Planning for Love

by Christi Barth

  “What?” Daphne abandoned her obsessive preening and whirled to face Ivy. “Of course not. This is our crew, our regular guys. We’re all in the trenches together. I wouldn’t touch any of them if they came laid out and oiled up on a silver platter.”

  “Oiled up, huh? Methinks the horny lady doth protest too much.”

  Daphne threw up her hands. “Of course I’m horny. It’s wedding season. Who has the time or energy to date? Oh, wait, that’s right—the crazy woman in front of me juggling a full-time job, a start-up company, and six feet of the occasionally charming, dangerously sexy Mr. Westcott.”

  “Just call me the Energizer bunny.”

  “Isn’t that a coincidence? I’ve got a few Energizer D cells of my own in my rather overworked rabbit.”

  “Eww. We are not going to stand in my bedroom and discuss vibrators.” Ivy shooed her roommate down the hallway. “I need some good, old-fashioned liquid courage. What are my options?”

  “Well, this is a premiere, jammies notwithstanding. So I bought many, many bottles of champagne. But it is hard to guzzle, and I think you need to take the edge off, fast.”

  “Liquid valium would be good, with the bubbly as a chaser?” Ivy suggested, not entirely kidding. Her knotted stomach, along with a racing pulse and the beginnings of a stress headache tickling her temples, made her want to huddle on her bed in the fetal position. Instead, she eased onto a stool at the kitchen counter. “I am not cut out for this, Daph. I’m serious. What if my ass looks fat? What if all of America points and laughs at my gigantic ass?”

  “On the bright side, you’ll never know what most of America thinks. Ignorance is bliss, right?” Ice rattled into highball glasses.

  “You’re not helping.”

  “Well, this should help.” Daphne pressed a glass into her hand. “The talk of vibrators inspired me. I made you a screaming orgasm. Or has Ben taken care of that already today?”

  Ivy swallowed half her drink in one, fast gulp. The icy liquid did nothing to cool the heat burning in her cheeks. “No. Which is the same answer I gave you when you asked at breakfast, and the same answer you got when I came home from my date last night. No matter how many times you ask, the answer will continue to be no. I told you, I am not going to have sex with Ben. Not unless he falls in love with me.”

  “Hold on a minute. I believe your original plan rested on exploring if you love him, as well. Or have you already made up your mind on that point?” Daphne threw back her drink, slammed the glass onto the granite counter. “Nix that, you don’t have to answer. It’s written all over the dopey grin on your face. You’re in love with Ben, aren’t you? Damn it to hell!”

  “Why are you swearing at me?”

  “Because I’m on the verge of losing my best friend.”

  Now Ivy’s stomach reknotted itself into something complex only a seasoned sailor could produce. Their friendship was a sacred, unbreakable bond, and it cut her to the quick that Daphne might be worried. “Oh. Oh Daph, I’m going to have to go with a plain and simple no again. Why would you think that, for even a second?”

  A shrug, and then Daphne busied herself refilling their glasses. Fancy, cut crystal highball glasses etched with their college logo. They’d purchased them in celebration of their twenty-first birthdays, only a few weeks apart. A symbol of where their friendship had begun, lined up on the counter next to the glasses they’d had etched with the Aisle Bound logo the day they signed the partnership papers.

  “You’ve wanted to be in love, tried to be in love dozens of times. Maybe even thought you were once or twice. But Ben? I’m pretty sure he’s the real deal. The mega-jackpot. Honest to God, I’m happy for you. Nobody I know deserves, or appreciates, true love more than you do.”

  “Thank you.” Ivy sipped her fresh drink slowly. Probably best not to get wasted before any of their party guests showed up. Plus, it gave her something to do with her hands while trying to figure out why Daphne would assume their friendship was circling the drain.

  “On the flip side, however, true love tends to be all-consuming. Natural progression, completely understandable, etc., but things will never be the same between you and me once you and Ben become official.”

