by Amanda Tru
Just as she was happily admitting how absolutely filthy she was, her phone beeped with another call coming in. She pulled her phone away enough to see the incoming call and groaned. “Mason, I have to go. It’s Rhonda. If I don’t answer, she’ll either call me repeatedly or fill up my voice mail explaining what she wants.”
“No problem. I’ll call you tonight and catch up more,” he said swiftly.
London switched over to the other line. “Hi, Rhonda,” she greeted.
“London!” came the fierce whisper. “Oh, thank goodness! London, dear, I need you here now!”
London swallowed. She couldn’t have found out so quickly that she’d gone behind her back to help those clients, could she? “Where is ‘here’?” she asked calmly.
“I’m at the wedding for the mayor’s daughter,” Rhonda hissed breathlessly. “It’s at their house on Elmhurst. She’s getting married in an hour. Grab whatever wedding dresses you have on hand and hurry over here. There’s no time to lose!”
The line went dead. London stared at the phone as if expecting it to ring or magically produce answers to Rhonda’s cryptic remarks.
London snapped a picture of her house and replaced the phone in her pocket. Then she brushed herself off as best she could, hoping she had some kind of wet wipes in the car that she could use to finish the job. She knew she didn’t have time to stop and change. Unfortunately, she also knew that she didn’t have a choice in granting Rhonda’s request. In fact, she understood that it wasn’t really a request but a demand.
If she didn’t promptly report to the mayor’s house, Rhonda would call incessantly, and her anger may lead to consequences that may not be worth it. As much as it grated on her nerves, London wasn’t busy. She may as well show up to help. However, she didn’t have any wedding dresses she could use to fulfill the other part of Rhonda’s demand. She’d been working on custom orders, and every single dress in current inventory already had an owner attached.
She had no other choice but to show up empty-handed and hope she could still help with whatever problem Rhonda was facing. Though she’d never been inside the mayor’s house, everyone in Crossroads knew where it was. The massive building was hard to miss, looking like something transplanted directly off a southern plantation.
London drove to the house and parked in an area designated for wedding guests. She called while walking up the driveway, and Rhonda met her at the front door.
“Oh, I’m so glad you’re here,” she gushed in a frenzied whisper. Then her face blanched and she looked stricken. “Where are the gowns?”
“I didn’t—” London started to explain.
“Never mind,” Rhonda said, hurriedly pushing her up the stairs. “I’ll send someone out to your car to get them. “
“My goodness, London!” Rhonda gasped. “What have you been doing? Rolling around in the dirt?”
“Yes,” London replied impatiently. “Yes, I have. Now, what did you need that took me away from my dirt pile?”
“Let’s get you inside before someone sees you!” Rhonda opened a door at the top of the stairs and patted London’s back, urging her inside while looking around nervously. “You can’t stay out here. You look like a homeless person. What if someone sees you?”
“Here she is, Ashley,” Rhonda announced brightly, addressing a young woman wearing both a flamboyant wedding dress and a fierce frown in the center of the room.
“You’re the designer, London Hutchins?” the woman asked, clearly skeptical.
“Yes, I am,” London said, feeling self-conscious about her dusty jeans and casual blue top. Then she shrugged helplessly. “I didn’t expect to come to a wedding today.”
“What dresses did you bring me to choose from?” Ashley asked briskly.
“Excuse me?” London asked, confused and a little offended.
“Ashley put her dress on today and found that it isn’t at all to her liking,” Rhonda explained matter-of-factly. “She saw a magazine article with a dress or something of yours in it. She’s decided she’d like to wear one of your designs instead.”
Completely floored, London didn’t know where to begin. “I’m sorry. That’s not really possible,” she began. “All of the dresses I currently have are custom-made and spoken for. Besides that, my gowns usually run thousands of dollars. It’s not really something I could pull off the rack and have ready in under an hour, even if I wanted to.”
