Charming Falls Apart

by Angela Terry

  After ordering one of the signature vodka cocktails, I ask, “So how are you?”

  “Meh. Same old, same old. Nothing that exciting on my end.” She bites off the olive from her toothpick and then points it at me. “But, you on the other hand. What in the world is going on with you?”

  I laugh uneasily. “Knowing you, I’m sure you’ve already heard that I’m no longer with Worldwide.”

  “I have heard.” She nods slowly, her eyes not giving anything away. “So what’s up with that?”

  “That’s a good question.” My drink arrives, and I let my comment sink in as we clink glasses. “Honestly, I don’t know what happened. In fact, I was kinda hoping you knew something.”

  Suzy nods again. She’s a gossip, but a very generous one. “Yes, I heard you were let go.” She frowns in sympathy. “I’m so sorry. It’s pretty unbelievable.”

  “Thanks. Yeah, it blindsided me, that’s for sure.”

  “Are you looking for a new job? I’d love for us to hire you, but there’s a freeze on hiring right now.”

  “Oh, gosh. No, no, no. I didn’t call you to see if you’re hiring.” I wave my hand shooing away the notion. Though, truth be told, I’d love to work with Suzy, and so if she did offer me a job or even just a lead at her firm, I’d jump at the chance. “Right now I’m just considering my options as I’m still trying to wrap my head around this.”

  “I’m sure. It’s totally outrageous! You were there forever. Where’s the loyalty?”

  “Paige was really nice about it all, but the reasons she gave me were so generic. Clients are tightening the purse strings and we’re consolidating accounts, blah, blah, blah. It’s disheartening to look for another job when I’m not sure what went wrong with the first one.”

  Suzy nods at me sadly and without any prompting from me, she says, “I’ve heard some things, but I’m not sure you’ll want to hear them until you’ve had a second drink. So hurry up and down that and then I’ll give you the lowdown.”

  “Sure, why not? I’ve got nowhere to be in the morning.” I hurriedly finish my drink while simultaneously signaling to the bartender for another round.

  With our second round in front of us, Suzy says, “Some people have been saying you were fired because you were too distracted with wedding planning and weren’t paying attention to your accounts, and that you didn’t care anymore because you planned to quit anyway to have a baby. I don’t believe a word of it though. You’re the least bridezilla-prone bride-to-be that I know. And as proof that you weren’t all-consumed with the wedding, then you probably would’ve noticed what your maid of honor was up to.”

  I actually feel my pupils dilate as my eyes widen in horror. “What do you mean?”

  She puts her hand on my arm. “I heard about Neil and Stacey.”

  My heart squeezes and I slump down over my drink. “So, wow. That’s out there too,” I say, feeling even more like a loser and wanting to disappear into the floor. You hear about sinkholes in the ground happening, but why is it that a sinkhole never opens up in those moments when you truly want to disappear?

  I say weakly, “I found out about that the night I got fired. So when did you find out?”

  “Honestly, babe? I always kinda suspected it. Stacey competes with you on everything. It wasn’t a surprise that she would want to compete with you there, too. I found out about a week ago. Stacey’s been telling everyone. All very hush-hush, you know.” Suzy rolls her eyes.

  “Ugh.” I rest my elbows on the bar and my forehead on my hands. “Is she the one telling everyone I got fired?”

  “No. I heard that through the usual grapevine. All very third-hand sources, and I don’t believe the reasons they gave. My bet is that someone there sabotaged you.”

  “Sabotage?” Sabotage! While the circumstances around my firing are suspicious, an outright saboteur hadn’t yet occurred to me. “You think it was Stacey, again? She doesn’t even work there anymore.”

  “Maybe? But most likely not. She was too tied up sabotaging your upcoming nuptials, and, frankly, I don’t think she’s smart enough to manage both. Too many chemicals leached into her brain.” Suzy twirls her hair and then points to her forehead and pouts. “With all that peroxide, Botox, and filler, the poor thing probably suffers from brain damage.”

  “Agreed.” I laugh bitterly.

