Cherokee took a path that wound among the low, white wooden buildings. She passed the reflecting pool in the grape arbor, the little waterfall, the small stone that marked where someone had buried their beloved dog. Exotic plants from all over the world were planted thoughtfully, with tiny signs marking their name and place of origin. Enchanted garden. Cherokee sat on a white wooden swing and listened to its soft creak, the chirp of the crickets, the sound of a piano concerto coming from someone’s room.
She knew that her grandparents, Weetzie’s mother and father, had come here on their honeymoon in the fifties. It probably wasn’t much different-looking then. She imagined them sitting on this swing, looking out over the gardens, holding hands. Brandy-Lynn was beautiful, a blond starlet with skin that lit up a room. Charlie was tall and thin, with a dark, chiseled face; from the pictures she’d seen, Cherokee thought he looked a lot like a stretched-out version of her own dad. Charlie had met Brandy-Lynn on the set of a movie he’d written. Supposedly, it was love at first sight, a whirlwind romance, courthouse wedding, and off to Santa Barbara. Obviously, Cherokee thought, that was before drinks thrown in faces, screaming fights, smashed vehicles. Weetzie had told her, once, about the day Charlie left. Brandy-Lynn, who never got her hair wet, dove right into the pool when he walked away. Twelve-year-old Weetzie, who was standing on the balcony of the condo, wondered for a second if she would have to save her, but Brandy-Lynn came up for air, only to jump into a martini glass and not emerge for years.
Cherokee wondered if Weetzie and Max ever fought like that. She didn’t think so; she’d never seen it. But she knew things weren’t right between them. Her dad always seemed so preoccupied now. He never talked about ideas for his films, he never talked about anything, really, except the news. Cherokee hadn’t seen her parents acting affectionate with each other in a while. She and Witch Baby used to find it rather disgusting—all the hugs and kisses—but now she secretly watched for some signs that her parents still cared about each other.
She tried to imagine what it would be like if Raphael stopped holding her. It was impossible to imagine. They had loved each other for so long that she didn’t even really know what loneliness felt like.
Maybe it wasn’t fair. Why did she always receive affection when her sister seemed so hungry for it? And if someday the love stopped, what would Cherokee do? What would she do if she was forty years old, no longer sylphlike and utterly charming, possibly wrinkled, and unkissed?
I would come here, Cherokee thought. I would dine on smoked salmon, capers, and toast at the restaurant. I would swim in the pool. I would sit on this bench and listen to the crickets. I would hope that Raphael would miss me as much as he does now.
Brunch
Weetzie went back to her room and showered, scrubbing her skin vigorously with a washcloth and fragrant green gel until her eyes watered. She was determined not to cry. She put on a fresh tank top, her orange pants with the zippers, and her orange sneakers. She fastened the Hello Kitty watch around her wrist, wondering at what age she would decide she was too old to wear it. At least her sunglasses and bag were dignified, she decided as she marched back out to meet Peri and Bean for breakfast. Well, at least her bag!
It was Sunday, and there was a huge buffet brunch in the hotel restaurant. Long tables were decked with hot, covered silver serving dishes of scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, waffles, pancakes, and French toast dusted with powdered sugar. There were fruit plates decorated with scattered pomegranate seeds, shredded coconut, and toasted pecans. There were platters of lox, cream cheese, red onions, olives, cucumbers, and tomatoes. One chef was making omelets to order with a selection of finely chopped vegetables. Another chef was making fresh crepes. There were baskets of bagels and pumpkin muffins and a whole table displaying miniature fruit tarts that looked good enough to wear. Weetzie’s stomach grumbled; the stress of the morning had taken a lot out of her. She sat down to wait for Peri and sip her ice water with lemon.
She took a few pink packets of sugar and crunched the granules in her fingertips, thinking that she would take them back to her room to mix with moisturizer and use later for a facial scrub. If Charlie were here, he would make free lemonade for her, the way he used to do, adding lemon slices and sugar to the ice water.
