Bride Has Two Faces: A Wedding Caper Sequel

  The Bride Has Two Faces

  By Laura Briggs

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright 2012 Laura Briggs

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com to purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Cover Image: “Vengeful Vows: Vintage Wedding Art Collage No.2.” Altered art digital image. Used with artist’s permission.

  Beatrice's purpose in life was adrift–like clouds blown about by the wind, without form or destination. Capable of being molded into something new or moved in a new direction with a change of breeze, as evidenced by her choice of part-time jobs and college studies.

  But even a life of clouds becomes stationary without a breeze to push it along; and once Beatrice Bailey was a graduate instead of a restless college student, she faced certain facts about her future. Notably, that very little opportunity was in store for a girl who had studied cake baking and algebra one year, then forestry and accounting the next. Her B.A. in history– what was that worth when one was facing a job choice between selling sneakers and stocking grocery shelves?

  Beatrice faced those facts with a stalwart optimism and applied for a position in something entirely different: event planning.

  In high school, she had planned a friend's bridal shower and more than one college party–event, not kegger–had been coordinated successfully by her efforts. Her people skills were fairly good; she was friendly, smart, and confident, capable of resisting her overly-opinionated side and the sometimes-pert remarks which popped into her head when dealing with flighty or shallow acquaintances. People instinctively liked or disliked Beatrice, but none could argue that she was capable of handling almost anyone or anything.

  Taming her unruly curls, frequently bobbed or frizzed beneath a hat, she pinned them back neatly and donned her only business suit before facing her future.

  *****

  Gwendolen Miller's Creative Coordination was the second-biggest wedding and event planner in the city. Some clients claimed its chief planner had surpassed even the legendary Grace Taylor–but that was another story.

  To Beatrice, even the gilded-framed prints in the reception room seemed intimidating on her visit. She approached the receptionist's desk with forced confidence, where the secretary smacking a piece of gum consulted an appointment book before ushering Beatrice through the door to Ms. Miller's office.

  "Welcome, Miss Bailey," Gwendolen's voice was pleasant as she seated herself behind the desk in her office. Across from her, Beatrice tugged the slightly-too-short skirt of her grey suit closer to her knees.

  "Thanks," said Beatrice. "I guess I'm a little surprised–that is to say, I'm happy you called since my resume isn't the stuff of the creatively-inclined." That wasn't exactly what she planned to say to her potential boss, but Gwendolen's smile seemed unchanged as she perused the thin resume. Beatrice had weeded out references to sporting goods retail and the summer she worked as a hotdog vendor.

  The planner's fingers deftly flipped open a folder Beatrice had provided, sorting through a few of the items inside. Beatrice bit her lip, averting her gaze towards the view of the sky outside the window, then the carpet beneath her. Realizing with a stab of reproach that her brown flats were scuffed on one side from climbing the rock boulders in the park. Didn't my mother warn me a thousand times about being a tomboy?

  "These birthday party photos are impressive," said Gwendolen. "The pinata cake...the Twister dance floor ..." She examined a close-up of a wall collage at the wedding shower Beatrice planned for a high-school friend, featuring a graffiti motif of spray paint and scissored photos on a grey sheet.

  "That one was ... uh, a little different, I know," said Beatrice, "but it was kind of Samantha's style. She liked things casual." Samantha's Brooklyn apartment had overlooked a youth-vandalized playground where she played as a child.

  Gwendolen slipped the photos inside the file again, the diamond on her left hand winking in the sunlight. "I think it's perfect," she answered. "While I'm sure you're aware it's not the style of formal events, I think it shows something unique about you. About your openness to new ideas–which is something we're all about at Creative Coordination."

  Beatrice had been cringing inside until this moment, but something in Gwendolen's voice made her glance in the planner's direction again. Realization passed through her like a bolt of electricity surging through a wire. Gwendolen Miller–the Gwendolen Miller– admired her work?

  "I think I'd like to take a chance on you," said Gwendolen. "If you're interested in being part of our firm, that is."

  "Interested?" repeated Beatrice. "I–I would love it. Absolutely." She rose to her feet at almost the same time as Gwendolen, who moved forward to shake hands. As they stood face to face, Beatrice noticed the stylish black heels of her employer in contrast to her own semi-casual shoes. Gwen's eye flickered in the same direction, a hint of a smile on her lips–but not a condescending one, Beatrice couldn't help but notice.

  "Just one thing," said Gwendolen, as she escorted her towards the office door. "We have a policy here at Creative Coordination–about not involving our personal lives in our business."

  "You mean, like not planning events for friends and family?" said Beatrice. Gwendolen's forehead crinkled slightly as she considered this answer.

  "More like ... not getting involved with clients. In a romantic sense, that is," said Gwendolen. "But I think you have the general idea. Just keep that in mind whenever you're working on an event. Our clients should be viewed as friendly business associates–and nothing more. For the sake of yourself and the firm."

  "Understood," said Beatrice.

  *****

  It would have amazed the Beatrice shaking hands with her new boss–and still amazed her present-day self–that two years later she was one of the fastest-rising planners at Creative Coordination. In that time, she had moved swiftly from the girl who ran errands like invitation pick-ups and sample bouquets to planning graduation parties and office holiday luncheons.

