She decided to ask Sydney.
"Oh, you missed the gift shops in the Bergstrom airport. You can get a chili-pepper necktie, a Texas Chardonnay, or a Tex-Mex cookbook with a big-haired lady on the cover. You can also buy a plastic model of the Alamo, or a coffee cup in the shape of a boot. Should we go back and get you one of those, or would you like to pick it up on your way out of town?"
Viv raised a brow. "I don't think I can live without a coffee cup in the shape of a boot."
"We'll find you a matched set," Syd promised. "And a chip 'n' dip tray where the salsa sits in a Mexican sombrero and the handles are made of little ceramic 'ropes.'"
Viv nodded. "Mummy would adore one of those," she said in tones drier than dust. "I'll have it gift-wrapped and sent to her. I'm sure she'll place it right next to her Limoges and Sevres porcelain on the mantel of the formal living room."
"Texas," Syd said, "is actually a very cool place. I've never had so much fun! And you're going to love Fredericksburg."
"I am?"
"Guaranteed. It's pretty much impossible not to like it. The place is so cute. And so clean. No enormous black Dumpsters everywhere. No stink of rotting garbage. No scaffolding or detours. And everyone is nice! Even construction crews are polite."
"Impossible."
They'd gotten onto the highway now after weaving through the airport maze, and Syd had the little soda can car speeding like a bullet toward Julia and her crazy, impromptu wedding plans. The double yellow lines pointed their trajectory. As they raced into town, Vivien worried about the looming, difficult conversation she needed to have with her best friend and the unnerving possibility of seeing J.B. Anglin again.
Should she look him up? No, not a brilliant idea. He'd probably spit on her if she did.
They passed working ranches, peach orchards and wineriesthough Viv didn't have much faith in Texas wine. But when she said as much to Syd, Syd told her to withhold judgment until she'd tried several varieties. "Texas wines are being served in the White House these days, Vivver."
Viv restrained a snort.
They passed barbecue places and odd little holes in the wall and taxidermists by the dozen. Finally they turned down Main Street and into a town that could have been a Hollywood set. Fredericksburg was one hundred percent picturesque Texas village, lined with shops and restaurants and tourists. To Vivien, it could have been Mars.
The streets were wide and the buildings low most of them one or two story. Flowering trees framed the broad avenue, and what looked like wisteria climbed posts here and there. An old bathtub served as an unusual planter outside one shop, and wooden benches dotted the sidewalks for tourists who needed a rest. Many of the buildings that housed storefronts were historical and wore preservation plaques. Wooden plank porches and railings added to the general movie-set feeling.
Viv almost felt she needed a bonnet, a blue gingham skirt and a pair of granny boots. She exchanged a glance with Sydney, who punched her lightly in the arm.
"You're not in Manhattan anymore, Dorothy."
A woman walking across the street rapped on Viv's window, and she lowered it suspiciously. "Do y'all know whayere Cranky Frank's Barbecue eeyis?" She could barely understand the woman.
"Cranky Frank?" She looked at Sydney, who shrugged. "We're a couple of escaped Yankees. Sorry."
"Well, thank you, ma'am." The woman turned away.
"Wait!" Syd said, frowning. "I think it's on South 87. Go down Washington, headed south, and it'll become 87."
"Oh, okay." She waved as the light turned green and they accelerated.
"So just how cranky is Frank?" Viv asked.
on
"I don't have a clue. You'll have to ask Julia. By the way, I've booked you a room at our very own Marv's Motor Inn on Orange Street. Luxury accommodations for the discriminating traveler."
Viv swallowed. She'd heard Julia's opinion of the Inn when she'd first arrived. "Uh, that's okayI wouldn't want to put you guys to any trouble"
Syd aimed a mocking grin at her. "No trouble at all, doll. I'm staying in room 239, and Julia herself is in number 116. With you there, too, it'll be just like old times at school. Except with more brown and orange. You'll love it, I promise."
Great . "Syd? Didn't Julia actually find a family of rats in one of those mattresses?"
"Yup. And fleas in the carpet. Some old guy had leased the room long term, and he had a couple of incredibly lazy cats. I guess they used to watch the rats run around at night just like guys watch televised sports."
