Penelope

by Marilyn Kaye

  But Lemon was already leaving the room. He had another interview to prepare.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  I was alone in the dressing room, waiting in my underwear for the saleslady to bring me stuff to try on. All the women working in the store had twittered excitedly when I walked in. I assumed that in their line of business, they checked the society pages regularly, so they’d seen the announcement. It had appeared in every paper in town, and probably some out-of-town ones, too.

  Mr. and Mrs. Franklin Wilhern are pleased to announce the engagement of their daughter, Penelope, to Edward Vanderman Junior, son of Mr. and Mrs. Edward Vanderman Senior. The ceremony will take place at the Wilhern estate …

  Et cetera, et cetera.

  I’d been surprised to see that my mother had settled for pleased—I’d expected something more like ecstatic.

  “Now, what do you think of this, Miss Wilhern?” The woman carried the gown across two arms, like a long white baby. “It’s classic, very traditional. Does that appeal to you?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe.” I knew that most girls spent the weeks before their weddings thinking about their dresses and poring over pictures, and Annie had been bringing over stacks of bridal magazines, but every time I looked at them I started laughing. I wasn’t sure why. Maybe because the image of a pig-bride was funny. Or maybe it was to keep from crying.

  Obediently, I allowed the woman to help me into the white silk and fasten what felt like a thousand hooks. “Of course, it will need shortening, and taking in at the waist, but this should give you an idea.” She turned me in the direction of the mirror.

  I didn’t laugh—I guess because I didn’t look funny. It was a pretty dress, elegant and low-key. “Nice,” I said.

  The woman seemed disappointed. “Just nice? Oh, I think I understand. You want something more modern. I mean, you’re not exactly a classic-type bride, are you?”

  “No,” I said. “Not exactly.”

  She helped me out of the gown, took it away, and returned with another bundle of white stuff. This turned out to be a long, narrow tube that stuck to every curve on my body.

  “You look like a Grecian statue!” the woman cried in rapture.

  “Are there many Greek statues of pigs?” I asked.

  Now the woman uttered gales of laughter. “Oh, you are so cute!”

  My mother was right—I was a novelty, the cute little talking pig. Well, not for much longer.

  “Maybe it’s a little too plain,” the woman said. “Let me find something a little more fun.” The dress came off, I waited, and another dress came in. This one looked like mounds and mounds of whipped cream.

  “Penelope? Where are you?”

  “In here, Annie.”

  Annie joined us in the dressing room. “Sorry I’m late. Did I miss anything wonderful?”

  “Something classic and something simple. What do you think of this one?”

  Annie gave the fluffy white clouds a once-over. “You look like something to eat.”

  I agreed. “That’s what I thought. Pork in meringue. Yum.”

  The saleswoman went off into her hysteric giggles again. “She is so funny!” she said to Annie.

  She was getting on my nerves. I told her to bring a selection of dresses, and my friend would help me get them on and off.

  The next one was less fluffy, but too sparkly. “What do you think?” I asked Annie.

  “It’s not you,” she said.

  “Annie, I’m not me.”

  “Oh, come on, Penelope, how can you say that?”

  “Because it’s true! This isn’t my face, it’s my great-great-great-grandfather’s face.” I grinned. “It’s ironic, in a way. I won’t know if I’m wearing a dress that’s right for me until after I say ‘I do.’”

  “What’s it like living back at home?”

  I’d just moved back that morning. With all the fuss involved in preparing for the wedding, I’d let myself be talked into it.

  “Not too bad. My mother’s in an excellent mood, surprise, surprise.”

  Annie smiled, but I could see there was something else on her mind.

  “Penelope…”

  “What?”

  “Do you love him?”

  I tried on the veil that came with the dress. “I wonder if I should keep this over my face through the ceremony. Then, after we’re pronounced husband and wife, I’ll lift it and—voilà! Do you think that would be too theatrical?”

  “Penelope, you didn’t answer my question. Do you love Edward Vanderman?”