But he would be so old now, frail. His hand would feel different. Maybe she was thinking of him because of the wedding on the lawn, the visit from her angry girls, the strange weather. Outside the glass walls of the restaurant, the rain was falling heavily, while the sun tried to peer through, tinting the air silver.
Weetzie put the sugar packets into her purse, where her fingers grazed her cell phone. She picked it up and checked—yes, there was a new message; someone had just called.
The voice sounded more desperate this time, almost frantic. “Please come home! Please, we want you to come home, now! This isn’t fair. You need to get back here. Right now!”
“Hello there,” Peri cried, rushing up and kissing Weetzie on both cheeks so that her high, tight braid swung and tickled Weetzie’s neck. She was wearing a short, zippered, black, high-collared dress with her buckled sandals.
“You look nice.”
“Thanks. I wonder if the effect is a bit too dominatrix-y? Have you been waiting long?”
“Oh, I’m in no hurry,” Weetzie said. “I was just watching the rain. I wonder if it will spoil the wedding.”
“There’s a wedding?”
“On the main lawn. They have a tent,” she said, more wistfully than she had intended.
Peri glanced at Max’s ring on Weetzie’s finger. “Where did you get married?” she asked, trying to wipe Bean’s runny nose as he twisted away from her, toward the buffet tables. Weetzie was silent, and Peri said, quickly, “I’m not married myself. His father was an elf king from the emerald mines. Haven’t seen him since. Shall we get our food?”
Weetzie followed her to the buffet, thinking about weddings. A few years ago, she and Max had gone to dinner at a vegetarian restaurant in Topanga Canyon where little white lights twinkled around the cupids in the fountain and coyotes watched from the creek bed as they exchanged rings. It was enough of a ceremony at the time, but now Weetzie wished they had done more. She had worn a narrow, white-brocade suit with big buttons on the jacket, rhinestone-studded sandals, and gardenias in her hair, but secretly she had longed for a dress in the shape of a wedding cake and a veil that touched the ground.
While she was waiting for Peri, Weetzie had carefully planned her six-course meal, but by the time she got up to the tables, she was overwhelmed and only took some sliced cucumber, fruit salad, and scrambled eggs.
“Aren’t you coming?” Peri asked after she and Bean had devoured six pieces of bacon, an avocado omelet, a bagel with lox and cream cheese, and a pumpkin muffin, and were heading back for more.
“Oh, no thank you,” Weetzie said. “I’m not as hungry as I thought.”
When Peri and Bean came back with fruit salad, fruit tarts, and French toast, Weetzie was examining a slice of cucumber and thinking of her children. Peri touched her hand. “Are you all right, then?”
Weetzie smiled, but her eyes filled up with tears when she heard the concern in the woman’s voice. She hadn’t realized how much she needed to talk about what had just happened with Cherokee and Witch Baby.
“My daughters just came by.”
“Here? Oh, my. I hope they’re not like my family,” Peri said.
“Monsters,” muttered Bean as he gobbled up a slab of French toast drenched in maple syrup.
“They’re angry that I left,” Weetzie said.
Peri and Bean both stopped chewing and looked at her with their slanted gray eyes. They nodded sympathetically.
“I’m not ready to go home.”
“You can join us,” Peri said. “We might go to New Orleans next. There’s a big old Victorian house in the middle of a graveyard that takes people like us in.”
“I’ve always wanted to go there,” Weetzie said. “New O
rleans. But I don’t think I can.”
“It has a pool with selkies,” Bean said. “And there’s a warlock who gives fencing lessons.”
“Well, for now,” Peri said, “after we eat, let’s take a look at that wedding, shall we?”
Weetzie and Peri went up to the terrace to watch the guests arrive, while Bean sat at their feet, examining the ants on the blue hydrangeas. The rain was still coming down steadily, and the guests hurried over the lawn under their umbrellas. Weetzie wished she could see inside the tent. It glowed with warm light, and she could hear the musicians playing some odd, charming music.
The wedding party, dressed in pearl gray, jade green, and pink, stepped across the grass, umbrellas held low, and vanished into the tent. After a while, two people appeared in a golf cart.