Sydney laughed at Viv's expression. "Don't worry. Julia tore out most of the carpet and replaced the funky old mattresses. I think she even used her own money to upgrade them, because Marv would only order the cheapest of the cheap, if he were footing the bill. He'd purchase the kind of bedding where the coils spring through in the middle of the night and impale unsuspecting guests."
She steered the little soda can around the corner onto Orange Street, and there it was in all its bad seventies' glory, Marv's Motor Inn with its flashing neon sign: the arrow that pointed toward the familiar slogan, count sheep for cheap.
Viv blinked. Not once in her lifetime had she stayed at a hotel of this caliber. Mummy would have run screaming from the place: hitchhiked back to the Hamptons with her monogrammed Ferragamo luggage.
"Viv, unbuckle your seat belt and step out of the car. It's not the Ritz, but you'll survive. What's a little asbestos poisoning to you, huh? And the lead paint problems will bolster your immune system."
What doesn't kill me will make me stronger . Viv disentangled herself from the safety harness, opened the passenger side door, and stepped out into the blaze of heat again. The air petrified in her nostrils before she could suck any oxygen out of it, and her skin immediately blossomed with sweat.
"The AC works in there, right?" She didn't want to think about how many toxins and molds and germs were recycled through the ductwork. She just wanted it to be cold. She turned to grab her computer bagSyd had her suitcasewhen she heard an excited shriek.
" Vivver !" Julia erupted from behind the brown smoked-glass door of the Inn, and shot toward her like a pretty little blond cannonball. "Vivver, Vivver, Vivver! I can't believe you're here ! In the middle of a workweek! Did Sydney bribe you to come initiate my divorce even before the ceremony?"
She's not stupid, is she?
While Syd laughed a little too loudly, Julia grabbed Vivien in a surprisingly strong bear hug and twirled before letting go. "You look wonderful! Like Courteney Cox-Arquette dressed as Dietrich. My God, you look"
"Intimidating? In a good sort of way?"
"How did you know I was going to say that?"
"Just a sixth sense. You look gorgeous yourself, as always." Viv eyed Julia's crisp, cool little sundress. Perfect on her. Me, I'd look like a florally impaired moron. Not to mention the fact that I'm so sun-starved that I glow in the dark .
"You're just completely uptown New York," Julia told her. "Escada. Kate Spade. Sleek hair. Platinum Tiffany earrings. Minimal makeup. A don't-get-in-my-way expression. Competence radiating from every pore. Scares the stuffing out of lesser mortals."
"You've never been a lesser mortal. You're one of those annoyingly sunny little goddesses."
Julia laughed.
"And now you're going to be a married one. Let me guess: You're going to throw the biggest, most elegant wedding this town has ever seen."
"Oh, you can count on it. Roman's family has been here for generations, so I want to do it up right."
Viv touched her shoulder. "You're sure about this, Jules?"
"I'm sure about it." She stuck her tongue out at Sydney. "Don't listen to the Evil Redheaded Sister. I'm betting she's told you all about the ring. Don't bother denying it. You're good at keeping a deadpan face, but she's not. Syd, you blabbed!"
Sydney blushed and couldn't deny it.
Julia put her hands on her hips. "Go play with your new boy toy, Alex. Get yourself pregnant, why don't you? Just for the look on
Marv's face. Just kidding! I am kidding . Well, sort of."
"As a matter of fact," Syd said, "I do have a date
FIRST DANCE
with Alex later. And before you get too cute, why don't you thank me for getting Viv at the airport?"
"Thank you, Syd. Except that I know you well enough to sense you're up to no good. This involves a plot of some kind." She looked suspiciously from Viv to Sydney and back again. "Let me guess. Viv is the Voice of Reason, brought down to talk me out of getting married since you failed so miserably."
"No such thing!" Sydney exclaimed.
"I'm here purely out of friendship, Jules." Viv said it in calm, diplomatic tones. "And yes, I wanted to see for myself that you're of sound mind and body. This has all happened so fast. Come on. Let's go somewhere for a drink and a catch-up chat."
