Observing her quietly for a moment, I surmised that her eyes and nose were noticeably red under her two-tone hair—an effect that was not improved by the excessive blush. What that girl needs is an attentive mother to help her with these kinds of issues, really. I’m not a therapist.
“You’re not ugly,” I told her, really hoping that would resolve the problem.
“Yes, I am,” she insisted with a sniff. “Besides, no one cares about me.”
So we’re back to this again. It seems like I have to put out this fire once a week at least.
“That’s just silly. Your dad must care about you a great deal to go through all this time and expense to give you exactly what you want on your big day.”
My expectation was that she would calm down as she normally did, but instead she began to sob. “Throwing money at someone doesn’t mean you love them.”
Of course she was right, so how was I to argue with that?
“Well, what about your mom? Don’t the two of you do things together?”
“No,” she blurted between sniffs. “I’m not…good enough…for her.”
“Listen, Audrey, I need you to calm down. Take a few deep breaths, because I don’t want you to hyperventilate in my office. Do you understand?”
She nodded and began breathing deeply, her head bobbing up and down with each labored breath. Staring at the wall, I wondered what I was going to tell that girl. I’ve seen how Cooper treats her—he’s definitely not the greatest father figure I’ve ever witnessed. If her mother is anything like he is…well, Audrey doesn’t really stand a chance.
“You better now?” I asked, and she nodded carefully. “Okay, what makes you think you’re not good enough for your mom?”
“She…told me so,” she explained, words interrupted by short gasps of breath.
“What did she tell you, exactly?”
“She said…that I’m too fat…and I dress like a hobo...and she won’t go out…in public with me…until I do something about it.”
Yikes. My mom can be a pain sometimes, that is certain, but Audrey’s mom makes her look like a saint. I can’t imagine having someone be so critical of me.
“Let me ask you a question,” I begin hesitantly. “The way your mom looks, is it, you know, organic?”
Audrey swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, leaving a black mascara trail across her cheek.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Okay, let me put it another way. Is your mom’s beauty…you know, all hers?”
“You mean has she had plastic surgery?” she asked, and I nodded. “Duh, a ton of it.”
Hmm… No wonder she looks like a Barbie.
“Don’t you see what that means? Even your mom isn’t good enough for your mom.”
We sat silently as I let my words sink in. I imagined Audrey as a little girl, her mother constantly chiding her for not doing things exactly right. Then again, her mother might not have been there at all. If she feels the way she does about her daughter now, she might have had a nanny raise her all along.
“I guess that’s true,” she agreed, sitting a little straighter in her chair.
“So what are you going to do about it?”
“I don’t know,” she muttered, her forehead wrinkling a bit. “Tell her she’s stupid?”
Tell her she’s stupid? I should definitely not be a therapist, since I am obviously not good at this.
“No, you’re not going to tell her she’s stupid. What did your mom look like before she changed her appearance?”
“A little bit like me, I guess.”
“Well, then why don’t you show her what her natural beauty looks like? You’ve got to start by loving yourself and accepting yourself as you are.”
“But I don’t really want to accept myself as I am,” she groaned. “There are things I want to change.”
“We all want to change things about ourselves, but if you’re not happy with who Audrey is on the inside, none of that will matter in the end.”
She nodded her head a couple times and squared her shoulders. “I just have to be okay on the inside?”
“You have to start with the inside,” I clarified. “If you don’t, then you’ll never be happy with anything else you change. Look at your mom. Do you think she’s really content with herself, despite all the improvements she’s made over the years?”
“No way,” she said with a chuckle.
“Then don’t make those same mistakes.”
For a second I thought she might burst into tears again as I sat looking at her, her eyes welling up and bottom lip quivering. Then, suddenly, her arms shot forward and wrapped around me, her face mashed against my sweater.
“I’m so glad you’re my best friend,” she whispered. “You’re the only person I can count on.”
And that is how the shopping excursion was set for today. I agreed to go partly because I was just trying to get her out of my office, and partly because I was ready to scream and didn’t want to hurt her feelings. You see, for years I have wanted really nice cashmere sweaters, but I never could justify the cost. I finally went out and got myself one, and I was so proud of it…until yesterday. When Audrey stopped hugging me, I glanced down at my beautiful blue cashmere, which was sadly smudged with black mascara. I felt sorry for her and all, but she’s a very wealthy girl—couldn’t she spring for some waterproof mascara? If you know you’re going to be sobbing at least once a week, it would seem like a wise investment.
When I asked the cleaners, they seemed a little unsure about removing the stain. My sweater is probably ruined, all because I was trying to do something nice for someone. I should just go buy another one and put it on the Cooper wedding account. It was a wedding-related incident, after all. If Audrey keeps up the waterworks, I may need a whole new wardrobe before this thing is over.
“How about this one?” Audrey wonders, pulling out an extremely long dress covered with lace. The girl has no discernable pattern. One second she’ll choose a dress that is entirely too revealing, and the next second she goes all Laura Ingalls Wilder on me. I don’t believe I will ever understand her.
