The Wedding Caper, no. 1

by Laura Briggs

  "Are you okay?" he asked, his brows drawn down with concern. Her mind raced for an answer, but only one thing came to mind. Ryan had a car.

  "Give me your keys," she whispered. As confusion appeared on his face, she added, "Please. I need to borrow your car. It's an emergency."

  The smile vanished. "Sure," he answered. He slipped a hand into his pocket and pulled out a keychain. As she grabbed them, he held onto them for a moment.

  "What's wrong?" he whispered.

  She hesitated. "I have to take the dress to the cleaners. Now." She looked away, feeling tears of panic gather beneath her lashes. "Somehow, someone got into the suite earlier and there's chocolate stains all over the fabric. If Julie sees it–"

  Ryan sucked in his breath as he glanced at the garment bag on her arm, the brown spots visible through the plastic cover. "Yeah," he said. "I see what you mean." He shifted the bottle in his hand, silent as the sound of laughter echoed from the dining room.

  "Wait here," he said. He ducked through the door and disappeared from sight.

  Checking her watch, she tapped her foot impatiently, imagining the cleaners closing early. Winston's Dry Cleaners would be the best, but they were almost twelve blocks from here. Anderson's was closer, but if she wanted to use the agency's account instead of her almost-maxed-out credit card, they weren't a possibility.

  Ryan reappeared, shrugging on his blazer. "Let's go," he said. She watched in confusion as he made his way towards the kitchen door.

  "Wait, what do you mean?" She followed, the keys dangling from her hand. He pushed open the swinging door and navigated his way between the busy activities. She ducked to avoid a worker pulling a large pot from above the stove.

  "I'm going with you," he answered. "I told Julie I need to run an errand and I'll be back in half-hour." He pulled the keys from her fingers and opened the door, ushering her into the alley behind the hotel.

  "But Ryan–" she began, struggling to process what was happening. "That's your rehearsal dinner. It isn't your job to help fix this."

  He followed the line of cars parked discreetly in the alley until he reached his own, unlocking the passenger door before moving to the driver's side. "Does it bother you that I'm coming along?"

  "Of course not," she answered, hiding her face by pretending to adjust the passenger seat belt around herself. "I just–I just don't think it's right, that's all."

  He smiled. "Sorry. I can't help it if it's wrong to help you out." He turned the key in the ignition. "So, where to?"

  *****

  The clock read thirty minutes to closing when Gwendolen hurried inside the cleaners, her stilettos clicking across the tile floor. She wished for the mobility of her plain office dress instead of the tightness of the party skirt as she skittered to the counter and laid the dress across it.

  The girl behind the desk looked up from her computer screen, offering Gwen a smile.

  "Hey, look who's here," she said. "We haven't seen you in weeks.

  Don't say my name, please don't, Gwendolen thought. "This is an emergency," she pleaded. "These stains have got to be removed right now or I will have one very unhappy client on my hands." The girl inspected the fabric, motioning for the store manager to join them.

  "These are pretty nasty," he said. "I don't know if we can spot remove them in less than two hours."

  "Please, please try," Gwendolen said. "Believe me, I'll pay for the time, I promise." Mentally, she calculated how much extra she would have to charge to her credit card to make this possible without creating a receipt Joan would question in an accounting session.

  "I can try," he answered, pulling the garment over the desk. "Have a seat over there." Gwen sank down on a plastic chair near the door, staring anxiously at the curtain that led to the cleaner's workroom.

  Ryan slid onto the seat beside her. "You look like you're waiting for a doctor to bring you a report from surgery. Relax, it's just a dress." He reached over and touched her shoulder.

  "It's more than that," she answered. "It's my reputation. If that dress can't be fixed, then the agency will be blamed. That means unemployment for some people." She didn't mention the people involved was herself.

  She checked her watch, trying to remain calm. How quickly could they clean the dress? Would Mrs. Harlett go upstairs before the party was over? Because if she or Julie visited the suite before then, they were bound to notice the dress was gone.

