Runner-Up Bride

by Lisa Bingham

  Riley didn’t know how to respond, so she awkwardly patted Dannette’s shoulder.

  “I-it’s not so much the party that b-bothers me—or even that Meg can’t come. I’m truly relieved she wasn’t hurt more in that boating accident—”

  Riley was beginning to feel lost. Was Meg the matron of honor? What boating accident?

  “I-it’s just that m-most of my friends will be journeying from G-Georgia and I was so looking forward to seeing them again. If there’s no shower, I’m afraid I won’t have a chance to visit with them all. Then there’s my mother and my cousins…”

  Riley offered her another awkward pat. “They were all going to gather at a party?”

  Dannette nodded, swiping the tears from her cheeks. “Meg didn’t even bother to rent a hall or hire a caterer. There’s no way I could find either at such late date. Besides, I still have fittings and flowers and—”

  Riley gripped her hands before Dannette could give her a full rundown.

  “So all you need is a place to meet and some food?”

  Dannette nodded, her eyes still sparkling with unshed tears. “I suppose.”

  “Well, I think I could—”

  Riley didn’t have the opportunity to finish. Dannette squeezed her fingers so hard that she gasped.

  “Would you, Riley? Would you take charge of the party?”

  Whoa! That wasn’t what I meant at all.

  “Dannette, I don’t know if—”

  “I would be forever grateful to you. You’ve already done so much for me.”

  So much? All Riley had done was test this woman at every opportunity.

  And kiss her fiancé.

  It was guilt that forced Riley to say, “I suppose I could find a place for everyone to meet. Alex could probably round up a caterer. If not, we could always send out for pizza.”

  She’d thought Dannette would rescind her offer at the mere mention of take-out food, but she merely stared at Riley with the same grateful expression Riley had once seen in a cocker spaniel who’d been thrown a bone.

  “Of course, we’ll need some sort of entertainment, as well,” Dannette added.

  “Entertainment?” Riley echoed hollowly.

  “You know, the usual.”

  “Usual?”

  Riley had never been to any sort of shower. Not a bridal shower, not a baby shower, not…anything.

  Dannette was clearly warming up to the whole idea. “We’ll need games of some sort and music.”

  “Of course,” Riley agreed, even as her mind swam in panic.

  But then Dannette threw her arms around her shoulders and hugged her tight. “I knew I could count on you to help me. You’re such a dear friend to Alex, and now I feel that you’re my friend, too.”

  Riley grimaced. How in the world had she managed to progress from Grand Inquisitor to Best Friend of the Bride?

  LATER THAT AFTERNOON, Riley sat on a stool in Alex’s loft. In front of her, the breakfast bar was strewn with wadded-up pieces of paper, and the phone book was propped open to Parties.

  Clutching the telephone receiver to her ear, she rued the moment she’d opened her mouth. She should have let Dannette cry in peace. If Riley had, she wouldn’t be hip-deep in shower preparations—a torture far worse than any prison interrogator could have devised.

  For the past hour, she’d done her best to organize the party, but just as Dannette had prophesied, the prospect of finding a hall and a caterer was growing impossible.

  “What are you doing?”

  She jumped when a pair of very warm, strong hands fell on her shoulders.

  “Don’t do that!” she gasped when she realized it was Alex who had taken her unaware.

  “Do what?”

  “Sneak up on me.”

  “I didn’t sneak up on you. James and I have been calling to you since we stepped off the elevator.”

  She glanced at the Irishman and grimaced. “Sorry. I suppose I was concentrating.”

  Alex and James exchanged glances. James continued moving into the kitchen, where he began to unpack leafy vegetables from a canvas shopping bag. Alex, to her dismay, perched on the stool beside her.

  “What sort of mischief are you plotting now?”

  “I’m not plotting any sort of mischief,” she said shortly. “Your beloved fiancée has put me in charge of her bridal shower.”

  “Oh, really?” His grin was far too smug. “How did that happen?”

  “Her matron of honor broke her leg, and I somehow volunteered for the job.”

