All Dressed Up In Love: A March Wedding Story: A Year of Weddings Novella

by Ruth Logan Herne

  The ladies chattered a moment, then turned toward him, waiting to hear their fates.

  He’d walked into the store this afternoon determined to hire a liquidation firm and keep things uncomplicated. Short and simple was best right now. He needed to be at the top of his game at work, and the women here knew that. He’d compensate the staff, they’d apply at the new corporate bridal stores, and while it wouldn’t be the same as staffing Elena’s, it would be a job. And that’s what mattered.

  But now? He was face-to-face with the reality of it, with one of Donna’s twins stirring in his little car carrier, and Kathy staring up at him as if she knew what he had to say but longed to hear anything else.

  He glanced at Tara.

  Her face showed no emotion, but it did show support. No matter what he’d decided, her expression said it was okay.

  He cleared his throat, and what came out wasn’t even close to what he’d intended to say. “We’re in trouble.”

  The women stayed quiet, their attention trained on him.

  “Our appointments are down. Our weddings for this year are fewer than ever, and we need to ramp things up in quick order or close the doors.”

  Their faces fell. Their gazes went tight. He watched as this group of good women prepared to be told they were collectively out of a job.

  He shifted his eyes to Tara. “This is Tara Simonetti. She came on board this past weekend in a moment of desperation because we were short-handed.”

  “Empty-handed, more like it,” Kathy said.

  He acknowledged that with a tight smile. “True. Well, I thought we’d be training Tara on bridal, but it turns out she trained me instead. And according to her, we’re at a crossroads. We either pull together and focus on bringing in more brides, more parties, more overall business over the next few weeks, or we need to liquidate and close the doors.”

  All eyes turned to Tara, but she didn’t make eye contact with the rest of the staff. She kept her gaze on his, and something in her face said he could do this.

  “So here’s what I think.”

  The women turned back toward him, waiting. Hoping?

  “I want to keep Elena’s open.”

  A sigh of relief rippled through the room.

  “But I need your help. I know Donna needs a few more weeks—”

  “Kyle said he’s ready to take over two evenings and Saturdays starting this week,” Donna broke in. “Consider me back for at least sixteen hours a week.”

  Having Donna back to cover some hours would be a big help. He didn’t pretend not to be grateful. “That’s huge, Donna. Thank you.”

  “And I’m fine now,” Kathy added.

  “And Jean’s brother is coming north to help care for her dad, so we can have her back next week too,” Maisy added.

  “I’ll call her,” Kathy offered, but caution marked her tone. “Greg, what are your ideas for growing business? There’s tough competition out there.”

  He turned toward Tara. “Your turn.”

  She didn’t come up front, but stayed seated among the women. And then she did something quite amazing in his book. She didn’t list her ideas, hogging credit. She turned the tables and asked them theirs, and Greg was amazed by what he heard.

  “Trunk shows,” Donna offered, the same idea Tara had yesterday. “That way there’s no added expense, we have the gowns in store for three days, we have the sales rep from the designer sell the concept of why their gowns are best, and we deal with exclusives the brides can’t find in mall stores.”

  Tara jotted that down as if she hadn’t already thought of it.

  “We could do better using referral retailers,” Kathy admitted. “Reception venues, furniture stores, printers, caterers, florists.”

  “And we could cross-reference those with specific types of weddings,” added Maisy in a tone that said this wasn’t the first time she’d made this suggestion.

  Greg frowned. “I don’t know what that means.”

  “Themes are the rage right now. There’s no such thing as simple anymore.” She stood, marched to the front desk, and grabbed a stack of forgettable business cards. “Instead of these, we leave vintage-style cards at vintage and historic venues. For formal hotels and museums, use the more formal design. Artsy-looking cards at the artsy and trendy venues. That way the minute the bride sees the card, she feels the connection to her wedding, her choices, and Elena’s Bridal. And it costs pennies.”

  “That’s a brilliant idea.” It was, Greg realized, and nothing he would have thought of in a million years, although he looked for instant connections with potential clients all the time. It made sense to do that with his mother’s store as well.

