Mother of the Bride (41 page)

“Well, goddamn it, we can try.”

“When, Gus? And where?”

“Right goddamn here and right goddamn now. I'll pull my truck in the garage, lock the door and—”

A sudden, deafening wind roared out of nowhere, cutting Gus off and drowning him out. The deep, throaty pulse in it jarred Cydney's bones. She glanced up just as Gus did and saw a helicopter skimming toward them over the treetops beyond the garage.

It shot over the Jeep in a huge whoosh of air that snatched her breath and Gus' hat off his head. Cydney flung her arms around him, held on and watched the helicopter turn a circle above the house and settle on skis in the middle of the circle lawn, the rotor whipping the pine trees into a frenzy.

“Oh no,” Cydney breathed in Gus' ear. “It think it's Gwen.”

“Oh, hell.” He groaned, his head thumping against her collarbone.

The Plexiglas cockpit door popped open, and sure enough, out hopped Gwen, her caramel-blond hair barely stirring in the wake of the rotor. It wouldn't dare. A tall man with reddish-brown hair slid out onto the grass beside her and reached inside for two very large nylon bags. He passed one to Gwen and slung the other one over his shoulder.

“I think the Prince is with her,” Cydney said in Gus' ear.

“Oh double hell.” Gus groaned again.

He turned around between her knees as Gwen and her companion ducked the blades and started up the lawn toward the house. When they reached the drive, they turned and waved. The helicopter lifted off, whipping the pines again, and swooped away over the trees, toward Branson.

“Well, damn it,” Gus said. “What's she doing here a day early?”

“I don't know. I just hope to heaven Dad talked to her.”

“He made a couple calls on his cell phone today but Aldo and I didn't listen. We took ourselves elsewhere.”

The front doors sprang open and a redheaded blur streaked across the porch. Bebe. Her joyful,
“M-o-o-t-h-e-r!”
and her flung-open arms sprang tears in Cydney's eyes. Gwen dropped her bag and hugged her, rocking her from side to side. Cydney smiled and sniffled.

Gus spun on one foot and frowned at her. “You're crying.”

“These are happy tears. Bebe hasn't seen her mother in two years.”

“You must be the happiest woman on the damn planet. Every time I've looked at you the last four days, you're crying.”

“Weddings are very emotional. Everybody cries.”

“The wedding isn't till Saturday. This is Wednesday.”

“So I can't cry till Saturday?”

“I'd just like you to be honest about why you're crying.”

“Look at my mother.” Cydney took Gus by the shoulders, turned him around and nodded at Georgette hurrying down the porch steps with a smile on her face and a hankie in her hand. “See? She's crying but she's smiling.” She gave his shoulders a shake. “Happy tears, Gus. Happy tears.”

“All right, all right.” He sighed. “Goddamn happy tears.”

Gwen lifted an arm from Bebe's shoulders and swept her mother into a three-way hug. Fletch hopped down the steps and shook hands with Gwen's friend. He nodded his head and bowed.

“Yep. That's the Prince.” Cydney slid her arms around
Gus and pressed her cheek to his temple. His hair smelled like shampoo and cigar smoke. He sighed and leaned against her, laid a hand over her wrists clasped on his chest. “The joint's really gonna be jumping now.”

The group hug ended. Gwen slid one arm around Bebe, the other around Georgette. They started toward the porch with Fletch and the Prince—Somebody Romanoff, Cydney thought—trailing behind.

“Aren't they forgetting something?” Gus said.

“What?” Cydney asked.

He braced his elbow on the seat between her knees and frowned at her over his shoulder. “You.”

Cydney laughed. She could tell he'd gotten a haircut, but the ball cap and the helicopter had wrecked it. Instead of falling over his forehead, his hair stood straight up, as indignant as the edge in his voice.

“You did the same thing to me last Tuesday. Walked into my house and left me standing in the garage.”

“I did?” He blinked at her. “When?”

“Never mind, Gus.” She put a kiss on his nose. “It doesn't matter.”

“Yes it matters.” He spun all the way around. “You matter.”

“I will as soon as my father wants a cup of coffee.”

