First Dance - [Bridesmaid's Chronicles 03]

by Karen Kendall

  "Why don't you look at the road, and not at the snake in the grass?"

  He finally did so, and straightened the wheel.

  "Aren't you afraid that I'll slither up your thigh and bite you right in the apples? That's what we snakes specialize in, you know."

  "You leave your venom behind, you can slither up my thigh anytime," J.B. said, looking as if he was getting quite a nice visual. "But no biting."

  "Aw, you won't let a serpent have any fun, will you?"

  "We'd have lots of fun. And you know it."

  They were drawing closer to Austin, and Viv gazed out the window at Oak Hill, which looked so new that it gleamed. "Did they order this town from a catalogue?" she asked. "Because there's no dirt anywhere. There's no seediness. Everything shines in this updated, Norman Rockwell way. It's a little creepy."

  He glanced over at her. "Missing your Manhattan grime and ubiquitous Dumpsters? The smell of stale urine in doorways? I had no idea you were so sentimental, Sugar Lips."

  "Will you stop it already with the icky Southern endearments? Do you not get the concept of 'politi cally correct' and how it's not okay anymore to call women these patronizing names?"

  "But Sweetness, Sugar Lips fits you so well. You're just full of goodness and light, and your mouth melts under mine."

  Viv growled at him.

  "I had a dog that used to make that sound," J.B. mentioned casually. "Oh, now don't bare your teeth, darlin'you're starting to look just like him. Not that he wore red lipstick, but there's a definite resemblance"

  "Are you calling me a bi"

  J.B. clucked reassuringly. "No, no, no. My dog was male."

  Viv gritted her teeth instead of baring them. I can't club him over the head, since I have no weapon and we'd end up dead in a ditch . Really, when she thought about it, the only recourse she had was

  Oh, no you don't. You are not sleeping with the man again. Not for old times' sake. Not for revenge. Not for any motive at all.

  But it was so tempting to savor the idea of kicking him out into the Marv's Motor Inn hallway naked.

  It will remain a nice vengeance fantasy. That's all.

  Forcing herself to be civil, she asked, "What kind of dog was he?"

  "Irish setter. Beautiful. His name was Blarney. Now I have a black Lab, Harley. You like dogs?"

  Viv smiled. "Oh, yeah. You could say that."

  "You have one?"

  "Five."

  " Five ?" His voice was incredulous. "And you keep them in an apartment all day? What, are they those little fuzzy toilet-seat-cover dogs?"

  "Toilet-seat-cover?"

  "You know. Useless. But squish 'em flat and they make a great adornment for your toilet seat."

  "That's very warped," Viv said. "And no, I don't have little dogs. I have greyhounds. I work with a rescue."

  J.B. raised a brow. "A rescue? Shelton, you do surprise me. That doesn't fit with your heartless image."

  "Sorry to disappoint you. And they don't stay in my apartment all day. They get walked for miles."

  "But you're at work. Wait, tell me you don't have a dog sitter."

  "Well, yes," she said defensively.

  He hooted.

  "What's wrong with having a dog sitter? They're happier that way."

  "It's just very Park Avenue, Sugar Lips."

  "Stop it with the snob thing, I'm not a snob. I work very hard. I volunteer. I've personally found homes for almost a hundred dogs, I give a lot of money to my local rescue and its national parent organization, and I take on animal rights cases pro bono. That is"she cleared her throat"when I'm not eating babies for breakfast."

  He raised a brow. "Jeez, I'm feeling like a slacker here. Only one dog and no rescue work."

  "Do you have acreage?" She couldn't help ither heart started to beat fast.

  "Yes."

  "So you could take in several greyhounds. Can I have your local greyhound rescue contact you?"

  "Whoa, wait a minute"

  She looked at him pleadingly. "These poor dogs, J.B. They're so mistreated. They're starving. They're kenneled over twenty-three-and-a-half hours a day! What kind of life is that? They need you. Your Lab Harleyhe's probably lonely, and Labs get along well with other dogs"

  "Harley's pretty happy being an only child."

  "He'll be happier with company, trust me. Being an only child is not so fun."

  "You speak from experience?"

