“Right,” said Beatrice. Casting one last glance in the direction where Adrien disappeared, she moved towards the club’s kitchen zone. She passed the smiling, dancing combination of Charly and Daniel, the sullen figure of Stefan now joining a cluster of Charly’s family.
Inspiration struck her at this moment. Pulling her phone out of her purse as she walked, she scrolled through the list of numbers for the wedding party and selected one. She punched a text message with her keys.
Platt’s on Second Street. Midnight. Have to ask you a favor. A moment later, she hit the send button before sliding her phone into her purse again.
*****
Platt’s was a fairly safe location, even for the city at night, but Beatrice felt a train of nerves shiver their way up her spine when she exited the cab. There was a strong possibility that no one was waiting for her here; it was late and the party had only been over for an hour. She was still stuffed in the green dress, without time to change with last-minute details for the wedding hogging her time.
Pushing open the door, she entered and scanned the thin crowd still occupying the eatery. Stefan was there. Seated at the restaurant’s bar, he was motioning for another drink as she approached.
“I need to talk to you,” she said, sitting down next to him. “I know about you and Charly.”
He took a sip from his glass. “You do, do you?” he said, with a faint laugh. “That would surprise me, since even she doesn’t seem entirely aware about ‘us’ these days.”
Beatrice frowned. “So why did you–why did you agree to all this?” she asked. “Neither of you are committed to anyone yet–”
“Because Charly wants him instead.” Stefan interrupted her. “I thought when she came here ... when that job opened up...that she would think about us in a long-term fashion. It turned out she already had someone long-term in mind.” He drained the rest of the glass’s contents.
“Then you were the ‘friend’ who convinced her to leave Pittsburgh,” Beatrice surmised. Not Beth, not Clauda, as she had originally imagined.
“She likes to say she ‘introduced’ me to Adrien, too,” he said. “More like shoved me off on someone. No matter how I call, no matter how many times we meet, she always tells me that this is it. And I always go back to the second choice like there’s nothing I’d rather do.”
A feeling of disgust washed over Beatrice. “Then why not stop stringing Adrien along?” she answered. “Make Charly tell the truth for once; then, maybe, she’d be forced to think about some of the choices she’s made.”
“Charly wants what Charly wants,” he answered. “No changing her mind, I’ve found. And believe me, I try. Have tried as many times as she’ll let me.” This last bit was accompanied by a slow smile, the glass turning in his fingers as he spoke. He nodded in the bartender’s direction, receiving another glass.
Beatrice scowled. “Great,” she said. “Just great. I come all the way down here and how much help are you? None. You deserve to lose the woman you think you love; the only thing you don't deserve is having someone like Adrien waste her life with you.” With these words, she slid from the bar stool and moved towards the door.
“You’ll see what I mean,” he called over his shoulder, his voice thickened by the drinks. “There’s no way to change things once she decides.” She didn’t bother to glance back or to answer him.
Does everyone believe that? It was as if Charly had become a dark prophecy on the lips of every ex-boyfriend and Stefan had become another Hank fulfilling it in a lonely bar.
*****
Sunday was D-Day: the morning of the wedding. Beatrice threw back the covers with a sense of dread at the thought of crawling out of bed to face it. All the last-minute changes, the rushing around to secure the cake’s delivery, the catering staff, seemed to mock her now. Reminders that her job hung by a thread–the same thread that guaranteed Daniel would walk down the aisle with his two-faced bride.
Sliding her feet towards the floor, she sat up and caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Rumpled hair, rumpled t-shirt, traces of defeat visible in every corner of her face. A picture to be pitied, if she only had time to cry right now.
As she fastened the last button on her white blazer, she thought about Adrien’s desire for an ivory-colored gown now appropriated by Charly’s bridal plans. The centerpiece Gabriella Cortez admired would be in the center of the Conners-Wilson wedding table today.
Last, but not least, that Charly would be marrying the boy Beatrice loved.
