“We’ll buddy up in cars, and we’ll meet you there,” she continued. “I have an exceptional surprise waiting for you, Flora. I know you’re going to love it.”
Flora, I noticed, hadn’t said much since she’d arrived. Now she stared blankly back at Doris with not even a hint of enthusiasm on her face.
“I can’t be out long tonight,” she said wearily. “I’ve got a lot going on, you know. Lots still to organize.”
“Absolutely,” said Doris. “This shouldn’t take us longer than about four hours.”
Four hours! I thought. Four hours dressed as a hen, clucking around town. All my days in California and cocktail parties loomed large in my memory. What was I thinking, moving to the Northwest? What was I thinking, moving to a small town?
“Off we go,” said Doris. “Go get in your cars, and we’ll meet at Ruby’s in twenty minutes.” As we started to move out of the room, Doris stopped us. “We have to cluck.”
What came next was a cacophony of pathetic clucking noises from us all—except for Annie and Gracie, who seemed to really be into the spirit of the thing. Ruby-Skye had managed to balance her hen hat on top of the turban she was wearing. It looked quite regal there.
“I can take a couple in my car,” I said.
“I’m with you,” said Ruby.
“Me, too,” said Annie.
And we got into our cars, clucking as we went, and drove into town.
Doris’s first stop with her brood was, indeed, at Ruby-Skye’s Wool Emporium.
“I’m not sure she’s gonna like this,” Ruby murmured.
She opened up the store, and Ruby turned on the lights. In the center of the shop was a mannequin wearing a dated white satin wedding dress. It looked vintage, from the ’50s or the ’60s. It was a large, bulky size to make room for large breasts and thick hips. We all stood there, rooted to the spot.
“Here we go,” said Doris, as she and Ethel stood on either side of the mannequin and stretched out their hands like a pair of misfit Vanna Whites. “Just what you always wanted.” Doris swept her hand down the dress, as if that would add some chic to it.
Lavinia put a pink-nailed finger to her lips. “Oh, my,” she said. “You could get three Floras in that. Or two twins. Or just one Doris.”
Horrified, Flora stuttered, “Wha-what exactly is this?”
“I saw how much you didn’t like the dirty white dress that posh shop put together for you, so I thought I would do you a great service and let you use the wedding dress that I got married to my husband in, God rest his soul. It’s very classy. It came out of the Sears catalog.”
“I already have a wedding dress,” said Flora, mortified.
“But it’s the wrong color,” answered Doris, annoyed. “I think you should at least try this on. We’ve gone to a lot of trouble to get this ready. Ruby has said that she will alter it for you. I know you don’t have a mother to pass a dress down to you, so I thought this was the next best thing.”
Flora’s features softened for a moment as she appeared to contemplate Doris’s words. Her expression mixed: there was sudden sadness at the mention of her mom but also some realization that Doris, as bombastic as she was, often had a heart-centered motivation for her actions. We had seen evidence of it when she led us all to California to save Gracie’s reputation and when she had worked flat out to save Annie’s farm.
Before Flora could respond, Doris bustled over to her side and started ushering her toward a makeshift changing room.
Lavinia’s eyes went skyward. “Maybe we should have hit the bar first,” she whispered to me. “This would have been a lot more entertaining if we were all drunk.”
Flora did not look impressed as Ethel managed to pull the dress off the mannequin, drape it carefully over her arms, and walk to the fitting room. I shook my head. This wasn’t going to be good. Two minutes later, Flora waded out in the huge dress.
I couldn’t help myself. I needed to say something. “Doris,” I said, “that dress is—”
She cut me off.
“Stunning,” said Doris, finishing my sentence with her own delusion.
“I need to get a pair of her glasses,” said Lavinia.
Red faced and frustrated, Flora moved into the middle of the shop, where Doris and Ethel started grabbing at bits of fabric and pulling them in.
“What if we were to add some tucks in here?” Doris asked Ruby-Skye.
“Mm-hmm,” said Ruby-Skye. “Yep, that would do it. Tucks—that’s all it would need.” Her tone was sarcastic.
