Love Connection (A Feel Good Romantic Comedy)

by Camilla Isley

  I enter the limo, holding my little perfume bottle. “I’m hungry,” I say.

  “We’ve another stop before dinner,” Amelia says.

  “But I’m starving,” I protest. “Where are we going for dinner?”

  “It’s gourmet burgers for you, but only if you’re good and behave.”

  “You can drink champagne if you’re hungry,” Kassandra says, passing me a flute of bubbly.

  I’m not sure it’s a good idea on an empty stomach, but I take it all the same.

  Two glasses of bubbly later, the limo stops in front of a nondescript building in an area of London I’m not familiar with.

  “Where are we?” I ask.

  “We’re at the Psychic Sisters.”

  “To do what exactly?”

  “We’re going to have our fortunes told.”

  A round of excited giggles spreads around the back of the limo.

  “Oh, you know it’s nonsense,” I whisper in Amelia’s ear.

  “It might be nonsense, but it’s fun. Come on, everyone said this was an absolute bachelorette party must.”

  Amelia takes my hand and drags me out of the car and inside the building. We enter a sort of office worthy of Whoopi Goldberg’s house in Ghost. The hall opens on to three different rooms, apparently each reserved for a gifted diviner sister. We split into three groups and queue in front of the different doors. Amelia and I are at the front of the middle one and we’re ushered in at once.

  Inside, the atmosphere’s kind of dark and gloomy. The air is suffocating and impregnated with the smells of cedar wood and jasmine coming from some incenses burning in a corner.

  “Welcome, dears.” An old crone with black hair and yellowish eyes greets us from the farthest corner. She’s so small crouching behind a wooden desk, I hadn’t noticed her when we got in. “Come, come, have your future unravelled.”

  We take our seats in two ancient looking armchairs. I take in the chandelier dangling from the ceiling, the baroque style of my armchair, and the ridiculous costume the hag’s wearing, and I’m tempted to snort. I hope we’re not spending too much on this old fraud.

  “You have a specific question you’d like to ask the cards?” the crone asks us, unfazed. Apparently, she isn’t getting my incredulity vibes. “You want to know about your past lives, parallel lives, or about your present life?”

  “Make it about her love life,” Amelia answers for me.

  “The True Love spread then, very well. Take the cards, dear, mix them, and cut the deck for me, please.”

  I do as instructed and then pass the deck to the crone who spreads it in a semicircle of sparkling blue and gold cards.

  “Now pick six cards and pass them to me one by one. Let the energy in your hands guide you to the right cards.”

  I pick the cards at random, not feeling any particular chakra energy flowing from my fingertips, and hand them to the crone.

  The fortuneteller puts the first and second card in a row at the top, the next three cards in a row below, and the last one at the bottom, alone. She turns the first two cards.

  “The Fool reversed for you—it seems you’re a bit of a reckless soul. And for your other half, The Tower. Interesting.” She gives a little smile.

  “I-interesting how exactly?” I stutter.

  “The Tower symbolises upheaval and a sudden change.”

  “You mean because we’re getting married?”

  “Perhaps, or perhaps not. Let’s see what the other cards have to say.” She smiles knowingly.

  So far, so bad. The other three cards are unveiled next.

  “The Wheel of Fortune for the thread that connects you to your love. The Wheel of Fortune’s a powerful card. It represents karma—you can’t escape it. Next, The Devil, reversed, for your strengths. It states you’re ready to take control. As for your weaknesses, Judgement. This one tells you to pay heed to your inner calling.”

  “Meaning?”

  “In simpler words, follow your guts. Trust your instinct.”

  Whatever. “Great advice,” I say awkwardly.

  “And now the final card, the True Love card. The one that reveals if your relationship can be successful.” She turns it and stares at it silently for a while before fixating her yellow eyes on me. “Death.”

  “Oh, that sounds promising.” I snort.

  “Death, my dear, is a symbol of transformation and of new beginnings.”

  “So what do you make of this entire… uh,” I try to remember the word she used, “spread?”

  “You’re about to meet your fate.”

