“There y’go, Gussie,” she said cheerfully.
And there went Cydney, his silver-haired pixie, sliding a smile at him over her shoulder as she turned away and held the bowl out to Roylee and Sarah Boyce. This was wrong, damn it. She shouldn’t offer whipped cream to anybody but him, and the second he peeled her out of the luscious lavender lace bra and teeny tiny panties he’d tell her so.
But he never got the chance. Dessert ended and everybody pitched in to put the food away and do the dishes. Louella and Mamie, Sarah and Cloris and her sisters promised to come back tomorrow to finish the great room and help with the decorating.
Georgette thanked them all, sent everyone home with a pumpkin, shut the door, turned around and gave Cydney a high five.
“Fourteen down. One hundred and eleven to go,” she said, then clapped her hands. “Bedtime, everyone. We’ve lots to do tomorrow.”
Gus raced upstairs. He changed the sheets, put clean towels in the bathroom and lit the candles, stripped down to his boxers and emptied the giant-size bag of lingerie on the bed. He spent a heart-pounding forty-five minutes arranging and rearranging the two dozen delectable little ensembles on Aunt Phoebe’s quilt. He paced for another fifteen, jumping at every creak the floor made. He lost count of how many times he flew to the stairs expecting it to be Cydney this time for sure.
At 11:45 he yanked on sweats and socks and a T-shirt and went to get her, hurried down the steps, swung around the corner into the living room and slid to a stop. Georgette and Fletch sat on the hearth in robes and pajamas, roasting giant marshmallows on long barbecue forks over the glowing remnants of the fire Gus had banked and left to die. Where the heck, Gus wondered, was Herb?
“Angus.” Georgette smiled. “Would you like a marshmallow?”
“Sure.” If he could get to the kitchen he had a straight shot up the back stairs to Cydney’s room. “How ‘bout a cup of cocoa to go with it?”
“Cydney’s making some. She couldn’t sleep, either.”
“Really?” Gus’ pulse leaped. “I’ll give her a hand.”
He wheeled toward the swinging door just as she backed through it, a tray with mugs and spoons and a steaming china pot in her hands.
“Oh—hi there, Uncle Gus.”
She blinked at him. If she’d had a free hand, she would’ve plucked her hair; she always did when she was nervous. Why had he spent a bloody fortune on sexy lingerie? She looked alluring as hell in the oversized white terry cloth robe belted over her green-striped pajamas.
“Hi yourself, Uncle Cyd.” He went to her and took the tray, let his fingertips graze her knuckles as he lifted it out of her grasp.
“I tried to get to you,” she whispered. “But Mother and Dad—”
“I’ll try later,” Gus whispered.
“No. Early. In the kitchen so we can talk. Say about—”
“Cydney,” Georgette cut her off. “The marshmallows are burning.”
So was Gus, to touch Cydney, to feel himself inside her. He carried the tray to the hearth and thought about dumping it on Georgette’s head.
“I’m beat.” Cydney gave an exaggerated yawn when she finished her cocoa, curled her arms in a stretch behind her head and caught Gus’ eye. “Think I’ll turn in so I can get up early. The earlier the better. Six-thirty isn’t too early. It’s the early bird that catches the worm, after all.”
“What the hell are you doing?” Georgette looked at her like she’d grown another head. “Speaking in some kind of code?”
“Sorry, Mother. I’m just s-o-o-o tired.” Gus grinned at Cydney and winked, gave her an okay-I-got-it nod. “G’night, all.”
Gus set two alarms so he wouldn’t oversleep. Not that he slept. He turned and twisted and burned all night. At 5:45 he was in the shower, throbbing and groaning at the tortured stirring the warm water raised between his legs. He spread his hands on the tiled wall and wanted to bash his head against it.
He shaved and brushed his teeth, dried his hair and frowned at the cowlick in the front. He should probably get a haircut today, too. He hissed through his teeth as he zipped himself gingerly into a pair of jeans, put on a navy sweater with a thin red stripe in it, socks and his loafers and headed downstairs at 6:17.
He stopped just shy of the swinging door behind the bar to adjust himself and mutter at Clyde to knock it off. When he reached to push the door open, he heard Parrish’s voice in the kitchen and stopped.
“You lied to me and your mother, Bebe. Your Aunt Cydney and Munroe are no more trying to wreck your wedding than lam.”