The urge to cry returned with this thought; her fingers paused while pinning her hair aside, their trembling slowing her progress. In the mirror, her reflection was pale and drawn, little flints of anger and emotion in her eyes. She bit her lip, gaze lowered to the floor as she adjusted the pearl beads around her neck.
The Penderland dining room was already underway for the wedding celebration when she arrived. The jazz orchestra were fumbling with instruments, leafing through pages of music; caterers and club staff were adding the final touches to the dining room tables and buffet rows. Beatrice dodged two workers carrying trays of chocolate-dipped fruit. A delivery worker was rolling a cart ahead of her, the elegant vanilla rosebud cake en route to the head of the room.
“Oh, Beatrice, have the flowers arrived yet? Beth hasn’t checked, she hasn’t finished tweaking my hairstyle yet.” The whiny voice belonged to Lisa, who was weaving her way through the dining room as she adjusted the skirts on her pink gown.
“Um, I think they’re in the bride’s suite,” answered Beatrice, attempting to focus her mind on the question. “The florist said they’d deliver them personally to Charly.” She fumbled with the portfolio in her hand, forgetting to direct a polite smile towards the wedding photographer who was snapping impromptu photos of the pre-ceremony excitement. She turned the knob to the suite and slipped inside before Lisa could ask her anything else.
When she turned around, she realized it was the wrong one. It wasn’t Charly’s dressing suite, but the adjoining chamber. The one where Daniel and his groomsmen were supposed to wait. The groom himself was seated on one of the chairs, studying an index card in his hand.
“Hi,” he said. He pointed towards the card. “Vows,” he explained. “I ... we wanted to write our own, you know.”
“I know,” she answered. She should go, she realized, before the temptation to say something else was too much. I love you; your fiancé is in love with someone else. Don’t get married today. She crossed to the connecting door that led to Charly’s suite, where the bride and her party were supposed to finish dressing.
“You looked nice the other night,” he said. Her back was turned to him, her hand on the knob again. “I meant to tell you, but time just sort of got away from me. It seemed kind of like you were somewhere else.”
“I guess my mind was busy with the wedding,” she answered. “Same as you, I mean.” She forced herself to turn around; the smile on her face was trembling around the corners.
“Good luck today,” she said.
He dropped his gaze to the floor, rubbing his neck as one hand cradled the card. “Thanks,” he said. She slipped through the door and closed it behind her.
Before her was the vision of Charly in front of a floor-length mirror. A long ivory train pooled to the floor, a row of delicate pearl buttons concealing the zipper beneath the hidden panel. The blond flyaway curls were fluffed into a halo beneath the veil brushing her waist.
“Is that you, Clauda?” She turned around and noticed Beatrice. “Oh, it’s you. Good morning.” She turned around and faced the mirror again, adjusting the veil around her shoulders.
“Good morning.” Beatrice stepped closer, noticing the bouquets of flowers in glass vases, awaiting the rest of the wedding party. Charly’s bouquet was a sea of pink roses and baby’s breath spilling over the sides.
“The cake has arrived,” said Beatrice, beginning her report in a monotone voice. “The caterers are bringing in the trays and your family is wai
ting for the group photograph near the gazebo.” She opened her portfolio, turning its pages automatically.
“Sounds like everything is going right as rain,” said Charly, with a smile. “Guess we’re almost to the finish line, as they say.” She stepped away from the mirror, reaching for a bracelet on her dressing table.
Beatrice couldn’t say anything. The words in her mind were not the ones a wedding planner was supposed to say to her client. The urge to rip the veil from Charly’s head, to yell the truth at the top of her lungs in the midst of all the guests on the Penderland gazebo lawn–that was what she longed to do.
There was a rap on the outer door of the chamber, then a second one. Beatrice moved to open it, peering through the discreet peephole to the hallway outside. The person on the other side was not one of the well-wishers or family members, but Stefan.
“Who is it?” asked Charly, whose attention was focused on the pearls looped around her hand. Without speaking, Beatrice turned the knob, feeling Stefan pushing impatiently on the other side, shoving Beatrice a few steps back from the doorway.
