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Authors: Sandra Antonelli

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BOOK: Driving in Neutral
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The door slid shut and covered her triumphant smirk.

“Son of a bitch,” he muttered, and something whimpered behind him. When he turned around the expression on Pete’s face said it all. Emerson had never seen his best friend look ashen. “Let me guess.” He tried to grin. “Somehow this has the potential to fuck up Ella’s wedding and your sister will take a knife to my scrotum if I don’t fix it.”

“Not just your scrotum, mine as well.
Our
balls hang in the balance here, Em.
Our
balls.” Pete groaned and rubbed both hands over his face.

Ella had rigid ideas about the ceremony, flowers, cake, and the shoes she wanted her bridesmaids to wear. She had a specific picture clear in her mind and she wanted to make damn sure it was in everyone else’s too. Olivia found it amusing that when it came to implementing all Ella’s demands and actually assembling the wedding, the bride-to-be sort of turned into Blanche DuBois and raved like a frazzled Southern Belle—one who did
not
believe in the kindness of strangers.

Seeing ‘Miz Ella’ so overwhelmed was the primary reason Olivia had taken on the wedding planning. The silly old
My Dream Wedding
scrapbook sticking up out of her shoulder bag held the plan itself. The idiotic book was stuffed with pages of dresses cut from bridal magazines, pictures of bouquets, and table settings from the ’80s, but it was a goldmine. While some things needed a little updating, the details had already been scrupulously planned thirty-some years ago, and Olivia had everything in order. The only items she hadn’t supervised were the seating chart and mailing out the invitations—Ella and her mother had taken care of that.

Olivia smiled at the bride. Ella sat in one of Javiera’s salon chairs, squares of foil folded around sections of her curling hair, and mumbled about those invitations, about the cake, the plan. Sighing, she flipped through a gossip magazine and muttered, “Everything will go according to schedule, to plan. The wedding will be the triumph of the century. Olivia will drive the day to victory.” Ella sighed again and grabbed another gossip magazine. She was, quite plainly, pretending to read
Us
magazine. She flicked past glossy celebrity snapshots and diet tips, until something caught her eye and her cerise-painted fingernails paused at the top of a page. A dimple appeared in the smooth, dark skin of her cheek as she motioned to the hairdresser.

Pink butterfly clips sparkled in Javiera’s champagne hair as she tipped her head forward. “Yes, my darling, what can I do for you?”

“May I have a pen, please?”

Javiera handed over a black pen she had clipped to her hairdresser’s belt.

“Thank you,” Ella said with a soft southern lilt that hinted at the havoc beneath her effort to be relaxed. “Wait just a second please, sugar.” She opened the magazine again and began to scribble something inside. She folded down the page, handed the pen back to Javiera. Then she fanned her face with the magazine and spun her chair around to face Olivia. “I can’t wait to get this cape off,” she said. “It’s driving me nuts just sitting here doing nothing. Ah should be calling a dermatologist. Would you look at these zits on my chin! Why on earth did Ah decide to do blonde? Who am Ah kidding?”

Annnnd here it comes
. Olivia put on a soothing voice. “It’s not blonde, it’s rose gold and remember you wanted your hair to have that extra kick for your once in a lifetime day.”

“My once in a lifetime day. Oh! The dressmaker had a fishtail on my dress at my fitting yesterday. A
fishtail
! I looked like fuckin’ Morticia Addams!”

“It wasn’t a fishtail; it was an unfinished hemline she pinned up. That’s the nature of a fitting.”

Ella slid deeper into a Georgia peach accent. “She bettah be done by next Wednesday.
If
the dress turns out, you watch, Judge Foxcroft will ruin everythin’ by grantin’ a continuance on this case. And if that doesn’t happen, what do you bet on mah big day Suzanne will be chewing a slab of gum and Mimi will jingle like a cat wearing a bell. Ah know Sooze’s only human, but please,
gum
at a weddin’? Really. Ah’m not expecting perfection—”

“Oh, yes you are,” Olivia snorted. “This entire event has to go off without a hitch or you will never give Craig a day of peace for the rest of your married life.”

Ella’s hazel eyes grew large and very round. “Are you saying I’m…I’m…a
Bridezilla
?”

“Bridezilla? No, no. Not even close. You’re more of an Austrian Nazi SS captain. ‘Finucci, I vant ziz cake viz vhite fondant and
you vill make it
! And you bridesmaids vill vear zese shoes or be branded traitors!’ More like that.”

“I thought you liked the shoes!”

