by Lexy Timms
“Steamrolled was the word he used,” Pierre said under his breath, then went back to his album of wedding cakes with extreme concentration when all three women in the room simultaneously looked at him, one with a definite amount of censure, the next in a mimicked version of her employer’s expression, and one who was sure that the only thing she was contributing to this particular silent dialogue was a fair degree of panic.
“Whichever,” Linda was not the least deterred. “I just know we’ll have a grand time of it today. Besides, I have a luncheon all arranged at Dannago’s. Nothing fancy, just a few dozen good friends that you should probably get to know.” She glanced down at Mel’s outfit. “Hmm… it’s not fancy, but—”
“Excellent choice,” Tasha said, cutting Linda off. A crack formed on her mouth to show her teeth.
Mel stifled a gasp when she realized the woman was attempting to smile.
“If you don’t order dessert,” Pierre groused, from his corner.
Linda led Mel to a chair and sat her down. Mel took a moment to be sure that the chair wasn’t plugged in and there were no straps to the arms and feet. Not that the electric chair wouldn’t be faster and more humane than the day that was in store for her.
Linda looked again at Mel’s clothing. Her expression never changed, the smile didn’t move, but her eyes widened just a little. “It’s fairly informal, as I said, but you might want to alter your choice of apparel, dear.”
“Apparel?”
“It means clothing,” Pierre supplied helpfully, shutting his book with a snap.
“Pierre!” Linda scolded. “The woman is educated; she does know the meaning of the word apparel!” Linda breathed a moment and looked at her. “You do, don’t you?”
Pierre rolled his eyes. Not that Linda noticed, she was already off and running, in quiet conversation with Tasha who started a whole bouquet of websites blossoming on the iPad screen.
“Yes, I know what it means.” Mel’s gaze dropped to her boots. They really weren’t all that bad. She’d just polished them last week. “But what’s wrong with—”
“You see?” Linda said, then realized Pierre was making faces at her behind her back and quelled him with a glare that sent him scurrying behind a display of brocade. “Now, let’s have none of this. Today is just the first of many happy days between my daughter and me.” She seated herself in a chair that matched Mel’s, and leaned in, in her best confidante manner.
Mel might have bought it if she hadn’t seen this scene in “Love Out the Window” or was that “Romance on a Stormy Afternoon”? She shook her head. She couldn’t remember. She scowled and picked at her shirt, still looking for the reason her apparel was… what had she said? For that matter, what was she saying now?
“…I prefer the blue myself; I think it would bring out your eyes beautifully,” the older woman was saying over her shoulder to Tasha, who nodded and keyed something else on the screen.
“My eyes are green…” Mel said, looking from one to the other, wondering just when blue wedding dresses had come into fashion.
“Yes, dear.” Linda patted her hand like she was child. Not a very bright child. “And the blue would bring them out beautifully, as I was saying. Do you know,” she didn’t even pause for a breath, “I have always wanted a daughter? Someone to play with, to dress, and do makeup with? Boys are notoriously bad at that sort of thing. Brant was always chasing a ball somewhere and getting dirt in places I didn’t even know boys had.”
Some people would kill to play dress up with Linda Phelps. Mel was sure of it.
All the same, she found herself edging sideways, making it off the chair and almost to the door while Linda was distracted, only to be brought up short by an enthusiastic hug that left her breathless.
“It will be so good to have a girl in the house! It needs a more feminine touch with Brant here so long on his own.”
Mel squeaked and fell backwards with the feeling that hugs were supposed to be reciprocated. And longer. She flailed uselessly, and almost went down, had Pierre not caught her. He was stronger than he looked.
“Oh dear,” Linda looked into Mel’s eyes, “are you ill? I know some very fine physicians.”
Mel grabbed at the excuse as if it were a life preserver. “I actually am a—”
“Oh, I know, but certainly you wouldn’t work on yourself, that’s…” Linda twirled her fingers in a perfect circle looking for the right word. “… unethical? That’s why Brant won’t work on me, even though I’m the one who sent him through all those ghastly years of medical school. You have no idea how long he studied.”
