Bride Has Two Faces: A Wedding Caper Sequel Page 2

  "Guess who's wedding I'm planning?" she said, twining the phone cord around her fingers as it dangled from the wall phone.

  "Who?" Her mother's voice sounded faint, as if drowned out by strains of nearby traffic, the city bus which always heaved to a stop near the apartment.

  "Daniel's," she said, forcing herself to sound perkier than characteristic. "Daniel Wilson's. You remember him–the boy I knew in college."

  "Daniel?" her mother repeated. "Oh, Bee, I'm so sorry. How on earth did that happen?" There was a groan-like quality to these words on the other end of the phone.

  "What, Ma? You make it sound like I'm burying him or something." Pretending she didn't know the real reason for the downcast tone of her mother's voice. She slid to the floor, crossing her legs so her feet folded beneath her flannel shorts.

  "You can't do this, Bee," her mother continued. "Can't you tell them to give it to somebody else–you must have somebody else–"

  "Ma, it's fine," she interrupted. "Really. I'm over it."

  "Don't lie to your mother." The voice on the other end took on a stern tone with these words. "I can always tell when you're lying. Remember when you stole that popsicle from a street stand–"

  "I was eight years old," Beatrice protested. "It's not the same as this. This is good. She's a nice girl, they're a lovely couple and they want a nice wedding. The firm is gonna promote me if everything works out." Her fingers wound the cord in knots around her fingers despite her casual voice, the tangled white coils bouncing against her blue plaid shirt.

  "You should've spoken to him when you had the chance," said her mother.

  She sighed. "It's over, Ma. That was a long time ago. We were kids, we were busy with life. We weren't–ready. Not for this kind of thing."

  "You mean you weren't ready," her mother corrected. "As I recall, he asked you not to go–" Beatrice interrupted before the argument, the age-old debate of her restlessness, emerged for another round.

  "It doesn't matter, because he's ready now and he's found someone," she said. "End of story." Something in her voice led to silence on the other end. Perhaps the flint-edged note of certainty in her tone closing the conversation. Or bitterness, she thought.

  After a moment, she heard her mother sigh on the other end. "Oh, Bee."

  "Really, it's gonna be great," said Beatrice. "I'll be fine. Just fine." She wondered if she said it a thousand times if she would believe it as cheerfully as she made herself sound right now.

  All she had to do was get used to the idea. Then the rest of the wedding would be perfect.

  *****

  The voice mail from Daniel was simple. Meet him at nine a.m.–no frills or explanation why, although Beatrice had no problem picturing reasons. Climbing the steps to the science museum, she caught a glimpse of herself in the glass doors. A sleek black suit, black brogans with the sheen of polished, professional leather footwear. Even with her curls meekly pinned on either side, there was still something unruly in her appearance, as if sun freckles and a hiker's tan were waiting to swim to the surface.

  I will never be Gwendolen Miller. This incantation repeated itself in Beatrice's mind with pride and resignation every time she saw her professional self reflected. Pulling open the door, she entered the massive foyer whose reception desk was designed like an oversized space shuttle model. A miniature Stonehenge on display in a glass case just beyond a row of schoolchildren clamoring for a sight of a massive reassembled dinosaur skeleton erected near the staircase.

  For most of last evening and this morning, she had forced herself to envision various stages of this process, up to the moment of vows exchanged and photography-posed cake cuttings. But the sight of Daniel seated in one of the foyer's chairs made her heart skip a beat nonetheless.

  "Daniel," she said. He glanced up from the screen of his phone, where his face had been focused with a serious expression. The dark blue tie knotted above his business shirt sported miniature shooting stars, she noticed.

  "Hey, Beatrice," he said. The words sounded slightly awkward as he scrambled to his feet.

  "I got your message," she began, than rolled her eyes with these words. “Obviously, since what else would I be doing here?" She received a grin from Daniel in response.

  "Maybe you come here to see the planets," he suggested. "Kind of hard to see stars in the city unless you have a good simulated sky handy." He jerked his thumb in the direction of the museum's directory map, the dome of the planet and solar system exhibits prominent amidst the space shuttle simulator and the dinosaur displays.

