School of Fortune (6 page)

“I don't know, dear,” came the hurt, muffled reply.

His voice on its last legs, the Reverend Alcott whispered, “The musicians will then join forces for the Hallelujah Chorus. The bridal party will follow Lance and Pippa out.” He looked at the pale couple. “I'd scram if I were you.”

Lance and Pippa nearly ran out of the auditorium, followed by their attendants. Pippa ditched her train in the lobby, then piled into the first limousine with Lance, who was already dialing Rosimund's cell phone. Pippa waited until he had smoothed his mother's ruffled feathers. “I'm so happy to see you,” she cried, plastering his face with kisses. “Where have you been?”

“Keeping the guys out of jail.” Lance buried his nose in Pippa's neck. “Diorissimo?”

Lance had always been exceptional at identifying perfume. “It's a custom Ricci blend. Ginny and I were looking for you today.”

“So I hear.”

“You haven't introduced me to Woody.”

“He's in the next car.”

“Did you two find a cummerbund?”

Lance put two fingers under her chin and raised her face. “Is this an interrogation?”

“Absolutely. I'm insanely jealous.”

“Yes, we found a cummerbund.”

“I would have loved to help you shop.”

“And I would have loved to have you there. But I wasn't about to risk the wrath of Thayne by removing you from scheduled events.” Lance kissed her. “Forgive me?”

Pippa's smile lit up the back seat. “Always.”

A
n hour before the Henderson Ball was to begin, seven hundred people had gathered outside Texas Stadium to watch guests arrive in their Bentleys, Aston Martins, and Hummer limousines. When it started to sprinkle, valets held umbrellas aloft, protecting the hair of Dallas from contact with ordinary rainwater. Crews from the local stations and
E!
recorded every step as women in glittery gowns and men in tuxedos traversed a red carpet into the stadium. The onlookers applauded almost nonstop. This was way more fun than rubbernecking at Oscar night because Dallas society women, unlike Hollywood actresses, did not believe that less was more, especially when it came to hair, jewels, makeup, sequins, ermine, and teeth.

Commandos in headsets kept the parade flowing evenly from vehicle to arena. Inside the stadium, guests wandered between four climate-controlled tents, one for each season, as they awaited the wedding party. Rosimund had borrowed the season idea after reading about a gala that the Emir of Kuwait had thrown for the Sultan of Brunei. In keeping with her Chinese numerologist's reading that four was her lucky number, she planned to serve a four-course meal that included black and white truffles, delicate game meats, rare grains, four wines, and Veuve Clicquot instead of the gassier Cristal that Thayne preferred. The first tent, stark white, was a winter garden containing a veritable forest of bamboo trees as well as two gigantic Plexiglas enclosures, one housing a pair of pandas, the other a pair of Siberian snow leopards. While sipping cocktails, guests could marvel at the animals, eat Kumamoto oysters, and watch a laser light show. A gamelan orchestra from Java serenaded A-listers who had come to Dallas for the wedding of the century. Souvenir booklets informed all that the laser exhibition was visible from the moon; the big hit of the evening was a gigantic hologram of Lance and Rosimund hovering like benevolent deities one hundred feet above the stadium.

When she was finally en route from Meyerson Center, Rosimund phoned her majordomo. “Begin moving guests into the second tent.”

“Thank you, madam,” Harry replied. The chefs were going ballistic because dinner was one hour behind schedule. “Did rehearsal go well?”

“As well as could be expected of a three-ring circus.”

Within moments the word “dinner” began flashing over and over in the sky. Guests headed for the next tent. During their long wait to be fed something more substantial than oysters and finger sculptures, they had had ample time to study the seating charts situated throughout the bamboo forest. Everyone now poured toward their tables with a great sense of anticipation.

The decor of the second tent evoked springtime. Forty tables were set in soft blues and pinks; a brass cage ensconcing two mechanical lovebirds topped the floral centerpiece on each table. The birds chirped nonstop as Andre Rieu led the Johann Strauss Orchestra through a flurry of waltzes. Acres of sky-blue silk formed the canopy of the tent. Large fluffy clouds attached to invisible pulleys wafted overhead, occasionally showering those below with golden Stardust (edible, in case it hit the food). The air was fragrant with just enough lily of the valley, Rosimund's favorite fragrance, to overwhelm Thayne's signature perfume.

Harry managed to seat everyone moments before the bridal party arrived. The spotlight found Rosimund, hard to miss since she was not only first in, but also wearing fiery red and a two-pound tiara. A shaft of light followed her to the microphone at the head table. As she welcomed her guests, waiters in pale yellow tuxedos commenced pouring Champagne.