“I really don’t think this is me,” said Flora as bits of her fell out of different corners of the dress. She tried to pull it up onto her shoulders but it wouldn’t stay.
“I think it could be great,” said Doris, screwing up her eyes. “What do you think, Ruby?”
I looked at Ruby, who pushed her chicken hat to the side.
“I think it’s up to Flora,” she said.
“Let’s just pin her in it and we’ll see,” added Doris.
Ruby looked uncomfortably at Flora but finally did Doris’s bidding and pinned in the sides. By the time she finished, the dress was completely misshapen the enormous bosoms folding in a V at the front like a flap and the waist now dropped to her knees, like something out of the 1920s.
“Maybe we could pull it up by the shoulders,” said Doris, grabbing hold of the top of the dress and lifting it up, making Flora look like some sort of crazy wedding puppet.
Somebody could do with being pulled up by the shoulders, I thought and then said aloud, “Why don’t we let Flora think about it? We’ll take it off her for now. At least it’s given her another choice. Right, Flora?”
Flora looked fit to burst. “I don’t need another choice,” she growled.
“I know,” I whispered.
Flora took off the dress—or, more realistically, she breathed in and it fell to her ankles.
“Well,” said Doris, “we need to cluck our way over to the florist. I have big surprises over there.”
Flora reddened.
“Oh, it’s a Doris-style fun night for sure,” said Lottie quietly to the rest of us. “I’m already praying that nobody dies.”
Leaving the Wool Emporium, we clucked reluctantly over to the florist, where Mrs. Bickerstaff was having a late Thursday night. She looked exasperated when she saw everybody come in.
“Doris Newberry,” she said. “I’ve got a note in here slipped under my door that Flora might be considering changing her flowers and that you would like to put an order in for her.”
Flora stared at Doris, mortified.
“Did you put the bouquet together I requested on my note?” said Doris grumpily.
Mrs. Bickerstaff pulled out the bouquet of bright yellow and orange flowers.
“Yellow and orange?” said Annie. “I thought you were going with pink and mauve?”
“I am,” said Flora through gritted teeth.
“Look how bright these are,” said Doris as she held them up to Flora’s face. “They bring out your complexion.”
Sure do, I thought as I looked at the fuming bride-to-be. If red is the color Doris is trying to match.
“Are you sure you don’t want to go with these colors instead?” Doris continued airily.
Once again, Ethel put her hand up, Vanna White style, as if to help present them.
Flora slammed down the flowers.
“No, I think I’ll stick with my original colors because I’ve already bought all the reels of ribbon to go with it,” she said smartly.
Tensions were starting to build, so I decided to defuse the situation.
“Listen, this is a lovely idea for you to put this bird party on for Flora,” I said. “But you know what? I think we probably should go over to the Crab and have a drink and something to eat? Have a little break in between some of these great ideas you have, Doris.”
Everyone nodded their agreement, even Doris.
The whole barnyard clucked across the street to the Crab
Apple Diner. Gladys came around the corner just as we arrived, clucking our way through the door. She took one look at the lot of us, turned on her heels, and disappeared back into the restaurant.
Impatient, Doris rang a little bell that was on the welcome desk.
Two minutes later, Gladys was back. “I thought for a moment I’d had a hallucination. The chef has been cooking all these new mushrooms and I thought maybe there was something funny about them, but then I realized it was you people,” she said shaking her head. “Why should I be surprised if you’re all standing here looking like a bunch of chickens? Where would you like to roost today?”
“Usual booth,” said Doris in a high, henlike voice.
Gladys blinked at her twice and shook her head. “Waddle this way.” She grabbed a handful of menus.
We made our way to the booth, some of us clucking a lot less quietly than the others.
“Will you be eating?” asked Gladys. “Or just pecking on some corn?”
“We’ll be eating,” said Doris, nodding. “I have made special arrangements with that new chef. You can bring out the party fare she has been working on for me.”
I smiled to myself. The chef had actually been working at the Crab for nearly two years, but since the last chef had been here for twenty-five years, she was still known as “the new chef.” This small town, I thought.