“Oh, you’ll be compensated,” Ashley assured. “I’m very pretty, and there are plenty of photographers and media outside. I can even send you pictures of me wearing the dress. It will be great publicity for you. I’m just glad I thought of it in time. I really wanted something unique, and if I can wear a dress that helps a local designer, then I’m all for charitable causes!”
This can’t be for real! London thought that someone would surely pop out of the closet any time and announce the whole scenario as a prank. Not only did this young woman want one of London’s custom designer gowns in under an hour, but she also didn’t want to pay for it!
“I’m sorry,” London said firmly. “Like I said, it just isn’t possible, I don’t have anything for you.”
“Then take the dress you intended to give someone else, and give it to me!” Ashley demanded. “You’ll have time after my wedding to create another one. Don’t you have celebrity clients? I heard Jemma Anderson is engaged. Is she one of your clients? Give me her dress.”
London didn’t even dignify the questions with a response but turned. “If that’s all, I think I’d best be going.”
“Rhonda!” Ashley shrieked. “You said she would give me a dress!”
Rhonda’s face rapidly vacillated from bright red, to ghostly pale, and back again.
“London, do you know who Ashley Claybourne is?” Rhonda asked, her tone both warm and thoroughly condescending. “Her father was a famous judge who went on to be a U.S. senator. Then he retired and came back to Crossroads to be mayor of our little town. You should jump at the chance for one of your gowns to be featured at such an event!”
London held back the laughter. Rhonda apparently thought she was still some wanna-be designer. “Rhonda, I assure you, I don’t need that kind of publicity. I have more work than I can handle, and my gowns have been worn by paying celebrities all over Hollywood, including the Oscars.”
“But she’s very pretty,” Rhonda insisted. “Ashley would make the design look good, and I would consider it a personal favor.”
“No. It isn’t possible,” London answered adamantly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
“Seriously? What am I even paying you for?” Ashley screamed.
Something flew past London’s head and hit the door behind her. She jerked away only to see a shoe roll to the floor. Bridezilla had just thrown a shoe at her!
“You aren’t paying me a thing!” London fumed.
“Rhonda is your boss, and I’m paying her. Rhonda, order her to give me a dress!”
London glared. “I am not Rhonda’s employee in any way. Nor is she my boss. If you bought your current dress from her, then that is a completely separate business than mine. I have nothing to do with it. My advice is to be happy with the original dress you chose. You are not getting anything from me.”
London ducked as Ashley’s other shoe hit the wall behind her. “I hate this thing!” she wailed. “I want something memorable. Something that they will want on the cover of a magazine. I saw that dress you did for Madee Rae. That’s what I want. I can’t go out there in this trash!”
London took a deep breath, trying to stay calm through the young woman’s tantrum. Unfortunately, Rhonda’s ample form blocked the door, trapping London inside. The fastest way of getting out of here was to calm the bride down, but at the moment that seemed about as possible as conjuring up a designer dress out of thin air.
“What is it that you don’t like about the gown?” London asked, taking a good look at it for the first time.
“Everything!” Ashley moaned.<
br />
While London actually agreed with that prognosis, Ashley had picked it out originally, so she must have liked it at some point. In order to help in any way, she needed to know the direction of Ashley’s personal tastes.
“Tell me specifically,” London urged, moving forward to walk a complete, wide circle around the dress while careful not to risk injury by venturing too close to the bride and her open hostility.
The gown looked ridiculous. In fact, it may even rank in the top three of the most ridiculous wedding dresses London had ever seen. She had no idea where Rhonda had even found the thing. The style was more couture and over the top even for Rhonda. The sleeveless bodice curved up slightly near the armpits and was the most normal thing about it. Pepto Bismol pink panels framed either side of the white front panel and ended at a waist that extended into a satin skirt so full it must be equipped with a hoop, which, of course, explained why Ashley had stood hopping around this whole time. With her contraption of a dress, sitting was not an option.