  Alex’s chuckle was very close to a snicker as he looked at James. Then both men laughed even more heartily.

  “So what’s the problem?”

  “I don’t know how to throw a shower,” she said desperately. “Evidently it involves a meeting place, music, food and entertainment.”

  “Ahh.”

  “So far, I haven’t even been able to find a place to hold the event.”

  “You can use the boardroom, if you want.”

  She stared at him. The answer to her problem had been completely obvious and simple, yet she’d completely overlooked it. -

  “I’m sure James could whip up something in the way of food and refreshments.”

  “I’d be delighted.”

  “Really?” she breathed.

  “Sure,” James drawled. “I’ve got a marvelous recipe fer home-brewed beer an’ beanie weenies.”

  She must have looked horrified, because he cracked a crooked smile.

  “I’m jus’ toyin’ with ye. I’ll fix something elegant, don’t ye fret.”

  “What about entertainment?” she asked.

  The men looked at each other consideringly.

  Alex shrugged. “I don’t know what women do at those sorts of parties.”

  “What do men do?”

  Alex reached for her notebook, reading the scrawled lists she’d made.

  “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been to a bachelor party, either. How about you, James?”

  “Ach, my family is a party in’ bunch, and I’ve been t’ my fair share of bachelor send-offs.”

  “So what did they do for fun?” Riley asked, leaning across the counter as if in supplication. “Please. I need an idea of where to start.”

  “Well, in all the parties I attended, there was drinking, darts and a stripper. So I don’t think I’m goin’ t’ be much help t’ ye, either.”

  Riley grimaced, then looked to the phone book for inspiration. Suddenly, as if the words glowed in the dark, she focused on “Male strippers for showers of all types.”

  “Well, well, well,” she murmured to herself as she snatched the notebook from Alex’s hands and jotted down the number.

  “What are you up to?” Alex asked, as he tried to see what she’d written.

  “Don’t you worry. I think I’ve stumbled on the way to make this party as memorable as possible.” She quickly added the address to her notes.

  “Ri-ley,” he drawled in warning.

  But she wasn’t listening. She intended to make these arrangements in person.

  8

  THE CONFERENCE ROOM of Montgomery Industries had been transformed. The mahogany table had been pulled to one side to serve as a buffet, and the rest of the room had been filled with comfortably upholstered chairs and settees brought in from the main lobby. The effect was charming, making the room resemble an elegant sitting room.

  “This is terrific, James!” Riley exclaimed. “Just terrific.”

  The older man beamed. “I’ve laden the table t’ burstin, but if y’ need more, it’s all in the kitchenette through that door.”

  Riley eyed the dozens of salads—pasta, endive, potato, fruit, bean—the crustless sandwiches, puffed pastries, cheeses, meats, rolls and sweets.

  “I think there’s enough here for an army. There are only a dozen women invited.”

  “I didn’t want ye’ t’ be runnin’ out o’ food, and I thought you’d all be wantin’ yer privacy fer the event, so I’m no
t plannin’ t’ stay myself.”

  “Thanks again, James.”

  With a wave of his hand, he disappeared, and Riley was left to wait for her guests to arrive. Soon she heard the distant murmur of voices. Dannette had returned from the airport with her guests.

  “Come here, Riley. I want you to meet everyone.”

  Riley didn’t want to meet them—in fact, she would have preferred making a clean getaway as James had done. But since that option wasn’t open to her, she reluctantly approached the knot of women at the door.

  The moment she caught a good look at the revelers, Riley’s expression rearranged itself in her best blank smile of welcome.

  Damn, she thought, resisting the urge to laugh. Why hadn’t she remembered her own, first impressions of Dannette MarquisDunne? All of the women waiting to be introduced looked as if they’d stepped right out of the society pages. All were slim to the point of being gaunt, severely coiffed and thoughtfully put together. Not one of them slouched—in fact their spines could have been made from identical rods of iron, judging by their posture.

  In an instant, Riley realized she was about to endure the most boring and utterly meaningless conversation in her life. What fun!

