by Carsen Taite
Grace tapped on the screen of her iPad and turned it toward her. “Check out these headlines.”
Abby scrolled through the search results. Say No to the Dress, Barclay’s Bridal Denies Brides Their Custom Frocks, Brides without Dresses Leave Wedding Messes. Photos showed groups of women with their faces pressed against the glass of various Barclay’s locations. She pushed the newspapers to the side. “Okay, so maybe this is attracting a little attention. It’ll blow over. There have to be dozens of other places where women can get wedding dresses. It’s not like these dresses were couture.”
Grace shook her head. “You’re hopeless. Even I know how important a bride’s dress is to the big day.”
“Has Campbell been making you watch Say Yes to the Dress?”
Abby turned toward the voice. Campbell’s girlfriend, Wynne Garrity, was standing in the doorway. She smiled and motioned for her to join them. “Come on in. Apparently, we’re having a bridal therapy session even though none of us are planning on getting married anytime soon.” She looked from Wynne to Campbell. “Unless I missed something while I was gone.”
Wynne pointed at Campbell’s left hand and held up her own. “I promise no one put a ring on it in your absence. But thanks to my recent introduction to the wonders of reality TV, I’m very well acquainted with all things bride. The dress is everything.”
Abby shook her head. “I promise this is all a big dustup over nothing. By the end of the week, it will be business as usual. Companies go out of business all the time, and customers move on.”
Campbell wagged a finger. “Mark my words, this is a huge deal, and you need to get out in front of it. Besides, what if Tommy wants to stay in the wedding industry? How do you think all of this is going to affect his reputation?”
Abby still wasn’t convinced, but she decided to play along. “Fine. Let’s work up a media plan and a base-line strategy. Between us, we’ve got this.”
“I’ll help out however I can,” Campbell said, “But I’m scheduled in depositions the rest of the week.”
“Then maybe Wynne should handle this with me,” Abby said, turning to Campbell and Grace. “What do you think? Grace, you’re busy, and someone needs to keep the place running.” The more she thought about it, the more she liked the idea. Wynne had recently left her old firm and was doing contract work while she decided on a new career path. They’d floated the idea of asking her to join the firm, but Campbell had been hesitant about how working together might affect their relationship and the balance of power the three of them shared. Hiring Wynne to assist with this case seemed like the perfect compromise, although now that she’d blurted out the idea, she realized she shouldn’t have put either Campbell or Wynne on the spot. “We can talk about it later. Like I said, this whole thing may go away in a few days.”
“Wynne, you should totally do it,” Campbell said. “If you want to.”
Abby glanced at Wynne and tried to deduce from her thoughtful expression whether she was even interested. “How about this? Tommy will be here any minute. Why don’t you sit in on the meeting, and if you’re intrigued, we can talk and if you decide you’re not interested, no hard feelings?”
“Deal,” Wynne said. “Good thing I wore a suit.”
The group of them spent the next few minutes talking about initial strategy. They were deep in discussion when Graham burst into the room, a harried look on his face.
“What’s up, Graham?” Abby asked, unused to seeing the usually unflappable office manager look frazzled.
“Mr. Barclay is here to see you.”
“Okay. We’re expecting him.” She stared at Graham, certain he had more to say. “What’s wrong?”
“He’s in his car in the parking lot. There are women with signs blocking his entrance to the building.”
Graham held up his phone, and as a group, they all leaned in to look at the photo he’d snapped. A half dozen women wearing bridal veils with their regular street clothes milled around a car, and a couple of them were holding signs. Abby pinched the photo to enlarge it so she could make out the sign in the foreground. Give me my dress or you’ll have a mess. Ugh. “When did they show up?”
Graham hunched his shoulders. “Apparently, they followed him here.”
Abby sighed as the image of white, sandy beaches and turquoise blue water receded from her memory. The idea of a horde of angry brides standing in the parking lot made her think of Roxanne and her stack of bridal magazines, and she wondered what Roxanne was doing right now. She wished she hadn’t been so curt at the airport. Maybe they could’ve exchanged numbers and tried to reconnect, but she’d been super annoyed to find out Roxanne had spent the rest of the week in PV without her, as well as embarrassed that she even cared. She shrugged the thought away. What they’d shared had been a part of the paradise she’d left back in PV. She was back to real life now, and it was time to focus.
Reentry was going to be way harder than she’d thought it would be.
* * *
Roxanne waved at the approaching maroon Honda CRV, but when it drew closer, she realized it wasn’t Val behind the wheel. She silently cursed her decision not to take a cab home, but Val had insisted on picking her up to hear all about her faux honeymoon in paradise. She leaned her suitcase against a cement pillar and pulled out her phone on the off chance that maybe Abby had texted an apology for her abrupt behavior back in the terminal, but when she glanced at the screen it was loaded with notifications, none of which were from Abby.
Barclay’s Bridal Leaves Brides Undressed
Say No to the Dress
She scrolled through, gulping down the developing story until she reached a text from Rodney, the assistant to Nancy Marshall, the senior editor at Best Day Ever.
These brides! Are you on this?