  “Our location here is huge,” Tara offered.

  “We’re not very mainstream for suburban brides,” Donna noted.

  “But we’re unique, and we can turn that to our advantage,” Tara replied. “Bridal parties that come to browse can get coupons to have their lunch or dinner at one of the nearby places. There are enough great spots to gather down here that even the pickiest bride will like that over chain restaurants at the mall. It feeds right into the ‘I want my wedding to stand out’ mind-set every bridal show and magazine preaches—even to having wedding websites set up for each couple’s wedding. I made a list of ways to self-advertise without spending a dime.”

  “I’m all ears.” Kathy smiled, captivated, and Greg watched as Tara helped build on their ideas.

  “We tell the newspapers we’re highlighting our Old City location by specializing in old-fashioned weddings. We team up with historic venues—”

  “You’re in the right city for that,” Maisy said.

  Donna nodded. “That’s for sure.”

  “We play that angle while making sure the brides looking for a more traditional and formal wedding know we can deliver the entire look from start to finish using the more modern amenities. I’ve got a couple of possible suggestions we can implement as the boss decides.”

  “As in?”

  She tapped her tablet of paper. “Adding a tuxedo rental area to the store. It doesn’t have to be big, just well stocked with stylized fitting jackets. Also, the rental company bears the initial cost, and to garner a new location they’re generally good at giving deals on sample tuxes to try on. Their profit lies in the order, so it’s a perfect match.”

  It could be, Greg realized. One-stop shopping. “And?”

  “Prom.”

  He frowned. “Prom?”

  Kathy’s smile widened, which meant she’d thought about this in the past.

  “The average teen is spending over seven hundred dollars to go to prom. Some go to several in one year. We have this whole section of mothers’ attire here.” She pointed behind Greg. “And the sales on it are dismal. I suggest turning that into a prom room.”

  “That brings in a younger crowd,” Kathy noted.

  “And noisy.”

  “Possibly bratty.”

  Tara laughed, not disagreeing with Liz or Maisy. “Teens can be a handful, but think of it as an interesting side business that turns into bridal business in eight years. Or . . .” She waited while they turned their attention back to her. “Wedding gown rental.”

  Kathy frowned.

  Donna winced.

  Maisy, Liz, and Myra threw up their hands in unison. “How do we fix gowns for rental?” Liz demanded. “How do we make each bride happy? How can this be done and not make us crazy? I get it that weddings cost great money, but to rent a dress you want to remember the rest of your life? Better they get Uncle Frank to take a video and buy the stupid dress!”

  Tara commiserated. “I hear you. So, okay, we nix the rental wedding gown idea. What ideas do you guys think will work? You’ve been here awhile; you know the clientele better than anyone.”

  “We need to be on the Internet.” Kathy sent Greg a look of apology, as if suggesting this messed with his mother’s memory. “With a decent web page, like every other business has.”

  Tara nod
ded, jotting quickly. “I’ve got a friend who does web design. She’s got a wedding coming up in September, so maybe we can barter services?” She raised a brow to Greg.

  “Truly, right?”

  “That’s her.” Tara poised her pencil. “Kathy, you’ve been here the longest and you’re in charge. Can you talk to Tru, tell her what you envision? You’ve got the lowdown on all this. Maybe we could do a multipage site and showcase Donna and Maisy’s ideas of theme weddings.”

  “I’d be glad to do it!” Kathy’s tone said she’d do anything to help save Elena’s Bridal.

  “I’ll do Facebook,” Tara added. “I’ll friend all of you. Then we can go through the brides for the past two years and send out friend requests. We can use a picture from the new website as our banner . . .”

  “And we can list store hours, specials, and all kinds of things on the business page,” added Donna. “I check out my favorite stores that way because there’s so little time for actual in-store shopping with the babies.”

  “Excellent point.” Tara noted that and paused. “We need an end game.”

  “A what?” Kathy turned toward her, brows up.

  “A goal, a target, something all this leads to, keeping us all on the same path. But what could it be?”