“But they were, Cramps. I told you on the phone, they were awful to me and Aldo. Just ask Gramma.”
“I asked your grandmother. She and I had a very enlightening conversation late last night in front of the fire.”
So that’s what they were doing, Gus thought. Discussing Bebe.
“Damn smart of you to make your hysterical calls to your mother and me while your grandmother was in Arkansas and I couldn’t reach her by phone. If she’d told me two days ago what she told me last night I wouldn’t have come.”
“But Aunt Cydney and Mr. Munroe knocked it off the second you came. See, I knew they would. I knew the minute you got here—”
“I got my lights punched out and I deserved it. I came here loaded for bear. I believed you—in Munroe’s case because I wanted to—but I should’ve known better about Cydney. I’m ashamed of myself and I’m ashamed of you.”
“But I didn’t do anything!” Bebe wailed, and burst into tears.
“The hell you didn’t. You threw a tantrum because you couldn’t get your way. You made up lies to get even because your aunt and Munroe thwarted you. Does Aldo know you pulled this shit?”
Bebe’s tears snapped off. “Don’t tell him, Gramps. Please.”
“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t. I think he deserves to know what he’s got in store for him the first time he crosses you.”
“I love Aldo, Gramps. I’d never be mean to him. I just got so upset because I couldn’t have things the way I wanted.”
“Nobody gets everything they want just the way they want it. Why the hell d’you think you should? I’ve spent my entire life trying to achieve it, gone through six wives in the process and I still don’t have everything I want just the way I want it. Know why? ‘Cause it’s a perfect state of being and we live in an imperfect world. I wish somebody had explained that to me when I was your age and I’d had the brains to listen. It would have saved me a lot of anger and frustration and a whole lot of money.”
“Oh but Aldo has lots of money. You don’t have to worry—”
“Knock off the dumb bunny routine. It’s a nice little act, though. It’s cut a lot of corners for you, gotten you out of lots of boring little things you don’t want to be bothered with, but nobody who’s as stupid as you pretend to be could outsmart me and your mother at the same time.”
“You won’t tell, will you? It’s my ace in the hole.”
“Depends on how you conduct yourself. Show me you can see past the end of your own nose and I might keep quiet.”
“Promise me, Gramps?”
“Hell no I won’t promise. You got around me once, Bebe. Don’t try it twice. I’m older, craftier and meaner than cat shit if you cross me.”
“Do I have to apologize to everybody on the planet?”
“For what? Only your grandmother and I know what you did. I am going to tell your mother, however, so I advise you not to make any more hysterical phone calls.”
“Oh Gramps, please don’t tell her. If she gets really mad she might not come and I want her here more than anything.”
“You should’ve thought of that before you pulled this. I won’t let Gwen walk in here with a chip on her shoulder like I did. If she decides not to come, tough cookies. It’ll be on you and nobody else.”
“Gimme a chance, Gramps. I’ll be good. I’ll change, I promise I’ll—”
“Oh brother.” Parrish laughed. “If I had a nickel
for every time I told your grandmother I’d change, I wouldn’t have to write like a rabbit in heat to pay her alimony. You remind me of me.”
“That’s why you love me. That’s why I’m your little Bebe-cakes.”
“No, Bebe. That’s why you scare me. Munroe’s nephew may not be the sharpest knife in the drawer but he’s a nice kid and he’s nuts about you. You say you love him. I hope you do, ‘cause I’d hate to see you end up like me with a train wreck for a life.”
“That’s the meanest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
“It’s the most honest thing I’ve ever said to you. Don’t mistake kindness for weakness, Bebe. Now go away so I can drink my coffee.”
Gus ducked out of sight behind the bar as Bebe slammed through the swinging door. The hinges shrieked and the door whacked into the wall. He rose from a crouch as she stormed past him. He watched her cross the living room and stomp up the gallery stairs. A second later a door banged. Gus leaned his arms on the bar and grinned.
“Got yours, little girl.” He turned toward the door, reached for it again and stopped again when he heard another voice in the kitchen. Cydney, this time. She must’ve come through the dining room.
“Morning, Dad.”
“Thank God it’s you,” Parrish replied. “Make me a decent pot of coffee, would you?”
“Sure. Did Bebe make this one?”