“I do have an idea…” Mel murmured, and clamped her lips shut. Whatever warm fuzzies she’d been feeling, and those had been few and far between, were certainly gone now.
“Yes, dear, but then to choose a specialty, and he had to take every elective and spent all his time at the library or at school, never was home much for way too many years.”
“Oh,” Mel muttered through gritted teeth. She was beginning to see why.
“So, what do you think of the blue, dear?”
“It’s pretty?” Mel asked, not sure what the correct response was. She reached over and ran the nearest swatch of blue lace through her fingers.
“No, dear, I was referring to the icing.” She pointed to the picture Pierre was holding of a cake done in white, trimmed with blue icing. It looked like a small circular mansion.
“Yum?” Mel said, and gave up. Flopping back into her chair and picking at her clean fingernails, trying to figure out why it was that made her particular apparel so… what did Linda say…informal? Well, what did she expect of t-shirts and jeans? The shirt at least was brand new. And who could object to Captain America?
She crossed her arms, and slouched into her seat. BRANT! I’M GOING TO KILL YOU!
“It’s okay, dear.” Linda bent to console her. She actually patted her on the head. Like a puppy. “I know that we caught you at an awkward time. I’m sorry about that.”
“It’s okay,” Mel said with a sigh, finally catching up on the conversation. “It’ll never happen again. I can swear to that!”
Linda stared at her, one eyebrow raised.
What was the woman thinking? Was she imaging the scars that ran down the one side of her body? Was she making plans for a surgeon to see what they could do to fix it? What she horrified because of it? This woman was perfect. Beyond perfect. How could Mel compete with that? Brant may have made up for what happened in the bathroom, but she was never—ever—going to return the favor now.
Linda continued watching her. “It’ll never happen…”
For the first time ever, Mel made her future mother-in-law laugh.
* * *
Mel was pawing through the clothes in her part of the closet when Brant walked in, whistling. It was her fifth time through the collection. It didn’t take long. She barely had anything—jeans, boots, t-shirts, jackets… she held one as if accusing it of stowing away in her possessions. She’d been in the jungle for years, and then in L.A. for a short while. What in the hell did she need a jacket for?
Brent stopped whistling, watching her with open curiosity. “What’re you looking for?”
“A fiancé who doesn’t run away and leave me with his horrible mother,” Mel mumbled from behind another jacket.
“It was wedding stuff,” Brant protested and ducked out of the way from a flying piece of clothing. “I don’t know anything about that.”
“Neither do I!” Mel replied, pushing aside an interloper jacket. “Your mother, on the other hand, knows everything there is to know about it. She won’t rest until she’s outdone Princess Di’s wedding!”
“It’s not that bad—”
“That was a quote, Brant. I was quoting her!”
“Oh.” He pressed his lips together and grinned. “She can be a bit over the top.” Seeing the look on Mel’s face, he quickly wiped the grin off his. “I’ll talk to her.”
Mel turned on him so fast
she left hangers rattling in her wake. “When?” He stared at her like she’d grown another head. He had no idea how in over her head she felt. “You weren’t here! I was scared. Seriously. I was scared! I’ve lived out in the jungle, and nothing has scared me as bad as what I went through today.” And yesterday, and a week ago, and since I’ve come here.
“Come on. It wasn’t that bad.”
She glared at him. “That bad? You don’t get it, do you? The first time I meet your mother, I’m completely naked. Then walked in on while I’m giving you a blow job—naked again, I might add. And you don’t say anything!” Her shoulders shook as she fought to catch her breath. “What parent walks into their adult child’s bedroom? It’s not normal!’ She stared at him. What did she know about normal? She was scared and had lived in a jungle. “I figured it was okay to go out there this morning and face her because at least I had you there with me!” She jabbed a finger in his direction. “But you ran away!”
