Wedding Belles

by Beth Albright

  “I have been a wreck, where are y’all?” I said, sounding frantic I was sure.

  “Well, we have had a little accident and we are at the emergency room.”

  “Oh, Lord!” Meridee looked over with worry on her face.

  “Oh, honey, not the real emergency room, we’re at the hair salon.”

  “What!” I said, completely confused.

  “Coco had a fight with the flatiron and it singed his hair near completely off on one side. We raced him to Dedra and she’s having to give him a bi-level.”

  I had no idea how to react. I was so mad and so relieved.

  “When will you get here? I have been a nervous wreck. You didn’t answer your phone,” I said.

  “Oh, sweetie, I am sorry, but Coco’s hair was still smokin’ in the car. I think I ran every single red light to get him to our surgeon here at the CHU—critical hair unit.”

  He laughed at himself, and I could hear poor Coco tell him to stop with all the hospital and emergency room jokes.

  “Listen, sweetheart, we will be there ASAP, I promise. Dedra is a whiz and she is almost done. We have plenty of time to get everything up and decorated. No worries, sugar. It’ll give you wrinkles.”

  “Why was Coco straightening his hair today?” I had to ask. “He usually wears curls.”

  “Well, believe it or not, he wanted to look good for the mystic. He thinks she might get a vibration or something from him and he wanted to give off his best vibes. I tried to tell him today was not about him, but he insisted.” Jean-Pierre gave an exaggerated sigh. “So Coco lost the battle with the hair appliance and a big ol’ chunk of his beautiful hair lies on the bathroom floor, lookin’ like a charcoaled rat.”

  I was sorry I asked. “Please, just hurry.”

  “On our way, sugar.” And he hung up.

  “I told you everything would be just fine,” Meridee said.

  I hoped there were no more surprises today, but with a visit to the psychic coming in a couple of hours, I doubted I’d get my wish.

  * * *

  The wedding planners arrived thirty minutes later and we had Meridee’s house covered in pink from front to back at record speed. It looked a bit like a pink bomb had exploded, but in a surprisingly tasteful way. Baby pink tulle draped throughout the house, looking like whimsical pink clouds. The large dining table was set with a white tablecloth with rose-hued runners going side to side. An extra-tall centerpiece of blush-colored peonies and pale pink roses filled an elegant silver vase, greenery spilling softly over the sides.

  All of the decorations were up. Even the clothesline of baby girl clothes and teeny pink socks were strung wall-to-wall behind the incredible cake.

  The cake itself was a masterpiece. Eight cream-colored stands of various heights were linked together with pink staircases. Each stand, from the top tier to the lowest, held a different lettered baby-block-shaped cake, spelling out the baby’s name, Tallulah. The tiers led the way down to the center cake, which was in the shape of a 1900s baby buggy. It was absolutely stunning to see, and I was glad I had allowed myself to trust Jean-Pierre with this surprise.

  The ice sculpture arrived that afternoon and was set in the center of the living room and bustled with pink tulle. The ice was carved in the shape of a pregnant woman from the side, her hands on her baby bump and her hair piled on top of her head with a sculpted ribbon flowing down her side. I have to say, the Fru Fru boys had certainly lived up to their reputation.

  Around two-fifteen, everyone started to arrive, all dressed up and ready for the shower. Vivi’s two cousins from Tennessee were as funny as I had remembered. It had been so many years since I had seen them, but they both looked the same. Annabelle and Abigail were twins, a tad younger than Vivi, and they were both gorgeous.

  “Oh, my Lord, this place looks like a dream!” Vivi said, walking in slow motion as she took in the transformation of Meridee’s house. “I am livin’ my fairy tale, y’all.”

  Everyone came in and took a seat in the large living room to have their makeovers and then watch the fashion show. It was grand, with all the models walking around the huge ice sculpture and songs like “Baby Love” coming from speakers under the tables.

  Everything was going just as planned until we heard the air-conditioning pop off.

  “Oh, no,” Meridee said. “That damn AC is on the fritz again.” She ran to the hall to check on it. “It’s seriously dead,” she shouted a few minutes later. “Guy can’t get out here to fix it till tomorrow.”