  "Ever been to Hawaii?" The sound of Ryan's voice sucked her back to reality. His elbows rested on his knees, his body leaning forward in the familiar posture from the time she encountered him on the hotel stairs.

  "No," she answered. "I've never been anywhere. Except my home town and here, that is."

  "That's where I wanted to go for the honeymoon," he said. "Kind of a cliché, I know, but it always sounded so perfect. Pineapple pizza, Hawaiian barbecue, walks on the beach. Maybe even a luau." He laughed. "I tried to talk Julie into it, but no luck."

  "So where are you going?" Gwendolen asked. She leaned back in her seat, sliding her feet free of the pinch of stiletto heels.

  "A safari in Madagascar," he answered. "Apparently, African tours are in this season. And Julie read somewhere that your first vacation together should never be in a resort location."

  "Seriously?" Gwendolen couldn't help the incredulous look that crossed her face. "I mean, I'm not trying to question social science or anything, but I always thought people seemed more relaxed when they were somewhere ... relaxing."

  "That's what I thought when I picked Hawaii," he answered. "I just kept imagining the beaches and the sand." He leaned back until his shoulders were level with hers. "Maybe I'll have better luck with the first anniversary trip."

  "Maybe so," she said. She met his eyes, hoping that something in her voice sounded reassuring instead of doubtful. "Sometimes I think couples are afraid to really talk about these things, so they end up getting hurt."

  "You mean Julie running the wedding, right?" he answered. "I know. That's what everyone thinks when they meet us."

  She blushed. "It's not any of my business. I shouldn't have said anything." She slid her shoes back on, embarrassed at how comfortable all this seemed a moment before. What would he think of her, the wedding planner who criticized her clients' relationship?

  "No, it's okay," he answered. "It's partly true. Sometimes to make peace in a relationship, you end up giving in on some things that seemed important at first."

  "But sometimes they are important," Gwen answered. "When people let go of everything important to them for somebody, they fade into the background." She paused for a moment.

  "Take this assistant I knew," she continued. "She worked hard for years for a woman who ran an agency. A really strict boss. And she did everything that was asked of her, all the really hard stuff. She spent hours planning weddings and making decisions and negotiating with businesses."

  She knew he would never dream she was talking about herself. That Grace Taylor was really a dull assistant at the bottom of the office food chain.

  "This assistant never had a life of her own because of her work but she never got credit for anything she did," she continued. "So in the end, she never had anything to call her own."

  She glanced at Ryan, who was listening silently. After a moment, his lips parted.

  "I wonder if…" His voice trailed off as he shook his head. "Forget it." He climbed to his feet and moved to the windows, staring out at the street.

  "You know, in all the time I've been working on this wedding, you've never asked me for anything," she said. "I don't think I've ever heard your opinion on anything, from the cake to the corsages."

  He gave a short laugh. "I got the impression it wasn't really the groom's role to make those decisions."

  "You'd be surprised," she answered. "Sometimes they have pretty definite opinions about what happens on the biggest day of their lives."

  Her skin tingled as he turned towards her, half-expecting him to snap at her for crossing
the line. She deserved it; she shared an opinion that, professionally, she should keep hidden for everyone's sake. Given the way her heart quickened every time she met his eyes, this conversation was dangerous for her emotions.

  Instead, he sank back down in the chair, taking a deep breath as he met her eyes. "Do you want to know the truth about something?"

  She nodded, barely realizing what she was doing. Her mouth was suddenly dry, her skin hot beneath its surface.

  "We've got your dress here." The girl from the desk reappeared with a plastic garment bag. "Stain-free and ready to go. Will that be charge or are you using the business tab?"

  "Business tab, please," said Gwendolen, crossing her fingers that the receipt wouldn't be noticed in the pile of business expenses. Hastily, she signed the receipt for the company tab, taking care that Ryan wouldn't see her real initials.