“Or your mother wants the bags brought in the house. I can't wait to find out what your sister expects you to do for her.”

“Is this the big fight you said we wouldn't have to fake as soon as the rest of my loony family gets here?”

“It is if you turn back into a peashooter.”

“What do you care if I'm a peashooter or anUzi?”

I care plenty, Gus wanted to say. He'd realized it when she said all good things must come to an end. His gut clenched at the thought of never seeing her again, never holding her again. He wanted to tell her so, but not out here in the damn driveway, not after he'd tried to pick a fight with her because he thought she was about to dump him.

“I thought we were friends,” he said.

“I thought we were lovers.”

“Well, yeah, that, too.”

“Then why are we fighting?”

“I thought you were dumping me.”

“No, Gus.” Cydney cupped his face. Keep it light, she told herself. Make a joke out of it and maybe you'll survive. “I'm not dumping you until Saturday.”

“Before or after the wedding?”

She laughed and Gus kissed her, slid his hands inside her sweatshirt and cupped her breasts, small, perfect little breasts he ached to feel in his mouth. He didn't believe she wanted to dump him any more than he believed her tears were happy. He hoped to God she was falling in love with him, because he was pretty sure he'd fallen in love with her.

“Since I'm supposed to be your date,” she sighed when he let go of her mouth, “I guess I'll dump you after the wedding.”

“Don't put yourself out. I'm sure Louella would accompany me.”

“If she won't, Mamie will in a heartbeat.”

“She wants me bad,” Gus said, and they laughed, bumped foreheads and rubbed noses, until Cydney stiffened and frowned over the top of his head. “Uh-oh.”

“Uh-ohwhat?”

“Louella's leaving. Looks like in a big hurry.”

So was Mamie, Gus saw when he turned around. Sarah and Cloris and her sisters, too, in a gaggle of fluttering jackets and sweaters as they hurried down the porch steps. He could hear their voices, high and shrill, but he couldn't make out what they were saying.

“I don't like this, Gus,” Cydney said worriedly. “Help me down.”

He lifted her out of the Jeep and they ran toward the house. When Gus called to Louella, she turned away from her ambulance; Mamie stood with her, her hands on her hips. Sarah and Cloris and her sisters flocked around him and Cydney as they stopped in front of Louella.

“You're a right sweet gal, Cydney,” Mamie said, shoving
her way forward. “Yer maw's a might pushy but she'll do, and I'm beginnin' t'take a real shine to the jackass. But your sis is a witch that starts with a
b.”

“What happened?” Cydney asked, her face pale.

“She ordered us outta Gussie's house is what happened!”

“What?”
Gus shouted with Cydney.

“Now Mamie.” Louella put an arm around her. “It wasn't that bad.”

“The hell it wasn't!” Mamie shrugged her off and glared. “She called us the Mop and Broom Bumpkin Brigade!”

“I'll kill her,” Cydney said, and wheeled toward the steps.

“Wait.” Louella caught her arm. “Never mind what she said to us. Bebe's the one you best see to. Her mama took one look at all the pretty things we put up today and laughed. Country frump, she called it, and said it would not do for
Vogue
magazine. Clean broke Bebe's heart. Left your mama Mrs. Parrish flat speechless. Never thought I'd see that.”

“Thanks.” Cydney forced a smile past the spitfire snarl on her face. The fire in her eyes made Gus' pulse race and his imagination soar with visions of lavender lace. “I'll see all you ladies in the morning.” She swept Mamie and Sarah and Cloris and her sisters into her glance. “We'll make the wedding cake we talked about at lunch. Okay?”

They all nodded, even Mamie, and Cydney launched herself up the porch steps. Gus caught her in the foyer and pulled her around to face him. Her face was flushed, her almond eyes narrowed into amber slits.

“Don't try to stop me, Gus. Sometimes you just can't ignore this strong a compulsion to kill somebody.”

“I'm not going to stop you. I just want to flip a coin to see which one of us gets to drop-kick her off the porch.”

“Be my guest. Just give me first shot at her.”

“Go for it, babe.”

And she did, like a heat-seeking missile following the trail of voices across the living room toward the dining room. All of them subdued, except for Gwen Parrish's throaty, Kathleen Turner contralto.