Brant shrugged, looking completely relaxed and not bothered. “Look, I’m sorry; I didn’t realize you’d think it was that hard. For the record, I did warn her not to steamroll you—”
“Steamroll is the operative word here. I like that word. It explains why I feel like I was just pulled off the road in a thin sheet!” He took her shoulders in his hands and leaned his chin on her head. She sighed and melted against him. “I really needed you today,” she said into his chest, feeling the fight drain out of her. Damn, he smelled good. How were you supposed to stay mad when the other person in the argument smelled that good?
“I didn’t know it was going to be like that.” Brant sighed, his hands making small circles on her back, massaging away the tension. “Listen, I’ll make it up to you, okay? Let’s go out—I know this awesome little joint.”
Oh, it was tempting. So tempting. “No.” Mel drew the word out in another heavy sigh and pulled away reluctantly. “We can’t. Your mother made arrangements for us to go to a dinner tonight at some fancy restaurant filled with people I don’t know. Strangers who will be separately and individually estimating my worth as a wife for the great Dr. Brant Layton.”
“Hey!” Brant’s brows drew down, his eyes reflecting…hurt?
Mel could tell she’d gone too far. It really wasn’t his fault. She sighed. She was so out of her league here. “I’m sorry, it’s just… fuck! She got me so rattled! I felt as stupid as she thought I was.”
Brant threw his arms up, in obvious frustration. “She doesn’t think you’re stupid!”
“No? She asked if I knew what the word apparel meant. Brant, I’m a doctor. I may not be in your league, but as a GP I’m pretty damn good! I may be still paying off student loans, and sure, I ate instant noodles for a year and half to get through college, but I’m not some back-country rube!” She looked into his eyes and could feel her sinuses building pressure against her skull. Great. A headache on top of everything else. She sank down on the bed, her foot scuffing the plush carpet back and forth, making patterns in what she was starting to think required a gardener to keep trimmed to a manageable level. “Am I stupid?” she asked finally, her voice tiny, small. Defeated.
“NO!” His retort came so loudly and explosively that Mel flinched involuntarily. Brant sat down next to her on the bed, his hand capturing hers, and bringing it up to his mouth to kiss. The touch of his lips on her skin sent shivers down her spine. “No one tells you that you’re stupid. No one. Not even my crazy mother! I’m not letting that slide, Mel. I will talk to her!”
Mel fell backwards on the bed, and stared up at the ceiling. “Brant. I have one dress. One. It’s red. I have tennis shoes and boots. I…” She sighed and turned her head to look up at him. “I figured out a plan today.”
“What’s that?”
“I’m going to be living under the tub for the next few weeks, just until she forgets I’m here. Would you please slide some food to me once in a while?”
“It’s built-in. There’s no opening under the tub.” Brant said with a chuckle, and stood. Then, grabbing both her hands, he dragged her up with him. “C’mon, get up.”
She sat up, slumped and unhappy, her gaze on that giant monstrosity of a closet that held all of what? Seven hangers with her belongings on it. Seven. Ten if you counted the ones she’d thrown on the floor in a hissy fit. “Damn it!” She shot across the room and picked up one of the offending jackets. “You don’t get it, do you? You have no idea what it’s like to be someplace that’s completely foreign to you, to not belong—”
He stared at her so long that by the time Mel realized what she’d said, she had no idea how to take it back.
She felt the blood drain from her face as she crumpled the cloth with shaking hands against the hanger. “I’m sorry. Shit, I’m so sorry.” She flung the jacket back on the floor in the closet and stood there staring at it, one hand pressed to her cheek. “I’m crying?”
Brant reached past her, rescuing a scrap of fabric pressed between a pair of jeans and one of his suits. “Just wear the red, it’s cute,” he said, holding it up to her. “No panties and it’s sexy.”
She laughed, swiping at tears. “With my best combat boots?”
“Fuck,” he said with a sly grin, “you won’t make it out the room.” He checked his watch. “What time’s the dinner?”
“I don’t know, eight?”
“Well, we don’t have enough time to get everything, but if we leave now we have enough time to buy shoes.” He tossed the dress on the bed and reached for her hand. “Where do you buy women’s shoes?”
