The Bastard Takes a Wife (6 page)

Mel snorted. “You’d rather he marry that
friend of yours? Chloe? Wasn’t she up on some sort of drug charge
not long ago?”

“How did you know that?”

“I read.”

“They didn’t belong to her. It was a
misunderstanding.”

“I believe it always is until you get to
rehab.”

Oh, this was priceless. And even better,
there was no way Patricia could disapprove of Melanie as a
bridesmaid ~ not after she’d railroaded me into having her.

Angus stood up. He could see things were
getting a little heated. With a three swift claps, he brought the
meeting to order.

“So ladies, let me introduce you to Penelope
Brewster. She’s the ‘go to’ girl for custom wedding stationary.
She’s managed to squeeze us in but we have to make a decision today
as the stationary is hand made.”

Penelope’s mouth tugged into a smile and the
introduction, revealing a set of rather pointy, extremely white
teeth that instantly altered her appearance from pretty to
prehistoric budgie. “I’ve brought a few samples. And, my portfolio
has shots of others you may like.”

“Penelope has assured me she’s able to
reproduce anything you see today in the timeframe. And let’s face
it every wedding should be announced with a certain degree of
fanfare, so why not have the best if we can?” Angus’s hand swept
along the table, revealing some of the most harebrained ideas for
wedding invitations I’d ever seen ~ jester hats, bunches of paper
flowers, three freakin’ blind mice. There wasn’t a normal old
scroll or card in sight.

“Definitely,” agreed Patricia.

“Only the best for Millie and Sam,” echoed
Adele.

Amanda pouted and sat back on her seat,
crossing her arms over her chest.

“Now, Millie, I know you wanted simple and
seeing as we’re going for a black and white theme maybe we could
have some thing like this? A replica of this design was used by
Pandora in the last series of the Real Housewives of Beverly
Hills.”

I had no idea who he was talking about but
the girl had either no taste or way too much money. Angus had
reached across the table and was holding up a square golden box
about thirty centimetres across, the lid of which was smothered in
pink rosebuds hot-glued in orderly lines. With a flourish, he took
the lid from the box and revealed a bed of pink satiny fabric from
which he plucked the invitation. It was a white silk covered card
printed with embossed silver font.

“Of course, we’d do yours in a black satin
box with white roses and black lining.”

My eyes were like stalks popping out of my
head. I could feel them bulging unnaturally.

“You don’t like it?”

“It’s… it’s…..” God, I had no idea what to
say. It sounded more like a funeral than a wedding.

“It’s fucking disgusting. If Millie delivered
that to the boys from the club they’d laugh in her face. I don’t
care who designed it,” Mel answered.

“I beg your pardon,” Patricia said.

“You heard me. It’s hideous. What else have
you got, Angus? I can only assume you’re working up to the good
stuff.”

Penelope produced a smaller cube shape, very
simple in design though still in the pink theme. “I can make it in
any colour you like,” she offered.

“That could work,” Mel whispered to me. “You
could have cream with black ribbon.”

I nodded. It was stylish. Classy. And I’d
never seen an invitation like it though God knows how it would go
through the post. I posed the question.

“The invitations will be delivered by
courier,” Angus explained. “Patricia’s contracted a company to do
it.”

Oh.

“Does my mother know about this?” I asked,
because I was sure my father would have a nervous break down when
he found out about the extra cost.

“Kent and I are paying,” Patricia said.
“We’ve spoken to your parents. There’s no question that we won’t be
contributing to give you and Sam the perfect day. The onus
shouldn’t fall completely on your family.”

“Thank you. That’s very kind of you.” I
wanted to say something more but frankly I was so shocked I was
unable. And anyway, I was sure she was only doing it for the social
kudos. It had nothing to do with Sam and I.

“I think the interior will seal the deal.”
Angus opened the box. A built in mp3 began to warble a bad version
of ‘The Power of Love’ as a pink butterfly flew out and around the
table. He tilted the box to reveal the invitation card. “Of course,
the butterfly would be colour co-coordinated too.”

“No.”

“No, you don’t want it colour coordinated?”
Adele asked.

“No, I don’t want a butterfly. It’s
ridiculous. We aren’t going to a garden show. And you can scrap the
music, too.”