The blaring text was followed by a photo of nearly a dozen women dressed in black trash bags carrying signs that said Is this what I’m supposed to wear now? Roxanne couldn’t help but chuckle at the picture, but she also felt a twinge of regret that she wasn’t on the scene getting all this firsthand. She pulled up the address for the nearest Barclay’s Bridal store, but before the page could load, she heard a honk and looked up to see Val pull up to the curb.
“Hey, lady,” Val yelled out the window. “You lookin’ for a ride?”
Roxanne shook her head but smiled. Little sisters were supposed to be embarrassing, right? She grabbed her suitcase, shoved it in the back seat, and climbed into the SUV. “What are you doing right now?”
“You mean besides picking you up at the airport and hoping there’s a big bottle of expensive tequila in your bag?”
“Sorry.” Roxanne took a breath. “Thanks for picking me up. Yes, I have your tequila. Now, do you have plans right now?”
“Other than dragging you to look at possible venues for the reception, no.”
“I promise I’ll go with you to all the places, but right now I need a big favor. You know the Barclay’s Bridal on Central?”
Sis shook her head. “Not doing it. Mom tried to get me to pick a dress from there, but it’s too overwhelming. They have too many to choose from. I got hives.”
“Seriously, do you not read the news at all?”
Val pulled away from the curb. “What?”
“You’ll see. And don’t worry. I’m not going to make you try on dresses.”
When they turned on the street to the Barclay’s flagship store, Roxanne could already tell something was up. She’d been to the store on a couple of occasions, covering trunk shows from some of the top wedding dress designers. Barclays wasn’t the highest end, but they did pamper their brides with champagne, white chocolate petit fours, and lots of oohing and aahing over what beautiful brides they were going to be. They prided themselves on rolling out the red carpet for everyone who entered their store.
But today that red carpet was nowhere to be found. Instead, she spotted the women like the ones who’d been depicted in the online photo marching in front of the store. The
full effect of the protest was even more powerful in person, and Roxanne barely waited until Val pulled to a stop before jumping out of the car. She pulled out her phone and went straight into news reporter mode, jostling her way into the crowd of reporters already gathered at the scene. Recognizing a friend from KNOP, she took a place beside her. “Hey, Mary, how long have they been here?”
“Roxanne, long time no see. You back to covering news again?”
Roxanne grimaced inwardly at the question her father often asked, but she couldn’t resist a smart-ass reply. “Nope, still covering the same fluff and no circumstance as always.” She pointed at the brides-to-be in front of Barclay’s. “I see you’re on fluff patrol right along with me.” She’d met Mary right after college when they’d both started working for the local station where Roxanne had embraced the social beat and Mary chafed against it.
Mary shook her head. “We’re short on the metro desk this week. Len’s wife is pregnant, and they put her on bed rest until her delivery date, so he’s home dealing with the other five kids. Believe me, none of us think a store closing is big news, but it’s clickbait and that’s what we’re all about lately, right?”
Roxanne started to list all the reasons why human interest stories were important to the life of a news outlet, starting with they garnered a large readership, but she was here to get her own story, not convince someone else to see the value in it. “I’m going to see if someone will talk to me. Catch you later. Give Len my regards.”
She edged away before Mary could reply. It had been three years since she left the news outlet, much to the dismay of her parents who thought she’d traded respectability for something akin to a tabloid. She’d tried to explain that producing online content for bridal magazines was not only more lucrative, but it served a valuable purpose. They weren’t buying. Even Val thought it was a little strange that she spent so much time covering all aspects of other people’s path to happily ever after at the expense of having time to find her own, although she’d made time on this trip despite it being for business. For a second, she drifted into a daydream of waking up on the beach next to Abby’s long, lean, sexy body. In her fantasy there was no pesky sand or sunscreen to get in the way of their lovemaking, and they’d done it right there with the waves lapping around them, a rhythmic accompaniment to a perfect scene.
But life wasn’t like that. Beaches were messy and vacation rendezvous were meant to be left on vacation. She never should’ve given Abby her number because then she could’ve written off the lack of follow-up to a mutual desire to keep the fantasy alive.
She shrugged off her disappointment. It was time to talk to some disappointed brides-to-be and get their stories. She’d write her own story later.
Chapter Six
Abby rubbed her temple with both hands, while she waited for Campbell and Grace to join her at the bar. It had been a helluva few days back and she was ready for a drink. Or a few. No tiny umbrellas this time. Just her usual dirty—make that extra dirty—martini. When Campbell and Grace finally showed up, she was two out of three olives down.
“Somebody needed a drink,” Campbell said, pointing to her glass, as she slid in on her left while Grace perched on the other side. She waved the bartender over and pointed at Abby’s near empty drink. Abby nodded and Campbell ordered her usual tequila straight up and a Manhattan for Grace. “No offense, but except for the tan, you don’t look so hot.”
Abby chewed on her last olive. “I can hardly believe that less than a week ago, I was sitting on the beach, sipping fruity drinks and soaking up sun without a care in the world. What happened?”