  "Of course," said Beatrice. "Who would suspect any other reason?" Her tone was light and casual as she fell into step beside him, an aimless stroll in the direction of the museum's main staircase. Her words brought the worried expression to Daniel's face again.

  "I know it seems kind of ... underhanded," he said. "But about the other day–"

  She held up her hand. "Look, before anyone says anything, let me be perfectly clear that I’m–" she took a deep breath before continuing, “–I’m fine with planning your wedding. I was just surprised, that's all."

  "And for the whole 'I sort of know you' bit ..." he continued.

  She bit her lip. "At work, there's this sort of policy," she said. "About not being emotionally involved with your clients. It's complicated," she added, before trailing off in a search for words. "I didn't want to lose a chance at getting a promotion–or get fired instead."

  She laughed, trying to lighten this moment between them. To keep any hint that her feelings might be at odds with that hidden policy–that was her goal at this moment.

  "Anyway," she said, "I thought it would be a little weird for your fiancé to know I was an old girlfriend. Whom you obviously never mentioned before."

  Daniel blushed. "I guess maybe there were a few things I didn't mention to her," he said. "And I definitely don't want to get you fired, so ..."

  "So we'll just go on like this," said Beatrice. "You'll be an old college classmate and I'll be your helpful wedding planner who makes the big day perfect." Her bright tones disappeared as she took a sip of coffee from the cup in her hand, waiting for Daniel's answer.

  They were crossing the glass walkway towards the darkened entrance to the Night Sky: the museum chamber which simulated the heavens, from spinning planets to constellations ablaze in the vastness of space.

  "Do you ever come here?" Daniel asked. "I know you must've lived in this city more than a couple of months."

  "You mean the museum?" she asked. "I guess I haven't gotten around to it, yet." She blushed as she admitted this, feeling slightly embarrassed.

  The bluish light from the walls receded and brightened, as if waves of the Caribbean ocean washed against the partition. Above, darkness projected across the dome like the earth’s dusk, the first stars appearing on the horizon. As the room grew darker, Beatrice instinctively edged closer to Daniel. In the past, she would have reached for his hand, the comfort of holding onto a human form in the darkness. That was out of the question now.

  “You know, it was a place kind of like this that convinced me to major in astronomy,” he said. “Meteorology became a second love after this.” Even in the darkness, she could sense his familiar dorky grin, the same one she remembered from their biology class when he brandished icky specimens before her from the lab science jars.

  “You would have made a good weatherman,” she said. He snorted.

  “Now you sound like Charly,” he said. “I mean, Charlene–my–”

  “Your fiancé,” said Beatrice. “It’s okay to say the word, you know. It’s not dirty or anything.”

  He laughed. “Yeah, it just ... takes some time to adjust. It’s not a phrase I thought I would ever use.”

  “Not to me, anyway,” Beatrice countered. “You probably thought you’d never see me again. Didn’t you?” She glanced towards him in the darkness, barely able to make out his face in the faint purplish light around them. His gaze was fixed on the stars above, as if h
e never heard her speak.

  “So tell me about Charly,” she said, after a moment’s silence. “I’m supposed to know all I can about her for the wedding. So I might as well hear it from you than some girl who only wants to avoid an ugly bridesmaid’s gown.”

  He puffed out his cheeks slightly. “I met Charly at a news station,” he answered. “In Pittsburgh, actually. She was a desk anchor there–really pretty, really popular. I was doing an interview on how a meteor crash can alter climate and weather patterns. Research grant.” He offered Beatrice a grin with these words. “Anyway, she seemed really interested in me. So we talked after the interview, had dinner together ... and before I knew it, I was in love.”

  “With the station sweetheart of Pittsburgh,” concluded Beatrice. “All because of astronomy.” Maybe this was the reason she suddenly spotted flaws in the Night Sky dome, the oversized winking stars and simulated clouds.

  “Weather, actually,” he said. “I mean, if you think about it.” His lame jokes–until now, she had forgotten that side of his personality. She did her best to hide a smile as she gazed upwards, although she knew her features were obscured by the darkness from the silent depths of the Night Sky.

