Dictatorship of the Dress (9780698168305)

by Topper, Jessica

  I stood frozen at the shore, phone pressed to my ear like it was a seashell sharing its most secret confessions.

  “But I wanted you to find your own way. Not to just hitch yourself to Allen’s star. I cannot begin to tell you the incredible guilt I’ve carried since Allen’s death, honey. I was wrong about so much.”

  I was silent, letting it all sink in. Both for me, and for her.

  “Deep down, I have always believed in you, Laney. And I’m so proud of your accomplishments. Now, please. Set him free.”

  I had my phone in one hand, and the bridal dress in the other. I had no free hands.

  “Can you hold on a second, Mom?”

  I set both down behind me, and with all my might and with all the love in my heart, I threw Allen’s ring into the Pacific.

  Then I picked up the phone and the dress bag. The heaviest thing to carry was a grudge. And I was starting to feel less burdened already.

  “I’m back.”

  “Good. Now, go get on that plane. Because I’m not getting married without you here.”

  Noah

  ONE MORE DAY

  With a heavy heart, I walked past the Godzilla-sized red stiletto sculpture and found myself in front of the Cosmopolitan’s glass-walled Pop-Up Wedding Chapel. Commitment Ceremonies, Vow Renewals, and Faux Weddings, the sign bragged. Legally Binding Ceremonies seemed to be added as an afterthought, in smaller font with an additional price tag. The thought of faking a wedding with Sloane, just to make her family happy, shot through one side of my brain and out the other. No, that wasn’t fair to anyone, and that wasn’t exactly solving any problems.

  A space age–looking gumball machine caught my eye, filled with oversized novelty erasers shaped like diamond solitaire rings. “May I?” I mouthed to the woman working on the other side of the glass, pointing at the rings. She smiled and waved me in.

  Tread lightly, I heard Laney’s soft voice saying.

  An eraser wasn’t for the mistakes, just another tool to add to the arsenal.

  “Do you need anything else?” The woman asked as she rang me up for the ring.

  I heard Warren’s words loud and clear: You need to do what’s best for you, but they were all jumbled up with one of my favorite Star Trek quotes: “Logic clearly dictates that the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few.”

  What Would Spock Do?

  “Yes. I need to book a ceremony.”

  • • •

  “Bonjour, this is Remy.” Our wedding photographer’s voice was higher than I expected, but loaded with all the impatience and irritation I would imagine from a French playboy who was probably breaking up his ménage à trois to take my phone call.

  “Noah Ridgewood.”

  “Is this . . . Sloane’s Noah?” His accent hit upon the vowels in our names, drawing them out.

  “Yes. I’m calling to say your services are no longer needed.”

  “The wedding, then? Is it off?” That was when I heard it. There was no impatience and irritation. You’d think a guy who had just lost a huge money gig like the Bidwell wedding would be a bit put out. But no, what I heard in his voice was relief.

  And hope.

  “Her father found out she had hired you.”

  Remy dropped a few choice French curses. “He’s a powerful man, her father,” he said, his voice flat.

  “That he is,” I agreed.

  “Do you love her, Noah?”

  I contemplated his bold query. Most grooms would prepare for a cockfight, threatened by such a question. “I loved the idea of her,” I finally said. “But I don’t think she really ever wanted me to love her.” It was true, looking back on her behavior. It was so obvious now.

  Remy let out a sigh long enough for both of us.

  “I loved her, Noah. From the moment I saw her through the lens of my camera in front of the Limelight. I was paparazzi, you see. Waiting at the nightclubs with the other vultures and their flashbulbs to catch the big money shot. But I didn’t take any pictures that night. I knew the moment was captured forever, in my heart.” His words, although cheesy, sounded strangely sincere. “Our love grew fast and intense. We were so happy. If I could hear the sweetness of her laughter every day, I needed nothing else in my life.”