  “This is my mother, Mabel MarquisDunne.”

  Riley shook hands with a sour, pinch-lipped woman who had fingers as cold as the ice Riley had been scooping into glasses.

  “This is Aunt Rue.”

  Another dour woman, another cold hand.

  “These are my cousins, Faith, Hope and Charity.”

  Faith, Hope and Charity? Riley thought in amazement, nodding to the cool blond beauties. How very…antebellum.

  “And these are some of my dearest friends—most of them old sorority sisters.”

  The names washed over her in waves, and Riley didn’t even bother to try and remember them. Bitsy, Boopsi, Buffy, Snuffy, Tuffy, Tiffi, Muffy. The monikers sounded like some twisted version of the Seven Dwarfs.

  With Dannette as Snow White?

  And her mother as the evil old witch?

  Oh, yes. This evening was going to be fun, fun, fun.

  Once the introductions had been completed, the group turned to Riley en masse, and she suddenly realized that they were waiting for her to outline the evening’s events.

  “Well…” she began, studying each woman for some sign of a “partying personality,” then finally meeting Dannette’s gaze.

  In that instant, as Riley stared into those cocker spaniel-like eyes, she admitted that she’d probably made a major mistake. Looking at this group, she was sure that the arrival of a male stripper would fly as well as a lead balloon.

  “Food,” she blurted out, swinging a hand toward the buffet table. “I think that we’d better eat first.”

  The women erupted into squeals of delight and descended upon the buffet table with the subtlety of a plague of locusts charging through a grain field. After filling their plates with minuscule portions of the many dishes being offered, they sat down in bunches and began to extol the benefits of their particular diet, exercise and beauty regimens.

  Riley, her plate heaped with her favorite fare, took comfort in the fact that at least the refreshments were an obvious hit. She quickly settled into the only seat available, one that was wedged between Mrs. MarquisDunne and one of the Bible sisters—Faith, Hope or Charity. Riley couldn’t seem to tell them apart. With their big hair, big smiles and big breasts, they could have been triplets.

  In time, as the conversation began to lap over her like a tide, the steady drone of Georgia-peach drawls soothed her like the murmur of bees. Absently, Riley wondered when she was supposed to interrupt the group session for the games. She pressed her lips together, envisioning the response of Dannette’s guests when they were asked to participate in a rather bawdy word game Riley had invented for the “opening of the gifts” ceremony. Then, of course, there was the anticipated arrival of the stripper.

  The stripper.

  Riley was immediately, and painfully, alert. A picture of Alex swam before her eyes, and she could nearly hear him saying, “This time you’ve gone too far. That is my future mother-in-law, Riley.”

  Blinking, Riley stared at Mrs. MarquisDunne. The woman was still as sullen as a stone. How would she react to a stranger taking off his clothes?

  She couldn’t allow a stripper to perform for this blue-blooded gathering! Alex would have her head on a platter.

  “Punch!” Riley blurted out, jumping to her feet. “I’ve forgotten the punch, and I’m sure you’re all thirsty after your travels.”

  “A little something wet would be wonderful, honey pie,” Mabel proclaimed somewhat bitterly.

  Riley couldn’t help staring. Honey pie? In all her travels, in all her brief acquaintances with other folk from the South, Riley had never actually heard someone use the words “honey pie.”

  “I’ll just do that little thing,” she murmured under her breath as she headed to the kitchen in a near run.

  As soon as she’d shut the sliding doors that served as a partition to the main room, she dodged to the phone on the wall. Calling information first, she obtained the number for Perfect Party, then punched the appropriate buttons.

  Ring.

  “Come on, come on,” she whispered, glancing at the wall clock. Only forty-five minutes remained before the stripper’s appointed arrival time.

  Ring.

  Surely someone was there and could get the man a message.

  Ring.

  If not, maybe Riley could get hold of Alex and have him lie in wait for the man at the front door.

  Ring.

  Mabel would have a coronary if the stripper showed up—and Alex would probably be furious with Riley and blame her for the heart attack.

