Every Girl Gets Confused (13 page)

“Oh my. Well, you sit down and I'll work with Joni and Josh to get everything done.”

“Me? Sit down?” She gave a belly laugh. “That'll be the day. No, Katie, I'll be right beside you every step of the way. That's what friends are for—even friends with really fat ankles.”

From up ahead I heard Ophelia say something about how rude it was for us to call her ankles fat, and I couldn't help but laugh. One day that would be Lori-Lou and me, hobbling down the hallway, misunderstanding every other word. Until then . . . well, it looked like we had a big mess to clean up before I headed home to Dallas to see the man I loved.

She has style that's her own and when you hear it, you say, “That's Doris Day!”

Kaye Ballard

T
he days leading up to Brady's surgery were among the hardest ever, especially with so much going on at the shop. Why oh why had I suggested putting on a bridal extravaganza on Black Friday, with Brady's surgery taking place the week before? I must've been crazy. I needed to focus on my guy, especially with his emotions weaving this way and that. I'd seen glimpses of depression in him before whenever the topic of basketball came up, but not like this.
In the days before the surgery a dark cloud hovered over him, one that was nearly visible to the human eye.

I could only encourage him and pray that the busyness of the shop would serve as a distraction. And talk about busy! Brides came and went in a flurry, but none more than Carrie and her family members. In some ways the Sanders family reminded me of my own: dedicated to one another, all on the same team. But when it came to how they treated the groom's family, civility was thrown to the wind. Clearly these in-laws were going to be facing some tough times once the bride and groom got married. If they got married. I wondered if they would make it all the way to the altar, if warring family members had anything to do with it.

Still, the love between Carrie and Jimmy was obvious. So why would their crazy families get in the way? I pondered that question as I awaited their arrival on the Tuesday morning following Queenie's bridal shower. I walked to the front of the store to have a chat with Madge and Twiggy, needing to get my concerns out in the open before Carrie and her family arrived.

“The Sanders family is coming to meet with Dahlia,” I said. “They think she's been working on the sample dress, but she's been too busy.”

“Oh dear.” Twiggy's nose wrinkled. “Are you saying the sample dress isn't complete?”

“Oh, it's complete, and it turned out great. Eduardo did it. But they don't know that. My big concern is this—Dahlia's up to her eyeballs with another bride and I know she doesn't have time to see Carrie today. What should we do?”

Madge knelt down to pick up a receipt she'd dropped behind the register. “Send her to Eduardo.” She rose. Slowly, with her hand on her back. “Man, I'm getting old.”

“Puh-leeze. But did you really mean I should send Carrie
and her family to Eduardo? Sounds like a volatile mix of tempers, if you ask me.”

“Exactly.” Madge stuck the receipt in the drawer. “Send them to Eduardo and let them get a taste of their own medicine. They'll see their own reflection every time they meet with him.”

“I think we'll
all
see a reflection,” Twiggy said. “Of a building going up in flames. If you get that many combustible people in one room, there's liable to be an explosion.”

I had no doubt she was right about that. I did my best not to fret as I awaited the visit from Mr. Sanders. He arrived with his wife and daughter promptly at ten. The arrogant fellow strutted in like a peacock, showing off his Spurs shirt.

“What did you think of that win last night, folks?” he crowed. “Ayres really took it all the way in the last thirty seconds. Have you ever seen anyone shoot a basket from the opposite side of the court? Miraculous, I tell you. The good Lord was aiming that ball straight for the basket.” This led to a lengthy conversation about how God favored the Spurs. Lovely.

His wife nudged him with her elbow and shook her head. “Please ignore him, folks. He gets like this.”

To my great surprise, Madge kept her mouth shut. Not a word about basketball emerged. She simply greeted them and led the way back to Eduardo's station in the back of the studio. I followed on her heels, anxious to see how she would handle this.

“I think you'll be happy with Eduardo's work,” Madge said. “He's got quite the résumé.”

“Eduardo?” Mr. Sanders narrowed his gaze, as if sizing up the man who'd been assigned to sew his daughter's wedding gown.

“Eduardo Villa de la Consuela at your service.” Ever the suave one, he rose from his sewing machine, took Carrie's hand, and kissed it. His lustrous hair shimmered, every perfect
strand sprayed in place. “Happy to attend to your needs. Do you need a bottled water? Perrier? Soda? Have you had lunch?”