“It doesn’t really say ‘Audrey’ does it?” I try, hoping she will say no. She shakes her head solemnly and puts it back on the rack.
“Can I help you ladies?” a saleswoman interrupts as she approaches. She is probably in her forties, with light brown shoulder length hair and hazel eyes.
“That would be wonderful,” I state. “We’re here looking for a wedding dress.”
“Well, I can certainly help you with that. Which one of you is getting ready for the big day?”
“Me!” Audrey belts, raising her hand. She has two speeds—crying and giddy. Apparently at this outing we are beginning with giddy.
“Okay,” the saleswoman begins, walking over to the counter. “I’m going to start by getting a little information. What’s your name?”
“Audrey Cooper,” she replies, running her hand across the dresses on the nearest rack.
“How about an address?”
“You should have that already,” I offer. “It will be under her father’s name, Kent Cooper.”
“Oh, so you’re Kent’s daughter? Well, let’s get started then. What are we looking for?”
Audrey shrugs her shoulders and continues to gaze at the dresses. The saleswoman looks questioningly at me, presumably awaiting instructions.
“What’s your name?” I wonder.
“Jane.”
“Nice to meet you, Jane. I’m Maddie, the wedding planner.” And that sounds completely ridiculous, even to me.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I thought I had met most of the wedding planners in town.”
“Well, I’m new.” Brand spanking new. “What we’re thinking for Audrey is maybe something with a little detailing on the top, but with nice clean lines—nothing too revealing. Perhaps something with an empire waist and an A-line skirt. Do you have anything like that?”
“I’m sure we can
find something,” Jane agrees with a smile. I can’t help but notice that she is acting a little differently toward me, now that she knows I’m the wedding planner.
Yeah, it still sounds ridiculous.
“This line might be close to what you have in mind,” Jane says, pointing to a rack of gowns. “What size do you think you are, Audrey?” Audrey takes a moment to glance between me and Jane, as though she’s been asked a question to which she doesn’t know how to respond.
“I think maybe a size four,” she finally replies.
I have no idea what size Audrey really wears, but I am positive it is not a size four. Jane knows better too, and she’s looking at me as though wondering what to do. I wave my hand dismissively, implying that she should do what Audrey wants. For once she could have made things easy by giving us her true size instead of playing a guessing game.
Jane pulls a couple dresses off the rack and calls to a younger salesgirl in the back to set up a fitting room.
“Eliza will help you,” she tells Audrey, who looks at me for reassurance.
“Go ahead. If you need anything, have her come and get me,” I say. She nods and heads to the back.
“Looks like you have your hands full with that one,” Jane informs me, going back to the counter. “How many weddings have you done?”
“This is my second.” Well, it’s partly true—I was at the fitting when Jess picked a dress. Surely that counts.
“Trial by fire, isn’t that what they say? I can’t imagine putting on a wedding for Kent and Faith Cooper.”
“You know them, then?”
“Only enough to know that I don’t want to. Faith comes in here from time to time for formal gowns. She always leaves with something, but she makes it a point to tell us before she walks out the door that all our dresses are trash and nothing here is good enough for someone like her. Funny, though, that she always winds up wearing them to her banquets and fundraising events. I’ve seen her in the paper dressed in them several times.”
“Yeah, that sounds about right.”
“I hope you won’t have to work with her too much on the wedding,” Jane continues, continuing to gaze in my direction.
“She hasn’t taken an interest so far.”
She nods her head as though she understands and begins writing in her book as Eliza reappears from the back and begins going through the rack of dresses. I know exactly what she’s doing—there is no way Audrey was even close to fitting into a size four.
“Is there a problem, Eliza?” Jane asks, glancing at me.
“No problem, Miss Cooper just needs a different size.”
“Well, tell me which size you need and I’ll help you find it,” Jane suggests, walking over to the rack. Eliza glances at me quickly before returning her attention to Jane.
“The thing is,” she whispers, “Miss Cooper doesn’t want her wedding planner to know her size.”
It’s like the seventh grade all over again. As if I really care what size Audrey is. If I really wanted to know, I would just look at the back of her shirt during one of the many times she’s crying on my shoulder.
“Just take her what she needs,” I insist with a laugh. “As long as you know what size she requires, I don’t really care.”
An understanding smile crosses Jane’s face. She probably deals with bridezillas all the time. In fact, I’m absolutely certain that Audrey is easygoing compared to some of the girls that come in here.
Sitting down in the waiting area, I begin looking through a bridal magazine. Within a few pages, I come across an article on the cost of the average wedding. The price for the dress is totally unrealistic, unless you’re someone like Audrey and your dad says anything goes. The food is ridiculous, like serving a full three-course meal to 200 people…which I guess we will probably be doing for Audrey. And the flowers—who could possibly use that many flowers?
On second thought, Audrey will probably want all those flowers, too. It’s nearly tragic that the average wedding costs more than my car. To think that people spend all that money for one single party almost makes me sick.
Thank goodness Max and I will probably elope to Barbados when the time comes.
“I think we’re finally on the right track,” Jane says quietly, stepping up to me. “Were you looking at bridal party attire today, as well?”
