by Laura Briggs
"It's great," Gwendolen called back. Yes, they were only twenty feet in the air, but her heart had plummeted to the bottom of her stomach. No doubt in an attempt to escape this contraption. She tightened her fingers around the basket's rope trim until her knuckles were white.
"Are you okay?" Ryan asked. The wind swept his hair back from his face as he surveyed the field and trees in the countryside below.
She shook her head. "Nope." Drawing away from the side, she bumped into him. Automatically, she buried her face in his shirt, her hands pressed tightly around her eyes.
"Afraid of heights?" he asked.
She nodded without lifting her head. "A little. I'm not exactly comfortable with being off the ground. It's cold, it's windy, and it's kind of far to fall." Her voice was muffled in the folds of his shirt, where she inhaled the faint scent of aftershave and coffee.
The same scent wafted from the coat he wrapped around her, an overstuffed blue parka. She felt his hands rest lightly on the fabric, the only thing separating his touch from her shoulders.
"Good thing I still had my ski jacket in my trunk," he said. "Otherwise, you'd be freezing." He rubbed the back of her coat lightly. "Do you usually do things this crazy when you plan weddings?"
She laughed. "You'd be surprised what I do sometimes. Clients have all kinds of wild ideas." She lifted her face, giving him a quick look. "Not that I'm saying the balloon idea is crazy."
"It's all right," he said. "It's a little different, I know. Not exactly what I had in mind when I told Julie we should skip the limo."
Gwendolen brushed the hair from her face. "It's not the craziest thing I've ever arranged. I've scheduled trapeze artists, performing monkeys. Even a boa constrictor once." She giggled, then wrapped her fingers around the balloon's ropes to steady herself as she swayed away from him.
Ryan grabbed her arm. "Steady, there. I know wedding planners lead adventurous lives, but you don't want to live too dangerously by taking a tumble." He kept his hand on her arm as he moved her towards the center again. "So, do you think this idea is going to work. I mean, a balloon departure from a country club course?"
"Why not? You're only planning to travel a few hundred yards anyway." She stared at the sky, avoiding looking towards the ground. "It's a romantic idea, really. Soaring over the crowd, just the two of you. Nothing but clouds and sky and green." Pulling the parka close around herself, she inhaled the subtle taste of Ryan's skin. Indulging in a moment she knew she should avoid for her heart's sake.
"It could be," Ryan answered. "Trouble is, it gets lumped in with all the other things. The cakes covered in flowers, the hundreds of bags of birdseed, all the hours of planning and arguing." He released a deep breath as he moved towards the edge, staring at the ground below.
"All the hurt feelings," Gwen said. Guessing what was on his mind. "The wedding process tends to take it out of the couples involved. Believe me, I've seen it all–and sometimes it's not pretty."
"Did they all live happily ever after?" he asked. Meeting her eyes with a teasing glance. "Do they come out of that wedding war zone intact?" Despite his tone, she saw something serious in his eyes.
"Some do," she answered. "More than statistics would have you believe." She succeeded in breaking away from those dark eyes after a long moment.
The balloon lurched suddenly in a crosswind, causing Gwendolen to stumble. She fell to her knees, crouching there with her fingers clutching the spare sandbags tucked inside.
"I think we're ready to come down," she shouted, hoping the balloon operator would pull them down by the safety rope. Or give them instructions to turn this thing off somehow, anything to get out of here.
"Okay," he called back. "Just roll that ladder down the side of the basket and I'll be up in a jiffy."
"Roll him the ladder," Gwendolen moaned. Ryan reached for the rope ladder coiled along one side of the basket. He flipped it over the edge, where it snaked its way towards the ground. There was a strange ripping sound as the ladder's knots burst free of the side and tumbled to the ground below.
"Uh oh." Ryan's tone forced her to look up from her concentrated stare on the floor of the basket.
"What?" she said. Then swiftly glanced at the side of the basket. "Oh, no." Her breath escaped in a soft moan. "What should we do?" she shouted. There was a long moment's silence from below.
"It could be a few minutes," the balloon operator called back. Gwendolen felt her hands tremble, a nervous tingle invading her mouth. Only this time not from the close proximity of Ryan, who was kneeling next to her now.