“No, I'm fine.” Carrie looked around. “I'm sorry, but where's Dahlia? She was supposed to be done with my sample dress.”

“Dahlia is with another customer,” I said. “But Eduardo will be helping you today. I hope that isn't a problem.”

“Oh my.” Mrs. Sanders looked a bit alarmed at this news. She couldn't stop staring at Eduardo's hair.

I could read the concern in Carrie's eyes as well. “Well, no, but how do I . . . I mean, how do I handle my fitting with a man?”

“Ah, not to worry.” Eduardo put his hand up. “I have pieced together a sample of the gown made out of less expensive material. This we do to ensure the proper fit and design. Once we have established perfection, I will use the pattern pieces to create the real dress. You see? Hibiscus will be helping you into the sample gown today.” He flashed a white-toothed smile. “I will be here to make the adjustments. That is all.”

“Wait . . . Hibiscus?” Mrs. Sanders looked perplexed. “There's a person named Hibiscus?”

“I'm Hibiscus.” The sweet young seamstress waved her hand and giggled. “I'm so excited about this dress. It's going to be gorgeous. You can always tell that when the sample dress is pretty, the real one will be out of this world. And Eduardo's amazing at what he does.”

“Great. Mavericks sympathizers and men who sew. We've landed in just the right spot.” Mr. Sanders groaned and moved toward the door. “If anyone wants me, I'll be having lunch at the restaurant next door.”

“Oh, don't do it, my friend!” Eduardo sprinted across the room. “I've brought tamales. Homemade. Mama's recipe from when I was a boy in Mexico.”

“Homemade tamales?” This stopped Mr. Sanders in his tracks. “Really? I love a good tamale.”

“Me too,” Mrs. Sanders echoed. “But it's too early for lunch.”

“Then we'll call it brunch. Please. My treat. You will love my mama's tamales, God rest her soul.” Eduardo put his hand on his heart. “I prepared a feast and brought plenty for my friends. Go over to that refrigerator and pull out as many as you like. Warm them in that microwave you see right there.” He pointed at the run-down appliance. “And enjoy yourself while I work my magic on your daughter's dress.”

“If you say so.” Mrs. Sanders walked over to the refrigerator and started fixing plates.

Minutes later Mr. Sanders was caught up in the heavenly bliss of Eduardo's tamales. He ate two and asked his wife for a third. “The man can cook and sew. Eduardo's going to make someone a wonderful wife.” He rolled his eyes.

“Frankie Sanders, don't be so rude.” His wife reached for the pan of tamales. “If you don't take that back, I will refuse to warm up another one of these wonderful tamales for you.”

“I take it back.” He pursed his lips.

Hibiscus slipped into the spot next to Mr. Sanders. “If you don't mind, I'd like to share a story with you.” She lowered her voice. “You see, Eduardo was married to his wife Natalia for forty years. She passed away a few years back. Being a widower has caused him to rediscover his passion for sewing. When he was a child he worked in a sweatshop in Tijuana. From there he ended up working in Hollywood during the golden age of movies. He's got an amazing story. I wish you had time to hear it all.”

The microwave went off, and Hibiscus pulled out the plate holding the steaming tamale and passed it to Mr. Sanders. That seemed to shut him up.

“See, honey?” Mrs. Sanders said. “You can't judge a book by its cover.”

“Or a designer by his hairdo,” Mr. Sanders responded with a shrug as he took the plate. He dove into the food once again, all smiles.

I could hardly believe my good fortune as the Sanders family settled in with Eduardo, who held them all spellbound with his stories about how he met Doris Day back in the late fifties. I finally felt confident enough to head back to my office to work on the bridal extravaganza.

At lunchtime my phone rang and Mama's voice sounded from the other end of the line. “Katie Sue! When are you coming home?”

“Um, Mama, I was just home for Queenie's shower, remember?”

“Yes, but I meant for good. Remember that long talk we had about you coming back to Fairfield?”

“Yeah, I remember it, but I told you, Mama, this is my home for now. We're right in the middle of planning a bridal extravaganza, and I'm up to my eyeballs in—”

“I just don't understand it, Katie Sue. You've never even been a bride, but you spend all day with wedding dresses? Makes no sense at all.”