“I hadn’t thought about it, but since we’re here, we might as well.”
“What sort of color palette are we looking for?”
“I think we’ve settled on rose and pale yellow, so we could probably start with anything you have in those shades.”
Jane heads off in search of the dresses, and I hear someone call my name from the back. It must have been Eliza—I would have recognized Audrey’s screech.
The fitting area is set up to look like the front of a church. There are candelabras and ivy in front of a huge mirror, presumably so the bride-to-be can see herself in an appropriate setting. Audrey is standing to one side in a dress that Jane previously showed her.
“What do you think?” I wonder.
“It’s pretty,” she offers, but shrugs her shoulders.
I step around her to get a better look. “You’re right, it is pretty, but I don’t think it quite works around the waist. It’s a little too long in the cut. Why don’t you try another one?”
“Okay,” she agrees cheerfully, trotting back to her dressing room. For the moment she’s having fun and not crying. It could be so much worse.
This is every girl’s dream—isn’t that what they say? Trying on dresses for the big day and being treated like a princess? I’m certain I could probably spend an entire day in here trying on dresses and twirling in front of the mirror. If this were my wedding, I would settle on one of the draping, flowing gowns, and I would wear my hair partially up with ringlets swirling down my back. When I walk down the aisle, I would hear, “Is that you, Maddie? I thought you were an angel.”
Naturally, I would laugh at that. “Of course it’s me, Josh.”
I mean, Max.
“Do you like this one?” Audrey interrupts my blush-filled daydream. Turning around, I see an almost identical copy of the dress I had in mind to be perfect for her. It’s simple, with the empire waist and an A-line skirt that slims her figure. It really suits her perfectly.
“I think it’s wonderful,” I state. “What do you think?”
“It makes me look really good,” she agrees with a smile.
“You look like Audrey at her best.”
“Audrey at her best,” she says dreamily. “I like that. How do you know all this stuff, anyway, like what type of clothes are going to look good?”
“Just something I picked up,” I mumble. Actually, it’s something my cable provider picks up: it’s called a makeover show. They’re really quite helpful, and I would recommend one to Audrey if I wasn’t worried about hurting her feelings.
Jane comes around the corner carrying a couple of dresses in roses and pale yellows. None of them look like bridesmaid dresses, thank goodness. At least Audrey won’t be able to pick something that is absolutely nauseating.
“Here we go,” Jane sings. “I think I’ve found the perfect hues, and we had some styles that closely resembled the wedding dresses you chose.”
“They’re all lovely,” I insist, and Audrey nods her head in agreement.
“Well, if you would like to choose one today, I can write down the number, and the members of your bridal party can come in for fittings at their convenience.”
“Oh, there’s no need for that,” Audrey states. “Maddie can try it on today, since we’re already here. In fact, she should try on both colors to see which one looks best.”
“I wasn’t aware you were also the bridal party,” Jane says, looking at me curiously.
All I can do is smile sheepishly in return. “Yes,” I whisper. “It’s a long story.”
“Of course it is,” she quietly tells me, and then turns to Audrey. “Did we find a wedding gown we like
? Why, that one is very flattering on you!”
Yes, I made a truly wise choice. I am the wedding planner extraordinaire.
No, it still sounds stupid.
“Do you really think so?” Audrey wonders, twirling around and smiling. And to think I was worried that today would be miserable, full of complaints about being fat, tears rolling and mascara running all over the place.
“Would you like to try a veil with the dress?” Jane hangs the bridesmaid dresses on a nearby hook. “We have a wide variety to your left, hanging on the wall.”
“Yes!” Audrey squeals, bolting toward the veil display. Within a few seconds, she returns with the biggest, fullest veil she can find. It’s all she can do to gather it up in her arms without dragging it along the floor. Jane glances at me as I shake my head with an exasperated smile. Poor Audrey—she just doesn’t get it. I wonder who would be helping her now if her dad hadn’t pegged me to do it. Her mom, maybe? No, that would require going out in public together. I’m sure he would have hired a professional wedding planner.
“How do I put it on?” Audrey asks, fiddling with the hair comb. Jane pushes part of the veil aside and helps Audrey place it on her head. She looks in the mirror, fluffing the veil out around her face and then around her arms. She sways back and forth a little for some unknown reason, and I sincerely hope she’s not planning to do that on her wedding day.
“What do you think, Maddie?” She turns her head to ensure that I’m looking.
“You look like the ghost of wedding present,” I assess, shaking my head. “I can’t even see your face. You don’t want to hide on your wedding day, do you?”
“Maybe.” A ghost of a frown adorned her face.
Oh, no. Don’t do the Audrey flip-flop on me. Where is giddy Audrey? Come on, bring her back. I don’t feel like dealing with tears right now.
“Of course you don’t want to hide,” I say, walking toward the veil display. “You’re going to look beautiful and you want everyone to see you. Here, try this one. It’s just going to sit on the back of your head so you can actually see Derrick, and most importantly, you can see where you’re going. You wouldn’t want such a large veil that you wind up tripping down the aisle.”
Simply Mad (Girls of Wonder Lane Book 1) Page 21