“Interesting,” said Gladys. “Eating and the new chef don’t always go together. Most of what she creates is like art. Nobody actually wants to eat it. It just needs to be stared at. In the meantime, I’ll get you some drinks. What would you like?”
We all put in our drinks order, and Doris started an obviously rehearsed monologue. Taking hold of Flora’s hand, she gripped it tightly, saying, “Flora, this is where it all started. This is where we decided to go on the road trip. That day back on our road trip, none of us had any idea that in a few days you’d meet your husband.”
Flora actually started to tear up.
“Now that your flowers are sorted out,” said Doris, making a check on the clipboard, “and your dress is decided, all we need to do now is figure out the food.”
“The food,” said Flora.
“Oh, and the band,” said Doris, looking at her board.
“I’m already having Happy Weddings Catering Service take care of my food,” said Flora.
“I know,” said Doris. “I saw that you’d written that down, but I know you wanted help. And when I talked to them, they were very awkward, not very pleasant to deal with at all. So I’ve decided to take care of the catering for you. There are plenty of little recipes for snips and snaps that will work.”
“Snips and snaps,” echoed Lavinia. “Doesn’t sound very wedding-ish.”
“Well, you know, just little bits and pieces that I’ll throw together—sausage and cheese and eggs in little puff-pastry bases.”
“But I was doing an organic buffet,” said Flora. “I have it all color coordinated.”
“I can make it colorful,” said Doris defensively. “I’ll throw in some tomatoes here and there, maybe some beets.”
“Beets, tomato and sausage,” said Ruby, screwing up her eyes.
“Can we have ice cream, too?” said Gracie, clapping her hands together.
“Yes, Mama, we can have ice cream just for you. We could have ‘confetti’ flavor, that’s very wedding-ish.” Doris, getting excited, wrote it down on her clipboard. “I’ll create all this for half the price. Don’t you worry. No one’s going to go hungry at one of my affairs. And I talked to the band for you.” Doris added, looking up from her list.
“They took six months to book,” said Flora frantically. She was starting to lose her temper. “What did you do to my band?”
“I didn’t do anything to them,” said Doris defensively. “I just realized that they’re not quite what you’re going for.”
“They’re the best we have on the island,” said Flora, her volume escalating. Around the restaurant, people stopped eating and looked toward our table.
“I have that group of bongo players. I’ve come up with some lively, upbeat wedding tempos for them. You know, Calypso wedding tunes and such. I told them to bring their drums. Flora, this is going to be a lot cheaper for you and so much classier. Don’t you worry, I’ve got it all in hand.”
Flora suddenly jumped up from the table, slammed down her hand, and shouted, “That’s it! Doris Newberry, stop interfering with my wedding!”
We all stared at her, mute. I don’t think I’d ever heard Flora raise her voice. “This is my wedding—my wedding—and I’m going to do it my way.”
To emphasize her point, she pulled off her hen hat and threw it down on the table.
Every eye was drawn down to the abandoned paper chicken lying deflated in front of us. Flora apparently meant business.
It was just then that Dan arrived, breathless. I thought Flora was going to burst into tears.
“Dan,” she said, throwing herself into his arms.
“Uh, hello there. What a bunch of cute chicks.” He smiled at the group over her shoulder.
Flora seemed embarrassed. “It’s some sort of British tradition,” she said dismissively.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” he said and seemed like he was excited about something. “Look who’s just arrived.”
From behind him came two people we remembered from the road trip: Dan’s parents. We all got up to give them a hug.
“Hello to you all,” said his mom. “So glad to see you all again. Can’t wait for the wedding. We’ve brought a childhood friend of Dan’s. She said she knew you all and was very enthusiastic about coming along to share the experience.”
Someone else sauntered in.
It was Marcy.
She had not been back to town since trying to break up Flora and Dan’s relationship the year before. And I realized all at once that Dan’s parents probably didn’t have a clue of all the trouble she’d caused for Dan and Flora before they had invited her along.