  I locked panicked gazes with the Fru Fru boys. It was August in Alabama and we had a five-foot ice sculpture in the middle of the living room. Before we knew it, we were all perspiring and the ice sculpture was sweating big-time, transforming into a long, skinny blob before our eyes.

  “What should we do?” Coco said to Jean-Pierre. “It’s gonna overflow on these hardwood floors.”

  “I think we need to put it outside, but let’s see if we can make it past the fashion show first.”

  The fashion show went on for a few more minutes but the ice was starting to melt fast. The boys grabbed both sides of the pan and tried to lift it themselves, but despite how much it had melted it still weighed a ton. Eventually half the guests at the party were balancing the slippery pan in their sweaty hands, moving at a snail’s pace as they carried the darn thing out to the back porch.

  By then, everyone’s makeup was running down their cheeks from the heat, making us all look like we were of the raccoon persuasion, with our black mascara smudging dark circles under our eyes.

  While the ladies refreshed themselves with cold drinks and the Fru Frus mopped up the wet living room, Vivi leaned over to me and whispered in my ear.

  “Blake, what does that look like to you?”

  The ice sculpture had taken on a new form. “Oh, my God, it’s a penis! Maybe we should cover it before anyone else notices.”

  Bonita came over with bulging eyes. “Hey, y’all, does that thing look like a ginormous woody to you?”

  Too late.

  “Yep, it sure does,” Vivi said. She turned to me and shook her head and all three of us burst out laughing. “We can’t leave it out here like this.”

  “I don’t know. I kinda like it,” Coco said with a wicked grin.

  “I think it’s a little too bachelorette-style for this event. There are too many kids around in the neighborhood,” Bonita pointed out. “Somehow, I don’t think it’s the kind of calling card your grandmother would care to broadcast from her porch.”

  I went inside and found a fluffy pink bathrobe with a hood, and came back out onto the porch. “How about we cover it with this?”

  “Well,” said Coco, “it’s pink, so it fits with the other decorations.”

  Still laughing, we all moved inside to the dining room, where Coco claimed the head of the table and took charge, clanging the side of a glass with a fork. “Lovely ladies, may I have your attention, please?” he began. “We are so happy y’all are having such a grand and glorious time, aside from nearly swimmin’ in Lake Vivi. We’d like to let you know the surprise we have in store for you at this time.”

  Everyone set down their champagne flutes, which were filled with the cocktail of the hour, The Sassy Belle. Vivi and I had made this drink up years ago. It was our own peachy twist on a mint julep, with a little extra Tennessee Bourbon and a splash of peach schnapps. Vivi and I had ours sans alcohol, since she had the baby to think of, and I was happy to take on the role of designated driver this afternoon.

  “We have the great privilege of taking you all to see the famous Tuscaloosa mystic, Myra Jean.”

  Jean-Pierre elbowed Coco and murmured, “Tuscaloosa psychic.”

  “Whatever. We will be taking a caravan down to the river now where we will all receive a little clue into our future.”


  All the guests turned to each other and mumbled in delight.

  “Before we leave, I want to make a toast,” Vivi said. “Thank you, Coco and Jean-Pierre, for organizing such a fabulous event that I will never forget. Meridee, thank you for the use of your home. It’s one of the most special places on earth for me.”

  Vivi then turned to Bonita. “And to my sister in every way, Miss Bonita. Thank you so much and welcome to our group. I just love having you in the family and working with my Arthur. You make him so happy.”

  Then Vivi came and held my hands. “Blake, I love you and always have. You will forever be bonded to me and we will always be Sassy Belle sisters. I think back over my whole life, all made up of important moments, rough times and easy times. No matter what, whether we’re up for a beauty pageant, graduating from high school or just breezin’ around in the summertime, you are in every single memory, laughin’ or holdin’ my hand, tellin’ me I could, or that everything would be okay. I’m so glad you’re my friend. Thank you so much for this amazing shower.”