“Ah the double-sided pleasure of vacation,” Grace said, raising her glass. “Which is precisely why I don’t take them. They only serve to highlight the restrictions of real life—getting up early, making your own meals, making your own bed.”
“Oh, please,” Campbell said, “that’s ridiculous. You don’t like to travel because you decked out your house like it’s Wayne manor, but normal people don’t live like that. Vacations are supposed to be rejuvenating. You go, you rest, you have fun, and then you come home relaxed, renewed, and full of energy to face whatever life throws your way.”
“Campbell, I love you, but sometimes your eternal optimism is annoying.” Abby set her glass down, thinking she should probably pace herself. “I don’t mean to bitch. I had a good time and I really appreciate you both covering for me. At my old firm, the other associates would’ve spent the entire week figuring out ways to steal my work while partners called me asking for stuff their secretaries could handle.”
“Like we’d try and steal Tommy from you,” Grace said. “He’s as loyal as they come. What’s up with the rest of his family, though?”
Campbell held up a hand. “Slow down, Ms. All Business. We haven’t finished with the topic of Ms. Keane’s vacation.” She frowned and assumed her best courtroom voice. “Isn’t it true, Ms. Keane, that you met a woman while you were sunbathing in Puerto Vallarta?”
Abby squirmed in her chair. “Not exactly.”
“Do I need to read back your earlier testimony?”
“No. I mean, I wasn’t sunbathing when I met her.” She squirmed again as a vision of Roxanne in a crimson bikini floated through her consciousness. “Guys, I really don’t want to talk about this.”
“I’m sensing we have a hostile witness,” Grace said.
“Agreed,” said Campbell. “Abby, we don’t need every last detail, but seriously, can’t you spare a few crumbs for the folks who stayed back home and toiled over your work while you basked in the sun with a vacation goddess?”
Abby sighed, knowing her friends weren’t going to give up. Not that she’d expected them to, because in the same position, she knew she would’ve pushed for more. Still, she’d harbored some hope that she could keep the small pleasure she got from the memory of her time with Roxanne private because it was the only souvenir she cared about from her trip. Telling the story meant adding the part about how Roxanne had spent the rest of the week in PV without her, probably with someone else, and that would only tarnish the memory.
The irony almost made her laugh. She’d been so freaked out that Roxanne would be the kind of woman who was looking for a forever match instead of a vacation fling, and here she was the one all hung up on Roxanne instead of the other way around. She looked up to find her friends watching and waiting for her to say something, so she summoned her best version of her player self.
“It’s a short story. Here are the facts. Hot woman helped me find the shuttle from the airport to the resort where, as luck would have it, she was headed for a little R and R. We drank champagne, we ate a nice dinner, or rather we went to a nice dinner that we quickly abandoned for my version of R and R. Her bungalow, my bungalow, the beach, the stars. It’s all a blur. We stayed offline and kept all personal details to the absolute minimum. It was like a one-night stand on replay and it was fantastic.”
Grace sighed. “Only you could wind up in bed with a hot woman within minutes of arriving at a posh resort.” She raised her glass. “I admire you, my friend.”
Campbell joined in the toast. “Cheers to Abby and Whatshername.”
Abby bit off the impulse to say Roxanne’s name, but Campbell’s next question caught her off guard.
“Now what?”
“Now what, what?”
“Where is she from? Are you going to see her again? What’s the story here?”
“Leave her alone,” Grace said. “She doesn’t even know the girl’s name.”
“I do too.” Abby immediately wished she’d kept her mouth shut, but now that she’d spoken up, she decided she might as well divulge a little to get them off her back. “Her name was, is, Roxanne. We had an amazing few days, but what happens in PV, stays in PV. You know my motto, single and fabulous.” She tilted her glass toward Campbell. “No offense. I’m glad you found Wynne, and I wish you both the best, but married life is not for me.”
“Slow your roll,”
Campbell said. “I’m certainly not opposed to the idea of marriage, but I don’t know if we’re there yet. I mean Wynne hasn’t said anything, but she’s had a lot on her mind since she left her firm.”
Abby reached over and clasped Campbell’s hand. “I didn’t mean ‘married,’ I meant, you know, committed.”
“You make it sound like a prison sentence.”
“I get that it’s not for everyone, but I’m living my best life right now.” Abby turned to Grace. “You’re with me, right?”
Grace raised her glass. “I’m Switzerland. Not looking, but not opposed to falling in love if someone like Wynne shows up on my doorstep.”
Campbell shook her head. “People! Doorsteps are overrated. Love doesn’t show up on people’s doorsteps. You show up on doorsteps and fall in love.”
“That’s the tequila talking.”
“Maybe,” Campbell said, draining her glass of the last few drops. “Thanks for the nice bottle of booze you brought back, by the way.”
“Yeah,” Grace added. “I may become a tequila convert. That stuff is liquid gold.”
“You’re welcome.” Abby took another drink of her martini, while her mind wandered to the memories of Roxanne. She was glad to be home with her friends, her work, her favorite bar. Vacation was nice, but there was a comfort in the rhythm of her life just the way it was. So, why did she feel so completely unsettled since she’d returned?