  “So, I’m—uh—not making a mistake getting married?”

  “When the moment comes, just follow your heart, darling, and you’ll be fine.”

  I don’t pay much attention as Amelia gets her future predicted, and when we leave the room, it isn’t one minute too soon for me. The old hag has unsettled me.

  We wait for the others inside the limo, and I hope those burgers really are gourmet because I need a cheer up after that ominous Death card.

  The burgers are great. After two or three cocktails, any thought of a relationship’s demise flies out of my head and I’m cozily beginning to feel ready for bed. Amelia seems to have read my mind when she announces the final stop of my party.

  “And now, ladies, back to my house for a pajama party and a showing of all our favorite Molly Ringwald movies.”

  I cheer along with the others. “Thank you for making this day so special,” I whisper to Amelia.

  She hushes me.

  “Where did you put Dylan? Is he watching Molly Ringwald with us?”

  “He’s staying at Richard’s. They’re having his stag party tonight too.”

  “Oh gosh, I hope they don’t buy him strippers.”

  “I specifically forbade it.”

  I squeeze her arm to thank her as we walk toward the limo, holding each other. That’s until Kassandra barrels into us from behind, wriggling herself in between us and wrapping one arm around our shoulders.

  “I’m so glad we have the limo to go home.” She slurs her words a bit. “I could never figure how to drive on the wrong side of the road.”

  I smile, nod, and silently add that driving on the right side of the road wouldn’t make much of a difference for her tonight.

  Twenty-nine

  Bridesmaid Wars

  ♥♥♥

  Sunday, August 26—Chicago Area

  “You know, orange really isn’t the new black.” I eye Amelia sideways as she enters my old bedroom at my parents’ house. “Why are you wearing a puffy orange meringue?”

  She beams at me. “It’s bachelorette party day! Almost a week before the wedding, so you’ll have time to recoup.”

  “Recoup from what?”

  “It’s a surprise. Here’s your outfit.” She hands me a bridesmaid gown I had to wear at a cousin’s wedding many years ago and that I honestly thought I’d burned. I gingerly take the dress from her.

  “Are we trying to get arrested by the Fashion Police?” The thing is a cotton candy nightmare of ruffles, sheer fabric, and bows. “Do I really have to wear this?”

  “Yes, it’s going to be fun. Trust me!”

  “I don’t see how it’s going to be fun unless we’re doing a fashion exorcism.”

  “Stop complaining and get dressed!”

  Kassandra bursts into the room clad in a heinous maroon tablecloth. “Is she whining about the dress?”

  “Yes, she is.”

  “It’s lucky I managed to find the headpiece then.” She regards me with an evil grin, shaking the flowery tiara in her hands. “Chop, chop, sistah. We don’t have all day.”

  I reluctantly pull on the dress, which strangely enough still fits, while Amelia secures the tiara on my head with some bobby pins. When she’s done, she pulls my zipper up and I’m ready to go wherever they’re taking me.

  “Ta-dah! I’m the bridesmaid from hell. Y
ou two happy?”

  “Very.” Kassandra nods with approval. “You’re missing the shoes.” She hands me a pair of white sneakers.

  I look at their feet for the first time and see they’re both wearing sneakers as well. What the hell have they planned for the bachelorette party? I put on a pair of socks and lace up the shoes as further complaints would be useless.

  “Everybody else is already here,” Kassandra frets. “Let’s go before we’re late.”

  We shout our goodbyes to my parents and stream onto the front porch where I halt, shocked. Parked in front of my house is a white limo, and lined up in front of it are all my closest friends from high school, college, and even a couple who made the trip from London. They’re all dressed in heinous bridesmaid gowns and sneakers—they make the final lineup from 27 Dresses look like a classy display in comparison. It’s a vengeance of ruffles, of flowered curtain-style prints, of pajama dresses, foil fabrics, and frilly frocks. It looks so horrible I’m starting to believe it’s brilliant.

  I jump the few steps down the porch and run across the garden to greet everyone. It takes a few minutes before Kassandra herds us into the car where I keep going with the catching up—with the added perk of champagne and the soundtrack from Sixteen Candles playing in the background. The eighties songs actually go really well with our dresses.