"I secretly booked her a room," Syd called to Julia as she got back into the mobile soda can. "The presidential suite with the panoramic view."
"Very funny," said Julia, taking Viv's suitcase.
"Give me thatit's twice your size."
They argued over it companionably until they got to Vivien's deluxe accommodations, which featured an appalling polyester quilted bedspread, festooned with dying flowers in shades of brown and mustard yellow. The room also sported a pitted mirror, bad particleboard furniture and a serigraph of a constipated duck in a poisoned lake.
However, it was scrupulously clean and the toilet paper was folded into a little "V." She was sure this was due to Julia's influence. Viv opened her mouth to say something along the lines of Very nice , but she just couldn't. She put her computer bag on the bed and nodded. "Looks comfortable. "
"Viv, honey, free beats ambience any day, don't you think? And don't worry, all the rats and fleas are gone. I promise . Now, let's go get you a decent glass of wine."
Julia looked so happy, so irresistible, so adorably Reese-Witherspoon-with-messier-hair. Did she not realize that she was entering into a contract to pick up this Roman person's dirty socks, run his errands and never see her toilet seat in the "down" position again?
But Viv kept quiet until they were settled into a nook of Cuvee, a combination bistro, market and wine bar. She slowly sipped a fantastic Australian Chardonnay that made her cringe at the memory of the airline wine.
"So," she said to Julia, who cocked her head and smiled more mysteriously than the Mona Lisa.
"So?"
"What makes this guy Roman different? What makes him your One and Only? The one man for whom you'll forsake all others?"
"Viv, it's not something I can really explain. You know I tried when we talked on the phone. It's just a feeling of coming home. An understanding on a very basic, almost primal level. As if I know what he's thinking and feeling just when he's discovering it himself."
Well, that sounded genuine. "Do you think that he knows what you're thinking and feeling just as you're discovering it?"
Julia nodded.
"So he shares your excitement over the new fall collection by Prada or Herrera?" Vivien asked.
"I said this is on a primal level. He's a man, so there are obvious differences. But yes, he does appreciate good design. And good winejust like you. He's a great businessman and incredibly romantic"
"What about this whole ring business? Yes, Syd told me. Because she's worried. So don't be mad at her."
Julia's small hand curved into a surprisingly fierce little fist. "I explained this to her. And I'll explain it to you. This ring"she flashed it at Viv"belonged to Roman's great-grandmother, and then his grandmother. Social life and keeping up appearances were very important to Olga Sonntag, but not to her husband, who complained that she spent too much money. Apparently they fought over money a lot. So at some point Olga got desperate to have some funds of her own, and she had the original stone removed from the ring. She sold it, and had the diamond replaced with a crystal copy. But nobody else in the family had any idea. So poor Roman goes and gets the ring from the bank vault and proposes to me with it, having no clue that the stone isn't genuine! Of course Sydney the bloodhound had it tested, and has now decided that he's a first-class creep.
"Roman wants to get me another ringbut I'm fine with this one. He proposed to me with this ring! And it's like a fun secret I'm wearing the family skeleton on my fourth finger."
That's one way to look at it , Viv thought and just shook her head. "But a diamond is the symbol of eternity. What does a crystal signify?"
"Anything we want it to. Look, if I'm fine with my big fake ring, why should anyone else worry about it? Whose business is it, really? Poor Roman is mortified, but I don't care ."
Viv took another sip of her Chardonnay and gazed at Julia's mulish expression. "Okay, then. I won't bother you about it anymore."
"I don't want you to think Roman is some kind of con artist, or cheapskate. He's a wonderful man. I want you to love him, just like I do."
"Well, maybe not just like you do," Viv teased. "That would be a little odd, don't you think?"
"You know what I mean."
Viv nodded.
"So have you done any more designer divorces?" Julia asked. "It was great when you got the free clothes from that one woman. What was her name? It was exotic"
"Something extremely common, spelled backwards. Like Scaasi and Isaacs. And no, it's a shame, but I haven't had any clients recently from the garment sector."
"What you need," said Julia, holding up her index finger, "is to handle the case of a truly fabulous shoe artiste. Is Louboutin married? What about Manolo?"
"I don't know."