  "Yes." She left it at that. "Now, how many greyhounds do you think you could take? Can you work with them to socialize them? Housetrain them?"

  "IViv, I don't know."

  "You know, you just won't commit."

  "Forcefulness is not a problem for you, is it, Viv?"

  "Nope. Yes, I am forceful, and I won't apologize for it. By the way, there's so much land around here. Do you have friends who could take dogs, too?"

  J.B. began to laugh.

  "This isn't funny." Tears sprang to her eyes as she thought about last night's reading material. "I'm working on a case right now against a big dog track. The details of the abuse would curl your hair. These dogs need all the legal aid they can get, too. Would you consider ?" She stopped at his expression. "What?"

  He turned his gaze back to the road. "Nothing. It's just that you're so passionate about this."

  Viv blew out a breath. "So sue me. I don't spend all my time shopping for diamonds and redecorating various houses, okay? I'm a real person who lives in the real world, not an insulated rich bitch. Did I grow up in fortunate circumstances? Yes. But I can't help who my parents are. I didn't choose them."

  He was quiet for a moment. "Now there's a revealing statement."

  "Why?"

  "Do you not get along with them?"

  "I get along fine with them ." I just don't speak to my father, and my mother's a little off her rocker .

  "What do they do? Where do they live? Are they still married?"

  Viv got very still. "I thought you Southerners didn't pry."

  "I'm a Westernera Texannot a Southerner. And I figure we've exchanged far more intimate information than this."

  She rolled her eyes and stayed silent.

  "For example, I know just where you like my hands when you're close to"

  "My father doesn't even live in the States," she said abruptly, to head him off. "I never see him. To be frank, I don't even speak to him."

  "This is the, uh, earlthat's what you called him, right? The source of your title?"

  "Yes. And please forget I ever told you about that."

  "Why don't you have a relationship with him?"

  "Because he's what the English would call a 'prat.' He romanced my toothpaste heiress mother because he needed a rich American wife in order to hang on to his ancestral home. It was either that or turn it into a hotel, and he couldn't stand the shame of that."

  "But haven't you had any contact with him? When you were a kid?"

  What makes you think I was ever a kid?

  She shrugged. "He knocked her up and then disappeared on vague and mysterious business. He'd pop in now and then so she couldn't divorce him for desertion. She used to get all dressed up before he arrived: do her makeup, put on her good jewelry. And then when he got 'called away' after just a few days, she'd cry and throw things. Once I went into the kitchen and our Haitian housekeeper was mixing a love spell for her."

  "I guess it didn't work?"

  "No. And it smelled really bad. Mummy did some other strange things Finally she served him with divorce papers, I think just to scare him. But he gladly took her up on them, and got half her money, too."

  "What about you?"

  She sighed. "He made a half-hearted attempt to suggest that I receive a proper British education. She went bonkers .

  "From what I understandand this is through her attorney, who's sort of an uncle figure to meshe told him that if he wanted the money he'd better forget about me. So, to all intents and purposes, he did."

  "You're kidding."

  "No
, I'm not. The man did have his secretary send me a card and a gift of some kind each birthday and Christmas until I was twenty-one. But to be honest, my mother poisoned any thoughts I had about him. And then I just got angry. The last communication I received from him was about four years ago. A card. I wrote 'Return to sender' on it and haven't heard anything since."

  Her voice, even to her own ears, was flat and mechanical, devoid of emotion.

  After a long silence, J.B. finally said, "I'm sorry."

  "Why?"

  "That you grew up without a father."

  She waved a dismissive hand. "I never knew what I was missing, so it just seemed normal to me. Status quo. The way it was. Besides, there was an endless procession of faux uncles. Enough about me. Tell me about your little slice of all-American apple pie."

  "You've met my mother, who manages my office."

  Oh, yes. The same lady who knows you curled my toes.

  "My father died when I was fifteenheart attack. I had just left on the school bus. He hadn't felt good the day before. He was loading some Christmas packages into the trunk of our old Chevy and was going to run them to the post office on his lunch hour for my mom. He dropped with one in his arms. Our setter, Blarney, went nuts and got my mom. But by the time an ambulance got there, he was gone."

  "I'm so sorry," Viv said.

