The Wedding Party (11 page)

 

As Pam walked into the house from the garage, she came upon her father, just returning himself. He wore his shorts and had his gym bag slung over one shoulder, his tennis racket sticking out. He was a man in excellent physical and mental condition, and it was not at all unusual for him to have an evening game. “Hi there,” he said. “I left you a note. I had a couple of sets with Hank, then we had something to drink. I've already walked Beau. Are you just getting home?”

“I had to meet a client to deliver a check.”

“I saved you some stir-fry, if you're interested.”

“Thanks, but I don't think I'm hungry.”

“Pam? You feel all right?”

“Sure. Why?”

“You look a little flushed…a little feverish.”

“Oh really?” She touched her cheek and could feel the heat. In fact, she hadn't stopped feeling it since she'd left Ray. It was amazing; all that steam and all he'd done was touch her cheek. “I had to turn the car heater on. Maybe I overheated myself.”

“Spring is on us. Going to be getting real hot around here pretty soon,” her father observed.

You don't know the half of it,
she thought.

A
gatha Farnsworth checked her reflection in the dressing-room mirror. Pastel suit with knee-length skirt, check. Beige shoes with a low heel, check. Cream-colored, high-collared blouse, check. Spectacles, check. She didn't need them, mind, but the spectacles lent the touch she needed. The whole ensemble was accompanied by her soft brown hair, cut to the smooth pageboy style and kept an unthreatening color rather than her natural hair, which was fiery red and fiercely curly. Having it straightened was quite a chore, but smooth hair lent itself better to the image she wanted to create. The first rule of bridal consultants—no one draws attention away from the bride. Agatha, costumed so, could be swallowed up by the wallpaper.

She was so completely suited for this. Her distinctly refined British style brought customers to her in droves. They were confident this was a woman who could deliver the exact sort of class and panache they were looking for, whether their pleasure was barefoot in the park or the top of the Ritz. She was good at her job, certainly, but it was the accent that added that little extra expectation of a perfect wedding.

Even though every wedding oozed stress, it also blossomed in joy. Agatha was good at defusing angst in its earliest stages and even better at showering the brides, the mothers and the maids with the perfect amount of fuss. They ate it up. She made their experience peak.

And it kept her from thinking too much about herself.

She looked at her watch at the exact moment she heard the tinkling of the doorbell. She smiled. Promptness would be a plus. She walked into the showroom, but found only an older gentleman there, casually browsing through the invitation book.

“May I help you with something, sir?”

“Oh, hello,” he said pleasantly. “I'm here to see Agatha Farnsworth.”

She immediately extended her hand. Father of the bride, perhaps? It was unusual, but not unheard of. “How do you do? I'm Agatha.”

“Dennis Gardner,” he said, shaking her hand.

“Oh, of course, the groom. It's a pleasure.”

“Are you surprised?”

“Well, you've caught me. It's actually quite unusual to have the groom's participation in the wedding plans. Especially at this stage, this first meeting with the consultant.”

“Admit it,” he said, grinning. “You thought I was the bride's father.”

“I thought no such thing!” she lied, laughing. He could
not
have detected that very thing from her expression. She was a pro!

“Who usually shows up for the initial meeting?” he asked.

“Most often? That would be the bride and her mother.”

“In this particular case, you got lucky.”

“Now, Mr. Gardner, if you think I'm going to exchange mother-in-law jests with you, you're mistaken. I'd be laughing myself out of a perfectly good job.”

“So, when does the groom usually show up?”

“When the bride brings him, kicking and screaming, to view the invitations, flower arrangements, dining choices, et cetera. It will be a pleasure to have you involved from the beginning, Mr. Gardner.”

“Please call me Dennis. I keep expecting my father to walk in.”

“Very well, Dennis. Do we expect your fiancée? Ms. Dugan?”

He looked at his watch. “She's running a little late. Something urgent came up, but she hopes to be along as soon as possible.”