“Forget it.” Mel stepped back, letting the clothes fold around her as she dove into the closet. “Forget it. I can’t marry you, I can’t stay here, I can’t continue to function because my apparel is incomplete.”
“Hey.” Brant grabbed her arm, not about to let her run away. “Listen. Wear the dress, we’ll get shoes somewhere. You can still have an enjoyable time tonight. Just don’t be so hard on yourself. Please?”
She allowed herself to be tugged back into his arms, and dropped her head on his chest. “I don’t know why I’m so stressed,” she mumbled into his shirt pocket. “Unless it’s because I’m suddenly unemployed by a company I thought was better that it pretended to be, got engaged to a man who’s as rich as God, and have a future mother-in-law who hates me and my apparel. And let’s not forget Maria and her surgeries.” She pulled back and looked up at him. “Other than that? I should have no stress at all.”
Brant smiled and dropped a kiss on her forehead. “We’ll have a good time tonight, okay?”
Mel nodded, and reached for the dress, holding it up to herself. It had the sales tag on it. 40% off. From Target.
This time when she went to hide, Brant was ready for her. She never even made it to the closet. He simply hefted her up, laying her over his shoulder. “Shoes,” he reminded her when they reached the door.
Mel moaned. “If I promise to be good, will you put me down? I don’t want your mother seeing me like this.”
* * *
Entering the restaurant wasn’t easy. The place was incredibly busy, and it seemed like all those waiting outside had their eyes on them. Mel kept her eyes down, ignoring everything but her feet. The shoes she’d found didn’t quite fit, but they had impractical spiky heels and more or less matched the dress. Mel hadn’t worn heels since she gave them up in medical school, feeling somewhat smug that she wouldn’t hurt her back for the sake of a fashion choice.
Yet here I am…
She held onto Brant’s arm hard enough to stop the blood flow. He had to shake her free twice before they even got to the room. She tripped over her heels. Three times. Sitting at the table would be a welcome relief. If they would let her sit. It looked like she was going to have to run the gauntlet. Linda’s ‘little dinner’ had taken over an entire private dining room, and it looked like everyone was still mingling and enjoying drinks.
And, of course, thanks to a detour to a ridiculous shoe place, they were the last to arrive.
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Normally, it would have suited her fine. She’d hoped they’d all be seated, and she wouldn’t have to greet everyone. What she hadn’t counted on was that, with everyone there, there wasn’t a person present who didn’t get a good long look at her when she came through the door on Brant’s arm.
“My… goodness…” Even from across the room, Mel could hear Brant’s mother’s horrified whisper. “That’s very…”
“Red,” Tasha supplied helpfully, for once letting her iPad dangle from her fingers. Mel half expected her to drop it.
“Very red,” Linda agreed, lips compressed tight.
Mel would have bolted at this point had she any hope of getting to the door before Brant, but she couldn’t outrun her own grandmother in those dratted heels, and they were already halfway across the room with Brant nearly carrying her.
“MEL!” The shriek came from no less than Gloria Shaffer, rising starlet and former media-dubbed fiancée of Brant’s. Gloria’s fiancée, Trudy, beamed behind her.
Mel was suddenly engulfed in skinny blonde.
“It’s so good to see you!” Gloria gushed. Trudy, ever the silent one, smiled and took Mel’s hands in hers.
“This must be a great place,” Mel said as she sat down, desperate to get the attention off her. “The crowd outside the door was impressive.”
Linda looked at Gloria and Gloria looked at Trudy. The three of them began laughing. “I’m sorry for laughing,” Gloria said, dabbing at the corners of her eyes with a cocktail napkin, trying not to smudge her makeup. “They’re not customers.”
“Ha!” Linda sniffed, reaching for her wine glass “I’d say they barely qualify as human!”
Trudy leaned toward Mel, her voice barely audible even from a distance that had to be within arm’s reach. “Paparazzi.” Trudy smiled and shrugged a little. “You have two very famous actresses, a studio chief, and a few up and coming people all here.”
Mel stared. It had to be the most conversation she’d ever heard from the woman.