At the sight of his appearance, she stopped in her tracks. He had not changed for the wedding, his suit bearing signs of being the same one Beatrice remembered from Platt’s the other night. An untied tie, a faded carnation tucked in his buttonhole as if a wilted reminder of the rehearsal dinner’s celebration.
“Charly,” he said. She was frozen, her hand still holding the clasp for the bracelet around her wrist. “Charly, please. I have to talk to you.” His voice was hoarse and trembling, the scent of liquor issuing on his breath.
Her lips parted. “What are you doing in here?” she hissed. “Get out, right now–”
“You can still change your mind about this,” he insisted, moving towards her. “Please. Can’t you see that’s the whole reason I wanted you to leave Pittsburgh–so we could be together...”
A light bulb dawned in Beatrice’s mind. Quietly, without turning around, she edged backwards towards the door to the adjoining chamber behind her, the room where Daniel was memorizing his vows. Her fingers felt for the handle, easing the door open; the rolling track resisted for a moment, then pushed open to expose a wide gap. Enough for sound to escape through, she imagined.
“I thought you understood things were over.” Charly’s own voice was trembling beneath its scolding tones. “I have a future to think about now, not just some ... some fling.”
“It could be more,” he whispered. “If that’s what you want, I’ll get you a ring right now...”
“I don’t want it anymore!” Her face was red with anger. “I want you to get out. Do you understand me? Now, Stefan.”
He stood there a moment longer, as if he couldn’t believe she truly meant it. With a muttered oath under his breath, he turned and stumbled in the direction of the exit. The door slammed behind him a moment later.
For a moment, Beatrice thought the bride was on the verge of tears, a pool of crystal sparkling beneath her gaze as she faced the door. Then she turned towards Beatrice, her face twisted with emotion.
“How dare you let him in here!” Her whole body was now trembling. “You knew I didn’t want to see him–you did this just to rattle me, didn’t you? To ruin my perfect day with that ugly scene–”
“He thinks you still love him,” said Beatrice. She raised her voice as she spoke. “He cares about you–”
“Well, he had his chance to propose and lost it,” snapped Charly. “I don’t care what he feels–”
“Then you really love Daniel more than him?” The impertinence of this question surely wouldn’t escape Charly’s notice, but blood was pounding in Beatrice’s ears now, drowning out saner thoughts.
“It doesn’t matter which one I love, I know which one I’m marrying.” This last statement was uttered in cold, firm tones. The flustered side of Charly’s nature was receding; the malicious side was rising to the surface with slow breaths and narrowed eyes.
“You’re not going to tell Daniel about any of this,” she said. “Is that understood? Because you know what I’ll say to your boss. I’ll tell her all about that little camping trip. All about you looking through my things. Whatever it takes to get you fired if you so much as suggest Stefan is more than a friend to me.”
Charly seemed to grow taller, as if Beatrice was shrinking before the menacing figure of the bride. Her face perfectly calm, eyes locked on Beatrice as if carved in stone to face that direction. Pink glossy lips formed those soft words like confidential secrets between girls. The red-tipped nail pointing at Beatrice seemed like the point of a knife’s blade to her imagination for a second.
“You already deleted the photos of Stefan,” said Beatrice. “What other proof do I have that you were cheating on Daniel?” She had edged away from the adjoining door, towards the one that escaped into the hall.
“I don’t know, but I’ll find out. I can promise you that.” Charly had closed the distance between them, her veil parting like a sheet of smoke drifting from the mass of curls. Beatrice’s breath had disappeared from her lungs as she remained motionless. Half-afraid Charly might slap her on the spot–or phone Gwendolen at this very moment.
“She doesn’t need anything else, Charly.” Daniel was standing in the opening between the two rooms, the index card of written vows dangling from his hand.
His voice was controlled, but there was an edge of pain in it. Charly’s whole body seemed to contract, as if the bridezilla was sucked within its normal boundaries again. A dead-white face, her lips paling as she turned towards him in complete shock.