“But it’s Celine Dion.”

“Sam hates Celine Dion. He’d strangle me.
What happened to good old invitations in an envelope? Plain,
quality parchment or something?”

“But they’re so last year…. And that Jennings
cow is watching our every move.”

I was starting to lose my cool. Again. I drew
in a breath letting it out as slowly as I could, knowing it was
pointless. They weren’t going to listen. “I don’t care if she’s on
the lawn doing karaoke to LMFAO. I want something plain and simple.
It’s to be white or cream with black font and some ribbon or
something.”

“Diva,” Amanda muttered.

“Watch yourself,” Mel replied. “And remember
whose wedding this is.”

“I can hardly forget, now can I?”

“Show us something else,” Mel said, ignoring
her.

After an hour the table was littered with
rejects ~ silver, gold, sequined, even balloons ~ some of the
examples were so outlandish I was almost reduced to tears. I
thought we’d exhausted every possibility until Penelope pulled
something from a box at her feet. It was quite unlike anything else
she’d shown us.

“This was one of my first designs. I don’t
use it much any more. The brides all seem to want something
flashier but I could modify it for you if you like it.” She held up
a small cream rectangle embossed with gold that sat in a flat satin
lined box. It was so thin and unpretentious; we’d even be able to
send it by regular mail.

A smile bent my lips for the first time that
afternoon. Mel and I nodded to each other.

“Can I pick the font? And the satin colour?”
I looked over at Penelope.

“Yes. I could put some…”

“NO!” I interrupted her. “I want it like
that.”

Amanda raised her eyebrows at her mother and
muttered, “I told you. No taste. ”

Patricia turned to Penelope, giving her a
look I couldn’t decipher.

“What about…?” Penelope attempted. I could
see she was caught between wanting to please me and giving some
satisfaction to Patricia.

“No,” Mel repeated. “Jesus, are you people
deaf?”

Angus sat down. He pulled the invitation box
towards him and studied it. “I think this could work,” he said to
Patricia. “We can use the black silk interior and stamp the
initials of the bride and groom on the top of the box, like so.” He
scribbled some rather fancy letters in a crest shape onto a piece
of paper. “Maybe in gold?”

“Yes. That’d be nice. In fact, it’s perfect,”
I smiled. At last. Success.

Mel picked up her handbag and pulled her car
keys from inside. “Well, now that that’s sorted, I must dash. I’ll
see you on the weekend, Millie.”

I stood up to walk her to the door. “Thanks
for coming to help.”

“It’s fine. Only a bitch knows how to handle
a bitch. You would’ve been eaten alive without me. And don’t you go
signing anything either. I meant what I said about that
pre-nup.”

I held the front door open and waved her off
down the drive. “Thanks again. Mel. You’re a gem.”

“Pleasure, Babe. Pleasure.”

“Oh, Mel?”

“Hmm?”

“Since when did I have a legal team?”

“Since Johnny and I decided over cocktails
the other night that we’d best arm you for a fight. You’re dealing
with the big boys now. You’ve got to get in the game.”

But it wasn’t a game. It was my life.

*****

With the next couple of hours free ~ well,
until I had to start the school run for Adele ~ I decided to stop
in at The Lederhosen and see how Alex was doing. She’d seemed a
little put out that I hadn’t included her in the picking of
invitations. Even though she was working and wouldn’t have been
able to come anyway, my reasoning had fallen on deaf ears. Alex
seemed to think that dealing with a large Greek family gave her the
ability to mediate on any scale. I don’t think she’d ever dealt
with the likes of Patricia and Amanda though.

When I got to the bar, she was finishing the
lunch shift. She was standing behind the servery, putting away the
last of the cutlery.

“Hey,” I slung my shoulder bag down onto the
counter.

“D’you mind? I’ve just wiped that.”

“Sorry.” I picked up my bag and put it on the
carpet at my feet. Clearly, she was still miffed. “We picked the
invitations. You should have seen the things they wanted us to
have. Oh. My. God. Insane. There was this one box thing….”

Alex gathered a load of dry forks and turned
away from me. “Look, I’m super busy. Can we talk about this
later?”

“Um, sure. I guess. I just thought….”