  Donna darted a look of compassion toward Greg. He noted her hesitation and angled his head in invitation. “Spill it, Donna.”

  She faltered, then said, “A Grand Reopening Gala, incorporating all the things we’re changing.”

  Greg worked to keep his countenance easy. A reopening made the loss of his mother more permanent, but he couldn’t afford to work on emotion if he wanted to save her store.

  “We could invite the area professionals and make it a complete round-robin effect, possibly developing discounted wedding packages with them.” Tara poised her pencil, waiting for his response. “To hold down prices we could do it right here.”

  “What better place?” asked Kathy.

  Greg agreed. What better place to initiate a new lease on his mother’s beautiful store than where it all began? “I think it’s an excellent idea, and I’ll foot the bill for the gala myself so it doesn’t come out of store profits.”

  Kathy’s smile of approval said more than words. “I’ll work on a list of potential industry partners tonight, and we’ll put this plan into action tomorrow.” She stood, indicating it was time to close the meeting.

  Greg agreed. He’d walked in here with one plan and was leaving with another, but he’d changed worried looks into hopeful expectation, and that hadn’t just felt good. It felt right, and that was a welcome change.

  Kathy crossed over to Tara. About the same height, she looked the young associate right in the eye and said, “Your being here was no accident.”

  “It’s more like a dream come true,” Tara admitted, but Kathy put her hands on Tara’s shoulders and shook her head.

  “You were meant to find us, Tara. For whatever reason, God put you here, and I want to say welcome aboard. I’m looking forward to working with you.”

  “Think we can do it?” Tara swept her gaze around the store. “The boss”—she hooked a thumb toward Greg but kept her eyes on Kathy—“gave us a month or so. Whaddya think?”

  Kathy dusted her hands together. “I think we’d better get a move on. See you tomorrow. And you.” She turned toward Greg, and he’d have had to be blind to miss the gratitude in Kathy’s face. “Thank you. Your mother would be very proud of you today.”

  He waved that off as she moved to the door, but she was right. His mother had believed in second chances. And at this moment, he realized he might have more of Maria Elena in him than he thought.

  Stop watching for Greg to make an unscheduled appearance. Not gonna happen. You know better than most what it takes to be a successful attorney. It’s a time-consuming process. The guy has a life. Ignore the door.

  All week Tara had made a valiant attempt to do just that, but she couldn’t help listening for Greg’s voice, his laugh. Fortunately, there was plenty to keep her busy. They’d gotten over a thousand likes on their new Facebook page, and the Daily News had interviewed Kathy and Greg as part of its Old City campaign.

  “Tara, if you’re done watching the door, I’ve got a four thirty appointment coming in that I need you to take.”

  “I was doing nothing of the kind.” She walked around the desk and withdrew the bottle of window cleaner and some paper towels. “Clean entrance windows are vital to our success.”

  “Mm-hmm.” Kathy’s expression said she wasn’t buying it. “You turn three shades of Vera Wang pink whenever Greg walks in, so don’t think you’re fooling anybody, darling. Fair skin tells the tale.”

  “A gift from my mother.” Tara frowned, then sighed. “There’s a laundry list of reasons not to fall for Gregory Michael Elizondo, starting with the fact that he’s my boss. But I forget every single one of them when he walks into the room.”

  Kathy smiled. “I understand the hesitation, but if no one ever dated the boss, honey, we’d miss out on some of life’s great stories. Dating the boss is fairly epidemic.”

  “Risking a job I need by chancing a bad romance is just dumb.” She waved the paper towel wad as she approached the front door. “And we’re in opposite corners on just about every important issue known to man. How can that be fixed?”

  Kathy pointed up toward heaven. “I’ve seen a lot of fixes in my time, sweet thing. All I’m saying is that it’s never good to draw the line too deeply in the sand, because waves happen. Give life, love, and God a chance.”

  Tara wanted to do exactly that where Greg was concerned. She gave the front windows a quick wash while Kathy took a phone call. When she hung up the phone, she waved Tara back to the desk and handed her the four thirty appointment card. “She’s coming to look at mothers’ gowns.”

