Driving in Neutral (13 page)

Olivia stuck out her tongue. “Oh, blech. No, I don’t want to kill you. So much for having a relaxing soak in that incredible tub, but it’s fine. It’s fine. I can take a bath anytime.”

“You so totally rock.”

Olivia nodded. “I know.”

A funny sound came out of Ella’s nose when she caught sight of Suzanne and Justine climbing the grand staircase. “Huhng, Mimi I get, but whatever possessed me to ask those two to be my bridesmaids?” She gazed at Olivia with a strange, bewildered half-smile.

“You said something about how the complexion and hair color variation would make you look like you were framed by the Three Graces.”

“Did I really say that?”

“Yup.”

“Justine?
One of the Three Graces
? What the hell was I thinking? I take your bathtub away and…Justine. What have I done to you? I am so, so sorry.” Ella said behind the fingers at her mouth.

“Hey, I willingly made myself your doormat and if I can handle you wiping your feet, I can deal with Justine. Can you?”

“Maybe the question should be, can Justine handle me?”

Olivia leaned close. “You’re not going to give her a choice.” With a laugh, she left Ella with Suzanne and Justine. In seconds, the women squealed and jumped up and down, shouting, ‘
Ohmigahhhhhd
!’

By the time Olivia reached the landing, Pete, Craig and groomsman Martin—a Clive Owen doppelganger, only without the British accent or charm—stood at the bottom of the staircase amid a collection of suitcases. They did a pantomime of the gushing women upstairs. Three men bounced and pretended to cry, hugging, fanning their fingers over their eyes like contestants in a drag queen beauty pageant. When she set foot on the last step, they grabbed her and began to air kiss and hug her the same way the ladies had, adding piggy snorts and squeals.

Once she’d escaped their clutches, she headed for the kitchen. The catering company had already delivered an array of sandwiches and salads for lunch. Olivia helped Vivian, Craig, and a perspiring redheaded caterer organize and store the food, filling the two huge stainless steel refrigerators and ferrying hors d’oeuvres and drinks to the patio just outside the kitchen. Preparations ceased for a moment when a good old-fashioned
yee-ha
announced the arrival of Mimi and her husband, Tex.

The couple dealt in antiques in New Mexico and Tex lived up to his cowboy name. He had a suitcase under each arm, a white Stetson on his head, and a spiffy pair of tan rodeo boots—
shit kickers
as he called them—poking out from his sharply pressed jeans. Mimi, several inches taller than her cowboy husband, was all earthy Santa Fe style. Her flounced red peasant skirt and an off-the-shoulder white top were accessorized by a silver and turquoise studded conch belt. The tinkling silver charm bracelets on her wrists and dangling silver earrings complemented her belt perfectly. Every part of her jingled.

There was a moment’s square dance around luggage and juggling of food trays as the couple greeted Olivia and met Vivian. Then the
ching ching ching
of Western jewelry faded as Mimi and Tex followed Craig up to their room.

As the guests settled, Olivia and Vivian got back to work. They moved several large potted plants from the sunny terrace and swept away semi circles of potting mix. Twenty minutes later, hot and sweaty from the outdoor heat, the table on the patio was nearly ready for lunch. Olivia moved in and out of the house with the last few things, ferrying plates, glasses and condiments from the kitchen to the table. When she was inside for the basket of forks and knives, the high-pitched laughter of Pete’s son carried in from outside. Through an open kitchen window, she caught sight of Ella, Craig, Owen and Kim, Pete’s wife. Kim glared at the groom. “Like hell I will, Ella,” she said over three-year-old Owen’s squealing.

Olivia shook her head and wondered what Ella had said or done or demanded to piss off her sister-in-law.

Kim put her hands on her hips. “It doesn’t matter what you think—Owen, stop running on the terrace—I’m not having anything to do with it. You’re going to look like idiots when it all falls down and—Owen! I said
quit running on the terrace
!”

Motherly hands grabbed the little boy just before he launched himself headfirst into his godfather’s balls. Emerson dropped his phone into his pocket before Ella saw it and stepped onto the patio. Pleased his nuts had avoided injury he crouched low and stuck his arms out for the kid. “Hey, do I need to get my old soccer referee’s whistle? Does someone here need a time out?”

Owen made a
beep-beep-beep
noise and threw himself into his godfather’s embrace. Kim watched her son loop his arms around Emerson’s neck. Her mouth twitched for a moment as she glanced at Pete. “Owen doesn’t need a time out, but I’m not so sure about Pete, Ella, and Craig. They’ve come up with all these screwball plans for this wedding.”