  “Edward Vanderman Junior,” I corrected her. “You know, Annie, I think that he’s basically a decent person. It’s just that he’s an only child and he was very spoiled by his parents. Particularly his mother; she still treats him like a baby. He’s got some growing up to do.”

  “But do you love him?” Annie persisted.

  “In his own way, he is kind of lovable,” I told her. “He’s just got a lack of confidence. And a big ego. Wait, is that a contradiction in terms?”

  “Penelope!”

  I sighed, and took off the veil. “He can break the curse, Annie. That’s what matters.”

  “But what about that guy at the Cloverdilly? The way you were looking at him, I know you’ve got feelings for him. Can’t he break the curse?”

  I smiled sadly. “He doesn’t want to. Annie, try to understand. All my life, I’ve been wearing a face that isn’t mine. I want to be me.”

  Annie gave me a quick hug. “I know, I understand. Okay, maybe Edward isn’t the man of your dreams. But if you want to marry him … well, I’ll be there to celebrate with you.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “And who knows? Maybe I can learn to love Edward.”

  Annie looked doubtful. “You really think so?”

  I considered the possibility. “Well… I can learn to tolerate him,”

  “What would happen if you married him and then divorced him?” Annie wanted to know. “Would your snout grow back?”

  “I don’t think I’ll want to find out,” I said. “Okay, what about this gown?”

  We finally agreed on one, and the saleswoman came in to measure me and stick pins in it for alterations. Afterward, we went to the florist’s across the street to look at flowers for my bouquet.

  “Penelope, look! Yellow tulips, your favorite!”

  They were gorgeous. I oohed and ahhed over the tubs filled with huge, shiny, bright yellow flowers. There wasn’t a flower in the world that could make me happier.

  “She’s getting married,” Annie told the shopkeeper.

  “Are you interested in a wedding bouquet made up of yellow tulips?” the man asked me.

  But strangely enough, the thought of carrying yellow tulips to marry Edward didn’t fill me with happiness. Or maybe it wasn’t just the flowers that didn’t seem right.

  The minute the lights came down in the concert hall, Edward’s eyelids went down, too. I just hoped he wouldn’t snore.

  He hadn’t been thrilled about this family evening out, but the two sets of parents had been insistent. It was a benefit concert, raising money for some chic cause; I didn’t even know what it was. But Vanderman Industries or Enterprises or whatever it was called was one of the sponsors, so Édward’s family had to be there. And since it was going to be a very fashionable event, my mother wanted to go, too.

  Not just for the music, either. She and my father hadn’t been out much in the past twenty-five years. My condition had turned them into hermits, too. Now that everyone knew about me, they could socialize again. In a way, my fame had freed the whole family. My mother didn’t even try to make me wear a vintage hat with a little veil.

  It was a jazzy orchestra, and I liked the music. It was the first time I’d heard live music like this, and I was carried away with the sound. When Edward’s mother passed me her little binoculars, I didn’t really want them—it was nice just listening, I didn’t need to see the musicians’ faces. But she’d offered them, so
I took them to be nice. Holding them to my eyes, I surveyed the faces of the musicians. It was sort of interesting, seeing the different expressions. Some of them looked intense, like they were concentrating; some of them looked dreamy, like they were into the sounds….

  And one of them looked like Max Campion.

  I leaned forward, gripping the binoculars tightly. It was Max, bent over the piano keyboard, his hands pounding the keys.

  I opened the program, and searched for his name, but it wasn’t there. The pianist was listed as “Johnny Martin.” Max must have been substituting for him.

  I was glad Edward was sleeping. It had to be showing on my face, the way I was feeling. Edward probably wouldn’t be able to recognize the expression, but I still didn’t want him to see it. He might remember how I looked, and wonder why I never looked at him like this.

  When the concert was over, there was a party for the sponsors of the concert and the band. I considered developing a massive headache, but found myself dragged along with the family to the reception hall. At least it was big, and crowded, so there was a good chance I wouldn’t run into Max.

