Altar Call

by Hope Lyda

  “Nobody has ever splurged on these for a wedding.”

  You mean nobody in their right mind.

  Only Caitlin still has her wits about her. “Could you leave us alone with—those. There—the dresses.”

  “Or better yet, take them when you go,” Angelica adds.

  Valerie thinks we are joking. She tolerates our lack of appreciation and waits next to the most colorful, horizontally-striped, silk kimono of a thing ever witnessed this side of the psychedelic seventies.

  “Do we have to try these on?”

  “This isn’t a fitting,” I clarify. “It’s a—sighting.”

  “Like a UFO.”

  “Is that a band of pistachio green?”

  “You mean the stripe next to the chartreuse one?”

  “Shouldn’t we have 3-D glasses?”

  “At least a black light.”

  “Maybe she didn’t want to actually choose a color for her wedding?”

  “She said they would grow on us…” I try my supportive voice.

  “Like fungus,” Angelica interrupts.

  By now Valerie understands we are not kidding but very, very serious. She pushes our fashion fate out of sight and closes the curtain behind her. We are left alone with our first impressions, and they aren’t pretty.

  “Who was responsible for selecting dresses with her?” I demand an explanation other than the one about our friend being captured by alien fashionistas who want to ruin good taste one fabric at a time.

  We all refer to our calligraphy lists.

  “I think her sister went with her. Is she color-blind?”

  “Uh—try blind-blind.”

  Angelica groans. “How can we call her with our response now? I’m not a good liar anymore. Mari, you do it.”

  For a moment this makes sense until my mind does a double take over the insult.

  Just then my phone rings. I shove it toward Caitlin. “You are the one who kept the secret about your New York trip. And you know all those fashion terms. You have to stall for us.”

  “Is that the stupid theme from Ice Castles? Make it stop.” Angelica grabs the phone, presses the talk button, and thrusts the phone to Caitlin’s ear.

  “Hello? Sadie! How is the conference going? Congrats on being selected to speak to the directors about…what? Yes. We are at the bridal shop right now. We just saw them, Sadie.” Caitlin raises her eyebrows at me and shrugs. I motion for her to keep on talking, but the deer-in-headlights look I’m getting is my cue to grab the phone.

  “They are dream dresses, Sadie.” Or to be more accurate…costumes for performances of Joseph and the Amazing, Technicolor Dreamcoat.

  “I’m so glad you like them, Mari. I was worried. My sister chose them when I visited her in San Francisco last month. We’ve never shared style preferences, but by the time we got together I had assigned all the big jobs, and you are my maid of honor, so when she said she didn’t fit into my life anymore…”

  My friend’s stammering explanation is explanation enough. It is clear that we all feel the same way about these dresses. “Then this is the right dress for us,” I offer.

  Angelica kicks me; Caitlin stifles a cry.

  Lie-brary

  What do we need this time? Haven’t we read the entire business section?” I chase after Caitlin, who is wearing a bright yellow raincoat, matching hat, and very interesting tiger-striped sandals, which move at a rapid pace despite their spiked heels.

  “I want that business plan book again. The one with the questionnaire to help us create a ‘unique and successful’ mission statement.”

  “And why are we running?”

  Caitlin stops midstaircase and turns to face me. “My parents and I had another inspiring talk.”

  “Meaning—a fight?”

  “Correct.” She does a half bow, which gives me a chance to straighten the plastic daisy on her hat.

  “Got it. We have a mission.” I reach into my purse and pull out my favorite pen to show her how serious I am.

  We both step into the same slice of revolving door and push together with a bit too much force. I get out in the right spot, but Caitlin ends up stuck in for another spin. I don’t even bother fixing the daisy when she emerges.

  “Get busy,” I say, pointing toward the resource center.

  “I need you.” Caitlin’s hands are on her hips. She’s all business in her Paddington Bear getup.

  “And I need coffee. I’ll bring you a coconut bagel.” I wave my serious pen again.