  He took a deep breath. “So you’re cool with this,” he said. “The wedding. And the whole–not being us thing.”

  She nodded. “I am.”

  What she wasn’t prepared for was the sinking feeling she felt as Charlene’s arms wrapped around her in a warm squeeze at Malley’s Bar later that day.

  “So good to see you again,” said Charly, releasing her with a warm smile. “Come on, sit down. I want you to meet part of the gang so important to this big day.” Her gaze was directed at a couple seated across from her in the dimly-lit upscale Irish pub. The dark-haired woman offered her a polite smile from beneath a white felt hat; the man was absorbed in slowly polishing the lip of his glass with his thumb.

  “This is Adrien,” said Charly, indicating the woman, “my friend and maid of honor. And this is–”

  “Stefan,” said the man, speaking up. “Adrien’s fiancé.” He raised his eyes to enfold Beatrice in a languid stare. Beatrice felt her own gaze grown sullen beneath it.

  “A pleasure to meet you,” she said, although she extended her hand towards Adrien. A limp handshake followed, as if she grasped a wilted flower instead of fingers; the smile beneath the hat seemed slightly sad.

  “And you,” answered Adrien, softly. “Charly has spoken so highly of your firm–”

  “The best in the city,” said Charly. “You know me–I have to have the best.” With a laugh as Daniel approached and stood behind her, one hand resting on her shoulder.

  The sight of him standing there produced a twinge of jealousy which Beatrice hurried to suppress. She averted her eyes in the direction of the bar longingly, where a handful of patrons were absorbed in their drinks. Not a sign of romance to be found in that lonely scene.

  “Danny and I have had some thoughts about the wedding since this morning,” said Charly.

  Danny? Beatrice shot a look in Daniel’s direction. “Really?” she said. “Give me a hint.”

  “Cream,” said Charly, her voice lowered as if making an impressive announcement. “It came to me at lunch–when you poured that packet in your coffee, hon.” This part was directed at Daniel. “I thought, why have just plain white when you can have cream? It’s warm, friendly–”

  “Like you,” said Daniel, reaching up to brush aside the curls sweeping into her face. Beatrice cleared her throat as she made a note inside her planner.

  “Or ivory,” suggested Stefan. “Or bone, or any of the other things they call off-white. I think of Adrien when I see it. Your things are off-white, aren’t they?” Beside him, his fiancé stirred slightly.

  “Some of them,” she answered. Beatrice noticed a matching ivory-colored scarf tucked beneath the table, identical in shade to the maid of honor’s hat.

  “Then you know it has to be a perfect shade,” gushed Charly.

  “Cream,” said Beatrice. “Got it. Anything else?” Her smile was meant for Charly, a polite smile that was far from the warmth of her client’s. Charly’s blond curls were like a cloud fluffing around her head, a frame for an angelic smile and innocent gaze.

  “Oh, that recipe–those things you like to eat–what are they called?” she said, glancing at Daniel. “It’s something from one of the bakeries in town, I’m sorry I don’t remember.” Her voice was apologetic, as if she was afraid her lack of knowledge would offend Beatrice.

  Daniel shook his head. “Just some lemon truffles we tried,” he said to Beatrice. “It’s no big deal.”

  “It is so a big deal if you like them,” scolded Charly as she twined her arm around his own. “Listen to him, he’s so modest about everything. If I didn’t make a fuss now and then about one of his ideas he wouldn’t get anything he likes.” Daniel grinned despite his best attempts not to do so. When he met Beatrice’s eye, he recovered himself.

  “Forget the truffles,” he said. But Beatrice’s pencil made a note in the planner. She owed them this much–penance for all the doubtful thoughts of yesterday, she told herself.

  “Now, you’ll be meeting the rest of the wedding party in the next couple days,” said Charly. “Three bridesmaids, the best man and a couple of groomsman–”

  “Stefan’s the third groomsman,” explained Daniel. “I don’t have tons of friends who can make it, obviously and we’re trying to plan this thing quickly–” Stefan raised his hand slightly, as if Beatrice was a professor noting his attendance at lecture.