  So why did I go looking for him? Using the usual restroom excuses, I extracted myself from the little family group and wandered off alone.

  Moving through the crowd, I saw a lot of musicians, but not the one I wanted to see. I wondered if maybe Max had skipped out on the party. I didn’t think he was a party type, and besides, he’d been a substitute, not a regular member of the orchestra, so maybe he didn’t feel like he needed to attend. However, I did locate a buffet with some mini-éclairs, and collected a few in a napkin. Since I didn’t like to eat in public—I always had to be on guard for pigging-out jokes—I took my little treasure trove into what appeared to be some kind of lounge.

  I didn’t make it past the door frame. There were two people already in there, and I immediately recognized their voices.

  “Don’t do it, Vanderman. It’s not right. You’re not doing it for her, you’re not even doing it for yourself. You’re doing it to make your old man happy.”

  “My father’s making me a vice president. What do you think of that?”

  “I think you’re just desperate for his respect. Is that worth ruining Penelope’s life?”

  “You had your chance, Campion. You didn’t want her. This is none of your business.”

  Nothing that had been said came as news to me. I knew why Edward was marrying me. I knew why I was marrying Edward. We were both using each other to get what we wanted.

  There was one element that surprised me, though. How did Edward know Max? Maybe there were blue-blood clubs for guys.

  “Something else I don’t get, Campion. Why do you care if I marry Penelope? What’s it to you?”

  This intrigued me. I strained to hear Max’s response.

  “I care because you don’t love her, Vanderman. You made that loud and clear. What was it you called her—a monster? You couldn’t bear the sight of her! Why did you change your mind?”

  “I didn’t,” Edward snapped. “But do you want to tell her I’m completely grossed out by the very thought of having to kiss her? You want to break the pig’s heart?”

  I edged back out of the doorway and dropped my éclairs into a wastebasket. Slowly, I made my way back to the reception hall.

  My father spotted me and came over. “Are you all right, Penelope?”

  “Fine, Dad,” I replied automatically.

  “You’re sure?” He put an arm around me. “You don’t look happy. Is it… is it Edward?”

  I didn’t say anything.

  “You know, darling, despite what your mother says … you don’t have to marry him.”

  I touched the face that wasn’t really mine.

  “Yes, Dad. I do.”

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Armed with a folder filled with Internet printouts, Lemon strode into the Cloverdilly the next morning. There were no customers in there yet, only the cleaning guy.

  “How ya doing, Johnny Martin?”

  The young man formerly-known-as-Max continued to sweep, but he looked up just long enough to flash an abashed grin. “Took you long enough to figure it out, Lemon. Not much of an investigative journalist, are you?”

  “Hey, I’ve been covering UFO sightings and two-headed alligators,” Lemon replied. “The only investigating I’ve done has been my search for Penelope Wilhern. And that only took twenty-five years.”

  The young man grimaced. “But you caught up with her in the end.”

  “Yeah, and it’s on my conscience,” Lemon said.

  “Well, maybe you did her a good deed in the long run. You got her out of that house.”

  Lemon nodded. “Yeah, and now someone’s finally willing to marry her and break the spell. Unfortunately, that someone is Edward Vanderman Junior. What do you think of that, Mr. Martin?”

  “Just call me Johnny, okay?” He leaned the broom against the wall, and sat down on the piano stool. With one hand, he picked out some notes on the keys.

  Lemon didn’t know much about music, but instinctively he realized the guy had talent. With just a little tune, he could demonstrate how he felt, what he thought about the upcoming marriage of Penelope and Vanderman.

  “You care about her, don’t you?” Lemon asked.

  Johnny continued playing. He didn’t answer Lemon’s question, but he didn’t have to. It was all in the music.

  Lemon interpreted what he was hearing. “You love her,” he stated flatly.

  Johnny took his hands off the keys and slammed down the lid. Rising, he grabbed his broom and began sweeping furiously.