  The journey to our destination takes about half an hour, and when the car stops my friends and I swoop out in a rush of colored tulle. We’re standing on dry grass in front of a massive barn. The building’s standing on the side of what looks like a larger roving amusement park. When we exit the limo, the driver leaves to go park somewhere, and I spot a guy dressed in military gear and boots heading our way.

  “Ladies, welcome,” he greets us with a slight Southern lilt. “Please follow me.”

  He beckons us into the barn. Inside, we form an orderly line. We’re surrounded by racks of military green rifles—plastic I assume, or hope at least—white working jumpsuits, and plastic googles.

  “Good morning, ladies, and welcome to Paintball Wars Game Center. Rules are simple,” military guy tells us without preambles. “On the field, you must wear your googles at all times, no exception.”

  He hands us each a plastic mask.

  “Paintball Wars?” I mouth to Amelia.

  This is brilliant, and finally, the dresses make sense. We’re going to take revenge on the bridesmaid dresses from hell and splatter them in paint.

  “These are your weapons,” military guy continues. “You unlock them like this.” He shows us how to remove the barrel plug. “You aim and pull the trigger to shoot. No blind shooting’s allowed at any time. You have a bag of ammo each. You load them here.” He shows us where to insert the paint balls. “If you’re hit, you’re dead. Plug your barrel and move off the field. All right, that’s all, ladies. Go have fun.”

  The game starts, and it’s hilarious. Right from the beginning, it’s obvious most of us—myself included—have never played paintball before, but we’re all good sports and it makes for the most comical hour and a half of my life. Watching my friends trip on their floor-length satin dresses as they try to pull off sneak attacks, or seeing them dive behind a barricade, dress trains flowing in the air as they go down, is priceless. Amelia also hired a photographer to document the battle. We take silly shot after silly shot in our frilly dresses and plastic rifles.

  When the game’s over—I’m not even sure who won or if I’m still “alive”—my friends lead me to the other side of the barn where I’m hit by a cloud of grill smoke. A table laid with pretty colored cocktails and a hamburger extravaganza awaits us. My mouth waters at the sight—after an hour of running this is like a dream come true. We sit at the table, all of us still wearing our bridesmaid dresses—some looking more worse for wear than others after the paint riddle—and sporting thirty-two-teeth smiles.

  After stuffing my mouth with as many burgers as my body can handle—I know, bad for my bride-to-be diet—we stroll through the rest of the amusement park, playing different games and going on the various rides. It’s fun to see the disbelieving looks our colorful attire wins us. We’re shuffling around the various stands—I’m contemplating getting real cotton candy to match my dress—when Amelia stops in front of a blue and yellow pointy tent with a red silk door.

  “You should get your fortune read,” Amelia suggests.

  “Oh, no. It’s just a bunch of crap.”

  “Crap or not, it’s fun. Come on, I’ll do it with you.”

  We go inside, and it’s as if we’ve entered a different world. The noise from the circus outside is dimmed in here, and the atmosphere’s dark. The tent smells like cedar wood and jasmine, and the mixed scent seems inexplicably familiar. There are incense sticks burning in a corner. That must be it: I must have been in some other place with the same incenses at some point if my life, even if I can’t remember where. Gosh, the air’s suffocating.

  “Welcome, dears,” an old crone greets us from the farthest corner. As I look at her and take in her black hair and yellow eyes, a powerful sense of déjà vu attacks me. “Oh, it’s you,” the crone says. “I’ve been waiting for you for a while now.”

  “You have?”

  “Oh, yes. I wondered how you’d turn up in this life.”

  It’s probably all an act to set the divination atmosphere right, but she gives me goosebumps all the same.

  “Maybe this wasn’t a good idea,” I whisper to Amelia.

  “Come on, don’t be a chicken!” She grabs my hand and drags me forward in front of the diviner. Amelia and I each pick one of two short stools waiting empty in front of the tiny card table.

  “My friend would like to have her fortune told,” Amelia says.