  Everyone clapped and Vivi took one final swig of her drink. “Now, ladies, we are heading down to the river. My psychic is waitin’ on me!”

  And before we knew it—as Coco had said—we were off to see the wizard.

  35

  We all made our way out to the screened porch and got in cars for the ride over to the river. Myra Jean lived in an old trailer park out there, where she had been ever since I was a little girl.

  Vivi got in Kitty’s car with Bonita. I was going to drive Meridee in her car. At least, I had planned to be the driver until Meridee slipped into the driver’s seat ahead of me. All four feet ten of her. She had to sit on a cushion to see out the windshield, and reaching the pedals was a crapshoot if we needed brakes in a pinch.

  “Nanny, let me drive. I know the way,” I said, kinda nervous for my life but trying to sound nonchalant.

  “No way, sugar. I love to drive and I don’t get to do it enough anymore.”

  That was for a pretty good reason, but Meridee positioned herself on a seat of pillows behind the wheel and gave me a look that said she was not going to be argued with. I made the sign of the cross over my chest as I climbed into the old Buick. I could not believe I was willingly getting into a moving vehicle with a driver the size of an eight-year-old.

  The car was a dark red 1970 Buick Electra 225 limited. Fancy. It was the last new car my grandfather bought her before he began to get sick. Meridee swore she’d never get another car to replace it, and she’d kept her promise. The only problem was that this car was the world’s longest vehicle ever created. It was not just a boat. It was the whole entire ark—and that was a lotta car for anyone to drive, let alone a Lilliputian like Meridee.

  I belted in. First stop, Sweetie-Pie’s. Meridee promised to pick up her old dear friend and talented seamstress Sweetie-Pie Jones on our way to see the psychic. Sweetie-Pie was the one making Vivi’s wedding dress—she’d made all our pageant dresses growing up, and we wouldn’t have trusted the job to anyone else. Unfortunately, she’d missed the shower due to an emergency fitting for a pageant contestant, but she hadn’t been out to see Myra Jean in ages and she wasn’t about to miss an opportunity to try to speak with her deceased husband, Harold. She was waiting on the front porch when we arrived, with her big, yellow, flowery handbag hanging from her forearm.

  “Land sakes, Meridee, you drivin’ like a son of a gun. You ain’t changed a bit!” Sweetie-Pie said with a laugh as she walked to the car. “Oh, Lordy, I am so happy to see you still driving this old thing. Sho’ ain’t nothing like this baby on the road no more.”

  I got out and went to sit in the backseat to let the two old friends visit. Sweetie-Pie wasn’t much taller than Meridee. What a sight we must have been! A big old boat of a car coming down the dirt road with two little old ladies barely peeking over the dashboard.

  I white-knuckled it all the way, the dust and dirt flying as we left the asphalt for the long drive down by the river to the trailer park. Myra Jean’s mobile home was older than most of the others. She had been out here as long as I had known her.

  Meridee came to a sudden screeching stop, sliding in front of Myra’s double-wide sideway, like she was stealing a base.

  “It’s always so easy to park here.” Meridee unclicked her seat belt and opened the door. “Must be the skid factor with the dirt.”

  Uh-huh. It took me a little longer to get out since I had to pry my fingers, one at a time, from the door handle.

  Myra Jean came out from her home and stood on the makeshift porch, her long, brightly colored caftan billowing in the evening breeze coming off the river. “Oh, my God, would you look what the cat dragged up?” She clapped her hands, then held them out toward us. “It is so good to see y’all again. Get on over here and give me a hug.”

  Everyone else had already arrived and been seated in chairs scattered around the tiny living room inside the trailer.

  Myra Jean was a very tall, willowy woman with bright red hair—from a Clairol bottle—piled high on top of her head. I had never seen it down, but I figured it must go to her waist, at least.

  She wore a scarf around her forehead tied at the nape of her neck, and the ends streamed down over her right shoulder. She was from the sticks. No real education to speak of. She was schooled in the metaphysical—she just knew things.