“Hell no, I made it. I wouldn’t let my darling granddaughter near anything I plan to eat or drink. Arsenic leaves no trace, you know.”
“Dad,” Cydney said soberly. “I didn’t mean to, but I heard everything you said to Bebe.” Gus heard the tap turn and water run. “Boy, do I feel like a chump. She had me fooled.”
“Bebe had us all fooled. I didn’t realize I’d been manipulated by a master till I got here. I’m damn lucky Munroe only punched me twice.”
“That little bitchy Cydney shrilled, and something slammed hard against the granite countertop. “Do you know what she did?.“
Gus hiked himself up on the countertop behind the bar, leaned the heels of his hands on the edge and listened to Cydney tell Parrish about the codicil to Artie’s will and Bebe punching him in the nose. He’d meant to leave, had turned away, in fact, but changed his mind when he’d heard Cydney screech, “That little bitch!”
“Bebe knew damn good and well what that codicil meant and she was furious because she wasn’t going to get her way,” he heard Cydney seethe through the pass-through. “But she trotted out her dimwit act and got away with slugging Gus and knocking him out. She put him in the hospital, Dad. With a concussion and cracked cartilage in his nose!”
Parrish laughed. Gus grinned. He should be madder than hell, but this was just too rich. If he wrote it in a book no one would believe it.
“Dad,” Cydney snapped indignantly. “This is not funny.”
“Yes it is, honey.” Parrish chuckled. “Isn’t it, Munroe?”
Gus had been happily swinging his feet but froze, caught.
“Oh, c’mon in here,” Parrish called. “I know you’re out there.”
The has-been didn’t sound angry. Cydney didn’t look angry, either, just surprised to see him when he pushed through the swinging door. She stood against the counter with her arms folded, the granite top strewn with coffee grounds. That’s what she’d slammed, the basket of the Krups machine.
“How’d you know I was out there?” Gus asked Parrish.
“The bird and the worm and six-thirty isn’t too early gave it away.” Cydney flushed and plucked at her hair. “I didn’t intend to get in your way. I came down for coffee and Bebe followed me. I take it you heard my conversation with her, too?”
“Every word,” Gus admitted. “She’s a piece of work.”
“How angry are you?” Cydney asked, biting her lip.
“Not at all.” Gus grinned and ruffled a hand through his hair. “I should be but this is just too good.” He met Parrish’s gaze, saw the grin on his face and the laughter in his eyes. “Guess we’re even, huh?”
“Thanks to my Machiavellian little granddaughter, yes, we’re even.” Parrish slid off his stool and offered his hand. “I apologize for the ‘no-talent pretty boy.’ “
“Sorry about the ‘has-been.’ “Gus stepped toward him and shook his hand. “I own all your books in hardcover.”
“Same here.” Fletch winked. “Gotta keep up with the competition.”
“All righty, gents.” Cydney clapped her hands, a bright but quivery smile on her face. “What’ll it be for breakfast?”
“French toast,” Gus and Parrish said together. “It’s my favorite,” Fletch said. “Mine, too,” Gus replied, and swung himself onto a stool.
What a love fest, his inner voice said. I’m gagging here, Munroe.
“And the mistress of French toast is here to prepare it.” Georgette breezed into the kitchen from the hallway, with Herb behind her. “Fry sausage, Cydney,” she said, nudging her aside at the stove. “Kindly cut the grapefruit, Herbert. Angus, set the table. And Fletch, stay on that stool and out of my way.”
“Well, I like that. Just when I was about to offer to take you back.”
Georgette swung a look at him over her shoulder, Aunt Phoebe’s king-size cast-iron skillet in her hand. “For my French toast, of course.”
“Absolutely.” Parrish slid her a wicked smile and twisted a cigarette into his gold holder. “What other reason could I possibly have?”
Georgette glared at him, but her eyes twinkled as she banged the skillet on the front burner. “You’re a wretch, Fletch.”
“You’re a poet, George.”
They laughed at each other across the kitchen, trading a look that didn’t quite strike sparks but came close. Cydney and Herb popped out of the fridge side by side, Herb clutching four fat, red grapefruit; Cydney a package of sausage on top of the butter dish, a dozen eggs and a half gallon of milk, an uh-oh pucker between her brows. Gus folded his arms on the island and smiled. This was getting fun again.