  “With the pineapple cream cheese?”

  “Nothing less.”

  We part ways at the escalator, yet another moving apparatus for Caitlin to get caught up in. I watch until she is safely upstairs.

  A server with book-shaped earrings and braces excuses herself to the back room to look for the pineapple cream cheese. I count straws in one of those self-painted vases and then pennies in the spare change dish—a very savant thing that I do. Funny how I could barely pass geometry but my mind spins with numbers like a roulette wheel that never stops—or pays off.

  “Bingo!” Nice girl emerges with a small plastic tub of cream cheese.

  “Goodness. That is a rare thing to hear outside of my day job.”

  She cocks her head to the side. “What do you do?”

  I laugh self-consciously. I hadn’t intended to solicit further conversation about myself. “I’m the recreation director at Golden Horizons.”

  “Oh my gosh!”

  “Now that is a rare response.”

  As she spreads the yellow-and-white mixture on the bagel she can barely contain her power of knowledge. “I know that place.”

  “You do?”

  “They had a big fashion show last year. Do you remember? It was quite fancy. I had to work, but my mom and dad went.”

  “That was my fund-raiser!”

  “This just gets better, doesn’t it? I bought my wedding dress there. It was something I would have never dreamed of getting. My dad called me from the auction and took a picture with his camera phone. And I said ‘don’t let it get away.’ ” She reaches her hand toward me. “I’m Tanya, by the way.”

  “Mari. Small world, isn’t it? I actually thought my friend Sadie would buy it. She is the one who modeled it.”

  “I copied her look for my wedding. I like things a bit funky. I have a picture…can you wait?” She pushes my order toward me and rushes back to the storage room.

  Sadie’s style has never been called funky; that is, until last week when we met the go-go dress.

  When Tanya returns she is digging through her purse.

  I don’t have the heart to tell her that I know the dress well. I stared at it for quite a few hours during the days before the fashion show. Everyone thought I should keep it. After all, it was part of my inheritance from Tess, but somehow it seemed too self-assured to buy a wedding dress before there was a groom. Beau and I were long-distance dating at the time, but I was afraid to hope we would become serious.

  I don’t want to see the dress that should have been mine. The dress I should have had faith enough to keep. But instead of saying anything, I smile. Big and confident and full of what I hope appears to be great faith.

  A wallet-sized photo is handed to me and what I see surprises me. “This one?” I blurt with relief. “I mean, I love this dress. It was one of the highlights.”

  In my hand is a beautiful shot of Tanya and groom leaning against a bridge rail. They are looking at one another and the sun is setting behind them. It is a romantic image, but what my eyes cannot veer away from is the floor-length velvet dress with horizontal satin piping. The colors are yellow and green. It is funky, and it is the formal dress Caitlin modeled.

  “It is cool and unconventional. My dad said he put a bid in on an actual bridal gown as well so I could choose, but someone else bought that one. Things work out, don’t they?”

  “Yes, they do. Thanks for showing me the photo. And for the coffee.” I raise my cup to her. All of a
sudden I feel overwhelmed by memories of last year—the times when I wasn’t sure if I was ready for a serious relationship. Then the happiness. And now…more of the confusion. Is this what love is?

  My feet move toward the escalator while my mind skips around to scenes from my relationship with Beau. I cannot help but smile. The guy is sweet, even if we never see one another these days. Even if I spend my Saturday at the library with Caitlin and he spends his Saturday at the office slaving over his reports, compiling research and writing page after…

  “Paige! Over here. You’ll love these architecture books.” Beau’s voice bellow-whispers from the other side of the glass cubed wall.

  I duck instinctively as though I have been caught doing something wrong. I am already moving on the escalator and soon I will be high enough for Beau and friend to see me. A little boy and his mom stand behind me on the narrow stairs. There is no escape.

  I crouch down lower, keeping my eyes on the steel ridges of the step. Head in sand. Head in sand.