“Well, it is
my
wedding.”

Owen climbed over Emerson’s shoulder. “’Tato sack!” the kid demanded.

Rising, Emerson took hold of the child’s tiny feet and held him upside down for a moment. “Sack of potatoes for sale!” he bellowed, gently swinging Owen over one shoulder. “What is it now, Kim,” he asked over the little boy’s high-pitched giggling. “What do you want now, Ella?”

Kim crossed her arms and shot a dagger-laced look at Craig. “Why don’t you ask your cousin Craig?”

Hands up, Craig said, “Don’t ask me anything. I just do as I’m told to keep the bride happy.”

“Yes,” Ella scowled. “See that you
all
keep me happy, but now is not the time to discuss it, Kim.”

“That’s fine with me,” Kim said, her gaze sliding to Emerson, “because I don’t want to discuss it at all.”

“Are you back on the thing about building the self-contained guesthouse for your mother-in-law, Craig?” Emerson grinned good-naturedly. “By the way, Kim, how
was
Tennessee? Have fun with your mother?”

Kim stuck out her pink tongue, her smooth, dark face luminous in the afternoon sun. “Hello, Olivia! I’ll give you a hand with that.”

“Thanks, Kim.” Olivia let her take the basket of flatware.

Emerson hoisted Owen to his other shoulder, his eyes on Olivia. She’d materialized out of nowhere. Her hair was a mess, her face a sweaty, pretty pink and he got a peculiar fizzy sensation in his chest looking at all that pretty messy pink sweatiness. “Get your sack of potatoes for fifty cents!” he bellowed like a hot dog vendor at a baseball game, only his voice sounded fizzy in his ears.

Owen giggled with delight and shouted, “Airplane, airplane!”

Emerson lifted the boy to chest height and began making a sputtering sound, moving forward and picking up speed as he bounced to simulate take off. A second later, the child nearly fell from his grasp when Olivia stretched across the patio table to hand Kim a stack of plates. The action hitched up her shorts and displayed the lower curve of her bottom provocatively. Emerson’s sputtering vocalization took on a slightly different quality as the fizz moved up into his throat.

Owen screeched cheerily, the high pitch of the noise akin to a squealing loose fan belt to Olivia’s ears. She turned back to the house ready to fetch the napkins she’d left inside, but sort of got sidetracked by Maxwell’s movements. Her eyes drifted to his thighs. The fan belt squeal faded and she was transfixed by muscle tone, by the contrast of a tan and the dark fabric of navy shorts and a missing knee brace. She stared at Maxwell until an elbow nudged her and Ella’s little grin told her she’d been busted gazing at a man’s crotch.

Then the phone buzzed and Ella’s amusement faded, her glare caustic. The phone’s owner repositioned Owen, shifting the child under his arm to answer the call and explode first, swearing into the cell phone. Apoplectic, Ella began to swear too, her nostrils flaring. “First Martin says he’s coming stag and then he shows up with a
girl
after we’ve given the final numbers to the caterer and now this! Emerson, Ah’m gonna tear off your balls an—”

“Ella,” Olivia stepped in front of her. “Give the man a chance. He just got here. He hasn’t even been up to his room yet.”

“But he’s got a
phone
!”

“Ella. Breathe. Count to five and breathe. Take a moment and then let’s go upstairs and show Kim and the girls your dress.”

As she inhaled, slowly and steadily, Ella’s face lost the pinched magnolia blossom look and the moment passed. The women gathered around her and they left the patio as Maxwell barked an obscenity-laced tirade into his phone.

Owen, riding piggy-back with his little brown arms around his godfather’s neck, repeated every foul word he heard.

Jason, a dark-haired version of his older bridegroom brother, stepped onto the patio with bottles of beer and soda pop on a tray. He set them down next to Tex and took a seat at the table where Craig and Pete had already staked their claim beside Al, who was reading. There was another book on the table beside his plate.

Tex lifted the cover and plucked up olives from the last platter Olivia placed on the table. “Damn, I’m starvin’. When can we eat the real food?” he said, olives crowding the space in his mouth. “Where are the women folk?” He tossed pits over the edge of the patio.

“Yeah. Martin went to change and Emerson’s moving the Jeep, but where are the girls, Olivia?” Jason asked. “How come you’re the only female down here? Where’d Kim go?”

“She’s inside feeding Owen.”

“So are the other girls involved in some kind of weird bulimic bridesmaid ritual or something?” Jason rubbed his stomach.