“Sam’s out in the bar, why don’t you go and
tell him?”

I have to admit I was a trifle hurt at the
brush off. “Because we had lunch together two hours ago and I can’t
talk weddings with him. He’s not interested in invitations.”

Alex swung back. “And you think I am?”

I walked around into the servery. I knew Alex
was upset but this was over the top even for her. She was never the
upset type. Wrapping my arms around her, I gave her my best
hug.

“You’re crushing the prongs of the forks into
my boob.” A small grin tilted the corner of her mouth.

“Sorry,” I repeated, pulling away. “So,
what’s wrong? Is it the invitations? ‘Cause you know I would have
asked you if you weren’t working. You are the Maid of Honour.”

“Yeah. I know. I’m just… well, I got this
email from Angus. She reached under the counter and rifled around
in her bag, retrieving her iPhone. She opened her mail box and
handed the phone to me. At the top of the inbox was a message
titled ‘training sessions.’

“I mean, don’t you think this is taking the
whole thing a bit far?” she asked. “I know I’m a bit overweight but
I’ve lost five kilos since you asked me to be your bridesmaid. Now
you want me to go to Personal Training? If this is what I have to
do to be your friend, I’m not sure I want to be in the wedding any
more.”

My eyes scanned the message. “Look, I didn’t
know anything about this. God, I’m so sorry. I already told Angus
that he wasn’t to mention anything to you about weight.”

“So you think I’m fat, too?”

“No. God, no. I was defending you against
them. I would never demand you to get skinny for my wedding. I like
you how you are and I told him that. If I was that shallow I’d
never have asked you in the first place, would I?”

“I guess not.”

I handed the phone back to her. “I’ll call
Angus right now and tell him to get off your back.”

“Don’t do that.”

“But I thought….”

“Yeah. So did I but when I read the rest of
the letter, I realised the training thing’s free. I could never
afford a personal trainer under normal circumstances but seeing as
Sam’s mother’s paying, why not? And I do want to look nice in the
photos, especially if I have to stand next to the Glam
Brigade.”

I giggled and gave her a hug. That was my
Alex. “Hey, do you want me to come with you? I wouldn’t mind toning
up a bit and we could motivate each other. I’m such a sloth about
exercise. And now I don’t work here anymore I have way too much
time on my hands. The gym could be my new hiding place.”

“Mrs. Brockton that bad?”

“Amanda’s worse.”

I pulled my phone out of the pocket of my
shorts and speed-dialled Angus to set it up. I could hear his cries
of rejoice already. All I needed now was the stylist.

Next Generation Health and Fitness at King’s
Park was possibly the most intimidating place I’d ever been. It was
where the beautiful ~ and loaded ~ people hung out. Bikes and
treadmills lined the windowed walls. Tall girls who looked liked
they’d just finished shooting for Marie Claire or Vogue or
something stood on them and around them wearing teeny climate
control singlet tops and short shorts that looked more like my
undies than something you’d exercise in. Their breasts were so
perky they didn’t need sports bras. Their bums were so toned I bet
they’d never seen a pair of Spanx. This was obviously all a show.
These girls didn’t need to work out. From the look of them, they
didn’t even eat. Pity that Alex and I stood out like Michael
Jackson fans at a Metallica concert.

Wearing our exercise gear ~ circa 2010 ~ of
leggings and Christina t-shirts I’d got the fateful night of the
concert-slash-prank-gone-wrong, we presented ourselves to the very
smart and very thin looking girl at the counter. Her nametag read
‘Imogene’ but ‘rude’ would have been more apt. Amazed that she
could glance up from whatever it was she was doing on the computer
while simultaneously looking down her nose, I gave her a smile. To
say she gave us the once over would be being polite.

“Hi, I’m Millie McIntyre. Alex and I have an
appointment with Jackie at 2pm.”

Imogene rolled the mouse and clicked a few
buttons, consulting the computer diary. I was waiting for her to
tell us there’d been an error; that nobody dressed like us could
possibly come into Next Generation.

“Jackie’s in Studio 2,” she said. “That way.”
She raised a bony finger and waggled it in the direction of the
hall and away from the main gym area. Clearly, only certain people
got to work out in full public view. We weren’t them. We set off in
the direction given.