  “You had most of the high-profile accounts there, so it’s a given that you had some jealous colleagues.” Maybe sensing that I’m becoming more dispirited, Suzy says, “Hey, people love you, and, with your experience, another firm will snap you right up.” She snaps her fingers to underscore this point.

  Ha! Not according to Julie.

  I decide not to tell her about my experience with the recruiters and just nod in agreement. “Yeah, I haven’t really started looking yet. With Neil breaking off our engagement, I’m just kinda taking it easy and figuring out my next steps. I mean, with no job, no significant other, no dependents … I can kinda do anything right now.” Repeating Jordan’s wisdom to Suzy, I watch her face go from sympathetic to Oprah-enthusiastic-you-go-girl. Though I was simply trying not to be a bummer, Suzy’s expression makes me think maybe Jordan is on to something—maybe this is my chance to change direction.

  “Yeah!” Suzy holds up her hand to give me a high-five and I laugh. “Allison James, you’re a rock star! Thank god you’re through with that sad sack Neil and your backstabbing colleagues. They did you a favor.”

  I laugh again. “I guess so.”

  She then lowers her voice and says, “But, still, if I were you, I’d want to know the bitch who got me fired. If I hear anything, I’ll let you know.”

  She gives me a conspiratorial wink and we make a pact by clinking our cocktail glasses.

  In the morning, still reeling from Julie’s call and digesting my conversation with Suzy, I do the obligatory email check on my phone as my coffee brews. There, hiding between a Bloomingdale’s sale and my ComEd bill, is an email from Neil.

  Allison,

  Thank you for taking care of the contracts. Although it would make more sense for you to handle informing everyone, if you send me the contact list, I’ll take care of it.

  Best,

  Neil

  Uncaffeinated, I’m not sure if I’m grateful or enraged (maybe both?) by his response. But what did I really expect? I still want to know what happened to us, but his email extinguishes any last glimmer of hope of that happening. So after I finish my first cup of coffee, I respond.

  Here. Thanks.

  A

  Still not sure why I continue adding “thanks” to my email interactions with him, when what I really mean is—Thanks for nothing!—I attach the Excel chart of our guest list and hit send. In a couple days it will no longer be gossip that the wedding is off. It will be a fact. A sad, sad fact. And while it’s also a fact that Allison James never misses a workout, I pour another cup of coffee, pull the tie tighter on my robe, and then turn on Bravo to tune out the rest of the world. Strangely, the “reality” of promiscuous hijinks and backstabbing waitstaff on my television screen helps me escape my own reality, if only temporarily.

  Just as I’m settling into my television-watching coma, my phone rings.

  Checking that it’s not my mother, I answer hoping that it’s something positive on the job front. “Hello, this is Allison.”

  “Hello, Allison! This is Darlene from Nordstrom.” While she sounds cheerfully surprised to have reached me, my stomach tightens. “Great news! Your dress just arrived back from the seamstress and it looks gorgeous. We’d like to schedule your final fitting.”

  “Okay,” I say, sadness squeezing my heart.

  “We’ve had a cancellation this afternoon. Any chance you’d be able to escape from work? Otherwise, we have a Saturday appointment.”

  “What time today?” As if it matters.

  “Three o’clock?”

  “Sure, that works.”

  “Wonderful! We’ll see you then!”

 
Not able to muster the requisite enthusiasm, I simply say “thank you” and “goodbye.”

  At least I have something on my calendar today.

  I shoot off a text to Jordan letting her know about my appointment and she immediately responds—I’ll be there. Though she had offered to come, I’m surprised since she’ll have to skip out of the office. Feeling a wave of warmth for her friendship, I type back a string of XOs.

  Even though trying on the dress that I won’t be walking down the aisle in is a dreadful prospect, the fitting motivates me to get off the sofa and go for a run. So there’s that. All is not lost.

  JORDAN MEETS ME outside the store at the corner of Grand and Wabash.

  “Just in case,” she says, surreptitiously opening her laptop bag to reveal the bottle of wine she plans to smuggle in.

  I laugh and give her a hug. “I’m sure they’ll give us a glass of champagne, but thanks for the backup plan.”