  The wardrobe in her closet contained almost as many business skirts and blazers as denim cut-offs and old t-shirts. Her wall was decorated with almost as many magazine cake designs and wedding dress clippings as posters for national parks and rain forest animals. Beatrice's college classes in forestry and zoology had stayed with her long after the potential majors were abandoned.

  This rise to success, however, had denied her the one thing that sealed the career of any good event planner: a wedding in her portfolio. Those prime events were given to two senior planners on Gwendolen's staff, professionally-trained and competent employees who had years of practice over Beatrice. Even the impressive retirement dinner of two months ago hadn't been enough to convince Gwendolen to give her employee this ultimate opportunity. Or so it seemed.

  "You should be proud of yourself, Beatrice," said Gwendolen. "You outdid yourself on the Burtridge party. The company director himself wrote a note expressing his thanks to our firm–I thought you should read it yourself." As she spoke, she slid a square of office stationary across her desk to face Beatrice.

  "Thank you," said Beatrice, who glanced over the note with a sense of curiosity more than excitement. Had she been summoned merely to read a note her boss could have copied off and dropped at her desk?

  Gwendolen seemed to be reading her mind; a smile tugged at the corners of her lip
s as she watched. "I wanted you to know how much your clients appreciate your efforts, so you would appreciate the results of their gratitude."

  She leaned forward, meeting her employee's eye with a keen gaze. "I think you're ready for your next assignment, Beatrice." The tone in her voice was unmistakable; Beatrice's heartbeat quickened.

  "A wedding?" Beatrice raised her eyebrows. "You want me–for a wedding?"

  Gwen’s smiled broadened. "You should know there's a lot riding on this assignment. If this goes well, then you could have a long-term future at the firm. As the new senior planner, for instance."

  "You'd promote me," said Beatrice. "Give me a leading position in the firm, based on a single job?"

  "It's more than a single job," laughed Gwen. "You've done well here for two years–I'm simply giving you a trial run to make sure you're ready. Ready to handle the kind of assignment that makes or breaks a wedding planner."

  Beatrice sucked in her breath. "I'll do it, then.” she answered. “You can count on me. I promise." Her hand itched to give Gwendolen a jaunty salute as if sealing her victory in place. Her employer laughed.

  "Let's hope so," she said. "Now go and see what's waiting for you." She reached for the phone as Beatrice pushed open the door to the reception room where Joan was typing away. Approaching the desk with an additional spring in her step, Beatrice almost forgave the high-heeled shoes she forced herself to wear to work. "My assignment," she declared. "Anything special for me today, Joan?"

  "So she told you?" Joan eyed Beatrice expectantly as she glanced up from her computer screen. "Congratulations. It took Carolyn almost three years to convince Gwendolen to let her handle one–and then she bungled it with a mix-up on the centerpieces."

  "I remember that," laughed Maria, who was perusing a list of caterers a few feet away. "She ended up with those tiny giraffes on every table–holding pink balloons that read 'It's a girl!' as I recall."

  Beatrice felt a stab of anxiety inside at this remark, but ignored it. "There's no difference between a wedding and a birthday party,” she said, with a shrug. “It's all about keeping it together, you know?"

  "Yeah, well, keep in mind that weddings are the real bread and butter around here," said Joan. "This is where Creative Coordination gets its reputation–and where you'll get yours." With a wink as she handed Beatrice a file.

  "Your client's in the Rose Room, waiting for their big meeting," said Joan. Beatrice's fingers closed over the thin portfolio cover, a tingle of anticipation running through her fingers.

  "Don't break the rules, now," said Maria, with another trill of laughter as Beatrice moved past her.

  Each step brought her closer to the polished wood door that separated the client reception room from the front desk and the office zone. Tucking her planning portfolio more firmly under her arm, she turned the knob and stepped through the doorway, facing the couple seated on the rose chintz sofa within. The perky blond lit up with a charming smile at the sight of the planner in the doorway. Beside her, a person whose familiar face made Beatrice freeze in place for a moment as their eyes met.

  "Look, Dan," said the blond girl. "She's here at last."

  *****

  "Hi." Beatrice found her voice after a moment. "Hi, I'm ... I'm Beatrice Bailey. Your planner from Creative Coordination, obviously."

  This last part was more blunt than she intended, but she was still rattled by the sight of the man beside the blond girl, his arms resting on his knees as he bent over one of the display books on wedding floral arrangements. Now his gaze was trained on Beatrice with a look of surprise, although he still hadn't spoken.

  "I'm Charlene Conners," said the blond girl, holding out her hand to reveal beautifully manicured nails. Her eyes were creased at the corners when she smiled, in an almost child-like innocence.

  "Pleased to meet you," said Beatrice, whose voice was still fainter than her usual tones.

  "I'm so excited we get to be here–this firm is the best in the city everybody says, even better than Grace Taylor's," the girl continued, as Beatrice sank onto the armchair across from them. "This is just the sweetest surprise, getting to be one of Ms. Miller's clients."