  I couldn’t control the snort that emanated from the back of my throat. Were we talking about the same girl here? As if he had read my thoughts, Remy added, “I know she’s high maintenance, and the drama, sacre bleu, the drama! But I loved every bit of it. And more. You don’t know the real Sloane. Trust me. Not the one I fell in love with.”

  “Then why did you break up with her?”

  “Her father threatened to have my work visa pulled if I kept seeing her. Mon Dieu, it killed me to walk away from her! He sent her away to school, into the Midwest and away from me.”

  Enter the kid with the cheap suit and big dreams, I thought. Ripe for the picking. Just like that strawberry in her champagne glass. Make me laugh, she had said.

  Sloane wasn’t looking for revenge. She was looking for happiness. But she was making everyone around her miserable in the process.

  “To photograph her on her wedding day would be a stab through my heart. But I couldn’t say no. I said I would do it. It’s my punishment for being weak, for letting her father win.”

  “Remy, you need to come to Vegas.”

  It was a gamble and the stakes were high, but he had nothing to lose.

  And neither did I.

  Aloha, Mahalo

  I moved through Lihue Airport, watching as people hugged hello and the occasional lei was thrown around a neck with fanfare.

  Even after my mother’s phone call, I still braced myself for the inevitable umbilical noose she was going to tighten around me when she caught sight of me. The very thought made me want to dive back into the safe, pressurized womb of the aircraft cabin. I didn’t know how she’d done it, but Anita had pulled some strings with the other airline’s flight attendants to make sure I had a hero’s welcome.

  A round of applause had greeted me as I boarded my flight without a minute to spare. Oh, no, not again, I had groaned inwardly. The flight attendant had given me a wink as she held open the first-class closet door for the dress. “Yes, here she is, folks!” Her voice was gravelly through the intercom. “The daughter of the bride has been traveling for three days trying to get her mother’s dress to Hawaii—let’s give her a hand.”

  My surprise had morphed into pride.

  I was the dress bearer. It was my job to get it from point A to point B, and then the pressure was off.

  Still, as I scanned the crowd for familiar faces, my doubts and nerves got the best of me. Vera was going to crucify me. There was still time to run. I pictured hopping onto the back of one of those slow-moving, beeping airport carts to stage my getaway. My mother chasing me through the airport, trying to get her clutches on the dress I dangled like a carrot on a stick.

  Old habits died hard.

  Maybe it was time to stop torturing my mother, and start talking to her.

  “Laney! Laney!”

  Dani was hopping up and down, curls bobbing. She already had an enviable tan and a cluster of guys watching as other things bounced under her coral-colored sundress.

  I was enveloped in a hug that smelled of salt water and sunscreen, and it was as comforting as stepping into a warm house after a long day of stomping through snow. But it wasn’t Dani who had grabbed me. My mother made sure she got the first honors.

  “Oh, sweetheart! Thank goodness! We’ve been so worried. Are you okay? What an ordeal!” She pressed a kiss to my temple.

  No berating? No interrogation about the dress?

  “Paging the real Vera Hudson to gate 8,” I joked. “Who are you and what have you done with my mother?”

  “Helena.”

  She took m
y cheeks in both her hands, and now I knew she meant business. “If you think for one minute that I value that dress over my only daughter’s well-being . . . perish the thought.”

  Dani’s fingers danced around my shoulders, pulling my army coat off my back.

  “No more need for this. You’re here, you’re finally friggin’ here!”

  I turned and hugged my best friend, tears welling as I whispered, “WWLD without you? Thank you.”

  She gave me a “you’re crazy, but you’re welcome” squeeze and murmured, “Oh, shut it. We’ll talk later.”

  “Ernie’s got the car waiting out front, chop chop!”

  Vera was back in command. She plucked the garment bag out of my hands, and in that brief second, I saw time reverse for her. She was a bride, aglow with anticipation. Dani took my carry-on and we made our way out to ground transportation.

