Julia 03 - Miss Julia Throws a Wedding (11 page)

“Why, you fine lookin’,” she said. “Jus’ the spittin’ image of . . .”

“Come over here, son,” Mr. Pickens, bless his heart, broke in before Miss Morgan could bring up the boy’s father and embarrass us all. “Let me see how you’re doing with your Game Boy.” Little Lloyd hurried over to sit by Mr. Pickens on the sofa, relieved to be out from under Miss Morgan’s scrutiny. Children don’t like to be made over in public, don’t you know, especially when they’re told who they favor.

“Now, Miss, I mean, Mattie Mae,” I said, feeling somewhat
trapped into accepting this pianist of questionable talent. “What do you usually play at weddings? Lillian speaks so highly of you that I may have to rely on your suggestions.”

“Ma’am, I can play most anything you want from ‘Rock of Ages’ to ‘Rock Around the Clock.’ The Lord done blessed these hands of mine. But I ’spect you don’t want neither one of them, so we got to get in between. I usu’lly play a nice mixture of church music while the guests is coming in. Then when you or somebody give me the high sign, I bust out with the wedding march, an’ I do it real joyful like so the bride, she get a happy smile on her face. Then I go along with whoever’s doin’ the solo, if you have that. Then when the ceremony be over, I come down hard on the recessional so the bride an’ groom feel like runnin’ on out and startin’ they wedded life right that minute.”

“Well, I say,” I murmured, frowning at Mr. Pickens, who looked as if he was about to have a seizure. Sam wasn’t in much better shape, but he’d had more practice keeping a straight face in polite company.

I tried again. “Well, Mattie Mae, what I have in mind is a very sedate and, well, proper wedding; it’s a serious thing they’re undertaking, you know. Maybe . . .”

“Honey, don’t you worry about it,” she said, laughing off my hesitation. “I can play the strings offa that piano, an’ play it any way you want it played.”

“There is one other thing,” I said, hoping this would dampen her enthusiasm. I’d searched the town over for a capable pianist without finding one, but now I was beginning to think that a student in training would fit the bill better than Miss Mattie Mae Morgan. “The soloist will be Lieutenant Peavey of the sheriff’s department. He might need you to play for him, and I don’t know that you’d want to tackle that.”

“Wayne Peavey!” She leaned out of her chair, stretching the seams of her dress. “Why, I been playin’ for that man ever
since he sing his first solo down at the community center. I never let him forget it, neither, how his pants legs quivered all the way through four verses and a chorus.” And she threw her head back, laughing at the memory.

Mr. Pickens put his arm around Little Lloyd and pretended to whisper something to him, but I could tell it was to keep from laughing out loud. I could’ve smacked him, and Sam too, who was gazing up at the ceiling, whistling under his breath.

“Well, I declare,” I said, not knowing what else to say.

“Now, Miz Springer,” Mattie Mae went on. “Don’t you fret yo’self about that ole Lieutenant Wayne Peavey. I know how he be, and he don’t worry me none. I jus’ reach ’roun’ an’ smack him good, he start gettin’ ahead of my music. I keep him straight, don’t you worry.”

“Well, I declare,” I said again, resigning myself to accepting the last available piano player in Abbotsville on Binkie and Coleman’s wedding day, but not without a considerable amount of fear and trepidation for the outcome.

Chapter 10

“Guess what!” Hazel Marie pushed through the kitchen door Monday morning, jangling my nerves as I tried to get myself together for the day. I needed my coffee before hearing any kind of news, good, bad or indifferent.

“What?” Lillian turned away from the stove, spatula held high.

“Binkie just called to say she found a dress yesterday. She wants me to go over today and try on the bridesmaid’s dress. And she found some she thought you’d like, Miss Julia. Come go with me; we’ll have so much fun.”

“I guess I ought to,” I said, setting my cup in the saucer. “Though I haven’t given much thought to what I’d wear. I’d surely like to see what Binkie’s picked out, though, so I’ll have time to get used to it by Saturday.”

Little Lloyd came in then, still in his pajamas, his hair sticking up all over his head. His face looked pale and naked without his glasses.

“Come ’ere, baby,” Lillian said. “You ’bout to starve this mornin’? Lillian’s got you some hot oatmeal and cinnamon rolls. Set on down, while I fix ’em for you.”

“Mornin’,” he mumbled as he took his place at the table.

Hazel Marie came over to the back of his chair and hugged him, and told him we’d drop him off at school on our way to Asheville. “Just think,” she said. “Only five more days and you’ll be out for the summer.”

When she left to get ready for our shopping trip, I sat in easy silence with the child. We were alike in wanting a quiet time early in the morning.

“Miss Julia,” Lillian said. “You seen my good can opener?”

“Lillian, you know I don’t bother things in the kitchen.”

“Yessum, but I can’t find it nowhere.”

“Use the electric one, why don’t you?”

“I don’t like that thing. It whir ’bout halfway ’round a can, then drop it off an’ you have to start over again. I like that one what goes in my hand.”

“I haven’t seen it, Lillian. Maybe it’s in the dishwasher.”

“No’m,” she mumbled. “I done looked.”

“Well, it’ll turn up.” I rose from the table and walked past Little Lloyd, smoothing his hair as I went. I would’ve lingered with him if I’d had time. “I’m off to get dressed,” I said. “Hurry up now, Little Lloyd, you don’t want to be late.”

Hazel Marie and I got to the bridal shop, or The Bridal Shoppe, in the middle of the mall in Asheville, not long after it opened for business. I was more than a little uneasy by the time we walked in, fearing what Binkie had chosen. That young woman needed a mother’s hand, although she’d been more than her own mother could handle.