  “What’s wrong with her?” The little boy says quietly to his mom. I imagine the stern look and raised eyebrows she offers him as her only explanation. I mean, who wants to think they are in the presence of demented individuals at the happy library…the wonderland where books and bagels coexist.

  I glance down to my right, unable to resist one more moment of suspense. I see a bit of red hair leaning in toward Beau’s dark hair. They are peering over what must be a fascinating book of architecture. Architecture? Since when is Beau interested in architecture?

  The stairs run out before my stare does, and I am thrust onto the red-and-purple checked carpet. Pineapple cream cheese becomes a face mask and my coffee does a double half twist beyond my reach. The curious little boy steps over me cautiously in case I plan more erratic movements.

  “What took you so long?” Caitlin looks up at me from her notebook.

  “I had to stop at the bathroom.”

  She looks me over and then to my hands, which are empty of offerings. “Where’s my bagel with pineapple cream cheese?”

  “They were out.”

  “Where’s your coffee?”

  “Drank it.” Wore it.

  She gives me a curious look, seemingly unsure of whether to buy into my lies. “Did you see Beau? He’s here,” she looks around at the stacks of books, “somewhere.”

  “No. But he said he might be here today.”

  Liar, liar coffee-stained pants on fire.

  “I thought he was at his office?” She says with a curious lilt.

  Clearly, Caitlin the Spy saw the girl and wants to know who she is.

  “He was for a while. Then he and his project mentor, Paige, were coming here.” I say this to protect him, to save my pride—and once out of my mouth, I believe it.

  “Oh,” she says still questioningly. “Don’t you want to go look for him? Them?”

  “No. I’m sure they are busy. And so are we. Let’s get going on that mission statement. We have a goal, girlfriend!”

  Caitlin must want to move past my inner cheerleader as much as I do. She pulls out a chair for me and motions for me to sit. “As long as you are fine with it.”

  “Totally!” I say this with a large half-yodel O in the middle—and once out of my mouth, I don’t believe it.

  Favorites

  The diabetic club had their activity,” Lysa states as she places a large cookie in front of me.

  I stare at the huge mound. “A bake sale?”

  “They see it as their outreach.”

  I take a bite and chew slowly. “Applesauce…carob…and something tangy.”

  “Lemon zest.”

  “Ah, I’ve always wondered what my chocolate chip cookies were missing.”

  Lysa sits at her desk, which is just outside of Beau’s office. “How was your weekend?”

  “Oh, same-o. I helped Caitlin with her business start-up research. She has to turn in her proposal to the Small Business Association loan review board next week. And Beau had to work. Turns out his mentor was in town again. Who knew I would become the jealous type? I have my life, my interests, my friends—but lately he is either working or working with her. Which means, it really isn’t working for me. I’m morphing into one of those women who is needy. Needy is my current second-least-favorite word.”

  “What’s the first?”

  “Paige. Which brings me back to needy.”

  I realize I am more upset than I expected. I try to reexplain my circumstances to make us both feel better. “You know, it is good timing, though. I have Sadie’s wedding to deal with. I gladly help Caitlin. And I have had more time to enjoy the solitude I used to love before I got so caught up in Beau. It’s good. What did you do?”

  Lysa pauses and half shrugs. “I worked too. Just a little.” She seems uncomfortable. “Before I forget, Rose Waverly was asking to see you. She has a new idea for the afternoon craft group’s project.”

  “But she’s in the morning craft group.”

  Lysa points her index finger at me like a cheesy game show host. “Exactly.”

  “Now be nice,” I get up from my seat and gladly step away from the shredder and my exciting activity for the day. “Rose is actually so much sweeter now than back when I knew her at church. She was my least-favorite pew neighbor. She scared me.”

  “And now?”

  I laugh. “Okay, her control still scares me. But the first day she walked through these doors, she was fragile and broken. I’d rather see her happy and in charge any day. And I can confidently say she is one of my favorite residents.”

  “Well, good—because she wants to turn your desk into a float for the end of summer parade.”