  “Hiya, doll.” Ernie greeted me with a hug. The customary Hawaiian shirts he loved to wear back in New York finally didn’t look out of place here under the sun and gentle Pacific breeze. “Now we can officially start the party.”

  “Thanks, Ernie.”

  “You, curly doll”—he beckoned to Dani—“sit up front and make me look good, okay?”

  He held open the door of the vintage red 1950s Thunderbird convertible he must’ve rented for the occasion.

  “Yes, Mr. Crystal,” Dani replied in mock coyness, complete with the champagne-pronunciation of his name my mother preferred.

  Ever the gentleman, he ushered my mother and me in with a sweep of the door and clicked it closed with a wink. I think he was giving us some alone time.

  As we wound through the lush landscape of Kauai, over one-lane bridges and past breathtaking waterfalls, my mother held tight to my hand.

  “You look good,” she started.

  “Are you kidding? I’m a mess. The only thing fresh about me is my underwear.”

  “Good thing you packed three pairs. Right?” she said, egging me on.

  “Yes,” I admitted, laughing. “Your rule of three came in handy.”

  “Yes, three’s a charm.” She sniffed in satisfaction. “And I have Ernie to prove it.” She must’ve noticed my skeptical look, because she added, “We just had to make a few wrong turns to find each other again.”

  “So who set who free in the first place?” I had to ask.

  “Well.” My mother reddened. “It’s complicated. Let’s just say we didn’t have the luxury of planning a leisurely wedding the first time around.”

  “Mom!” I couldn’t believe she never mentioned it once, after all these years. “A baby?”

  She held out her hands in supplication, and raised her brows. I understood the wordlessness of such shock and heartache. After I slid my hand over hers, she continued. “We loved each other, but we lost . . . well, we lost direction after that. It was hard to find our way back to a good place, you know?”

  I knew all too well. She squeezed my hand, but I squeezed back harder.

  “You always were so much stronger than me, Laney.”

  She winced, and I suddenly understood the reasoning behind decades of minced words. And as her eyes channeled a hundred apologies, I realized her inability to support me, and my choices, hadn’t come from disapproval, but rather from the unresolved pain of her past.

  “Ernie wanted to go to school out west. He could’ve taken over my father’s fur business once he retired, but he wanted to make something of himself, his own way, without my family’s money. I didn’t want to go out west, so that was that. We parted ways.”

  And here I thought my mother had been in the market for a sugar daddy. Turned out Ernie hadn’t wanted her to be his sugar mama.

  “Well, now that you’re together, you’re not going to change the business to Crystal Views or something, are you?”

  My mother laughed. “Are you kidding? Ernie loves that I have my own interests and my own career. He’s got his own kids, and I have you. We’re not changing our wills or pooling our finances, sweetie. He’s not looking to change up Hudson Views. But I am.”

  “What do you mean?”

  We had arrived at our resort, and she whisked me through the property as she explained her latest idea.

  “Honey, your dad started Hudson Views as an outlet for his cartooning. He had such a unique way of capturing the absurdities of life in a one-panel picture. Half the reason why I married him, I suppose; he could make me laugh at the darnedest things. You’ve got that gift, too. Anyone can write the one-liners . . .”

  “But then they wouldn’t be Veraisms,” I told her.

  “Well, true,” my mother admitted without a hint of modesty. “But I want you to express yourself more. Do your own line. Anything goes.”

  “Anything?”

  “Laneyisms!” She beamed. “I was talking to Ernie about it right before we left for Paris. I told him, if Laney can’t be counted on to get the job done, then I just don’t know if anyone can.”

  And here I thought I had eavesdropped on another one of her dressing-me-down sessions!

  “Capture the attention of the twentysomething crowd,” she continued. “They’re all too busy with their screaming meemies to send an actual honest-to-goodness paper card.”

  I laughed. “You mean streaming memes, right? Memes.” I enunciated it for my mother, who was a hopeless Luddite when it came to any computer jargon.