No doubt about it–this was going to be the longest few minutes of her life.
*****
The table was piled with thousands of tiny birdseed sacks wrapped with red ribbons. This was something Gwendolen was used to as an assistant, but not as a wedding planner, buttoned into a sleek party dress and seated at a table with clients whose income outnumbered hers by six digits.
"I can't believe I've never done this before, this is so much fun," said Julie, tying an artful little bow on her latest sack.
"Sure is," Gwen replied, her voice a trifle too chirpy. She wondered how Julie would feel if she were forced to tie thousands of these at a time, instead of a few dozen in between classes and academic meetings.
"All of my friends always hired people to do busy work for their weddings," she confided to Gwen. "You know, licking envelopes, picking out bridesmaid gifts, that kind of stuff."
"Speaking of bridesmaids, the restaurant called to confirm your bridal shower." This from Katy, who was Julie's maid of honor. A plump girl in jeans and a tank top, she and Julie had spent most of the latter's free time pouring over issues of Vogue on the hotel suite's sofa.
"I hope I don't get any of those icky lace nightgowns," Julie moaned. "Somebody please think spa membership." She added another bag to the pile of twenty or so at her elbow.
Gwendolen's pile was twice that size, spilling onto the menu for tonight's rehearsal dinner. She had spent the better part of the morning on the phone with the caterer, begging for a last-minute goose pate as requested by Mrs. Harlett.
The heartbreaking announcement that the stuffed mushroom order had been dropped had kept her client near tears until she consoled her with news that pat a choux puffs had been arranged instead.
Exhausting, emotional, and almost life-threatening. Was this what Grace Taylor endured on a regular basis?
"Have you written up the rules for Ryan's bachelor party yet?" Katy teased her friend.
Julie rolled her eyes. "Not since the stupid thing got cancelled. Although that's way better than the alternative. Some icky arcade joint where twelve year-olds have their birthday parties."
"Ryan's bachelor party got cancelled?" Gwen interrupted. Heat washed over her along with the realization of what she'd said. "I mean, there's no bachelor party for the groom?"
Katy shrugged. "Dave quit, you know, to go on vacation; he was the one arranging it. Steve's the new best man, but he won't be in town until the night before the wedding."
"It doesn't matter," said Julie. "It was just a hangout night for Ryan and his buddies. He can just spend the evening with me instead. We'll go furniture shopping, maybe." She trimmed the ribbon's end with a pair of scissors.
Keep it to yourself, Gwendolen. Just keep it to yourself. She repeated this mentally as she added another birdseed bag to the pile. It wasn't any of her business whether Ryan celebrated his wedding with his friends or not. It was Julie's business and clearly it wasn't bothering her.
"Special delivery," Mrs. Harlett trilled, flourishing a plastic garment bag as she entered. "Guess whose couture gown just arrived?"
With a squeal, Julie scrambled from her seat and grabbed it. "I can't believe it's here!" She pulled off the plastic cover, revealing a slim, white evening dress studded with sequins and pearl beads. It was delicate, beautiful, and obviously expensive.
"Keep it covered until the wedding day," Katy scolded her. "I mean, w
hat if you get makeup on it before the ceremony?"
"I know, I know," Julie answered. "I'll be keeping it in the suite under the watchful eye of Ms. Grace Taylor." She cast a beaming smile in the direction of Gwendolen, whose eyes widened slightly.
Her? In charge of a gown that expensive? In her years of experience, nothing that costly had ever been her responsibility. It was the unwritten rule of the Taylor agency that the gowns passed only through Ms. Taylor's hands.
"Just keep the suite door locked during the dinner party and everything will be fine," said Mrs. Harlett. "Do you have the list of confirmations, Ms. Taylor? If so, we need to add an extra name. Just a teensy change, since Julie's cousin has decided to come after all..." Her voice droned on as she flipped through the seating chart for the rehearsal dinner.
The wedding dress was draped over the back of a chair, its fabric shining beneath the plastic cover. Gwendolen ran a finger over the transparent surface, imagining the silky feel of the satin beneath.