  “I wondered about that,” Lemon went on. “I knew there was something going on, the first time you went to meet her and you didn’t take a picture. At first I thought you just felt sorry for her, but the longer it went on, the more I got the idea you were feeling something stronger.”

  Silently, Johnny pushed the grime from the floor onto a tray and emptied the tray into a wastebasket. Then he picked up a rag and started to wipe down the bar.

  Lemon continued. “And I started thinking, this doesn’t make sense. If he’s in love with her, why doesn’t he want to marry her and break the spell? That’s when I went online and did a little work.”

  He indicated the folder he had in his hand. “Now, I’m not a techie and this is all pretty new to me. But it’s amazing what you can dig up about people on Google.”

  Johnny spoke. “Even about nobodies like me?”

  Lemon sat down at a table and opened his folder. “John Andrew Martin,” he read. “Age twenty-five. Studied piano, played with the New Age Jazz Band. Let go after four months. Played with the Lloyd Dirkson Band. Let go after six weeks. Piano man for the Cloverdilly Bar.”

  Johnny finished his own resume. “Three weeks. Fired.”

  “What’s the matter, are you a lousy piano player?” Lemon asked.

  “No, I’m good, damned good,” Johnny said. “But I had a little problem.” He paused. “A big problem.”

  Lemon didn’t have to guess what it was. “Gambling.”

  Johnny’s face was grim. “Couldn’t stay away from the tables. Day and night. I missed a lot of rehearsals. Half the time I didn’t show up for shows, and the other half I was too exhausted to play well. And I was broke. I got evicted from my apartment last month.”

  “Things getting better for you?”

  Johnny nodded. “Gamblers Anonymous. Haven’t had a card in my hand for three months.” He actually smiled. “And I’ve started playing again, with a new jazz band. Maybe one of these days I’ll be able to afford a place to live.”

  “Where are you staying now?”

  Johnny opened a door. On the floor of the storage room lay a mattress.

  Lemon grimaced. “Oh man, that’s sad.” Then, impulsively, he said, “I’ve got a spare room at my place you could have.”

  “Yeah?

  “Until you’re back on your feet, financially.”

  “Wow.” Jo
hnny looked eternally grateful. “That would be great. It wouldn’t be forever, it looks like I’ll start making some money. I think this new band’s gonna do well. We had a gig last night at the concert hall, big society benefit.” Then the grim expression returned to his face. “I saw Penelope there with the Vandermans.” He slammed his fist on the bar.

  “Hey, be careful!” Lemon yelped. “You make your living with those hands. I don’t want you shacking up with me forever.”

  “Yeah, I know. But I just get so … mad. I tried to talk to Edward last night. I was hoping maybe he’d changed. But he doesn’t give a damn about her. He’s just following Daddy’s orders.”

  “I know,” Lemon said. “So how can you let this happen?”

  Johnny gazed at him evenly. “If you’ve done your research properly, you know why.”

  Lemon nodded and returned to his notes. “Son of Eric Martin,” he read. He paused and looked up. “Plumber.”

  “He’s a damned good one, too,” Johnny said. “But you know the curse. Only one of her own kind can lift it.”

  “And you’re no blue blood.”

  “Exactly.”

  Lemon studied him thoughtfully. “But you love her.”

  “So what? Didn’t you hear what I said? I can’t lift the curse.”

  “But you love her!” Lemon said again. “Maybe that’s more important to her.”

  “More important than becoming normal after twenty-five years?” Johnny was incredulous. “Are you nuts?”

  “How do you know what she thinks? Have you ever considered telling her that you love her?”

  “No. And I never will.”

  “But why not? Don’t you think she deserves to know?”

  “I think she deserves to have a normal life,” Johnny snapped.

  “But maybe she’d rather have you! I think maybe she loves you.”

  Johnny’s face was crossed with pain. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  “Hold on, wait a minute,” Lemon said. “I’m not following you.”

  “I’m afraid she’d give up her chance to be normal, for me.”