  “So when’s the wedding?” asked Beatrice.

  “In two weeks,” the bride and groom answered in unison, followed by a peal of laughter from Charly.

  “We’re so excited, we can hardly wait,” said Daniel, “but she persuaded me we should at least have a formal ceremony. Guests, flowers, the works–”

  Charly shrugged, then giggled. “From there, it just snowballed. And now, we don’t have a location yet.”

  “I thought you wanted the church with the–” began Adrien.

  “That didn’t work out,” said Charly, who bit her lip briefly. “So we have to find a new place. I hope something with a little style,” she added, “which is why we wanted Ms. Miller’s agency behind it.” She crinkled her nose in a smile directed at Beatrice–giving her face the appearance of an eight year-old with a secret.

  “A place for the wedding–and reception?” ventured Beatrice.

  Daniel nodded. “Yeah,” he answered. As he spoke, he slid his arm around Charly almost protectively. “With plenty of room for an orchestra and dancing.” Charly’s eyes glowed softly when she heard these words. Her focus ceased to swivel from one listener to the other, the focus entirely upon Daniel with a look of love. The table had fallen silent without her voice.

  “You remembered,” she said, softly. Leaning down, Daniel placed a kiss on her cheek.

  It was perfect, tender, and sweet–sickeningly so. That was the thought in Beatrice’s mind an hour later, her planner crammed with notes on appetizers and potential reception sites.

  As she flipped it closed and shrugged on her coat at the conclusion of the evening, she felt Charly squeeze her shoulder.

  “You’re the best thing Daniel has thought of for this wedding,” she whispered. “I just want you to know that.” With a conspiratorial wink as she allowed Daniel to help her own with her coat and escort her towards the door.

  “See you tomorrow,” said Beatrice, although the only people left to notice her remarks were the departing backs of Stefan and Adrien. Daniel glanced over his shoulder, his blue eyes meeting hers momentarily before they disappeared through the door.

  Beatrice dropped onto a bar stool and raised her hand. “One glass of white wine, please,” she said. The bartender nodded. Compared to her seltzer at the table this evening, it seemed positively strong–but she felt the need to drown her sorrows in something less bubbly than the bride-to-be’s voice.


  In the face of perfection and perfect romance she needed something stronger than the sinking feeling in her own heart, too.

  Her fingers closed over the glass, raising it as the man beside her glanced in her direction. Until now he had been hunched over a row of empty glasses–had been positioned so for most of the evening, she had noticed–a cigarette in his fingers.

  “You know her?” he said, jerking his head in the direction of the door, a final glimpse of Charly’s blond curls vanishing in the dark.

  “A little,” answered Beatrice, swallowing the contents of her glass. “She’s engaged to a friend of mine. He said she was a big newscaster in Pittsburgh.” There was something sarcastic lurking in her voice.

  “She was,” he said. “I know. I was the weatherman there once. KNKR.” He sounded gloomy as he spoke, his fingers rolling the glass slowly despite the cigarette wedged between them. He set it down, raising the cigarette to his lips for a puff. She noticed a violent tremor in his hand.

  “You worked in Pittsburgh with Charlene?” asked Beatrice. “Did you know her well?” Genuine curiosity stole over her.

  “The Sweetheart of Pittsburgh,” he repeated. “We were engaged once.”

  “Engaged?“ breathed Beatrice. “To Charlene?“ She raised her eyebrows, taking stock of the man next to her. Rumpled clothes, rumpled hair, a strong scent of whiskey and bourbon. Those red-rimmed eyes and sagging cheeks–not a face that would attract a girl as gorgeous as Charlene.

  “You and she were–an item,” said Beatrice. “So what happened?”

  “I lost her,” he said. “She moved on to someone else. I ended up drifting here.” He took a long puff of smoke, hand shaking with the cigarette in its grip.

  “I see,” said Beatrice. “Well, nice to meet you.” She edged away, rising from the stool as she moved towards the door. He seized her elbow before she could pass.

  “She’s a monster,” he whispered. “She ruined me. She ruined my life, she destroyed my career.” He clutched her arm, a wild expression in his eyes.