  “I’m going to steam this weekend’s veils. Call me when she arrives.”

  Kathy called her up front about twenty minutes later.

  A woman stood quietly at the desk. She turned, and Tara couldn’t miss the look of apprehension in her eyes, as if Elena’s Bridal was the last place she wanted to be. “Tara, this is Mrs. Dreschler. She needs a mother-of-the-groom gown, and she heard that we put them on sale.”

  Tara met the woman’s look of concern with a smile. “You’ve come to the right place. May I take your coat?”

  The middle-aged woman tugged the coat more snugly around her. “I’ll keep it. But thank you.”

  Tara led her to the area slated to become a prom display room in a few weeks. She turned, ready to ask questions about the wedding, the timing, and preferred styles, but was startled by the anguished look on the woman’s face.

  “Are you okay?” She stepped forward, unsure what to do. Mrs. Dreschler’s cheeks had paled. Her breathing caught as if she was fighting tears, and she seemed terrified, as if the twin racks of dresses might launch an attack at any moment.

  “Come here.” Tara took her arm and directed her to the nearby comfortable chair. “Sit down, breathe deep, and tell me what’s going on. I’m here to help.”

  The woman stared at her hands a few seconds, then shrugged as if conceding a long and drawn-out battle. “I had cancer a few years back.”

  “I’m so sorry.” Tara took the chair next to her and waited.

  “Breast cancer,” the woman whispered. “My insurance wouldn’t cover reconstruction, and so . . .” She winced, studying the dresses. “Nothing looks right. Nothing fits right. And the bride is a nice young woman, but she thinks I should be able to walk in here and get a suitable gown and it will be okay. And of course it won’t.”

  “Of course it will.” Tara added punch to the words with a soft call to Maisy working in the first alterations room. As Maisy strode forward in her typical take-no-prisoners style, Tara reached out a hand. “This is Maisy. Maisy, this is Mrs. Dreschler. We need your expertise to tell us which styles will work with post-surgical mastectomy, and how we can establish a normal and com
fortable curve for her son’s wedding day.”

  Mrs. Dreschler stared at her, then Maisy in turn. “You can really do this? I know they sell prosthetic devices, but my skin is too sensitive after the radiation. Most days I don’t care,” she added. “My husband doesn’t care. He’s just thankful I’m alive. And my family understands, but for this occasion”—she stressed the last two words—“I want to look and feel normal. Just for one day.”

  And what did tough, drill-sergeant Maisy do? She reached right down and hauled Mrs. Dreschler out of the chair. “Toss off that coat, dearie. What size are you normally? A ten? Twelve?”

  “Twelve, yes.” The groom’s mother didn’t dare say no to Maisy. No one did. She removed the coat and draped it on the chair. Maisy gave her a once-over, then a crisp nod.

  “Good shoulders, that helps! And they cut these dresses small, a man’s choice, no doubt, utter foolishness. So let’s try some twelves and fourteens, because I can trim as needed.” She handed Tara pretty gowns in rapid-fire fashion. “This, this, this, and this. And that.” She pointed to the rack behind Tara. “And the gold too.”

  She turned back to Mrs. Dreschler. “Tara’s going to take you into my fitting room. I’ve got some wonderful ways of doing just what you want, but you’ve got to trust me to know my stuff!”

  Maisy’s take-charge attitude and self-confidence worked wonders. Mrs. Dreschler picked up her coat, laid it over her arm, and faced Tara. “Lead the way.”

  Within minutes they’d picked a flowing, blouson gown with tacked, pleated shoulders. The looser fit was perfect for the woman’s sensitive skin. With a bit of clever engineering using alteration supplies on hand, Maisy was able to build the look of a normal woman’s chest beneath the gown.

  “I don’t believe it.” Mrs. Dreschler caught sight of herself in the triple mirror and sighed. Tears filled her eyes, but they were happy tears this time. “When Mandy said you folks would help me, I thought she was being pushy. She wasn’t.” She fingered the soft pleats that allowed the top of the gown to fall stylishly, skimming instead of clinging. “This is perfect.”