While the cooks in the service tent went even more ballistic at the delay, Rosimund read a five-page, single-spaced essay entitled “My Son Lance.” Her memoir shared significant moments such as his first solid food, his graduation at the top of his kindergarten class, his discovery of a football, his first barbecue, his eight trips to Europe with her, his fifteen full scholarships that they didn't need, his first-round draft pick by the Cowboys. Rosimund closed with names she would prefer for her grandchildren: Henrianna and Hart. She raised her glass of now warm Veuve Clicquot. “Lance, I wish you as much joy with Pippa as you've had with me.”

“Hear, hear!” cried the guests.

“Thank you, Mother,” Lance dutifully replied. Under the table he squeezed Pippa's hand. “She's not too bad once you get to know her. You can leave that bottle right here,” he told the waiter refilling their glasses.

Pippa didn't want to say anything, but her fiance had had plenty to drink already. Worse, just before the rehearsal, Lance had presented all his groomsmen with Tiffany flasks containing 150-proof bourbon. “Are you all right, sweetheart?” she asked.

“Couldn't be better. Why?”

“You don't normally drink Champagne.” In such quantity.

“And I probably won't for another twenty years. Ah. You're worried it will impair my performance.” He smiled as Pippa blushed. “I'll let you in on a secret. I have yet to discover
anything
that impairs my performance.”

From the other end of the table, sensing that her son was already telling Pippa things he would never tell her, Rosimund felt a stab of pain. She remedied the situation by asking Lance to dance with her.

Watching her future husband and mother-in-law waltz around the parquet floor as artificial clouds dusted them with gold, Pippa felt suddenly weary. She was no psychoanalyst, but Lance did seem overly attached to his mother. She wondered if she would ever be able to turn that tide around.
Henrianna Henderson?
Out of the question.

“May I have this dance?”

Anson Walker, Pippa's beloved grandfather, took her hand. A legendary oilman and cattleman, Anson had decades of experience with petroleum, cows, and that other ruinous natural resource, Texan women. “You're looking mighty serious tonight.”

“It's all beginning to hit me, Grampy.”

“Perfectly normal. Don't worry about Rosimund. About now she's feeling like General Custer at the Battle of Little Bighorn.”

Pippa smiled. “Are you calling me an Indian?”

“No, a little big horn.” Anson steered Pippa onto the dance floor. “Did your mother tell you she wore that same dress at her rehearsal dinner?”

Pippa was surprised. “No.”

“I wouldn't think so. She was somewhat under the weather, too. Apparently the prospect of marrying my boy Robert was impossible to face without the help of two bottles of Champagne. You should have seen her on the dance floor. That poor girl was more liquid than solid. Grandma Walker almost called off the wedding. She was sure Robert was throwing himself away on a spineless wastrel. And look how that little lassie turned out. We're all so proud of Thayne.”

“So am I,” Pippa said. “But I want to be an equal partner with my husband.”

“Lance is a good boy. With your help I'm sure he'll outgrow his mother and become the man of the house.” Anson smiled at Pippa's diamond choker. “I'm so glad you're wearing that necklace, pumpkin. It was my wedding gift to your grandmother.”

“I'm honored to have it.” They danced a while in silence. Then Pippa asked, “Were you in love with Grandma at first sight?”

“We were special friends whose friendship caught fire.”

“Did it catch fire before or after you got married?”

“I'll tell you a secret. It was ten years afterward.” Anson's eyes grew misty as he remembered. “Your grandma was napping on the porch swing. It was late afternoon on a perfect summer day. She opened her eyes and saw me. A little smile overtook her face. In that moment I fell head over heels in love with her and stayed that way for the next forty-three years.”

“But how did you survive the first ten?”

“We got to know and respect each other better. I always knew she was a fine woman. I always knew we were rowing the same boat.” Anson kissed Pippa's forehead. “It will be the same for you.”

Pippa certainly hoped so. “Do you think I'm rushing into this, Grampa?”

“Of course not. You've known Lance for years. You have a good idea where he's coming from. Lord knows you two talk enough together.”

Yes, Lance could chat all night long. That was one of his most endearing qualities. “Do you think I'm marrying on the rebound?”

Anson went quiet for a few turns around the floor. “I think it's good that you had a romantic disappointment before marrying. Makes you appreciate the good apples more. Mistakes are our best teachers.”

“Andre was a mistake, all right.” Pippa just wasn't sure what she had learned.

“I'm only sorry you gave him a year of your life, when you could have been in school.”