Suddenly, the rain stopped. The sun broke through, making a rainbow that arched across the tent. A young woman in a huge puff of white dress and a white veil leaped out of the cart. She lifted her skirt, and three little girls in green-and-rose-colored dresses rushed out from the petticoats, holding giant peony bouquets. The woman and the girls ran toward the tent, giggling. An older man got out of the cart and followed them, trying to catch hold of his daughter’s train, which was about to drag into the puddles. Weetzie thought she saw the bride levitate just in time to avoid the muddy water and land, pristine, at the opening of the tent. She disappeared through the white flaps.
Weetzie looked at Peri. “That’s a wedding!”
“Yes. It makes me wish the elf king stuck around,” Peri said.
For the first time, Weetzie registered the elf-king thing. Before she could ask more, Peri kissed Weetzie’s cheek. “Thank you so much for brunch. Let’s play again sometime, before we have to rush off.”
“When is that?” Weetzie asked.
“It depends on my family,” Peri said breezily. Then she took a darker whisper. “I’m in the garden rooms—45A. If you see any weird, red-haired folk lurking around, do let me know, will you? I think they’re getting closer. They really can’t take Bean from me.”
“Of course,” Weetzie said. She watched Peri scoop up her son and walk away. She hoped she wouldn’t have to fight any monsters. She hardly had enough energy to face her own children.
Wedding
Weetzie woke from her nap rested and saw that the rain had not returned. It was a clear, warm night. The trees were sparkling like green-glass chandeliers. Weetzie thought about the way the sun had appeared with the bride in the golf cart. It would be a story the bride could tell her children and her children’s children. Weetzie wished she had a story of her own. She would have at least liked to tell Cherokee and Witch Baby about the flower girls inside the dress and the flying bride, but she knew her daughters might never forgive her for this adventure and would probably not want to hear anything about it.
Weetzie put on Coco with the back camisole and black stilettos, but instead of cheering her up as it usually did, the outfit made her more depressed. She decided to walk down to the main lawn and see if the tent was still there.
There it was, brighter in the darkness. A few stars hovered in the sky, looking as if they wanted to come down and join the fun. The strange, whimsical music was still playing, though it sounded much wilder than during the ceremony. Weetzie tiptoed through grass still damp from the morning rain and stood at the flap of the tent.
It opened, and one of the flower girls peeked out. She had a wreath of tea roses on her blond ringlets, deep-set blue eyes, and a mouth like a rosebud with tiny, sharp teeth that showed when she smiled. She gestured for Weetzie to come inside.
“The Boom Band is playing!” she said and disappeared into the crowd. Weetzie almost turned and went back out, but no one seemed to mind that she was there. Two tall, thin bridesmaids with large noses and hats like giant peonies smiled at her. An elderly gentleman tipped his top hat, revealing one long, thin strand of hair standing straight up on his head. Twelve girls with flowing hair, long brocade dresses, and conspicuously worn-out slippers on their feet were holding hands, dancing in a row. A petite, dark-haired woman breezed past Weetzie.
“I love your suit!” she cooed.
“Thank you,” said Weetzie. “I love yours!” It was the thinnest silk she had ever seen.
“Come by my shop sometime!” She handed Weetzie a tiny silk pouch. Inside was a silver card that said “Lacey’s Beautiful World.” Weetzie tucked it into Coco’s pocket.
On a small stage, three bearded musicians in turbans were playing instruments Weetzie had never seen before, though they resembled some kind of huge, twisted horn, a sitar, and a giant xylophone with pastel keys. Everyone seemed to be dancing. A tall, skinny man with a big nose, a shaved head, and a tuxedo with tails was holding the dark-haired, gamine, puffy-dress bride. Weetzie blinked at the little smiling hearts and blue birds fluttering around their heads.
Someone was tugging on Coco’s sleeve. It was the little flower girl. The band boomed. Before she knew it, Weetzie was dancing.
“Doctor Seuss!” the girl said.
“What?”