  J.B. stared ahead at the highway for a long time. Then he said, "The package full of presents he was holding took on a Jot of symbolism for me and Mom that day. It reminded us that life and family and friends are precious gifts, and shouldn't be squandered or taken lightly. My parentswe allwere so lucky to have had the happiness we did. I see people all the time, focused on small negatives in their lives. They completely forget to be thankful for what they have. They just want more."

  "Yes. And most of the time they want what isn't good for them." Viv laughed cynically. "Case in point, my mother."

  "How so?"

  Phew . This was probably getting a little too personal. But what the hell. "Mummy"

  "C'mon, you don't really call your mother that, do you?"

  "Oh, yes. It's more old school and more elegant, you see." Her voice dripped with irony.

  "Uh-huh."

  "Mummy," she repeated, "wants a man. A gentleman with whom to share her life. The problem is, she hasn't got a life to share! And until she develops some interests or passions of her own, she'll keep relying on some stupid man to make her happy. And when he doesn't, she'll keep on with her" Viv broke off. J.B. did not need to know about the little voodoo operations.

  "Her what?"

  "Her, ah, search. For The One who has multiplied until he's The One Hundredth. These pathetic faux relationships that only end up making her desperate, miserable and lost."

  They got off the highway at Austin's Fifth Street, then doubled back down West Sixth, where Viv gazed around appreciatively. "This is very nice."

  "Yeah. I used to own a condo on Thirteenth when I was in law school. Stupid me, I sold it. Now it's worth about four times as much."

  They went another few blocks and then turned into the parking area of a two-story colonial home which housed an upscale bridal boutique: their final destination.

  J.B. cut the engine and ditched his seat belt, palming the keys and staring at her speculatively.

  "What?" she finally asked.

  "I wish I'd known about Mummy back in New York, that's all."

  "Oh, Christ. Don't psychoanalyze me." Viv slid out of the truck and slammed the door on his expression. Rude? Maybe so. Necessary to end this all-too-personal conversation? Absolutely.

  "You know, some men might find you a little hard to take," J.B. murmured, out of earshot. "You like dogs better than our entire sex."

  But he looked at Viv, peering dubiously through the door of the bridal salon, her arms wrapped around her body, and something inside him melted. What kind of ball-buster got teary-eyed about greyhounds and had personally placed over a hundred of them?

  Do you have acreage ? Most women would have asked him that question coveting the land or prestige for themselves. Not Viv.

  She had actually begged him to take in some dogs, do legal work on their behalf. But he'd bet she wouldn't beg anyone on her own behalf, even if she were being boiled alive. It wasn't in her character.

  Her childhood sounded extremely odd and disturbingand he picked this up mostly from what she didn't say about it. He filled in the spaces between her spoken lines: a selfish bastard of a father, an emotionally unstable mother, unfulfilled in her own life, who probably hadn't been very nurturing. Love spells and histrionics and yet Viv, for the most part, cultivated an icy calm.

  What other contradictions were there about Vivien Shelton? He looked forward to finding out.

  * * *

  Chapter Ten

  Viv walked, without waiting for J.B., onto the verandah of the bridal shop. One look inside caused her to itch. White: white lace, white silk, white satin. Poofy things. Veils. Petticoats. Yick .

  J.B. caught up with her.

  "Do I really have to go in there?" she asked, aware of the plaintive note in her voice. "I'll break out in hives."

  He grinned and reached for the door handle.

  "Wait! I have to brace myself." Viv took a deep breath. Then another.

  "You'll live. Just put one foot in front of the other and smile pretty for the saleslady."

  "But it's just gruesomely girly in there! I'll be attacked by a rabid ruffle!"

  "Vivvie"

  "It'll sink its fangs into my ankle and I won't be able to shake it off."

  J.B. laughed.

  "And then the salesperson will lock me in a claus trophobic little cell upholstered in roses and unveil The Monstrosity."

  "Come again?"

  "The Bridesmaid Dress," Viv whispered.

  J.B. took her arm. "Let me try to figure this out. You've faced entire courtrooms of people, stern judges, psychotic spouses and hostile witnesses. But you're afraid of a dress ?"