Cydney scurried toward the stove, splitting a what’s-going-on-here look between her parents. Herb plunked a cutting board on the far end of the island and a grapefruit on top of it. Fletch lit his cigarette, inhaled and blew smoke. Herb waved a hand in front of his face.
“Must you smoke in here?”
“Sorry.” Fletch slid off his stool. “Call me when breakfast’s ready.”
He pushed through the swinging door, a thin, blue curl trailing behind him. Herb watched him go, picked up a cleaver and whacked the grapefruit in half, hard enough to squirt juice in Gus’ eye.
“Oops. Sorry, Gus.”
“It’s okay, Herb.” He rubbed his stinging right eye and took himself out of the line of fire to set the table.
When Fletch came back he had Aldo with him. “Look who I found,” he said. “The handsome groom.”
“And where’s the beautiful bride?” Georgette asked, a razor-thin edge in her voice as she put a platter of French toast on the table.
“She’s got a headache. Bride nerves, she said, whatever that is.” Aldo shrugged and grinned. “I offered to take her breakfast, but she said she wasn’t hungry and I could have hers.”
Georgette slid a look at Fletch, and Cydney one at Gus that said, “What do we tell this poor dumb schmuck nephew of yours?” He gave her a nothing-yet shake of his head and sat down at the table.
“Aldo tells me the two of you are off to buy tuxedos today,” Fletch said to him halfway through breakfast. “Mind if I tag along?”
“Not a bit.” Gus sipped his coffee. “How ‘bout it, Herb? You game?”
“No thanks, Gus.” He lifted Georgette’s hand from her lap and kissed her fingers. “I’ll stay here and be muscle for the ladies.”
Georgette smiled at Herb. Fletch frowned. Cydney bit worriedly at her bottom lip. Gus wiped his mouth with his napkin to hide the grin on his face. Aldo kept on eating, his share and Bebe’s and then some.
He was still eating when Louella and Mamie and Sara
h and Cloris and her sisters arrived and trooped into the kitchen for a cup of coffee. Everyone got a laugh out of him following his plate in Georgette’s hand toward the sink, still wiping up the last bit of syrup on the last piece of French toast and forking it into his mouth.
It was possible that Aldo was fully aware of Bebe’s modus operandi and saw nothing wrong with it, although Gus hoped not. He’d hate to have to kill his nephew four days before his wedding. If Aldo were truly clueless, and Gus bet he was, then the question was how much and who best to tell him. He hoped Parrish had a reason for tagging along on the tux trip, because he really didn’t want to be the one. Aldo wouldn’t believe him, anyway. Gus wasn’t sure he’d believe anyone.
They left for Springfield, where Gus figured they’d find a better selection of tuxedos, right after breakfast in his red extended cab Ford 4×4. Jags were ho-hum, Fletch claimed, and it had been years since he’d ridden in a pickup. He spent the trip telling Gus how to drive and asking Aldo about his studies and his plans for the future.
They did the tuxedo thing first at a specialty store in the Battlefield Mall. Time he bought himself a new monkey suit, too, Fletch said. Aldo cracked up at the phrase, which he’d never heard. Parrish made a big deal out of Aldo, said how proud he was to have him as his grandson-in-law It made Aldo flush, and it made his eyes shine. As soon as the salesman found out his customer was Fletcher Parrish, they were fitted at the speed of light and told their tuxedos would be ready at 3 P.M.
Next stop the barbershop. Gus choked up watching Aldo’s mane come off, revealing the strong line of his jaw and the cords of muscle in his neck. It reminded him of the first time he’d taken his nephew for a haircut, especially when the barber finished and Aldo swept one long tendril off the floor.
“To save for Beebs,” he said, and Gus had to wipe his eyes.
Aunt Phoebe had wiped her eyes, too, when she’d plucked a white-blond curl off the barber’s chair to press into the baby book Beth had started for her son.
Fletch offered to buy lunch. “But no mall food,” he insisted, and he insisted on driving in their search for a suitable restaurant. God, what a riot. Little bantam rooster man versus the big-ass truck. Gus practically had to lift him up behind the wheel. Aldo gave him a bright blue Kansas City Royals baseball cap. Fletch grinned, put it on backwards, and off they went, gears grinding, clutch squealing and dual exhausts belching.
Mother of the Bride Page 29