  I walk over to Lysa’s larger desk. “Why use my little pooper-scooper float when she could have the star of the show?” As I pretend to take the measurements of the old roll-top-turned-convertible workspace, I notice a miniature yellow rose plant.

  Lysa notices me noticing and casually pushes some books in front of it.

  “Good try. Who’s the guy?”

  “That rhymed.”

  “You know everything about my relationship with Beau. I just spilled my guts, for Pete’s sake. You finally have one admirer who sends flowers, and you say nothing.” I goad her a bit, but I’m really quite happy that she has a new friend.

  “I will let the word ‘finally’ slip because…” she looks down and feigns a hangnail. One of my personal moves of avoidance.

  “I’m waiting. Who is he?”

  “I worked here all weekend because I ran reports for Beau and for…”

  “Least-favorite word?”

  “Yeah. I already knew you felt a bit left out of this project, so I didn’t want to rub it in that I got to work all weekend.” She stops and laughs.

  I laugh to ease her discomfort. “Oh, don’t worry—I’m nuts. I’m surprised I have a boyfriend.”

  “And since I think working all weekend is cause for jealousy between us—I’m not surprised I don’t have a boyfriend.”

  My eyes scan the hallway, and I quickly glance into Beau’s office to be sure we are alone. “So, why were Beau and Paige at the library on Saturday if they were supposed to be here working?”

  Lysa looks relieved. “I sent them there. I had to run five reports, and they were standing over me. So I insisted they leave for half an hour to give me peace. How did you know?”

  “I saw them. Sort of. I saw Beau and half of her head. And then I hid.”

  “Why? You are his wonderful girlfriend. The girlfriend he talks about all the time. You should have gone right over to them and laughed and shaken hands and acted like it is no big deal.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Because it is no big deal.”

  “I should have, you’re right. But I also think he should have made a point of introducing her to me before now. Don’t you think? He’s quite a polite person by nature. So the fact that I have not met her makes me nervous. She’s pretty, isn’t she?”

&nb
sp; “I might have a third-least-favorite word for you.”

  “Uh-oh. Bring it on.”

  “Stunning.”

  I act as though a dagger has gone through my heart. “Where is the protective nature you exhibited moments ago? Now you are throwing images at me that my little head does not need right now.”

  “I’m not finished. She’s stunning and a bit severe. I think Beau spends half of his time with her trying to regain control of his own project. Despite the yellow flowers of friendship on my future float, she is not a warm person.”

  “At least I feel better about why they were at the library. But if he doesn’t introduce us next time…”

  Lysa looks past my shoulder and pinches my leg. “Beau!”

  “Hello, Lysa. Mari.” Beau nods at us both. It is the first time I have seen him since I tripped off the escalator.

  Lysa stands up and starts down the hallway rather quickly. “I will go tell Rose that the desks are off limits.”

  “Nobody can call that woman subtle,” Beau says and motions for me to go into his office. As I walk in front of him, he places his hands on my shoulders and gives me an affectionate rub.

  I turn and face him and wait for whatever he wants to say. Usually I make it easy for him to be a man of few words, but I want to hear something that will turn my thoughts around.

  He starts off haltingly. “I’m sorry I missed church.”

  Okay.

  “I should have called you,” he continues.

  I remain silent. Anything I say will come out wrong, harsh, or just plain crazy.

  “Good news, though. The project is coming along nicely.”

  “So you will finish sooner?” I break my vow with hope.

  “Sort of. We’ll meet our goal early enough that we can complete our second pitch for funding. It’s beyond what our expectation was for this project.”

  I remember when “our” was a happy word in the dating vocabulary. It has just bumped “needy” for second place on my least-favorite list.

  Since I broke my silence, I decide to plunge forward into the abyss of relationship mystery. “Beau, I don’t know if I am supposed to say this. It might be stupid or unnecessary at best—but I think I should meet Paige. In fact, I’m surprised it didn’t happen that first weekend.”