  “I know, dear,” the hag says. “The True Love spread then, right? Do you remember what to do?”

  “Err… no?”

  “Pity. Take the cards, mix them, and cut the deck for me, please.”

  I gingerly do as I’m told. Once the crone has her deck back, she spreads it in a semicircle of sparkling blue and gold cards.

  “Pick six cards from me and pass them to me one by one. Remember, let your interior energy guide your fingers.”

  I pick the cards randomly, not feeling any particular force guiding me as I do, and hand them to her.

  The fortuneteller puts the first and second card in a row at the top, three cards in a row below, and one at the bottom, alone. She turns the first two cards.

  “The Star for you and The Magician for your other half. He’s a powerful, resourceful man and you’re a pool of serenity and confidence surrounding your love. Much better this time around, aren’t we?”

  What does she mean this time around? As if I were having my fortune told every other day. But so far, so good, so I nod and smile.

  She turns the second row of cards.

  “The Wheel of Fortune for the connection between you—we already knew that. You have a powerful destiny awaiting you. The High Priestess for your strengths. Interesting how things change.” She gives a little smile.

  “C-change?” I stutter.

  “Yes, dear. Change. The Priestess is a symbol of steadiness and calm.”

  “Good, I guess.”

  “Good indeed. As for your weaknesses,” she looks at the last card of the row. “But of course, The Emperor, reversed.”

  “What does the Emperor mean?”

  “Upright, it is a symbol of structure. Reversed, it shows a desire for domination, excessive control, rigidity, and inflexibility. Which was what got you into trouble in the first place, wasn’t it?”

  I swallow at the accuracy of her statement. It was pride and my unchecked need to feel in control that ruined things with Jake last time. I’m never letting my pride or the necessity to affirm myself through my job get in the way of my relationship ever again.

  Amelia smirks beside me, and I kick her sideways in the shins.

  “And now the f
inal card, the True Love card. The one that reveals if your relationship can be successful.” She turns it and stares at it silently for a while before fixating her yellow eyes on me. “The Lovers.”

  I blink at her.

  “Well, it doesn’t get any better than this now, does it?”

  “I-I suppose?”

  “Oh, darling, of course, you do.”

  “So what do you make of this entire… uh,” I try to remember the word she used, “spread?”

  “You’re right where you should be, nothing to worry about.” She winks.

  I don’t know what to make of this assessment. It seems just like a ball of nonsense to me.

  Once Amelia has had her future predicted as well, we exit the tent and rally the others for the final stop of my party.

  “Where are we headed next?” I ask my sister as she tackles me from behind. She’s definitely had many more drinks since lunch.

  “Oh, you’re going to love this! We rented the old drive-in, and they’re doing a special showing of Sixteen Candles just for us!”

  I squeak and giggle with joy while jumping and clapping my hands. “Thank you, both of you…” I brace one arm over Amelia’s shoulders and one over Kassandra’s. “This has been the best day of my life.”

  “Eeeeee.” My sister winks at me. “Wait until you see Jake in a tux waiting for you at the altar before giving away the best day prize.”

  I giggle again and we head toward the limo where the driver’s patiently waiting for us in the parking lot. Watching my favorite movie in an old drive-in is the perfect ending to a perfect day.

  “Wait, how are we going to watch the movie from the limo?”

  “They’re giving us the Cadillacs in the front row,” Amelia says. “Real fifties style.”

  “The limo’s just for driving us home after the movie,” Kassandra explains.

  I smile and silently add that she’ll probably need a lift home more than anyone else will.

  Thirty

  Cold Feet

  ♦♦♦

  Saturday, September 1—London

  On my wedding day, I wake up at the crack of dawn with the alarm clock drilling a hole into my skull. It takes a long while for everything to get started. Even if I have planned every last detail, somehow it still seems I have a great deal left to do. Mom’s so nervous she burns breakfast and I spend a good ten minutes telling her it’s okay and send Dad to grab some muffins from the next-door bakery. Kassandra appears in the living room already dressed in her bridesmaid gown and I send her back to my room to change. I don’t want a coffee stained bridesmaid.