The year wasn't entirely wasted. Pippa could speak a few words of Czech and she distinctly remembered the happy times. Both of them. “I'm not sure I want to stay in stage design,” she said.

“Then find something else you love. I do wish you'd go back to school and finish a degree. Education was the key to my success. If I hadn't learned about agriculture and geology, I would have been useless with cows and oil.”

“Once this wedding's over, I'm going to do something with my life, Grampa. Promise.”

“I know you've got it in you. Lance will be consumed with football so you'll have plenty of time to study. All the money in the world won't make you an adult. You've got to get there yourself. Just like your mama.”

Lance tapped Anson's shoulder. He looked flushed. There was a gleam in his eye that Pippa had not seen before. “May I?” he asked.

“Well, well! Had enough of dancing with Rosimund?” Anson handed Pippa to her fiance. “Take care of my girl now.”

Lance's fingers closed around Pippa's. They began circling the floor while the guests started in on the first course, truffled shad with roe. “Were you two discussing social Darwinism or something?”

“Survival of the fittest did come up.”

As their offspring danced, Thayne and Rosimund looked dotingly on from the head table. “That boy of yours is the luckiest man on earth,” Thayne commented, pressing her fork into a mound of shad roe. What a waste of a good truffle! “There aren't many women with Pippa's looks, personality, and pedigree. And accomplishments! Lord! Gold Girl Scout, cheerleading captain, debutante, Kappa Kappa Gamma, and she speaks fluent Czech.” “Her degree is in?” Rosimund inquired.

“Pippa is still deciding. Nowadays it's considered much wiser to take a few years off rather than major in something silly.” Thayne meticulously removed a bone from the shad. “Lance is the only boy I know with a degree in ceramics.”

“He has a fine eye for art. Since he has the means to become a major collector, it was a perfect choice of major. He can always study political science when he becomes bored with winning Super Bowls.”

Thayne peered across the dining room. One of the bridesmaids seemed to be straddling one of the groomsmen. It was difficult to see clearly with all this gold dust Rosimund was blowing in everyone's eyes. “Those friends of his are mauling my bridesmaids.”

“Perhaps you need glasses, dear. Your bridesmaids are doing all the mauling.” Rosimund sighed. “I wish you could have had one Houston woman among them.”

“For your information I did find one bridesmaid from Houston. She gained thirteen pounds in six months, lied to me about it, and had to be dismissed.”

Rosimund quietly masticated her black and white truffles as she tried to think of a way to run Thayne over with her Volvo and get away with it. “Where did you find that suit? I seem to remember seeing something like it on the Paris runway eight or nine years ago.”

“Alfred Fiandaca made it for me last month. Light and dark blue are the Kappa Kappa Gamma colors.” Thayne squinted at Rosimund's ensemble. “Isn't red completely out this year?”

“Do you follow fashion fads? I suppose that's the difference between old money and nouveau riche.” Rosimund lovingly straightened her tiara. “When did your ancestors come into wealth, dear? I've forgotten.”

“Twenty years after yours did.”

“Twenty years can be an eon. Ask Prince Charles. Well! Wasn't that delicious. I'm so looking forward to the smoked baby quail and purple rice.”

Two groomsmen, both football players, wobbled over. The 150-proof bourbon previously in Tiffany flasks now raged through their veins. “May we have this dance, ladies?”

Pippa smiled as the couples joined her and Lance on the parquet. “How sweet! Your friends asked our mothers to dance.”

“They have a little pool going. First guy to seduce either of them wins five grand.” Lance laughed curtly. “Personally I'd rather service my horse.”

Pippa couldn't believe what she was hearing. “I suppose I should be glad you find screwing your mother unattractive.”

“That was a lovely comment, chickadee.”

“So was yours. And don't call me chickadee. I'm not a bird.”

Fortunately Pippa's father tapped Lance on the shoulder. “May I cut in?”

“Not a moment too soon, sir.” Lance walked off. Robert saw his daughter's eyes fill with tears. “What was that all about?”

“I think we just had our first fight.” Pippa could barely eke out the words as she watched her fiance stalk out of the tent. “I feel like I'm sliding down a well, Daddy.”

“Preperformance jitters, darlin'. Perfectly normal.” Robert guided his daughter between raucously whirling Rosimund and Thayne. “Lance isn't sure he can live up to expectations. In this case there are plenty. Believe me, I've been there.”

“What is this, true confessions night?” Pippa snapped. “Was anyone in this family actually happy to get married?”

“Happiness comes later,” Robert attempted to explain.

“How much later?”

“When you learn to balance what you've got with what you thought you had.” Robert kissed her forehead. “Meanwhile, a well-bitten tongue comes in handy.”