  She clutched the dress in her hands as the car turned onto Pointe Hotel's street, her eyes examining the fabric for any sign of cleaning or stains. She avoided glancing at the car's digital clock, her mind invariably calculating how much time had been available for Julie or her mother to visit the suite and see the dress was missing.

  Ryan eased into a parking space and shut off the ignition. "Give me the dress," he said.

  "Why?" she asked.

  "Because it's time for you to go back to the dining room and keep my future mother-in-law entertained," he answered, "while I take the key to the suite and put the dress back where it belongs."

  "You don't have to do that," she said, as he pulled the bag from her hands. His fingers snapped open her purse and drew the suite's key from inside.

  "I know.” He climbed out of the car and walked towards the kitchen entrance without waiting for her.

  When she pushed open the door to the dining room, she anticipated a jury of angry guests, with Mrs. Harlett presiding at the head of the table. Ready to convict her for stealing a couture wedding gown.

  But the dining room was now bare of food, the dinner party transformed into an after-dinner cocktail lounge. The double doors were thrown open to the neighboring room, where guests stood in clusters making conversation as a piano throbbed gentle show tunes from a corner.

  "There you are." The hand on her shoulder was friendly, instead of accusing. Julie was cradling a glass in the hand sporting Ryan's engagement ring. "Do you know if Ryan's back from his appointment? He rushed off to do something with a client–I forgot the details exactly." She took a sip from her glass.

  "I think so," Gwendolen answered. "Do you want me to look for him?" It would give her a chance to escape, to find Ryan and thank him for what he had done.

  And for something else he would never know about, if she could help it.

  "No, I'll just wait for him," Julie answered. "Would you run upstairs and fetch the sketches of my ring from the suite? Mr. Foster wants to see them–he's an incredible jeweler, you know. He said he might even be interested in crafting a line of jewelry inspired by it." Her voice rose with excitement.

  "But I thought–"Gwendolen began. Was this the same girl who demanded espionage to protect her design? Julie's face was positively glowing as she waved a hand in the direction of the jeweler, a heavyset man loosening his tie.

  "I'll go get them for you," Gwen answered. She slipped from the hotel lounge and made her way towards the stairs. Ryan would be inside the suite, no doubt draping the dress over its chair at this very moment. It might be her last chance to see him face-to-face alone. Something that meant more to her than she could explain.

  The door to the room was unlocked, the dress laying across a chair. She smoothed the garment bag, the surface of the dress spotless beneath the brilliant overhead light. The tiny sequins winked like diamonds in the glow.

  She crossed the room to the table where her key lay, still warm to the touch from his fingers. Beneath was a folded piece of paper that seemed covered in scribbles when she opened it, until she turned it to the side. Where she could make out the sketch of a smiley face winking at her.

  A tiny smile crept across her lips as she gazed at it, until a voice interrupted her thoughts.

  "It's perfect, isn't it?" Mrs. Harlett peered in the open door, cradling a glass in her hand.

  Gwen turned towards the note in her hands, the pencil scrawls across it. "Yes, it is," she answered.

  *****

  In her apartment that night, Gwendolen sat cross-legged on the carpet, surrounded by wedding portfolios and brochures. Her digital planner screen displayed palm trees and ocean waves instead of the last-minute crunch a week before the wedding.

  Sighing, she ran her fingers through her hair. Her mind was drifting away from her work, towards the little piece of paper tucked beneath her purse.

  If only he wasn't in love with someone else. If only he wasn't the client of a wedding planner. But even if he wasn't, what were the odds he would have fallen in love with a dowdy assistant who spent her days collecting dry cleaning and phoning up bakeries?

  Tonight he had saved her job–and the Grace Taylor charade that had given her the first taste of life in the spotlight. In a way, she owed him more than she could ever repay.

  As she reached for her planner, the palm tree and ocean scene caught her eye. The blue waves rolling against the sand as green palms waved in the breeze. A perfect snapshot of Hawaii's splendors.

  The first spark of an idea flickered in her brain as she gazed at it with a dreamy smile.

  Maybe there was a way to thank him after all.