  “Whoa. Slow down. Ben and I are dating. Well, he wouldn’t deign to call it that. Would probably rather walk away than put a specific name to what we’re doing together. But we’re still only dating.” Ivy ticked off points on her right hand. “First, I have to convince him dating isn’t an evil, soul-sucking tool to rob him of his masculinity and independence. Second, bring him slowly to the realization he’s actually been in a committed relationship for all these weeks. However many it turns out to be. Third, figure out a way to deal with him working in another state, once he moves on from Chicago. He doesn’t even know yet where he’ll be based. Last of all, there’s still the big, hairy question of whether or not Ben manages to fall in love with me.”

  A dismissive raspberry pffted out of Daphne’s lips. “Don’t be silly. The man built you an iced tea tower. What more do you need—a flashing neon sign? Of course he’s in love with you. He doesn’t know it yet, but the rest of us sure figured it out.”

  “Do you really think so?” She hadn’t let herself ponder the possibility. Had, in fact, ruthlessly cut off all thought about the depth of Ben’s feelings for her. In order to protect her heart, Ivy lived in the moment. Or at least tried with all her might. If and when he declared his love for her, she wanted it to be a complete surprise. What could be more romantic?

  “Look at you. Dewy eyes, mouth open just a tad as if waiting for his kiss.” Daphne laid her fingers along the crook of Ivy’s neck. “Yup, and a racing pulse. You’ve got it bad.”

  Ivy batted away the hand. “Maybe I do. You’re right. I think I’m falling in love with Ben. There, I’ve said it. And will wonders never cease? I’m still sitting here talking to you, instead of running out to prostrate myself at his feet. No matter what I feel for him, my feelings for you are inviolate. You’re my partner, my roommate, my best friend. And you will always be all those things to me.”

  Daphne threw her arms around Ivy, almost knocking her off the stool. “Shit. Now you’ve made me cry.”

  “Both of us cry,” Ivy sniffed.

  “Even worse. Why would you make us have red noses and puffy eyes when company’s coming over?”

  “To prove you’re my best friend, and best friends do things together?” They both laughed, and grabbed for the tissue box at the end of the counter. “No more tears tonight. Agreed?”

  “I’ll drink to that.” Daphne clinked her glass against Ivy’s, and the moment that had turned Ivy’s stomach inside out passed.

  Back to the first stomach-churning anxiety. “What if the show’s edited to make me look like a brainless idiot?”

  “Not possible.”

  “Or one of those bossy consultants brides fear?”

  “Running out of patience here. Worrying won’t do you any good. All you can do is wait for the show to air, and then figure out if there’s any damage control necessary. Now take this.” Daphne handed her a platter from the refrigerator. “Drinking isn’t doing the trick, so maybe work will distract you. Help me set out the appetizers. Maybe pop a deviled egg in your mouth. At least chewing might shut you up for more than five seconds.”

  She slid off the stool and carried the platter to the coffee table. Daphne had covered it with red and yellow plaid material identical to what Tracy and Seth had used at their fateful April wedding. Her roommate could be a real stickler for details, even for a pajama party. “I’ve officially lost it, haven’t I?” Too wound up to eat, Ivy fanned the yellow cocktail napkins into a pretty circle.

  “Oh, yeah. The infamous Rhodes icy-cool composure hit boiling point by the time we got to work this morning.”

  Next Ivy moved to the mantel, shifting a dish of mixed nuts from one end to the other. Then back again. “I’m sorry. My insecurity gauge is at full throttle right now. Have I been driving you crazy al
l day?”

  “Yes. Understandably so. It’s why I dragged you home an hour early. I didn’t want Julianna and Milo to give in to the temptation to either slap you silly, or quit.”

  “Come on. I wasn’t that bad.” The front door opened, and Julianna hustled into the foyer. Ivy wiggled her fingers in greeting. “Speak of the devil. Daphne’s busy maligning your favorite boss. Tell me, did I really make you want to quit today, J.?”

  An elegant figure in white silk men’s pajamas, Julianna paused, mid step. She scrunched her eyes shut and fisted a hand in her short, red hair. It spiked up through her fingers from the top of her head. “Better to quit than to be let go,” she intoned in a low, ominous voice.

  Ivy goggled at her. “What the heck is that supposed to mean?”