“They’re pretty, but they hurt my feet.” Olivia shrugged. “Really, don’t worry about any of those other things,” she said. “You’ll finish the case. I’ll ask Sooze not to chew gum and make sure Mimi’s jingle bells don’t disrupt the entrance music. Those are tiny insignificant things. The day will fall into place. You
will
look gorgeous on your big day. Trust me.”

“I do trust you. I trust you implicitly. I just don’t trust anyone else! All I can think about is my grandmother telling me red nail polish is for whores!”

“Will you stop worrying about the little things because that’s all they are: little things. Everything will come together and nobody but you will notice if it doesn’t. Everyone will be too busy looking at how beautiful you are. The day will turn out exactly like those pictures we cut out and glued in the scrapbook we made.”

Ella giggled. “I still can’t believe you kept that thing.”

“Even at thirteen, I guess I knew it would come in handy.”

“I’m just relieved to know you didn’t keep that
World’s Greatest Singer
plaque we had made in sixth grade for Shaun Cassidy, too.” Ella cringed in mock revulsion and then her expression took on a gray shade of panic. “Oh, God, am I doing the right thing? I’m too old for this now. I’m middle aged. I’m a freakin’ middle-aged bride! Who am I trying to fool with the white? What if all this drives my fine Irish boy to the drink? I know I can be over the top sometimes. I love him so much, but what if I ruin everything? What if I’m doing this wrong? What if this whole thing explodes in my face?”

Olivia shook her head. “Ella, you are such a part of Craig’s blood, he’d be anemic without you.”

Ella’s panic was replaced by a sudden, silly grin. “I love you too. Look what I found,” she said as she stretched across to hand over the magazine.

Olivia opened it up to the marked page. It was a collage of celebrity photos from some benefit. It was an old magazine. To the left of a picture of actress Ashley Judd and her husband, Indy Racing champion Dairo Franchetti, was Karl Abenteuer with the model Alyssa Chaplin. Ella had drawn a WWI spiked helmet, glasses, and a long, walrus-style moustache on Karl.

“Nice,” Olivia nodded, “but Karl could never grow facial hair like that.”

“Has he put on weight? He has, hasn’t he? He looks puffy.”

“The man hasn’t changed an ounce. He’s still a blue eyed, blond—”

“Gestapo agent.”

“No, I mean Karl looks exactly the same as he did the last time I saw him. The eyes, the hair.”

“Speaking of hair, what did you think of Pete’s dreads?”

“I didn’t recognize him at first, but the style suits him. Your brother looks really good.”

Ella fanned herself. “Oooh
lovers
. I didn’t know you still had a crush on him after all these years. Did he give you a great office? He said he would. You make sure he gives you an office and not some cubicle next to one of those mega-nerds he likes to hire. I talked to him about an hour ago and told him the same thing.”

“You talked to Pete?” Olivia waited for Ella to smile slyly and start laughing, but she was looking at the two different colors of nail polish she had painted on each hand.

“Mm-hm. He said you were pretty cool.”

“Did he say anything…else?”

“He mentioned you got caught in the rain this morning and probably ruined your dress. Please. Tell me again Pete’s stupid work isn’t going to get in the way of planning my wedding. Oh my God, oh
my
God. How can you stand me? What is wrong with me?” Ella fidgeted in her seat and fluffed the cape. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Look, I’m
relaxed
. Okay? I’m breathing in and out, see?” She inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly, four times. “I know you know,” she said in a serene tone, “Craig’s my fantasy man these days, but now that you’ve finally met Emerson, didn’t you think he was worthy of a smutty thought or two?” Ella gave her a sideways look.

Olivia decided to be diplomatic. “I’ll say he was an interesting idiot.”
Who kisses like an Olympic champion
.

“Interesting? Honey, you must have missed it. That man is ice cream and a day at the beach all rolled into one. He’ll eke his way into your subconscious. You mark my words. You could have gone out with him last Christmas, but no, no blind dates for you because you met
Das Über-jerk
on a blind date!”

“I didn’t meet Karl on a blind date. Glenn introduced us in a pit at the Monaco Grand Prix.”


Whatever
.” Ella waved and rolled her eyes. “You must have missed it completely.”

“Oh, no, I got it all right. Believe me, I got the full Emerson Maxwell treatment. Look, Ella. Things didn’t go so—”

“Excuse me, ladies.” Javiera poked in between them to unfold a piece of foil to check Ella’s color. Satisfied, the hairdresser turned the chair and went to work removing the aluminum from Ella’s hair.