  She winced.

  "This is ridiculous. Put your ego aside, Shelton, and remember that it's your best friend's wedding. If she asks you to wear a purple burlap sack and a daisy between your teeth, you will do it."

  "Hmmm. I could try a little blackmail on Julia: Sign a prenup or I won't wear your icky bridesmaid dress."

  J.B. opened the door and shoved her inside. "No mention of that word again."

  "What word?" she asked, all innocence.

  "Hello," J.B. said to a harassed-looking saleslady, with a winning smile. "We're here to be fitted for the Spinelli-Sonntag wedding. This young lady is eager to see her bridesmaid's dress. She's hoping very much that it's got lots of ruffles, and that it's pink."

  Viv blanched and tried surreptitiously to kick him.

  The lady clasped her hands to her bosom. "Oh, Julia's wedding! She is an absolute sweetheart. I have so enjoyed working with her."

  "Uh, helllllloooooooooooooo! Earth to Mrs. R! I need some help here!" an irritated, nasal voice called from the back.

  Viv raised a brow and the saleslady gritted her teeth.

  "You've gotta love Julia, don't you?" said J.B. "This is Vivien Shelton"

  "Hi, Vivien. I'm Mrs. Rundell. Excuse me for just a moment." She bustled toward the back of the shop. "Yes, Tammy dear?"

  " and I'm J.B. Anglin," he trailed off.

  "This petticoat is, like, defective or something! Could you, like, help me out here?" whined the unknown Tammy Dear.

  "Oh, you've got it on wrong, sweetie. Here, let me"

  " Owwww ! Could you watch it with your ring, please?"

  "Oh, dear, sorry. Now, if you turn the underskirt like this, and"

  "I'm telling you, it's, like, defectüüüive. I mean, what kind of, like, moron, designed this?"

  "Well, hon, it's one of our best selling petti"

  "I don't know why," said Tammy Dear crossly. "Wait. Did you say that this is, like, a best seller? Meaning that a hundred other brides will be wearing it? Then no. I
don't want it."

  "Well, dear, we did, uh, special order that item for you"

  "So? Like, send it back."

  "Let me check and see if the owner will allow me to do that. Now, just step out, one leg at a"

  "Owwwww!"

  "time, oooh, sorry, and"

  Mrs. Rundell emerged, her nerves not only frayed but fried. She pasted another smile on her face for J.B. and Viv. "Fittings for Julia's wedding. Right." She leaped for a storage closet and yanked out a men's suit bag. "One tuxedo, for Anglin." She pointed to the other side of the shop. "Men's fittings in there. Herbert will be right with you. Excuse me." She whirled and stuck her graying head into the back. "Herrrrrr-bert! Alteration!"

  Then she popped back out. "Now, I'll just fetch your dress, dear," she said to Vivien.

  "Hellloooooooo! Like, Mrs. R, where are you? Can I get some service here?" yelled Bridezilla from her royal fitting room.

  Mrs. Rundell hunched her shoulders. "Just one moment," she begged.

  "Take your time," Viv told her.

  The poor woman skittered into the back again.

  Tammy Dear had a few requests. "Okay, now see where these, like, bugle beads are? I checked the lighting in the church, and they won't, like, show up at all. So my cousin thinks they should be sequins. Can you, like, pull them all off and replace them with the sequins?"

  "Well, I"

  "And right here, where this, like, weird tuck thing is? We don't like that. Can you take it out so that the hem hangs evenly?"

  "Tammy dear, this is a very specialas you know from the priceVera Wang design, and if you take out the tuck and gather there, you'll ruin the lines of the gown. So I don't advise doing that."

  "You know, Mrs. R, I came here because I heard that your service was, like, implacable, but I have to say that you have been, like, sooooo hard to work with"

  Viv started to laugh. Implacable? I think she means impeccable Bridezilla is the implacable one .

  "I'm sorry you feel that way, Tammy. I'm doing my utmost to ensure your happiness with your gown. I really am. And I don't want to see you alter it irrevocably and then not be satisfied with the results. Please do keep in mind that we'll be happy to accommodate your wishes, but once we make changes to the gown we absolutely cannot return it. All right?"