  “Why don’t we sit on the couch? You should definitely be sitting down for this. You both should,” she said, with a nod toward Daphne, still transferring copious plates and bowls from the frig to the counter.

  “I don’t like the sound of this.” Ivy dropped to the sofa, and waited for Julianna to explain.

  “Milo and I flipped a coin. I lost, so I came over early to tell you.”

  “Tell me what?” At this point, her stomach knots reached out to ball up with whatever internal organs were closest. While hazy on anatomy, Ivy knew for certain that everything from her neck to her toes clenched in dread of whatever bomb her assistant was about to drop.

  “After you left today, the phones rang off the hook. Apparently the news ran a promo about the local angle of tonight’s WWS episode. Not only did more angry vendors call, but clients, too. We have seven cancellations of already booked weddings. Full weddings and two day-of coordinations. They’re strung out from next month to next May.” Julianna paced in front of the fireplace. “I ran the numbers, and if we follow our cancellation policy and return the deposits, we’ll be out close to thirty thousand dollars.”

  “Whoa.” Daphne sank onto the cushion next to Ivy. “Pretty big chunk of change. You know, the contract doesn’t stipulate we return their money if they cancel.”

  True. But it felt wrong to be greedy in the face of someone’s very real emotional pain. “I’ve only done it three times,” said Ivy. “But each time, the bride had so much to worry about with losing her fiancé, on top of what might be her life savings, it didn’t feel right to keep the money.”

  “Yes, but this time the bride isn’t the one getting dumped. It’s us!” Daphne swiveled around to track Julianna’s circuit, now extending the length of the room. “I’m going to go out on a limb and assume all these dissatisfied clients gave only one reason for breaking their contracts? Wild Wedding Smackdown?”

  “Mmm hmm.”

  “Fuck.”

  “I second that.” Ivy curled her toes into the carpet. The bottom had just dropped out of her world. She needed a minute to ground herself in the physical. Floor—still solid. Her hand groped out, found Daphne’s, and clutched it tightly. She took a quick assessment. Best friend and partner, still rock solid. The condo looked the same as always. The caramel-ly goodness of Ben & Jerry’s Phish Food remained the most incredible ice cream in the world. Body intact, still breathing, albeit sucking in air in shallow gasps. It only felt like the earth was spinning out of control on a tip-tilted axis.

  “This could be the tip of the iceberg. If running the promo created this sort of response, imagine what will happen once the episode actually airs? By this time tomorrow, we might not have any clients left at all,” Julianna wailed. Tears began to blob down her cheeks, and in the unfortunate manner of all redheads, her skin blotched immediately.

  Damn it. If she and Daph were alone, Ivy could’ve fallen apart. Given in to her desperate desire to roll on the floor, kicking and screaming. Instead, she had to get a grip and be a rock for Julianna. Sometimes it sucked to be at the top of the totem pole.

  “No tears allowed. Not five minutes ago, Daphne told me not to freak out about what-ifs, what might happen. Let’s wait and see. The episode might not be as bad as we fear.”

  “But we just lost thirty thousand dollars.”

  “Maybe. Worst case scenario. Daphne and I will need to discuss whether or not to keep the deposits on an individual basis. Damage control is still very possible. Bring people in, let them read a few more glowing testimonials, and reassure them we are the best company to be there on their big day.” Ivy heard the words come out of her mouth, but didn’t believe a single one. She stood, gave Julianna a one-armed hug. “Why don’t you go freshen up in the powder room before the guys get here?”

  “Thanks for being such a rock, Ivy. I don’t know how you do it.” Julianna disappeared down the hall, sniffling.

  “I don’t know how you do it,” Daphne echoed in a fierce whisper. “Shovel such an enormous load of bullshit, that is. We are screwed. Seven cancellations in an hour? It couldn’t be worse if we were carriers of the Ebola virus!”

  “Well, that would be worse, because we’d be dead,” Ivy hissed back.

  “Dead would be an improvement. We wouldn’t be around to watch the city of Chicago turn us into laughingstocks. We may never work in this town again.”