Ella held up her hands, letting the nail color gleam for a moment in the overhead lights before she dropped them in her lap with a huff. “I know you know you’re doing
me
the favor by working at E&P. It saves Pete from ripping his dreads out over some deadline. He’ll actually
be
at a family function for once. I won’t have to worry about him disappearing with that stupid cell phone at the wedding. Ah swear if he brings that damn phone to the weddin’ Ah will have him neutered!”

The threat of fraternal castration, even if it wasn’t serious, was all it took. She’d started to tell Ella, before the hairdresser interrupted, about walking away from the job with Pete. Now it seemed she had to march back, gulp down her pride, ignore the unwanted attention. She had to go back and do the work for Pete’s sake because if she didn’t, and anything went wrong, Ella-the-tightly-packed-ball-of-explosives would race to E&P and detonate in her brother’s office with squares of foil in her hair.

The Oak Street Diner was an old, family-owned place with fifties-style padded booths, homemade pies, and blue-plate specials like meatloaf. It was typical for them to hang out there for a few hours on a Friday night, but tonight, Ella had raced off. One short phone call from Craig and she’d gobbled half a tuna melt and fries, tossed her new rose-gold highlights, and announced she had to fax opposing counsel important case documents. She’d left the diner with a napkin still tucked into the front of her blouse.

Olivia figured she’d raced off to meet her blue-eyed fiancé for a bit of pre-marital nookie. Nookie was high on Ella’s list of things to do before the wedding. Nookie was always high on Ella’s
to-do
list.

The waitress brought her coffee and Olivia sat by herself in a cozy red booth. She’d considered going to a movie, but she wasn’t in the mood to sit in a theater alone. She could’ve gone home rather than ordering the lemon meringue pie the waitress had just set on the table, but there wasn’t anything waiting for her at home besides a very comfortable bed.

After she’d left Germany, it hadn’t taken her long to find an apartment in a six-flat. It was a nice location, a tree-lined street that skirted the edge of a country club, but it was empty. Her household goods hadn’t completed the trans-Atlantic sea journey yet and besides suitcases and a few boxes she’d kept stored at her brother’s place, the double-sized sleigh bed for her single life was the only stick of furniture she had.

While she had mapped out a new life for herself, she hadn’t exactly pictured sleeping alone at this age, yet she was actually comfortable with that fact. This was her
me
time, her time to focus on what
she
wanted, and what she wanted was a home and privacy. Only thing was, while the apartment was private, it didn’t feel like home. It felt…temporary. It was pretty with its high windows and gleaming birch floors. The place was light and airy, which would have been great if Olivia were into entertaining. A social butterfly would have invited her neighbors over for a gourmet dinner served picnic-style on bare floors. A social butterfly would have had a cocktail party. A social butterfly would have started a trivia night or Tuesday night book club. Except Olivia wasn’t the convivial butterfly type and she had yet to meet any of her neighbors, other than Mr. Peck, a frail-looking elderly widower who scowled at her without ever introducing himself.

The real estate agent who’d found her the apartment had said the others in the building were professional couples in their late twenties. Olivia suspected they’d avoided introducing themselves because she was a single, middle-aged woman. To them, she was the middle-aged female counterpart to Mr. Peck.

Mr. Peck and I could start our own little club
.

Olivia laughed at herself. Slender Mr. Peck, with his gnarled, arthritic hands, and trim white David Niven moustache was a very unlikely candidate for neighborly camaraderie.

She glanced down at the newspaper beside her plate and smashed gooey yellow and crisp-baked egg white into her fork. The
Chicago Tribune
was spread out on the tabletop. She started reading an article about the crumbling façade of the Michigan Avenue YMCA, but her mind wandered onto other events, like why had she kissed a panicking claustrophobic man instead of slapping him.

Slapping Maxwell would have shocked him into breathing, only, as she’d thought at the time, he could have hit her back. Oh, who was she trying to kid here? She kissed him for another reason. There was fear in those amazingly deep green eyes and seeing that did something to her, something powerful, something sexual. Olivia liked knowing she had managed to get a physical rise out of a man. Dripping like a half-drowned cat—or rat—she’d still, somehow, been attractive enough to generate a response. It was quite a boost to a sexual ego that had been beaten down by Karl’s infidelity. Her sexual self-esteem sure had come roaring back to life. How she’d reacted when Maxwell started kissing her back was rather ridiculous, but it had felt so good to sit in his lap and feel how hard he was. She’d known the natural desire for intimacy would return post Karl, just like it had after moody Adam left, but really, did it have to be a man like Maxwell who tripped the switch?

BOOK: Driving in Neutral
10.15Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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