“Doctor Seuss. Oh, the Places You’ll Go! ‘You’ll find the bright places where Boom Bands are playing.’ “
A very tiny old lady with a lavender sari and violets in her white hair joined Weetzie and the flower girl. The woman was so graceful, like a young bride herself. Weetzie thought, That is how I want to be. She took the woman’s hand and they danced and danced. People moved back to watch them.
When the song ended, the woman led Weetzie over to a table.
“Why are you here?”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” said Weetzie. “That little girl brought me in. I should leave.”
The woman laughed. “No, you’re welcome at the wedding. I meant, what brings you to the hotel?”
Her eyes were like a saint’s—clairvoyant, transparent blue against her teak-colored skin. Weetzie wanted, suddenly, to tell her everything.
“I had my prom here,” Weetzie said. “There was this boy. I never kissed him. And now Max, that’s my boyfriend, we’ve stopped kissing. We’ve stopped doing anything.”
While she listened, the woman’s fingers were moving in the air, as if she were weaving invisible threads. “He was your psychopomp,” she said. “The boy.”
“What’s that?”
“Spirit guide. To help you find your hidden possibility. Animus. The godlike male part of you. If we meet our counterpart before we have fully developed ourselves, it can be overwhelming. Like Psyche looking at the light of Cupid; it can blind you if you aren’t prepared.”
The music stopped and someone shouted, “Cake!”
A cake the size of the bride’s wedding dress was wheeled into the tent. It was in the shape of a white palace with turrets, balustrades, balconies, windows that glinted as if there were little lights inside, and a garden of real pinkish-white roses. Weetzie was so struck by it that she didn’t notice the waiter at first. He left the cart and hurried back out, but on the way, she touched his arm.
“You get around,” she said.
“I try to take every gig I can get,” said Pan, winking. “What’s your excuse?”
“I crashed.”
“I heard it’s all vegan,” he said, glancing back at the cake. “Fruit-juice sweetened. I heard the bride is lactose-intolerant, too!”
He waved and disappeared through the flap in the tent.
The woman in the lavender sari smiled. The violets bobbed in her hair. “You’ve come to the right place, my dear,” she said to Weetzie.
Escape
After she had eaten a piece of cake that looked like part of a miniature white palace, tasted like a kiss, and was certain not to give her indigestion of any kind, Weetzie left the tent and crossed the lawn. She felt dizzy from eating nothing but wedding cake for dinner. The light on the pathway was eerie and green. Her cell phone rang, and she jumped, answering without thinking.
“Child,” a voice said. Weetzie realized it was the same voice that had b
een leaving the strange messages, but this time it sounded entirely different—hoarse, animated, deranged. “You are being punished for abusing your private parts! You bring that aberration back here this instant! Do you hear me! I know you do! Peri!”
Weetzie almost flung the phone to the ground. Instead, she began to run. Tick tick tick, went her heels. Tick tock tick tock. She reached for the key she had tucked into Coco’s pocket.
She was certain she heard footsteps behind her, but this time it sounded as if they belonged to more than one person. Weetzie stepped off the path into the bushes and waited.
Three figures came along the walkway. They were all very thin, with pale, narrow faces and long, red hair; one had a long, red beard, too, but besides, and even in spite of, this it was hard to tell their genders. They were dressed in prim, dark suits, and shirts with buttoned-up collars. One was wheeling a huge, old-fashioned baby carriage. As they passed, Weetzie peered inside and saw that it was empty.
She stumbled through the bushes away from the carriage, her heels sinking in the mud from the morning rain. Coco’s sleeve caught on a twig, and Weetzie heard the thread snag; every sound seemed amplified. She began to run, as fast as she could, to reach Peri’s room from the other side.
The lights were off. She ran around to the French doors and knocked.
“It’s me,” she whispered as loudly as she could.
Peri let Weetzie into the room. If she had looked white before, now she was truly transparent. She was wearing a long, old-fashioned white-lace nightgown and white socks, and her hair streamed down over her shoulders.
Necklace of Kisses Page 7