  As a child I remember being a little scared of her. Meridee would bring me here when she and Sweetie-Pie came on their monthly visits. Myra Jean would get out her cards and her incense. Sweetie-Pie would sometimes fall into a trance and say she saw her late husband, Harold. I’d look everywhere for the man, but I never saw him, even for a second. I had asked Meridee about that later, when we got back to her house.

  “No, child,” she’d explained to me right before bed, “you ain’t gonna see Harold like you see me. He’s a ghost.”

  I was about nine years old at the time and I had crawled straight under the quilt with her just in case Harold decided to visit us that night.

  To my grandmother, there was nothing out of the ordinary about seeing a spirit. She was just like that, though. Nothing too out there for her. Ghosts, psychics, she happily believed in the unexplained. So long as there was no sufficient proof that they didn’t exist, she saw it possible that they could.

  Kitty would say when she left me at Meridee’s house in the summers while she went to work, “Now look, you crazy old woman, don’t be takin’ Blake to see that nutty friend of yours.”

  Meridee would give Kitty a smile and take me anyway. Kitty had known, though, so I guess she hadn’t really minded that much. On a few occasions, I even remember Kitty herself going out to Myra Jean’s. She’d say, “Now, Blake, don’t you tell your daddy...” Whichever daddy it was at the time. I have reconciled with the fact that I just come from a crop of crazies.

  As we made our way up the steps, Myra Jean looked at me. “Well, I’ll be damned! Is this little Blakey?”

  I smiled.

  “You have got to be kiddin’ me. C’mere, baby girl, and let me get a look at you. Well, aren’t you just about the purtiest thing I ever did see? Look at all that long dark hair and those big beautiful blue eyes. Oh, my, I get such a good feelin’ ’bout you, baby. You got someone wonderful loving you in your life now for sure. I can feel it!” She hugged me and kept right on talking. “Y’all come on in and have a seat with the rest of these ladies. Want some sweet tea?”

  We made our way into her little mobile home. She hadn’t done one thing to it since I was here about seventeen years ago. I was in my early years of high school when I stopped coming to see her with Meridee. Boys had taken over my interests by then.

  Inside, we greeted all the girls from the shower, and I sat down on the couch next to Vivi. It was a tiny place. The olive-green rug was stained and threadbare, and the yellow couch j
ust as faded. Oversized lamps with green glass bases sat on either side of the sofa on undersized TV trays, which were doubling as end tables. The lamps had colorful silk scarves draped over their tops, giving the room a nice rosy glow. An older model TV with rabbit ears sticking up from behind sat in the corner of the room near a sliding glass door. Sheer, ratty-looking curtains draped down from the ceiling and puddled on the floor over the doors to keep the glare out. The small kitchen was crowded and the countertops cluttered with trinkets and knickknacks.

  Myra Jean sat in the brown velvet cloth recliner to the side of the room. “I am happier than fuzz on peaches to see y’all, you know that?” She was exuberant.

  Coco and Jean-Pierre sat in kitchen chairs that had been squeezed into the tiny living room. Coco sat up straight, literally on the edge of his seat. He was smiling like a child about to see Santa. I could hear him mumbling, “Here we go. Here we go.”

  “You’re lookin’ good, Myra Jean,” Miss Sweetie-Pie said.

  “Yes, you never change a bit,” Meridee agreed, reaching over and squeezing Miss Myra’s hand. “I have really missed you.”

  “Me, too, honey,” Myra Jean said. She looked over at Sweetie-Pie. “Seen Harold any lately?”

  “No, I think he may have gone on by now,” Sweetie-Pie said, her smile wistful.

  “Well, I’ll see if I can find him here today for you before you go.” Myra Jean was a compassionate soul if a bit eccentric. I always did like her.

  She reached over and grabbed Vivi’s hands. “Look at you, momma. Aren’t you just a vision? Having a girl, too. Congratulations. I am thrilled to be part of your shower. But, honey, I’m seeing your wedding right now and we need to have a little talk.”

  This was how Myra Jean did things. There wasn’t any formal introduction or palm reading or incantations muttered over a crystal ball—she’d just be in your presence and start to feel things and see things and then blurt them right out without warning.