  If Noah was around, perhaps he could help me launch some sort of meme generator app using my drawings. Help me cure the world with laughter.

  Then again, I could think of lots of other things to do with Noah if he were here.

  I sighed, remembering our pillow talk back at the Drake. Noah wasn’t really the type of guy to run from his problems. He was a logical, patient, step-by-step guy. Formulating a plan of action, and then coding it.

  My mother sensed a shift in my mood. Taking my hand, she said, “Come see your dress.”

  “My dress?”

  “Of course, silly. I had it custom-made. Remember all those torturous measurements I put you through?”

  “Yes, but then you told me you didn’t want me wearing the sea-foam dress after all, because the color wasn’t right for me.”

  “No, the color wasn’t right for my maid of honor. I wanted you in something different.” She threw open the closet door. “While you were carrying my dress cross-country, I was carrying yours. From France.”

  The dress was a halter-top style in a rich, iridescent blue silk that shone like the deepest color on the eyespot of a peacock’s tail plume.

  “Here’s the best part.”

  Taking it down carefully by its hanger, she flipped it to show me the backless style. “Perfect to show off those tattoos of yours.”

  “I thought you meant the color would clash with my hair and skin tone, so I assumed you didn’t want me in the bridal party,” I mumbled, feeling stupid. “It’s gorgeous. Thank you.”

  It really was. I could tell a lot of thought had gone into choosing something that was more my style rather than her own. And I realized the dresses I had halfheartedly thrown into my luggage to wear really weren’t special enough for the occasion.

  “Crap, I don’t think I have nice enough shoes to do this dress justice.”

  My mom waved her hand. “Wear whatever is easy to walk on sand. Beach ceremony, remember?”

  I looked down at my flip-flops. Thanks to Noah, I hadn’t had to wear them in the Chicago winter, but they had, in fact, carried me the whole way here. Good enough.

  Noah

  LOVE REMOVAL MACHINE

  I meandered through the Venetian on my way to Tim’s texted rendezvous point, letting the faux clouds of the blue sky lead me. Dusk was settling across Nevada, yet here I was in ever-sunny Italy. Laney had been right; what I had seen of Vegas so far was just a plastic mirage. Including the woma
n I once thought I wanted to spend my life with.

  You don’t know the real Sloane, Remy had said. And come to think of it, she really didn’t know the real me. I had forgotten who that guy was. Until I had met Laney, I had forgotten he existed.

  I came across one of my groomsmen, Jules, engaged in a staring contest with a powdery-faced mime in the middle of St. Mark’s Square. Sidling up next to my friend of fourteen years, I murmured, “Is he supposed to be Dante?”

  Jules didn’t break eye contact, just squinted, hand stroking his blond goatee. “No, not Dante,” he replied slowly. “I’m thinking . . . generic historical Italian figure.”

  I peered back up at the mime, frozen stiff on his small platform behind a curved balustrade. He was as white as a sheet personified.

  “I know how you feel, man,” I said, sympathizing with him under my breath, as the prospect of spending all of the next day with the Bidwells loomed large.

  The dude was making bank—dollars of all denominations and many coins lined the railing. The only things whiter than his entire getup were the whites of his eyes.

  “Never let them see the whites of your eyes,” Jules said, squinting harder.

  As a reference librarian at Evergreen State College, he had had a lot of practice mastering the steely stare.

  “Aha! See that? He blinked. I win!” He slapped a ten-dollar bill down for the guy anyway, then turned to envelop me in a bear hug.

  “Missed you, man! Just get here?”

  “A couple of hours ago.”

  Strong, steady hands gripped my shoulders, and I knew they belonged to Mike, surgeon to the rich and famous in Reno. “Hey, now, the slacker has finally arrived!”

  I felt knuckles dig into my skull, older-brother noogie style. Nate had arrived, too: the old man of the group. He was the only one married with a kid already. Yet he was still the most juvenile of the bunch.