  *****

  "I think you should arrange a bachelor's party for Ryan," said Gwen.

  She was following Julie through a music store, where they were last-minute shopping for CDs for the DJ to play for the "girl's night out" bridal shower. Katy's science exam prevented her from handling this part of the arrangements for the party, which was supposed to have a 90's theme.

  "I doubt he cares," Julie answered, flipping over a Bon Jovi album. "He'll just spend the evening tinkering with some of his model kits or something.

  Forward presentation wasn't working. Gwendolen switched to more subtle tactics.

  "I think it would be better for the image of the wedding," she added, in a lower voice. "After all, a bride with three wedding showers, but a groom with no major event? Smacks of 'desperate' in social circles, really."

  She slid past Julie and made her way towards the classic rock section. Cutting her eyes in the direction of her client, she noticed a little frown forming around her lips.

  "I always hate bachelor party themes," Julie complained. "I mean, a group of guys getting together in some final desperate binge-and-party mode." She shoved the CD back into the shelf. "Plus, Ryan's geeky friends can be complete losers. Even if they didn't do something crude, it would have, like, a space camp theme or something."

  "I could handle it," Gwen suggested. "Arrange something tasteful and quiet. A reasonable package can be thrown together in a single day when a professional is behind it."

  Julie shrugged. "All right," she answered. "If that's what you think is best. Besides, if someone said something to Mother about Ryan's lack of friends, she'd probably die."

  *****

  The pathway to the Kulua Hotel pool house was lined with tiki torches ablaze in the darkness. In the faint glow, Gwendolen could make out Ryan's figure as he followed them. In his hand was a piece of paper -- the anonymous message she had sent, instructing him to arrive at a specific hour.

  She waited at the head of the path, wearing an island cloth pool dress and lei. She had pinned her hair up in a casual knot for a change, an island flower positioned to one side, opting to skip the hula skirt and shell top for something a little more sophisticated.

  As soon as her figure came into view in the torchlight, he froze, staring at her.

  She parted her lips in a warm smile. "Welcome.”

  "What is this?" he asked. "I thought this was a meeting about the catering staff." He clutched the piece of paper as if holding the proof.

&
nbsp; "Well, it's not," she answered. "It's your bachelor party." She stepped aside, allowing him to pass her and enter the grounds surrounding the pool house. His gaze widened, taking in the soft glow of lanterns inside the glass pool house, the faint strains of Hawaiian music.

  "It's the best I could do in less than twenty-four hours," she said, stepping forward and draping a second lei around his neck.

  "You did this?" he asked. Before she could answer, Dave emerged from the party. He had traded his pocket protector for a Hawaiian shirt and shorts, the buffalo wings for a coconut martini.

  "Dave?" Ryan moved towards his friend, a wide grin breaking across his face. "Hey, man, I can't believe you're here." He gripped his friend in a bear-like hug, almost spilling the coconut drink.

  "Yeah, well, she talked me into it," Dave said. Ryan let go, glancing over his shoulder at Gwen standing in the shadows.

  "She promised no suits, no silverware, and no rules," Dave said. "So you better keep your end of the bargain." With a mock warning glance, he steered Ryan in the direction of the party.

  Inside, tribal drums pounded a beat beneath a mellow flute and acoustic guitar, in the hands of a band in beachwear. Paper lanterns were strung over the bright blue water of the pool, surrounded by tropical plants in pots and lush native flowers.

  She had arranged for the drinks and appetizers to occupy one side of the room, with space for moving and playing on the other. The smell of pineapple and barbecue hung heavy amidst the smoke.

  She had rounded up Ryan's friends, mostly coworkers, who appeared within a few hours' notice in Hawaiian shirts and beach trunks. Several of them were occupied with water-themed games in the spacious pool house, including a slip and slide and lawn bowling.

  "Hey, man, you're here!" Several of Ryan's friends crowded around, practically carrying him off. Someone had already set up the limbo bar, the band taking the cue to strike up a mambo.