  Ivy sat back down on the couch, resting the side of her head against Daphne’s. The initial shock and panic had receded, leaving her numb. “What happened to not worrying about what we can’t control?”

  “The theory only works when it’s not personal. Do you really want to pack up everything, slink out of town under cover of darkness and relocate? Where do you go when you’re run out of town on a rail? Iowa? Indiana?” She twisted around to face Ivy, blue eyes wide with dread. “I’m telling you right now, I can’t live in a place where every morning radio broadcast starts with the farm report.”

  “Are you planning to move to Iowa, or to the nineteenth century?” Ivy laughed. “Anyway, we’re not moving.”

  “Riiiiight.” She drew out the word, clearly skeptical. “But if we do, how about Colorado? Or South Carolina. Think of all the beautiful flowers they have down there: Columbine, coreopsis, gardenias. Have you ever seen a pawpaw? Silly name, but the most beautiful purple flower. We could even incorporate it into our logo.”

  “Cut it out. The logo stays, and we’re staying. Right now, we’ve got to focus on putting on brave faces and getting through this damn party. As soon as everyone leaves, we’ll figure out a game plan. Check in with every single client in the next twenty-four hours.”

  “You think that’ll do it? A verbal pat on the back, and all their faith in us is restored?”

  “No.” Ivy worried her lip. If only it could be that easy. “I think it’s a start. Ben’s making me do a live television interview. Hopefully I can turn that to our advantage.”

  Daphne spread her arms wide, palms up. “Are you nuts? Doesn’t there come a point where not all exposure is good? Anything can happen on live television. Do you really want to open yourself up to making a bad problem potentially worse?”

  “Thanks for assuming I’ll botch the interview, Daph. Just the ego boost I need right now.”

  “Don’t get all pissy. I meant the reporter could blindside you, twist your words.”

  As if that very thought hadn’t circled her mind in a Moebius loop ever since Ben first mentioned the interview. “I don’t have a choice. Apparently it’s in the contract with RealTV you were so hot for me to sign.”

  “Oh.” Daphne’s hands dropped back into her lap. “We’re in a real shitstorm right now, aren’t we?”

  Ivy pushed herself up with a deep breath. “Time will tell.”

  The front door flew open, the knob banging into the wall. Gib, Sam and Ben piled through the doorway. They all wore loose shorts. Ben and Sam wore Cubs tee shirts, while Gib sported a Manchester United soccer jersey. “We come bearing gifts.” Ben held up a bottle by its foil-covered neck. “Champagne, to toast your amazing television debut.”

  Gib raised a clear glass bottle. “Or tequila, to get you royally smashed in case you bomb.”

 
; “And in either eventuality, you’ll need chocolate. Mom made you a chocolate rum cake. My contribution was decorating it.” Sam placed the box on the dining room table and lifted the lid. All six of them crowded around to get a look. The smooth white fondant glittered with gold dust. In the center, a large silver star contained Ivy’s name. Beneath it, piped in calligraphy, were the words a star is born.

  Tears stung the corner of Ivy’s eyes. She had the best friends in the world. Any desire she’d harbored of riding this night out in solitude from beneath her comforter fled. Together, they’d all get through it.

  Except…another venomous what-if snaked into her brain. What if the fallout from the show spilled over, affected her friends? A big, international corporation like the Cavendish could survive a few cancellations. The family-run Lyons Bakery could not. Her numbness burned off under righteous anger at being suckered into this whole situation in the first place. Since Tracy and Seth weren’t handy, Ben would have to do. Ivy punched him in the arm. Hard.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” he demanded, rubbing his arm.

  “Turns out I’m really, really mad.”

  “Sorry. I thought you liked champagne. Not what I’d deem a punching offense, but I get that you’re nervous and off-kilter. I can go get something else. How about a bottle of Merlot?”

  As quickly as it flared, her temper washed away under Ben’s easygoing charm. As he’d pointed out before, lashing out at the guy who manned the camera didn’t do any good. Her real beef was with Tracy and Seth, for not notifying her their wedding would be filmed until it was too late to back out. Blame the murderer, not the weapon. All Ben did that day was his job, just like she did. “Champagne is fine.”