  Ring.

  “Riley?” a voice called from the other room.

  Dannette.

  Ring.

  “Do you need some help?”

  Ring.

  “No, no. I’m fine,” Riley answered, perhaps a little too gaily.

  Ring.

  Blast. No one was going to answer.

  She replaced the receiver just as the door opened and Dannette poked her head around the edge.

  “Are you sure you don’t need any help?”

  “No, no. I’m just filling the punch bowl.”

  Dannette gave her a strange look, then shrugged and returned to the main room.

  Riley wilted in relief, then bounded into action. Punch. Punch. The women needed punch.

  She reached for the large bucketlike containers that held the special brew, and in doing so, she saw the dozen or so bottles of wine stacked neatly in the refrigerator. From there, her eyes darted to the liquor on the counter. James hadn’t been sure what Dannette’s guests would wish to drink, so he’d left a supply of gin, vodka, sherry and bourbon.

  “Vodka? Like anyone here is going to be drinking vodka,” she muttered. Reaching for the phone, she dialed Alex’s number, but the machine answered. “Alex, this is Riley. Help! Please, if you get home before eight, I need you here desperately.”

  “Riley?” Dannette called again from the boardroom.

  “Coming!” Replacing the receiver, she dumped the punch into the bowl, but when the container was only a third full, she stopped, struck by a sudden idea. If she couldn’t change the events of the evening, maybe she could dull them a little.

  Rushing to the refrigerator, she withdrew a bottle of champagne, popped the cork, then pulled the contents into the bright red liquid. After another moment of indecision, she added a splash of vodka, a bit of gin and a touch of bourbon. A quick taste of the concoction assured her that it still could classify as “punch” but there was a definite kick to the concoction. Then, hefting the bowl, she carried it into the boardroom.

  “Here it is. Sorry it took so long, but I had to follow James’s special recipe for champagne punch.” Setting it on the table, she was struck with the thought that there might be a few guests who refrained from imbibing, so she
asked, “Is there anyone here who needs straight punch?”

  No one volunteered, and she beamed at them as if they were particularly bright children. “Wonderful. Wonderful! Why don’t you grab yourselves something to drink, a pastry or two and we’ll have Dannette begin opening the presents.”

  Throwing them her most gracious smile, she returned to the kitchen and punched the redial button. The machine answered again. “Alex, I need you. Hurry.”

  “Riley?”

  Riley slammed the receiver into place and whirled in time to see Dannette slipping through the folding doors and shutting them behind her. Then, to Riley’s infinite surprise, she wilted against the jamb and closed her eyes, tipping her head up as if in supplication.

  “I’d forgotten how incredibly dull my family can be.”

  Riley’s eyes widened in surprise at the unexpected comment, but she didn’t dare respond. After all, what could she say?

  Dannette giggled, winced, then looked at Riley with slightly bleary eyes, her fingers touching her temples. “Do you have any aspirin?”

  “No. Sorry.”

  Straightening, Dannette began rummaging through the cupboards, her posture unsteady. “Well, there must be something here.”

  Riley winced, realizing the woman was already tipsy. Then she abandoned the notion. There hadn’t been that much liquor in the punch.

  Too late, Riley saw the open bottles of vodka, gin and bourbon. Sliding into position, she did her best to hide them from Dannette’s view with her body.

  “Headache?” she asked in need of something to say.

  “Mmm. A doozy—of course it’s my own fault.”

  “Oh?” Riley said when it became apparent Dannette was waiting for a response.

  “I was dreading my mother’s arrival, so I waited in the airport bar.” Her gaze roamed the room and fell on the purses piled on a chair. “Mother will have something.”

  She rummaged through the stack until she found a leather clutch, then delved into the contents. Retrieving a pill case, she crowed in triumph. “Valium. That will work.”

  “Dannette, are you sure you should—”

  “I’ll only take half,” Dannette said, waving aside Riley’s concern. “I’ve got a prescription of the same stuff myself, but I didn’t have a chance to get it filled this week.”