  There was a dimple in her cheek when she smiled, Beatrice noticed; she was hugging the arm of the apparent groom-to-be.

  "Dan, what is it?" the blond girl plucked his sleeve playfully. "Dan gets tongue-tied sometimes," she said, apologetically, to Beatrice.

  "I think he's just a little surprised," said Beatrice, "since he kind of ... recognizes me."

  "Yeah," said Dan. "We used to–"

  "We went to college together," said Beatrice. "I remember you. Meteorology student, right?" It wasn't', she already knew; but she raised her eyebrows as she spoke in hopes he would take the hint.

  Daniel glanced away, rubbing his neck. "I switched to astronomy, actually," he said.

  "Daniel was supposed to be the biggest weathermen this side of the Mississippi– until he fell head over heels with stargazing," said Charlene, giving Dan's arm another squeeze. "He's got a big project going with a science grant and everything–studying the comets, right?" She glanced at him, quizzically.

  "It's a study on how astronomical events affect weather patterns," he said. "It's not a big deal or anything." There was a slight tone of embarrassment in his voice, but other than that, it sounded normal–like the version of himself that popped vividly into Beatrice's mind as she gazed at him.

  He had recovered sufficiently, the surprised look replaced by something akin to relaxed as he met his bride-to-be's eyes. This, Beatrice noticed wistfully as she parted her lips to reply.

  "That sounds great," she said. "No chance your wedding's theme is Starry Night, is it?" Usually, her lame jokes failed to procure laughter, but Charlene seemed to find this one hilarious.

  "I think the heavens might be a bit much, since we're planning just a simple little thing," she answered. "We're keeping it simple, aren't we, Daniel?"

  "Simple," he repeated. "Sounds good." The hand squeezing Daniel's sported a large blue stone surrounded by diamond chips.

  "Well, we can find simple, I'm sure," Beatrice answered, surprised by the blandness in her voice. She felt a twinge of guilt beneath Charlene's smile; those crinkly-cornered eyes, the dimpled cheek, the flyaway blond curls–she seemed perfect, practically an angel with an accent that conjured images of pecan pies and steamboats paddling rivers south of the Mason Dixon line. Why on earth should she feel an overwhelming urge to run away from this scene?

  "Isn't it nice that you two know each other, though?" said Charlene. "I'll bet we can't wait to get all acquainted. Maybe you can tell me a little more about Daniel's mysterious past–maybe we'll have a good heart to heart over twin martinis."

  "I don't have a mystery past," he protested, with a slight laugh. "I just don't have any excitement in it, that's all."

  "WUNY was the last place to go for excitement," said Beatrice. "Do you remember when w–" She caught herself before the words finished emerging, swiftly substituting "–that time those two kids tried to host a midnight water balloon fight outside fraternity row?" Forcing herself to look casual with these words.

  "I do," said Daniel, after a moment, grinning slightly. "They were pretty wild, compared to their classmates."

  This was lasting way too long, with no means of escape. A future of discussing orchids and pasty wedding candies, of shopping for gowns and bridal party gifts–there was no possible way she could go through with this. Not even if she resisted the urge to shove the most perfect woman in the world off a mall escalator for the mere offense of being engaged to formerly geeky, genial, plaid-shirt-sporting Daniel Wilson.

  Not that there was anything about Daniel that hintedat those qualities anymore. The brief smile that appeared on his face at the mention of the water balloon fight would have melted Beatrice's knees had she been standing at the moment. Business suit and tie instead of plaid, unruly hair framing his attractive features in place of the buzzed shortness of old.<
br />
  But the look on his face when he glanced at Charlene was something new. A tenderness, a faint hint of longing–as if it was his heart tucked in Charlene's sapphire-studded grasp instead of his hand.

  "And how are we coming along?"

  With a jolt, Beatrice realized her employer was in the doorway behind her, watching the scene with an interested smile on her face. Forcing Beatrice to square her shoulders and offer her a wide smile.

  "Just swimmingly," she answered. As Charlene and Daniel beamed at her from the chintz-covered sofa.

  *****

  Beatrice had always believed that someday, the planets would align, the stars would emerge from the behind their clouds, and she would have a perfect future with Daniel Wilson. Just a future that was a little further away than her present-day interest in new experiences.

  Then her fantasies returned to earth. The reality was, long-distance calls and postcards were the stuff of casual relationships; no matter how she deeply she wanted to believe in a hidden thread of connection, it was gone.

  It was her fault. She couldn't deny it. She was the one who decided to transfer to another college after four semesters at WUNY. The free spirit who–on impulse–leaped at the chance to study ancient Indian cave dwellings up close and leave behind the boy who studied clouds and constellations with a seriousness beyond anything she ever pursued.

  They were more than friends in those three years. It was a bittersweet secret to Beatrice that he was the only boy she had ever kissed; that she had once dreamed that they were married and living on a remote star in the galaxy. She had wanted to beg him to join her when she transferred away from WUNY–didn't the program in Arizona have a great astronomy department?

  Five years ago–yet it surprised her that the ache smarted with equal force today when she saw him seated beside his fiancé.