Gee, thanks a
lot, Mama.

She went off on a tangent about something related to Queenie's wedding, but I didn't hear half of it because I found myself distracted by laughter out in the hallway. I peeked outside my door and saw Eduardo with the Sanders family, all of them laughing together about something.
Go, Eduardo!

“I know you're playing at this whole dress shop thing.” Mama's voice brought me back to reality. “But surely you won't stay in Dallas forever.”

Right now this conversation felt like it was going on forever. Mama dove into a long dissertation about the goings-on back in Fairfield, claiming I was missing out. “Ophelia has colored her hair the strangest shade of red-orange. Truly. Oh, and Florence Wilson broke her hip getting out of the tub. She's at the hospital having it pinned and plated. And I know I shouldn't gossip, but I don't think Bessie May's doing the best job with the choir. That special they did Sunday was deplorable. Completely flat.”

“Mama, you're not heading up the choir anymore, so I suppose it doesn't reflect on you in any way.”

“I suppose not, but I can't help but think I might've been able to fix the problem. See, they were flat as a pancake because Bessie May let Mr. Henderson sing in the bass section. The man can't carry a tune in a bucket.”

“The Bible just says to make a joyful noise, right, Mama? There's nothing in there about singing on key.”

“I feel sure the good King David would have preferred his worship in the appropriate key with the harmonies intact. He was a trained musician, after all.”

“And Bessie May is not. But she's taking your place so that you and Pop can travel, so she's really doing this as a favor to you. And it's only in the first service, not the second.”

“I suppose.” Mama released a little sigh. “And I guess beggars can't be choosers. Oh, and speaking of the contemporary service, Levi and Joni are coleading worship. They've got drums in there. Drums. Can you believe it? I mean, if the Lord wanted drums in a church, he would've put them there, right?”

“Mama, I hardly think you need to fret over—”

“And guitars. Not one but two. Though that second one is really called something else. Maybe a bass? I can't remember. All I know is, I could only handle a couple of minutes listening to
them practice. I went straight over to the drugstore and bought myself a pair of earplugs to keep in my purse, just in case I was ever held at gunpoint and forced to attend the second service.”

“Well, you and Pop are traveling so much, maybe you won't have to worry about it.”

“True.” Mama groaned. “Maybe one of these days your father will settle down. I hope. Lose the wanderlust.” She started talking about how her sunburn was peeling, and then I heard my father's voice in the background.

“Sorry, honey, but I have to let you go. He's got some wild idea that we're supposed to take off and drive to Galveston for the night.”

“In the middle of November?” I asked.

“Exactly. Just my point. Anyway, I don't dare say no to the man. If I do, he'll turn it into a three-day trip, complete with deep-sea fishing. So I'm out of here. Just think about when you can come home to see me.”

Before I could say, “You're never home anymore,” she ended the call. Oh well. If I had to endure these conversations on a weekly basis, at least they didn't damage my psyche. Much.

I didn't realize anyone else was in the room with me until I glanced up and saw Brady standing in the doorway. “Your mother?” he asked.

“Yeah. I think she's confused.”

“About?” Tiny creases formed between his brows.

“She seems to think that having me back home will calm things down. I really think she's hoping that I'll come home and things will go back to normal.”

“She's not enjoying their travels?” Brady stepped into the room and sat down in the chair opposite my desk.

“That's just it. I see pictures of Mama and Pop on all of their adventures and she looks happy as a lark. But whenever
she's back home in Fairfield, even for a week or two, she's miserable unless I'm there. If I moved back, she'd be gone half the time, so it would be pointless.”

“Are you saying you want to move back?” He looked alarmed by this possibility.

“No. I love it here.”

His concerns seemed to vanish in an instant. “Good. I'm so glad you want to stay. I don't know what I'd do if you ever decided to go back to Fairfield.”

“I certainly wouldn't leave now, anyway. Not with your surgery coming up.”

“Day after tomorrow.” He leaned back in the chair and stretched out his legs.

“Are you getting anxious?”

He shook his head. “I just want to get it over with and get on with my life. I feel like everything's on hold until then.”

“It's not on hold. Not at all. I'm right here, and I'll be with you every step of the way.”