What would it be like to wear a dress like this? To have someone love you so deeply that they wanted to see you walk down the aisle in satin and a lace veil? She glanced towards Julie, who was chatting with Katy about bouquets as she shouldered her bag for class.
"Julie, come with me to the dining room before you go," said Mrs. Harlett, waving the seating plan for the dinner party. Rolling her eyes, her daughter trailed after her, her maid of honor in tow. Gwen let go of the garment bag and grabbed the menu selection from the table, doing her best to shift her thoughts to something else.
Keeping the dress safe. That was her job, not worrying about the feelings of the parties involved. With her mouth drawn in a firm line, Gwen followed her clients from the room, making sure to close the door behind her. One last glimpse of the white gown, then the door was closed and locked.
Made safe by the capable work of Ms. Grace Taylor. Even if she was a thousand miles away. Or at least that's what Gwendolen was hoping as she bypassed the broken elevator and climbed the stairs two at a time to the Perfect Vows office.
Tugging her sweater into place, she checked her reflection in the glass door. Her figure looked bulky with the party dress concealed beneath the blue cardigan and patterned skirt. She turned the knob and opened the door, offering a smile to the harassed secretary who was sorting through fabric samples.
"You're late again," Joan reminded her. "The pet ring bearer service called to reschedule their demonstration. I left a memo on your desk, since Ms. Taylor wanted it taken care of before she got back."
She flicked aside a satin sample and glanced at Gwendolen. Who kept her eyes averted as she slid behind her desk.
"I heard from our prestigious boss this morning."
Gwen's head snapped up at the words. "Really? How is she?" Her heart beat a rhythm of panic beneath her sweater.
"Swathed in bandages, sipping cleansing teas, and feeling cranky. So almost normal, except for the bandages," Joan answered. "I'm betting she changes hair shades before she comes back, too."
Gwendolen breathed a sigh of relief. "Good," she answered. She missed the perplexed stare on Joan's face as she turned her attention to the memos on her desk.
*****
Guests in formal attire streamed through the doors of Pointe Hotel's dining room. Stationed in the entryway was Gwendolen, her sweater gone to reveal the lavender cocktail dress beneath.
She craned her neck at the approach of each guest, afraid that she would recognize a face in the crowd. Her clients had told everyone that Grace Taylor was planning their wedding, so if any friends or former clients of the agency were here...She didn't let herself think too hard about it.
"Are you Julie's wedding planner?" A heavyset woman squeezed her hand. "I'm her aunt, Lois Hayferd. Of the Connecticut Hayferds." She added the last part with emphasis. "Julie's been telling me how impressed she is with you. You're so ... focused. And capable."
"Thank you," Gwen answered. "It's been an experience, I assure you." She tried to draw away from Aunt Lois's grip as the woman's costly rings dug into her knuckles.
A younger woman joined them, surveying Gwendolen coolly. "So what are the rates for your agency?" she asked, parting her lips in a polite smile. "I'm planning a spring wedding. If Julie's goes well, then I would consider hiring you."
She made it sound like a privilege instead of a business transaction, but Lois seemed impressed. "Wouldn't that be nice? The premiere wedding of the season paired with the premiere planner in the city." She patted Gwendolen's arm. "Such a nice addition to your firm."
"Isn't it, though?" Gwen's smile was frozen in place, a trifle too pleasant, perhaps. Even with the success and reputation of Grace Taylor, there was still a line drawn, apparently, between client and planner.
In a room full of city elites like the Harlett's extended family, she felt very small and insignificant. Glancing around for a friendly face, she saw nothing but pursed lips in expensive lipstick and silk ties pinned with diamond studs.
"Isn't that a lovely dress." Mrs. Harlett joined her after weaving through circles of pre-dinner conversation. She skirted to avoid the flower girl, a diminutive eight-year old smeared in chocolates from the appetizer table. "I see you met Julie's cousin Margery a few minutes ago. She was the last-minute addition to the party–engaged to a state representative last week."
"I see," Gwendolen answered. "I haven't met any of the groom's family yet. Are they here?" Her eyes wandered in the direction of Ryan and Julie, who were posing for a photo. Ryan's arm was draped around his fiancé’s shoulders, her fingers twisting a piece of her hair into a mock curl.