The skirt didn’t lay completely smooth, but gathered at the rear where it met with more layers of pink material that braided and bunched together into heaping mounds on Ashley’s tush before extending down the back in a long, thick, thoroughly absurd, pink and white tail.
“This isn’t enough of a statement for you?” London asked skeptically. “I think it’s surely enough to make the cover of a magazine.” Though not for good reasons!
“No! There’s no gasp-factor to it! I mean, people will think it unusual, but there’s nothing that makes it iconic.”
London studied the dress, deciding that there was absolutely nothing she could do with it. The train looked like it weighed at least fifty pounds, but it was mounded in such a way to look like swirls of pink and white frosting cascading down her rear. She couldn’t fix it, let alone make it more memorable than the bizarre picture it already created.
“My dear, you’re just over-wrought,” Rhonda comforted. “It really is an iconic dress, and you loved it in the shop. Remember, it’s specially ordered and fitted just for you. You are truly the loveliest bride I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen plenty!”
London walked over to the window, thinking. Ashley was still crying, and Rhonda’s ministrations only seemed to make things worse. In a matter of seconds, she would likely start throwing shoes again. And all because she wanted something more preposterous than her Pepto Bismol wedding dress.
London’s gaze fell on the beautiful wedding setting below. Chairs sat in rows with a center aisle leading to a gazebo lined with pink and white roses and pink helium-filled balloons. Her gaze traveled over to the reception area where white linen-bedecked tables held centerpieces of more pink roses and balloons.
Pink balloons.
London whirled back around, her gaze locking on the flimsy long veil attached to Ashley’s hair.
“I’ve got it!” she breathed. “Ashley, I’ll be right back. I promise.”
Not waiting for permission, London hurried out the door and ran to the tables out back. Then she unceremoniously grabbed the balloons off of several tables before heading back upstairs.
“Are you stealing those balloons, young lady?” an elderly woman asked, looking London over from her dusty jeans to her tired, stringy hair.
“Yes, I am,” London confirmed. “But I’m stealing them for the bride.”
The woman’s eyes sparkled. “Well, then, may I assist you?”
“Yes, thank you,” London said, giving her a handful of balloons to cart up the stairs.
When they arrived at the top, London performed gymnastics to get the pink bubbles through the door. Finally succeeding, she quickly tied the balloons one by one to Ashley’s veil.
“Done!” London pronounced, after tying the very last one in place. She stepped back, trying to get the full effect of her work.
Ashley turned to the side in the mirror, glimpsing how the helium balloons lifted the flimsy veil up so that it floated behind her.
“Oh my!” Rhonda gulped.
“What do you think, Aunt Miriam?” Ashley asked the elderly lady who had assisted London with the balloons.
Miriam’s eyes were wide and flabbergasted.
Frantically, London caught the older woman’s gaze and gave a slight shake of her head.
“Well, my dear,” Miriam managed. “You are certainly a sight to behold!”
“Now, Ashley, we can remove the balloons if you’d like,” Rhonda said, hurrying to apply a little insurance to the situation.
“Why on earth would I do that?” Ashley asked, a delighted smile spreading across her face. “It’s iconic! I’ve never seen anything like it! I’ll be on magazines everywhere!”
At that exact moment, Ashley’s father arrived to report the bridesmaids were ready and waiting after preparing in a separate room. The groomsmen were also in position, and everything awaited Ashley’s grand entrance. With a wink London’s direction, Miriam hurried down to her seat for the ceremony and left the others to get Ashley out the door.
Though he swallowed with difficulty at the sight of his daughter and her entourage of balloons, the good man didn’t say a word. He merely placed a kiss to her cheek and pronounced her beautiful before taking her arm to escort her to her groom.
Ashely and her balloons slowly and carefully floated down the stairs and out the back door. London followed at a distance, wanting to make sure no casualty befell the odd procession. Sure enough, Ashely couldn’t quite make it through the back door, and London had to come up behind her and hit the balloons through the door like a volleyball player spiking over the net.