“Really, Mother, I think you're making entirely too much
of this. All I want is a few changes so I'm not the laughingstock of
Vogue.”

Cydney burst through the doorway, skidding in her Keds on the bare floor at the edge of the Oriental carpet, her silver curls a tangled riot from the whip of the chopper blades. Her sister lifted an eyebrow at her, flicked the barest glance at Gus stopped in the doorway and smiled.

“Cydney. There you are.”

Two of the pizza boxes lay open on the table. Gwen sat in the armchair at the end nearest the sideboard, Fletch and Georgette on her right, Domino and Herb and the Prince on her left.

“I spoke with the Mop and Broom Bumpkin Brigade, Gwen,” Cydney said between her teeth.

“I offered to pay them and they took offense.”

“You don't pay friends, Gwen. Of course, you wouldn't know that because you don't have any friends.”

Gwen laughed. Georgette blanched and shot to her feet.

“Cydney,” she said. “We're trying to have a civilized discussion—”

“Sit down and shut up, Mother. I'm running this show.”

Georgette blinked and made a half-choked squawk.

“Sit down, George,” Fletch said, tugging her into her chair.

“What show are you running, Cydney?” Gwen leaned her elbows on the table and her chin on her laced-together fingers. “The Rural Rubes of America Defense Fund?”

“No, Gwen. The Used and Abused Little Sisters of Big Bad Bitchy Sisters Club.”

Gwen opened her mouth. She meant to laugh, Gus thought, until Cydney snatched the closest pizza off the table and smeared it in her perfect, flawless face.

Gwen shrieked and fell off her chair, flat on her ass on Aunt Phoebe's Oriental carpet.

chapter

twenty-seven

The pizza was a super supreme with everything, including anchovies that stuck to her eyebrows and melted cheese that gummed in her hair. Peppers, onions, pepperoni and black olives splattered the sideboard and the wainscoting. Tomato sauce oozed into everything. The Oriental rug was toast, but Gus didn't think Aunt Phoebe would mind.

He sure as hell didn't. He wished he had a camera so he could take a picture for Louella and Mamie and Sarah and Cloris and her sisters.

Domino screamed and flung herself away from the table. Straight into the arms of the Romanoff prince, who gallantly rose to catch her. He seemed to be doing his damnedest not to laugh at his fiancee struggling up on her hands to wipe pizza out of her eyes.

“Cydney!”
Georgette screeched. “How could you! Oh, Gwen!” She started out of her chair, but Fletch yanked her back and shoved his nose in her face. “Butt out, George. This is between the girls.”

Gwen plucked mushrooms off her eyelids and glared at him. “Well thank
you,
Dad!”

“See here, Parrish.” Herb blustered to his feet. “I'll thank you not to speak to my fiancee that way.”

“Be quiet, Herb. This doesn't have squat to do with you, either.”

“Get up, Gwen!” Cydney scrambled around the table, shoved the armchair out of her way and stood over her sister with her feet spread. “There's another pizza up here and it's got your name on it!”

An extra large Canadian bacon. Cydney grabbed for it but couldn't quite reach it. She had one knee on the table, her arm stretched toward the box when Gus caught her around the waist and lifted her off her feet.

“That's enough, killer.”

“The hell it is!” She twisted in his grasp, shooting him a furious, pizza-spattered glower over her shoulder. “I'm just getting started.”

“Save some for me,” he whispered in her ear, and she flushed.

Gus swung Cydney away from the table and offered Gwen a hand. She took it and pulled to her feet, wiped a hand down the front of her ruined apricot cashmere sweater, tried to toss her hair and smacked herself in the eye with a string of cheese.

“Thank you,” she said stiffly.

“I'm Gus Munroe, warden of this asylum. If Bebe still wants you, you can stay. So long as you clean up this mess.” Her jaw dropped and her eyes widened. Gus smiled. “I'd start with the carpet and club soda.”

He looped both arms around Cydney's waist, turned away from the table, and carted her across the dining room.

“Nice touch,” she said as he carried her up the back stairs. “Too bad my mother will end up scrubbing pizza out of the carpet.”