"Maybe Joan and David are on the rocks. Send Joan a business card, why don't you?"
"Julia, honey. Underneath all that innocent blond hair is the mind of a serial shoe whore."
"People who live in glass houses, Imelda, should not throw stilettos!"
Viv just flashed her best Cheshire cat grin and switched the subject. "So have you heard from anybody lately?" Anybody , they both understood, meant classmates from school.
"YupClaudia and Daisy both expressed shock at my whirlwind wedding plans, no surprise. Frances e-mailed me from the Australian outbackGod knows howand tells me she's tracking the behavior of some sort of critter with a hot man Down Under. Tally and Hunter are still running that catering business in Westchester. They'll all be at the wedding except for Frances. She's short of funds, gets sick on long flights and would have nothing to wear except for cargo shorts and a fishing vest."
"Too bad. She'd have been the life of the party."
"No, honey. I'll be the life of the party. The walking, spotlighted star. But she probably would have cast a line at the bouquet and reeled it in before I could throw it for anyone else."
Viv laughed. "Somehow I don't picture Frances married, even to a Jeff Corwin type."
"You never know. She'd solve the baby problem by just having a big pouch sewn on her, like a kangaroo."
Midsip, Viv snorted bubbles into her wineglass.
"Has Mummy seen that table trick?" Julia teased.
"No, and she never will."
"How is Mummy these days? You should get her to the wedding and we'll hook her up with Marv and Myrna just for sport."
Viv's eyes widened in horror. Mummy had once expressed her concern that Julia and Sydney, while "well-behaved girls," were not "top drawer." Viv had told Mummy what a horrendous snob she was, and that she might wish to join the real world, whereupon Mummy didn't speak to Viv for a month.
She knew without a doubt that her mother would go into strong hysterics if forced to mingle with Marv and Myrna Spinelli, who probably wouldn't even have a drawer in her social highboy.
"Mumsy is just peachy. I think she's coming out of her latest melodramatic breakup with Mr. Unsuitable Number 97. Clara told me she found his dummy in the bathroom wastebasket last Friday, which is always a good sign. When she throws away the little voodoo replica, she's on the mend."
Clara was Mummy's longtime Irish housekeeper.
"Sho
uld I even ask what horrible malady Number 97 succumbed to?"
"You should not. It involved elephantiasis of his"
"Oh. My. God!"
"Yes."
"You know it's just creepy that she does that. And even creepier that it seems to work."
"Ask me why I never want to make Mummy too angry. She'd probably give me elephantiasis of my left breast, right in the middle of a high-profile case."
Julia shuddered. "Well, at least Number 97 is due for some relief now. The poor man."
"Yes. Of course, Clara also mentioned that Mummy bought new lipstick, which could be a bad sign that Mr. Unsuitable Number 98 is blowing her way."
"Didn't you once tell me that the gardener was in love with her?" Julia asked.
"Paolo. The Brazilian who comes once a week to tend her exotic jungle in the solarium. Yes. He's adored her for years, and he just shakes his head over the voodoo thing. But, desperate ex-housewife that she is, she's never given him the time of day. Too bad. He's hot for a sixty-five-year-old man."
"All that repotting and pruning, I guess."
"Yes. I have seen her check out his rear view before, not that she'd ever admit it."
Viv didn't really want to talk about her mother. She was undoubtedly the motivation behind all her work with the Displaced Homemakers' Association. She just wished Anna Shelton would do something more productive with her time and money. She'd let her bitterness corrode her.
Julia leaned forward conspiratorially. "Gossip time. So tell me about Kiki's divorce."
"What do you want to know?"
"Everything."
"You know I can't tell you everything because of attorney-client privilege and all that. But what I can tell you is that I called her ex, my client, Walter the Wanker. He was a primo schmuck. I don't know what she ever saw in himbesides money and contacts in Hollyweird. But there's no accounting for tasteand maybe he had more hair when she married him."
"Roman said he wore a rug."
"Well, that explains everything. A little superglue held the toupee in place when she stayed overnight. She didn't find out the bald truth until she woke up Mrs . Walter the Wanker."
First Dance - [Bridesmaid's Chronicles 03] Page 4