With an irritated look, Rhonda came up beside London. “I don’t know why you couldn’t just give her a dress, my dear,” she whispered. “The poor girl is embarrassing herself. Imagine, pink helium balloons holding up a train!”
“I don’t need to imagine. It’s right there!” London pointed to where Ashley glided down the aisle. “And she doesn’t look embarrassed at all. She looks happy, which is how every bride should feel regardless of anyone else’s opinion.”
With a “Hmmph,” Ronda walked away to get a seat while London tried to stay back in the shadows. She wasn’t dressed for a wedding, especially one as elaborate and formal as this one, yet she felt like she needed to stick around. Ashley probably wouldn’t want the balloons following her around throughout the entire reception. Since she was the one who’d attached the balloons, she felt like she should remove them so the veil wouldn’t be damaged.
She kept out of sight until the ceremony concluded and the calm, happy bride stood beside her new husband in the reception line, looking for all the world like this was the happiest day of her life and she hadn’t been shouting and throwing shoes at people less than an hour before.
When the majority of the guests had meandered over to the reception area, London finally ventured out of hiding and approached Ashley.
“Do you want me to remove the balloons for the reception?” she asked quietly.
Ashley looked longingly back at her veil. “I guess. I wish I could keep them on, but they might make eating and dancing difficult.”
She stood still while London quickly removed the balloons. The tired veil finally fell flat, and she tied up the balloons in a big bouquet.
“Oh, Mom, have you met London Hutchins?”
London froze. No, please!
“No, I don’t think I have,” a matronly woman in yellow responded.
“She’s the famous designer who created my gown,” Ashley said proudly.
Alarm shot through London. “No, I didn’t. Really,” she hurried to explain. “It’s not my dress.”
But the mother didn’t hear her. “Oh, so you’re responsible for the balloons,” she said appreciatively.
“Well, yes, I did do the balloons. But it’s not my dress. I didn’t design it, I just—”
“Oh, Darlene, you must meet London Hutchins. She’s the famous designer of Ashley’s dress.”
Before London knew
what was happening, she was paraded along from person to person. With each introduction, blame for Ashley’s look was credited fully to her reputation.
“I know, maybe we should get a picture of London and Ashley for the magazine cover!” someone said.
“No, please,” London protested. “It isn’t my dress!”
“Let’s do it after Ashley eats something,” one of the bridesmaids said. “The poor girl hasn’t had a bite yet. I’ll get her a plate.”
A plate suddenly appeared in London’s hands. “Here, London, here’s a plate for you. Try the shrimp. They melt in your mouth.”
Not wanting to appear rude to the mother of the bride, London tried the shrimp and nodded appreciatively, which was a mistake. The woman then proceeded to fill London’s plate with even more food, urging her to try just about every item on the table. London felt so stressed that she simply put each selection in her mouth, not actually tasting anything.
“I think Ashley might be ready to cut the cake,” she finally said, pointing the mother in the direction of her daughter.
“Oh, let me check,” she said. “But don’t go anywhere, London, dear. I want that picture.”
London smiled. Then, pretending to throw away her plate, she kept going. She kept to the sides of the yard so as not to be noticed. At this point, she felt like she’d already met everyone at the reception, and she knew they’d recognize the awkward wedding dress designer with mussed hair and dirty blue jeans. When she’d worked her way to the end of the yard and had a clear shot to weave her way around front to where her car waited, she suddenly paused, seeing Rhonda less than five feet away.
London marched up to her, not even caring if she interrupted. “Rhonda, I’m leaving. Everyone here thinks that I’m the designer of Ashley’s wedding dress. You need to make sure the media doesn’t get the incorrect information. I didn’t design that thing at all. I just tied balloons on it.”
“Oh, yes, I’m well aware that you didn’t design the dress,” Rhonda replied pleasantly. “If you don’t like the credit for that dress being given to you, maybe you should have given her a dress you would rather have your name associated with. I’m not sure what the problem is.”