“Wonderful. Why don't we retire to my office. I'll get you settled with a cup of tea or coffee and you can look through some of the wedding books. You'll have the advantage over her, I fear, viewing my wares first, but I assume you've discussed what sort of affair best reflects your personal taste.”

He thought about this for a moment, a slight frown crossing his features, and said, “Tea would be wonderful.”

She wasn't fooled in the least. They obviously
hadn't discussed it at all. They'd decided to get married, to have a wedding, and hadn't the first idea what would suit them. She smiled and nodded. “Come along, Mr…. ah…Dennis. This will be far less painful than you think.”

Agatha's office was small and perfectly designed for intimate conferences. She used a table instead of a desk, which made looking through albums easier, and kept most of her paperwork at home, carrying only the essentials with her in her briefcase. There was a phone, a fax and a bookshelf filled with design albums that held everything from sample invitations to fabric swatches. Two chairs faced each side of the French provincial table—chairs usually inhabited by ladies. Dennis Gardner, tall and strongly built, looked too large for his.

She excused herself and brought back a tray bearing cups too delicate for this large man's fist, but they were all she had available. “You did say tea?”

“Yes, thank you,” he said, accepting the dainty china cup.

She took her place on the opposite side of the table. “So, Dennis, what was it that prompted you and your fiancée to consider the benefits of a wedding consultant?”

He took a sip of his tea and placed the cup on the table. She noticed it was nearly empty after one sip and made a mental note to stock mugs for future use since it appeared that more men were getting involved in the wedding plans.

“Charlene and I have been seeing each other for
years, but our decision to get married was sudden, so we haven't given the matter much thought. We've both been married before, both have busy careers and it just seemed like too much of an undertaking. But then her daughter came up with the suggestion that we talk to a consultant before abandoning the idea. Do you remember Jennifer Johnson?”

Agatha beamed. “Of course! A young doctor marrying another young doctor.”

“Jennifer was a sorority sister of Charlene's daughter, Stephanie.”

“Ah, I see. Jennifer's wedding was a huge success, if I do say so myself.”

“So I hear. Stephanie couldn't believe we weren't having a party at least, especially given the fact that Charlene and I love having guests.”

She folded her hands on the tabletop. “Perhaps you'll decide I can be of assistance.”

“You'd probably rather wait for Charlene, but I'm curious about what something like this costs. Do you mind…”

“Not at all.” She reached into her briefcase, which stood open on the empty chair beside her, and withdrew a brochure. “You'll see that my fee is hourly, but do remember, Dennis, that I am very experienced. I don't waste time on fiddle-faddle. Also, I have established relationships with various vendors and merchants. Sometimes I'm able to book events on short notice, whereas you might be told that reservations are made many months or even years in advance. And finally, do note, while you're under absolutely no ob
ligation to use the Bridal Boutique for any of your apparel or notions, there is a substantial discount if you do. Of course, they count on me to bring business their way. That's why they provide this little office for my use.”

“You work here? For the boutique?”

“I work as an independent consultant, but in addition to my hourly fee, which is competitive, I receive a commission on sales.”

He rested an ankle on his knee and looked over the top of the pamphlet, making eye contact. “Your rates may be competitive, but you're expensive.”

She smiled confidently, again folding her hands demurely. “When the florist loses your order, the limo has a flat tire and the maid of honor gains twenty-five pounds between the fitting and the wedding, I'm worth every penny.”

He admired both her confidence and her poise. “I'll just bet you are. And if a gentleman wanders in here in mid-April looking for a June wedding that's memorable…?”

“I would venture to say you couldn't do it alone. A wedding consultant with contacts and favors to call in would be indispensable.”

“But it could be done?”

“Dennis…
anything
can be done.” She fairly beamed.

His cell phone rang and he plucked it out of his pant pocket with some difficulty, squirming about in the chair. “Who do you suppose this could be?” he asked facetiously. “Hello, Charlene.” He listened…
and listened some more. “Let's do this,” he finally said. “I'll just treat this as a fact-finding mission. I'll gather information from Ms. Farnsworth about what she can do to help us, and if you finish up within the next thirty or so minutes, call. I don't want to keep the lady longer than that.”