Pete yawned. “They’d have to eat first for any bulimia to happen.”

“Well,” Tex said, “they can starve themselves all they want, but I’m wasting away here.”

“They’re probably still
oohing
and
ahhing
over Ella’s wedding gown. I’ll go get them.” Olivia went through the kitchen and up the back stairs that had originally been used by household servants. She was midway down the hallway upstairs when Mimi came out of her room.

“There’s a Biedermeier desk in my room worth ten thousand!” she drawled. “The furniture in this place is amazing. I bet Tex is walking around downstairs with dollar signs in his eyes.”

“Actually he’s outside on the terrace waiting for lunch with olives in his mouth, but tell him there’s a Louis the Sixteenth marquetry secretaire in the petite salon downstairs.”

“
Oo-wee
,” Mimi gave her skirt an excited flounce. Her silver jewelry tinkled along with her laugh as she ran down the steps.

The door to Ella’s suite was wide open. Olivia saw the mess before she even entered the room. Justine, Suzanne, and a young woman who was Martin’s unexpected weekend companion, hadn’t just looked at Ella’s clothes. They’d tried everything on. Shoes, make-up, the wedding gown and going away suit, the dress for tonight’s cocktail party and tomorrow’s rehearsal dinner, plus every outfit for the weekend lay in cloth puddles around the room, strewn on the bed, draped over the arm of a Queen Anne chair, hanging off door knobs.

Distraught, Ella wandered about the jumbled room, her hands as unsettled as the expressions on her face.

Suzanne perched on the bed, chewing gum, painting her toes with nail polish she’d taken from the dressing room.

Martin’s weekend date, an athletic, young, all-American blonde, wore Ella’s half-carat engagement ring on her outstretched hand.

Justine primped in front of the gilt mirror near the window.

Ella had probably been excited to show the women her trousseau, but the chaos around threw a shadow on her lovely face. She moved from folding a blouse, to looking for a hanger, to picking up a pair of shoes without completing a task.

Olivia shook her head. To avoid any disintegration into nutso-bride Ella needed a strong sense of order this weekend.

Justine said, her voice breathy, “Did I mention my sixteen-year-old niece has a shirt similar to yours, Olivia? She’s a dancer and the chimp on hers is dancing. Shouldn’t your monkey be driving a racing car?”

“I only ever found this one riding a motorcycle.”

“Hmph. Well, it suits you…and all that dirt you’ve accessorized it with.” If cotton candy had a sound, it would have spun out exactly like Justine’s titter.

The blonde turned her attention from the diamond, her blue eyes passing over Olivia. “Oh. Hi. I’m Addie,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “Sorry I won’t shake hands. You’ve got crap all over you.”

Olivia looked down at her hands. She’d washed them before she put out the food and they weren’t dirty. She crossed to the gilt mirror above the fireplace and had a look at herself. Face flushed and shiny with sweat, her hair had come out of her ponytail to cling to her hot, damp neck. Potting mix was smudged on her chin. Dark patches of wet pink made crescent moons beneath her breasts, just above the biker monkey on her shirt, and she smelled like an odd mixture of perspiration, lavender, and the insecticide she’d used to murder a nest of ants on the terrace.

Young Addie had that Cover Girl advertisement appeal. Suzanne and Justine looked like fresh-picked summer bouquets. Even fretful Ella was still radiant with bride-to-be anticipation. Right then, Olivia felt every inch of her grime and there was a part of her that wanted to saunter over to Justine, grab her face and shove her nose into a sweaty armpit, just to shake up her flawlessness with some coarse slumber party behavior. She wished she could belch or fart on demand because that would have really upped the ante on crass. Instead, she sighed, took a breath and said, “I just wanted to let you know the boys are waiting and lunch is ready.”

“Oh, thank God!” Suzanne said, screwing the top on the nail polish and tossing the bottle on the bed.

“Just go on down and start.” Olivia pulled a dry leaf from her hair. “Don’t wait for me. I’ve got to wash up.”

“Good idea,” Justine sighed. “Make sure you scrub off that pink bubblegum stuck near your mouth.”

Ella inhaled sharply. “Jesus Christ, Justine!”

Suzanne shook her head. “Oh, Justy…”

“What?” Addie was fascinated. “What is it? What did I miss?”

“Uh-oh, my bad.” Justine held a hand over her mouth to conceal the catty smile everyone had already seen. “I am
sorry
,” she said, the words all airy and light. “That’s the thing isn’t it, the cut you got from when you jumped through the window, when you ran away from—”