We were greeted by one of those professional saleswomen; you know the kind, blond hair pulled back in a bun, black dress, hose and shoes, and a pair of glasses on a pearl chain around her neck. She took us to a spacious fitting room that was furnished with brocade upholstered chairs, tiny tables with satin pincushions on them and an elevated platform in the middle for proper viewing in the floor-to-ceiling mirrors.

The woman smiled at Hazel Marie and said, “You must be so excited to be the matron of honor.”

I was immediately affronted on Hazel Marie’s behalf, but she didn’t turn a hair. Didn’t even notice the insult, I don’t think.

“Oh, no,” Hazel Marie said. “I’m the bridesmaid, the only attendant Binkie’ll have, so maybe I count as the matron of honor, too. Or”—she giggled—“maybe the maid of honor. I’m not married yet.”

The woman raised her eyebrows, but left the subject alone. “I’ll bring out your dress; I know you’re going to love it. Would either of you like coffee or a glass of wine?”

“I should say not,” I said, noting that it was not yet eleven o’clock in the morning, not that I would’ve accepted at any time of the day. “Thank you all the same, but we’re pressed for time and need to get on with it.”

She studied me for a minute. “Let me guess. You’re the mother of the groom, right?”

“As near as he has, I guess. But no, just a close friend and the director of the wedding, which is an honor, too.”

“Oh, I should say. Well, we need to find something outstanding for you, and I’m sure we will. We have some lovely things. I’ll be right back with the bridesmaid’s dress and a selection that Miss Enloe wants you to look at.”

While she went to get the choices, I wandered around the room, looking at the bridal gowns hanging in the open closets.

“Hazel Marie,” I whispered, impressed in spite of myself with the elegant surroundings. “Come look at this. Think how you’d look in this one if Mr. Pickens gave you the chance.” I pushed aside the other dresses to show her a beaded satin creation that was fit for a princess or a movie star.

“Oh, it’s beautiful. Look at that train, would you? Wonder how much it is?” Hazel Marie felt along the sleeves until she came up with a price tag. “Oh, my goodness! Is this right?”

I glanced at it and nearly lost my breath. Eight thousand dollars for one dress to be worn one time, and not for very long, at that. I straightened the hangers and stopped looking just as the saleslady came back carrying a thin, filmy garment.

Holding up the pale lavender dress by its hanger, she said,
“Isn’t this the most elegant thing you’ve ever seen? It’s handkerchief linen in lilac.”

I looked at it, then reached behind me, feeling for a chair. I collapsed on it with a sudden shortness of breath.

“Tell me,” I gasped. “Tell me Binkie didn’t pick that one. Why, it’s hardly more than a slip.”

“Oh, Miss Julia, it’s beautiful,” Hazel Marie said, which didn’t surprise me at all, considering her natural taste in clothes. “Just look at the little spaghetti straps and the way the skirt flows from the Empire waist. And these darling little roses in the same material right where the bodice dips down low in front.”

“I see them,” I said, fanning myself with a magazine. “And so will everybody else. That’s why I’m about to have a heart attack here. Hazel Marie, there’s not enough on top to cover what needs to be covered. What is Binkie thinking of? It’s entirely inappropriate.”

Paying no attention to my palpitations, the saleslady unzipped the dress. “Go ahead and try it on,” she told Hazel Marie, “and I’ll be back in a minute with the fitter.”

“Oh, wait,” Hazel Marie said. “I know the groom shouldn’t see what the bride will wear. But can we?”

“We altered it just a little yesterday while she waited, and she took it with her. But I can tell you that it’s similar to yours, only in blush.”

Blush,
I thought as I leaned my head back against the chair. All I could picture was Binkie in that next-to-nothing dress standing before a temporarily sanctified altar in my living room in front of God and everybody. Whatever happened to pointed sleeves and high necklines and veils that cover head and shoulders, suitable for a detailed write-up on the society page? I should say,
blush.
That’s what we’d all be doing.

When the saleslady left, I whispered to Hazel Marie, “How
in the world does anybody wear such a thing? Why, your underwear straps’ll show.”

“No, they won’t,” she said, beginning to unbutton her blouse. “You wear a strapless.”

“A strapless?” I didn’t own such a thing.

“Well, actually, most people don’t wear anything underneath.”

“Well, I hope you don’t plan to go half-naked.” I sat up then with a sudden thought. “Hazel Marie, you don’t think we can talk Binkie into something else, do you? That thing looks like something you’d wear to bed.”

She didn’t answer me, just held up that wisp of a dress, her eyes shining as she turned it this way and that. “I think I’ll just try it on. It’ll probably look a whole lot better when it’s on. And, Miss Julia, I’ll get out in the backyard for the next few days and get a tan. You don’t look near as naked when you have a tan.”

I held my head and moaned under my breath as Hazel Marie commenced coming out of her clothes right there in the main fitting room.

The saleslady came bustling back in about the time Hazel Marie got down to her step-ins, and they both acted like it was the most normal thing in the world. I would’ve been mortified if I’d been either one of them.

“Here we are,” she said, hanging up two long purple garments. “Now, this is the one Miss Enloe liked the best.” And she took one, holding it by the hanger and spreading the skirt-tail out on the carpet. “Why don’t you try it on?”

“Me? Binkie picked that one for me?” I couldn’t take my eyes off the thing.

“Yes, once she chose her dress and the bridesmaid’s, she decided it’d be nice if you blended in with her pastel color scheme. See how the lilac dress is just a shade lighter than this lavender one.”

“I thought it was purple,” I managed to say, my eyes still on the dress. All I could see was a long purple crepe with a cowl neckline that draped halfway to the waist and no sleeves, making it entirely unacceptable. When you get to a certain age, there’re areas of the body that cry out to be covered, and the neck and upper arms are two of them.