"Ryan doesn't have much family," Mrs. Harlett answered. "And his friends ... well, you know. Technology people tend to be the video game crowd, not the black tie types." A sad little smile crossed her face. "I guess you could say we're his family now."
"I see." Gwen tried to keep the note of sympathy from her voice. She watched as Ryan intertwined his fingers with Julie's, only to have her pulled away for a bridal party photograph by her friend Katy.
Beneath the crystal chandelier, the caterers served sliced pheasant and duck to the guests assembled around the dining room table. An elegant occasion like this was something Gwendolen had only imagined when she booked restaurants and caterers on behalf of the agency. But tonight she was here, in a beautiful dress, surrounded by the upper crust. Everything was perfect, down to the pecan-crusted cheesecake served for dessert.
Her phone beeped with a text message from the agency. She discreetly pushed her chair back and made her way out of the dining room, searching for the phone wedged between makeup and nail polish.
No doubt Joan was reminding her that tomorrow morning was the scheduled pick-up for Grace Taylor's scented soaps, imported once a month from a cosmetic company in Sweden. Maybe if she called and pleaded, she could reschedule it for ten o' clock, giving her time to finish meeting the caterer with Mrs. Harlett.
Upstairs she could have privacy for a phone call, without worrying about someone overhearing her begging a supposed employee for help. Her fingers closed around the key in the bag, preparing to unlock the suite's door. Until she noticed the door was already ajar.
Julie must have come back at some point and left the door unlocked. That was what raced through Gwendolen's brain as she pushed the door the rest of the way open, praying that nothing had happened during that time.
The dress was still draped across the chair. The plastic cover had been pulled back, the white fabric beneath it garnished with chocolate fingerprints that brought the wedding's flower girl to mind instantly.
Oh, no, no, no. What would they say when they saw this? It didn't matter that she had locked the door before she left: she was the wedding planner, the person they could easily claim should have double-checked the door before the guests arrived.
Worse yet would be the damage to the firm. It wasn't Gwendolen Lynch, hapless assistant who ruined the dress–it was Grace Taylor, elite wedding planner. If the
dress was ruined, word of this disaster would circulate back to the office in no time. And Taylor would be merciless when she learned the truth about the affair.
Blood pounded in her ears as she gathered the dress up. No one but her knew about this–yet. If she hurried, she could still save the dress before they had time to panic. Checking her watch, she calculated the time. Less than an hour, but she could make it.
She raced down the stairs, feeling her shoes wobble in the carpet and the plastic garment bag billow behind her like a transparent cape. Stumbling to a halt just outside the dining room door, she pressed herself against the wall and peered inside the room. Mrs. Harlett and Julie were still deep in conversation, too deep to notice she had disappeared.
"Hey, what are you doing out here?"
She whirled around to see Ryan emerge from the hotel kitchen, carrying a bottle of wine. "Do they need a second bottle?" He stared at her as she clutched her chest, feeling relief that no scream escaped when he startled her.
"Are you okay?" he asked, his brows drawn down with concern. Her mind raced for an answer, but only one thing came to mind. Ryan had a car.
"Give me your keys," she whispered. As confusion appeared on his face, she added, "Please. I need to borrow your car. It's an emergency."
The smile vanished. "Sure," he answered. He slipped a hand into his pocket and pulled out a keychain. As she grabbed them, he held onto them for a moment.
"What's wrong?" he whispered.
She hesitated. "I have to take the dress to the cleaners. Now." She looked away, feeling tears of panic gather beneath her lashes. "Somehow, someone got into the suite earlier and there's chocolate stains all over the fabric. If Julie sees it–"
Ryan sucked in his breath as he glanced at the garment bag on her arm, the brown spots visible through the plastic cover. "Yeah," he said. "I see what you mean." He shifted the bottle in his hand, silent as the sound of laughter echoed from the dining room.
"Wait here," he said. He ducked through the door and disappeared from sight.
Checking her watch, she tapped her foot impatiently, imagining the cleaners closing early. Winston's Dry Cleaners would be the best, but they were almost twelve blocks from here. Anderson's was closer, but if she wanted to use the agency's account instead of her almost-maxed-out credit card, they weren't a possibility.