  We make our way inside and are greeted by an effusive Darlene. “Are you ready for your final fittings, ladies?” She claps her hands together.

  I look over at Jordan. Fittings?

  Jordan gives me a sheepish look and shrugs. “I asked if they could squeeze my bridesmaid dress fitting in right after yours. Leave it to you to pick the most flattering bridesmaid dress out there.”

  I laugh and link my arm with hers. “Let’s do this thing.”

  “Wonderful,” sings Darlene as she waves us on. “Just follow me to the fitting rooms. And, then, would you ladies care for a glass of champagne?”

  “Yes, please,” says Jordan, and I give her a friendly told-you-so jab with my elbow as we follow Darlene.

  This brief levity disappears when Darlene pulls back the dressing room curtain, and there, in front of me, on its satin padded hanger, is my wedding gown. The sight of it takes my breath away and my heart threatens to pound right out of my chest. The dress is even more beautiful than I remembered. I tentatively reach out to touch it. The ivory silk gleams and feels like liquid in my hands, and everything right now just feels so heartbreakingly unfair.

  “Are you ready, my dear?” the seamstress asks in her slight Polish accent on the other side of the curtain.

  I swallow before answering, “Yes.”

  Smiling, she enters the room and, with practiced movements, gingerly slips the dress off its hanger and helps me slide into it.

  “I’ve worked on a lot of wedding gowns in my time and this is one of the most elegant,” she says, as she carefully fusses with the fabric on the bodice.

  “Mmm-hmm?” I don’t trust myself to say anything else.

  Once it’s on and she has snapped up the tiny, delicate, fabric-covered buttons in the back, she stands back and says, “Stunning! Simply stunning.”

  Only then do I dare look at myself in the mirror. The seamstress is right—it does look stunning. Damn Neil and Stacey!

  The seamstress pulls back the dressing room’s curtain so I can walk out and view myself in the three-way mirror. Jordan, who is not normally the emotional type, gasps and clasps her hand over her mouth almost spilling her champagne in the process. “You look beautiful! That dress was made for you,” she says.

  “Thanks. And, actually, it literally was made for me,” I say, feeling the need to make a joke, no matter how bad, to temper the emotion of this moment. I give her a nervous smile and step onto the pedestal to admire myself from all angles. I don’t have the heart to try to return the dress. It is much too beautiful. Even though I have no use for it, this dress is coming home with me.

  “You look gorgeous!” Darlene gushes, her eyes shiny, and it all makes me want to cry. “How are you wearing your hair, dear?” she asks.

  Jordan meets my eyes in the mirror probably wondering if I’m going to break the terrible news.

  “I was thinking an updo. A simple chignon,” I say, calmly.

  Darlene nods. “Perfect. I was hoping you’d say that. Now I know you said that you didn’t want a veil or headpiece, but we got this beautiful Art Deco comb that came in this week. When I saw it, I immediately thought of you.” She takes her hands from behind her back revealing an intricate crystal comb on antiqued silver. “May I?”

  I nod and sweep up my hair. She clips it on the low right side of my head and when I turn to look at it glittering in the mirror, Darlene is right—it really is perfect. But I’m already buying an expensive dress I don’t need, and I can’t justify this extra unnecessary item, no matter how lovely. With much reluctance, I stammer, “Um, it’s lovely, but I don’t know if I can afford it.”

  “Then take it as a gift.” Darlene squeezes my shoulders in a motherly way as she looks proudly at my image in the mirror.

  “Thank you. Thank you, very much.” Between her kindness and my knowledge that this comb will not be walking down the aisle, I begin to feel tears welling.

  Jordan must notice that I’m about to lose it because she quickly stands up and says, “I guess it’s time for my fitting. Here, let’s get you out of that dress and get some champagne in you.”

  I return to the dressing room where the seamstress carefully helps me out of my dress. When I step out of the room back in my street clothes, Jordan immediately hands me the second glass of champagne before she disappears for her fitting. I sit down and wait for her. She takes only two minutes before popping out of the room.

  “You look amazing!” I say.

  “I know, right?” she says, as she sashays up to the pedestal.

