be flipping burgers, not catering my events.
Mmm… kay
?”

Elly briefly imagined the glory of punching the wedding coordinator in the face. Instead, she turned around and continued moving the flowers around the votives.

Lizette chirped in her ear, “Okay. So….
great
talking to you, Elly. Keep up the good work. Oh, those candles are a little too close, don’t you think?” She spun on her tall heels and stalked out of the tent, but not before snapping at a waiter for chewing gum on the way out. Elly took a deep breath, congratulated herself for not slapping Lizette, and proceeded to drape the tent with flowers.

Thirty minutes later, she stood back and admired her handiwork. The white tent, previously a blank canvas, was now a lush garden. Pinks, greens and yellows were everywhere, a bright feast of color. The flowers had transformed the site from a stuffy wedding to a garden paradise. Elly loved this moment, the moment when she had taken something from bland to beautiful, when boring life bloomed before her eyes. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a floral swag blowing a little too loosely in the wind.
One more and I’m done.
The floral swag was on the top corner of the tent, behind a magnificent food spread
. Food. Mmmm…food.
Elly glanced around. There were waiters and caterers putting out stemware, and Lizette the wedding Nazi was nowhere to be seen. She reached over to the candles and orchids and pretended to move things around. With her other hand, she swiped some cheese from the tray and quickly shoved it into her mouth. Manchego. It was delicious, salty and tangy. Elly took a minute to savor it melting on to her tongue before climbing up the ladder to fix the swag.

She made quick work of it and leaned back on the ladder. It slipped to the right. Elly over-compensated with her behind and jumped off the side of the ladder, hitting the food table on the way down with her rear. She ended up on her knees, eye level with the table, the platter of cheese inches from her head. Panic swarmed through her until she realized that the table and all the food were still intact. Her face burned with embarrassment.
How did this happen? Oh no, oh no, oh no…
Through her tears she saw a couple of caterers speed-walking toward her. She jumped up.

“I’m okay, everyone. Totally okay. That ladder is…weird. Yeah. But I’m good, thanks for worrying.” They stared at her. That was when she felt an odd warmth on the back of her pants.

No, no, no…did I poop
??
DID I POOP???
Elly spun around. She couldn’t see the back of her pants. She swiped the area with her hands. It came away brown.

Kill me now. Please. Kill me now. Oh God, just reach down with your mighty hand…

She brought it to her nose. Chocolate. That was chocolate she smelled. She brought it to her mouth. Yes. It was chocolate. It was then that she looked up to see a small group of horrified waiters looking at her, mouths agape. She realized instantly what that looked like. She held up her hand in an awkward wave.

“It’s just chocolate. Not poop. Didn’t poop my pants! Just chocolate…I must have encountered the chocolate fountain…no biggie…”

She saw two cute caterer girls widen their eyes at each other and start to whisper. The DJ shook his head in annoyance. Elly’s face burned, and she felt shame and total embarrassment. Suddenly she was back in Georgia, sitting in her car, her head against the steering wheel. A hole in her stomach opened up, and she let the negative feelings rush at her. Elly felt her apron tight around her waist, her wide legs in her Capri pants, her hair plastered against her forehead.

What am I doing? Why did I think I could do this?
Gone was the beautiful sassy florist, and the woman rejected by so many – rejected by the man who was supposed to love her – rose up unwelcomed inside of her. And she had chocolate on her pants, which were also ripped up the leg. The room swam before her, a bright river of pinks and greens.
Here I go
, Elly thought, and pressed her palms against her eyes. She felt a light hand on her shoulder. She looked up. There was an elderly man smiling down at her, his wispy white hair sticking in all directions. His kind brown eyes looked past his Willy Wonka glasses straight into her embarrassment.

“What the hell are ya’ll looking at?” he snapped at the gawking crowd. “This woman could use a paper towel! You, with the earrings,” he gestured at the punk deejay, “can you get some paper towels and stop standing there with your mouth open?”

The deejay grunted and sulked off. The rest of the crowd dissimilated, murmuring to themselves. Elly turned around to the man who had saved her from a very public breakdown.

“Thank you, thank you.”

She paused.

“How bad is it?”

Elly slowly turned around, showing her chocolate covered rear to the stranger. A smile spread on his face from ear to ear.

“Well, you do look like you have had an unfortunate accident with, well..with, a port-a-potty.”

Elly smiled. Then she giggled. And with that, a huge laugh burst forth from her belly. The laugh opened up, and before she knew it, Elly had tears running down her face. She put her hand on the old man’s shoulder and leaned against him, this stranger, and laughed. The old man was chuckling as well.