Agatha made a dismissing motion with her hand. She was patient.

But he said goodbye, clicked his phone closed and put it in his shirt pocket.

“It's perfectly all right, Mr. Gardner—”

“Dennis. Please.”

“Dennis, I'm sorry. What I mean to say is, I'm very much accustomed to working with busy people who have tight schedules. I know I'm the one who must be flexible. I'm paid quite well for that.”

“Yes.” He laughed. “I see that.”

“I can stay as late as you need me. I have no other appointments this evening. Or, if it's more convenient to reschedule, that's easily done as well.”

“Agatha, you are far too accommodating. I could get used to it.”

“It's my pleasure. Your fiancée is obviously a busy woman.”

“She's an attorney. I know what she's working on right now, and I understand the urgency only too well. She's doing a pro bono case on a custody dispute, and it's possible there's abuse involved.”

“How dreadful!”

“It's actually a favor for her ex-husband. Someone he asked her to help.”

“Truly? Her ex-husband?”

“That's a fact. He's a police officer.”

It was rare for Agatha to be taken aback, but this had the effect. “Well, may I say, you're a sporting man, Mr. Gardner.”

This brought a burst of laughter from him. “I guess it must seem so, Agatha,” he said, not begging that first name out of her another time. “There are a couple of incidental facts that would probably make the scenario more understandable. One, Charlene has been divorced from her ex-husband for twenty-five years. And two, I work in an emergency room. I'm a physician's assistant. Unfortunately, I've seen some terrible situations resulting from domestic crises, so I'm only too happy for Charlene to do whatever she can before someone, especially a child, gets hurt. It takes precedence over planning parties…even wedding parties.”

She found herself simply staring as he spoke. “How very noble, Dennis,” she said from her heart, momentarily spellbound. What a wonderful man! What a wonderful couple they must be, championing the underdogs of the world.

“Ahem.” She cleared her throat to break the spell. “Well, would you like to glance through some wedding albums while we wait for Ms. Dugan? We have invitations, flowers, cakes, reception halls, outdoor facilities, everything you can imagine in connection to a wedding party. We even have the makings for a skydiving wedding.”

“Sure, I'll have a look through.”

She heaped a couple of heavy albums onto the table before him. “Perhaps by the time your fiancée is free, you'll have a suggestion or two for her. And allow me to get us more tea.”

The next thirty minutes turned into forty before Dennis's cell phone rang again. All he said was, “Perfectly understandable. Don't worry a bit, we'll talk later.”

“I expect that was disappointing news for you,” Agatha observed.

“More disappointing for you. Charlene isn't going to make it. I'm afraid I've wasted your time.”

“Not at all! I believe we've at least had a start. You now have an idea, however vague, of what can be done for you. We'll simply reschedule, at your convenience. Would you like to ring me when—”

He looked at his watch. “What I'd like to do is buy you dinner. It's the least I can do.”

“That's really not necessary, Mr. Gardner.”

“I don't know about that. It's necessary that I eat, and it's getting late. And you said you had no other appointments.”

“Thank you, that's very kind. But I fear your fiancée might find it inappropriate.”

“My fiancée who is presently doing free legal work for her ex-husband's new girlfriend?” He laughed. “Come, Agatha. I'll buy us a nice casual dinner, you can tell me your favorite wedding stories, and if Charlene finishes up, she'll join us.”

“Are you certain?” she asked.

“Completely. Otherwise, I might be offended.”

 

Before even beginning to decorate, Lois put on a Christmas CD and to the orchestral strains of “We Three Kings,” she pulled the heavy boxes of decorations out of the guest bedroom closet. It was smart of her, she now commended herself, not to store these in the attic after putting them away last Christmas. At her age, getting them down had begun to require assistance from Charlene or Stephanie or Dennis—or all of them. It made her feel so much better to be able to do this herself; the worst part about getting older was becoming dependent.