  Her dress is a strapless black silk chiffon number. At the time, I had felt a little guilty about it since it was on the pricier side, but it was the only dress all three bridesmaids unanimously agreed on. Now I feel even guiltier since Jordan is paying for alterations for a dress she too won’t be wearing.

  Jordan juts out her hip and preens in the mirror. She then does a twirl and says, “I’ll take it!”

  Not aware of the circumstances, Darlene and the seamstress laugh. I give Jordan a searching look, wondering if I should mention anything about plans changing and inquire about the store’s return policy on her behalf? But Jordan just winks at me and then strides back into the dressing room.

  Once we’re outside, standing on the sidewalk holding our respective dresses in their unruly garment bags, weighed down by both my dress and guilt, I say, “Are you sure you don’t want to try to return your dress? Please don’t buy it on my account.”

  “If I didn’t want to buy it, I wouldn’t have. I’m a partner at a large firm and make more money than is decent. I can afford a two-hundred dollar dress.”

  I gulp, thinking of my own precarious finances.

  “Sorry. That was insensitive of me.” She pats my shoulder and then hoists her garment bag higher in her other hand. “So, should we drop these off at your place and grab a drink?”

  “Don’t you have to get back to work?”

  “Nah. Things on my case are slow today. I need to take advantage of it before everything gets crazy again.”

  Even though it’s only a fifteen-minute walk back to my place, our oversize garment bags make that trek impossible, and so Jordan calls us an Uber black car, which whisks us and our dresses to the safety of my condo.

  “I’LL JUST HANG these up in my closet and then we can go,” I say, as I open my front door and then make a beeline to the bedroom with the bags.

  When I come back out, I find an ashen-faced Jordan standing in the middle of my living room staring at her phone.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask.

  She looks up at me while shaking her head slowly, and I can’t tell if she’s sad or angry as she hands me her phone.

  The email reads:

  Allison and I have canceled the wedding and reception on Saturday, June 8. Sorry for any inconvenience.

  Neil

  “Oh my god!” I exclaim. I told him to do it, but it’s just so … so final. And rude! “An email?”

  “It’s to the point,” Jordan observes. “But, still, what an ass.”

 
“Agreed.” Shaking, I hand her phone back to her and feel my cheeks start to burn. “I can’t believe he sent an email! Doesn’t he know he was supposed to call everyone? Couldn’t he have at least Googled how to properly tell guests the wedding’s off?”

  “He knew,” Jordan says bitterly. “He just didn’t want to.”

  She might be right. Neil’s gruff handling of informing our wedding guests may be his retaliation for my charging everything to his credit cards. But it was the only tool I had to make him “pay” for cheating … so, sorry-not-sorry, Neil.

  My phone starts ringing in my purse and I pull it out. It’s my mother. I hit decline call. Still holding my phone, I flop onto the sofa in defeat. “Can we just open that bottle of wine in your bag? I don’t know if I can go anywhere right now.”

  “Of course.” Jordan heads to my kitchen for glasses and I continue to stare at the email, this time on my phone since Neil so courteously cc’d me. My mother calls again, and I hit decline call again and then shut off my phone. I can’t talk to her or anyone right now.

  Jordan hands me a full glass of wine and orders, “Drink this.”

  “Thanks.” I take a large gulp.

  We polish off the bottle quickly and mostly in silence.

  When I lift up the bottle for the last pour and realize it’s empty, I set it back down and say, “So that’s that.”

  “Should we open another?”

  “Sure.” I shrug. “But I wasn’t just referring to the bottle.”

  Jordan scoots to the edge of the sofa and turns to me. “I think we should go out.”

  “Ugh,” I sigh. “I don’t know if I can go out anymore. I think I just want to hide out here.”

  “Nope. I think we should go out and celebrate that you’re rid of Nasty Neil and that he took Shitty Stacey with him.” I give a small laugh, which Jordan takes as encouragement. “We should go someplace amazing and drink champagne!”

  I heave another big sigh, but I’m game. After all, Jordan just accompanied me to my fitting and bought a bridesmaid dress she won’t be wearing.