Flora’s face turned from red to purple. This, I was guessing, was the last straw.
“Hello, everyone,” said Marcy airily with a sweep of her hand. “So glad I could make it out for this little affair. I wouldn’t miss Danny’s wedding for anything,” she said, stroking Dan’s hands seductively. He looked dumbstruck. “I have some news to share.”
Pulling off one of her cashmere gloves, she flashed her hand in front of us, and there was the largest diamond I had ever seen. We all stared, our mouths agape.
Gladys shuffled back to the table with two trays of very odd-looking food.
“Apparently, this is what you ladies are eating tonight, something that the new chef calls ‘snips and snaps.’ Looks more like snips and snails to me. I’ve been looking for the puppy dog tails on the way over here.” Gladys caught a glimpse of what Marcy was flashing. She whistled. “Wow, that’s some rock you got yourself, there. Whose arm did you twist into buying you that?”
Ignoring her, Marcy ran her hand through her silky blonde hair. “I’m getting married to an old childhood friend, Jason. Do you remember him, Danny? Jason Hamilton. He’s now a merchant banker.”
There was silence from the table.
Dan looked taken aback. “Jason? Wow. Yes, of course, I remember him. You and Jason? I’m so pleased for you. Isn’t that great everyone?” he said, encouraging us all as he tried to thaw the hens on ice.
We all absently nodded our chicken heads in response.
“We’re going to have a spectacular wedding,” Marcy continued. “On his yacht. I’m in the planning stages right now. I have twenty bridesmaids, and I’ll arrive at the beach in a horse-drawn carriage, and he’ll arrive in his brand-new white Lamborghini. Then he’ll travel to his yacht on his speedboat, and my bridesmaids and I will be rowed out by Hawaiian groomsmen. We’re going to have native flower girls, who will sail ahead of us, dancing and sprinkling exotic petals for us to sail through. We will hold the ceremony on the yacht under a canopy woven wi
th a thousand more exotic flowers and indigenous fruit then afterward, in a grand marquee on the beach, we’ll eat lobster and drink from champagne fountains.”
We all blinked. Flora sat down hard, her gaze fixed on her bird hat. I could see the disappointment in her face. Marcy was on some sort of Princess Diana–style wedding kick when Flora, just ten minutes before, had been wearing Doris’s old wedding dress and then fighting off a bouquet of ugly orange and yellow flowers. I knew she was probably thinking this wasn’t what she’d planned for the night.
“Would you like to join us?” Annie asked, in a tone that suggested she hoped Marcy would decline.
“Oh, no,” said Marcy. “I have to get back to my hotel. There are so many arrangements I’m still making online. Just wanted to make sure you all knew you had an invitation to the wedding in Maui.”
“Maui?” Annie whistled. “Isn’t that off the island?” she asked sarcastically.
“Great to see you all,” Marcy said unconvincingly and then kissed Dan seductively on the cheek as she headed out with his parents in tow.
Dan squeezed Flora’s arm.
“I should get Mom and Dad settled into their hotel.” And he, too, was gone.
We all looked down at the tray of Play-Doh that was disguised as food. Nobody seemed to be feeling very hungry.
Flora stood up. “I have to go,” she said in a very calm manner that surprised us all. “I’m exhausted.”
“I can come with you, Flora,” I offered, wondering if she needed some support.
“No,” she said sharply. “I would like to be alone.”
With that, she left the restaurant, the brood, and her chicken hat on the table behind her.
Arriving home late that night, Flora was drained and close to tears. She closed the door and leaned against it. In front of her, on the mat, was a wedding card addressed to her. Sighing deeply, she crouched down and picked it up.
Chapter 11
Disappearing Brides & Baileys for Breakfast
John had a terrible night’s sleep. He had a nightmare about seeing Flora coming down the aisle, and when she lifted her veil, Dan was shocked and stopped the wedding to ask her what was going on. She turned to the church congregation and pointed to John, saying, “It was his fault.”
The Rejected Writers' Christmas Wedding (The Southlea Bay Series Book 3) Page 10