“Danny,” she began. “Danny, please. Just listen a minute–” She was trying to force a smile to her face, as if this was a small matter of misunderstanding, but there was a genuine note of fear in her voice.
Daniel’s expression looked like a wounded animal trapped in a corner. As Charly moved towards him, he seemed to draw away as if her pain repelled him somehow.
Time to go. Time to leave, this place, this moment, these events that were spiraling beyond her control. This entered Beatrice’s thoughts as the scene about to unfold seemed unbearable–unbelievable, given the tranquility that existed only ten minutes ago. Pulling open the door to the hallway, she turned and moved swiftly past a couple of Penderland employees lugging a heavy folded table past her and a waiter armed with trays of mini pastries covered in plastic wrap.
“Ms. Bailey, we have a slight issue,” called one of the caterers as she passed through the dining room. “There’s a shortage of mushroom pate for the reception buffet...”
“I don’t think that’s going to be a problem,” she answered, without slowing or turning back. The caterer stared after her with confusion as she kept going, her high-heeled shoes carrying her towards the open door to Penderland’s sunny walkway and the freedom beyond.
*****
What happened afterwards was something Beatrice learned secondhand from a phone call to the country club’s manager and one of her catering staff’s contacts. The wedding was delayed; the guests grew nervous, then Brent the best man gave a nervous little speech meant to reassure them that a postponement might be necessary. But by then, Charly had already left in tears, her wedding gown in the plastic garment bag from the dress designer. Stefan was nowhere to be found; and Daniel had disappeared shortly thereafter.
“Did you happen to hear where the groom was going?” Beatrice asked. She cradled the phone between her shoulder and ear, her free hands twisting the fringe of her crocheted bedspread into little knots. The impression of her face was still visible in her pillow– where she had buried herself after escaping Penderland.
“Not a clue,” said the caterer. “Look, I wish I could be more helpful, but my boss would kill me if he knew I was saying any of this stuff.” The girl’s voice sounded nervous over the phone. “The last thing he said was something to the best man–about catching a ride to space or something.”
Space? Beatrice’s brow furrowed before realization dawned. “Thanks,
” she answered, hanging up the phone. Scrambling up from the bed, she fished around through the clothes on the floor for a dress, a t-shirt and shorts–anything more appropriate to wear outside than her flannel pajama shorts.
Pulling on a skirt and a pair of sneakers, she grabbed her bag and left the apartment. There was a bus leaving in ten minutes–there was a chance he might still be there when she arrived. It had been three hours since the wedding fell apart, an hour’s driving time from the reception site to the city. There was only one place he would go after a crisis like that besides his hotel room.
Daniel still had his first two loves; if he had lost the third one, that was where he would turn. In a rush of tenderness, she remembered him disappearing into the basement of the astronomy building for over a day after she received her notice of transfer. She had searched half the campus before she found him, spent hours trying to convince him the decision had nothing to do with the two of them.
When she stepped off the bus and her destination was in sight, she knew her instincts were right. There was only one person visible on the steps of the science museum; the main entrance was locked, the museum closed for a week for lobby maintenance, according to the signs posted at the foot of the steps.
“Hi,” she said. Cringing at the awkward-sounding casualness of her greeting. Daniel didn’t look up from his gaze trained on the smooth concrete below.
“I don’t know what to say,” she continued. “I’m so sorry for what happened today. I wish this had all been different...”
She heard a half-hearted scoff from below. “I guess you assumed this moment was coming all along,” he answered.
“No,” she said. “I didn‘t. I thought you were in love with her. And if you didn’t want to see it, it wouldn’t be there. When I opened that door, it was just a last chance for you to know the truth.” She bit her lip, the longing to touch his hand, to hug him, washing over her like a wave. “I tried to tell you that she was going to hurt you, but I didn’t have any way to show you.”
Bride Has Two Faces: A Wedding Caper Sequel Page 10
