This Could Have Been Our Song!: A coulda woulda shoulda ballad (27 page)

“
Alright, Crazy. It’s your wedding,” I tell her. She’s freaking me out. I need to complete the exit strategy plan and soon. “We’ll go for sashimi instead.”

“
Thanks. Raw food poisoning sounds much better,” she says.

“
There’s just no pleasing you, woman!” I tell her. Mother of all brides, my ass!

Straight hair feels so strange on my face and it’s almost down to the middle of my back. It’s day-minus-zero! And the mother of all brides still hasn’t come down yet. The movers, decorators and caterers have been here since 7.00 a.m., transforming the entire estate and preparing the dishes for the cocktail and reception. They have taken over the kitchen and I need fresh coffee in my system.

“
Good morning,” I tell them. They have at least three hot sous-chefs in their group. I flip my new sexy hair. “What does a girl need to do to get some decent coffee around here?” I say. The hot sous-chefs are looking and smiling. I should have done this hair thing a long time ago.

“
We just made a fresh pot,” hot sous-chef number one tells me and pours me a cup.

“
Sweetie, could I get a mug? It’s going to be a long day,” I tell him. Hot sous-chef number two is hunting down a mug for me. Must be my new yoga pants; my butt looks fantastic in them. “Thank you,” I tell him when he hands me a large fresh batch.

I step outside for my first and only smoke of the day, I pro
mise myself. It’s a real circus with about twenty people installing the gigantic tent. I can’t wait to see the finished product. I hope they will at least be done with all the chandeliers and the white, grey and black curtains by the time we’re back from the spa.

“
I heard you and Alfie are shaking it up again,” I hear the sweetest voice saying. Arthur Riddell the Third woke up bright and early for the wedding of his second granddaughter. He looks good these days. Madga has been taking a good care of him. Don’t they say that seventy-six is the new sixty? If people want to know where we got those big, grey eyes from, well, search no more. They are staring back at me right now and are full of love.

“
Hi Granddaddy.” I give him a big hug and just hang there in his arms for a little while longer. “Madga got him for me. He was in the attic!” I put down my cigarette.

“
He always made you feel better, Cassi,” he says. He rarely calls me Lucia. Cassidy Ann was his grandmother’s name and everyone used to call her Cassi. She was the original, beautiful, grey-eyed ballet dancer who started the female Riddell tradition.

“
British lasses don’t call their grandfathers granddaddy. Not unless they have some Cajun blood,” he laughs. “But I love you all for doing it.”

“
This is amazing!” I’m looking at the tent taking over the entire back garden. We will be able to have at least a hundred and fifty guests inside the fancy installation. “Don’t you think?”

“
I may keep it for our next garden party,” he says. He takes out a cigar and lights it. “What? Life is in the little pleasures my dear.” He starts to smoke, “Please don’t tell Magda.”

I have missed my granddaddy. I take the cigar away.
“I would like to keep you around a little longer please,” I joke and take a small puff before giving it back to him.

“
Bloody London!” he says and we both laugh. Truths being told, the Riddells are not really big fans of London. Arthur Riddell spent most of his time up north in our family estate outside York. He bought this house for my grandmother. “But I’m happy to have all my grandchildren here,” he tells me.

“
I’m beyond happy to be here with you all,” I tell him. And another hug, more kisses, a bit of a tear and the day is still young.

“
Look at you, Cassi. I know I told you that yesterday, but with your hair like that you look just like Eleanor. Even more than Axelle usually does,” he says, brushing my hair. “Your father would have been so happy for his dashing girls today,” he adds.

“
Yes, I bet he would have. We’ll just have to make him proud then,” I tell him and wipes my tears.

“
Come on, love. Let’s go back inside and get some breakfast upstairs,” he says, finishing his cigar. “Where’s our lovely bride?”

“
Not nursing a hangover. I kept her away from everything but tea yesterday,” I tell him.

“
Tea?” he teases.

“
Not Magda’s,” I say, laughing. That’s for my own comfort. “She should be up now. We have to leave in less than forty-five minutes,” I tell him.

“
We better get a move on.”

We walk back inside and pass the decorators, more movers, the wedding planner and even Axelle and aunt Shirley giving directions. My Noor is really getting married today. Breathe Lucia.

You’re mighty, you’re forceful, all and all beautiful and you shall be mine forever
.

Three and a half hour later, we’re all back in the house, scrubbed and massaged from head to toe. Our nails have been polished and colored, our eyebrows have been threaded and for some of us, the entire face needed an intervention. I had to beg Axelle to join us. Paul arrived earlier in the day with his parents, Aunt Shirley, Tata Céline and Maman Alfonsine were all taking care of the wedding preparations; Axelle could leave the children and the house for a few hours.

“
There is still so much to do,” she says, supervising the ballroom decoration. Noor hasn’t chosen the easiest concept. We have rented several large, grey and while sofas, tables and sheer curtains to transform the room into a sophisticated lounge, with dimmed lights and protected candles.

“
We have four aunts here and Magda that could help, Lelly,” I told her.

“
They’re not coming to the spa?” she asked me.

“
They all went yesterday and Madga too.” I took the checklist away and gave it to one of the decorators. “Please take this to Céline Mpobo in the hallway,” I told him and took Lelly’s arm. “Let’s go. We’re already behind schedule.”

“
Did you pay for them too?” she asked me, walking next to me to her room.

“
Yes. We couldn’t all go today.”

“
Are you finally spending your insurance’s money, Luce?” she teased while gathering her things.

“
Nah!” I said as I opened the door. We really needed to get a move on. We had to be back by 2.00 p.m. for our hair and makeup. “I quit Noël-Sarrow instead,” I blurted out, walking away.

“Stop right here, Lucia Cassidy Ann,” she screamed from the top of the stairs.

There, I’ve done it again.

“You did what?” She came down the stairs and followed me outside.

“I wanted to wait until after the wedding to tell you,” I said once we were in the second van. I made the decision shortly after finalizing Second Coming. “I sent my contract to our lawyer a month ago and they told me that I have fulfilled all my listed obligations. I could leave if I wanted to and will be paid for my royalties. So I quit. I don’t want to be back door anymore; the next job will be on my own terms.”

“And Lloyd and Callia?” she asked.

“Are throwing me a real farewell party after my return. They also contacted our lawyer-turned-agent and hired me as a consultant for Second Coming until its full release in November… Three times more than what they used to pay me.”

“That’s fantastic news!”

“What is?” Kiki asked.

“Lucia is her own boss now,” Axelle told our cousin.

“Luce, we need to work on something together!” she told me, all excited.

“Sure, we can talk about it after the wedding.”

You would think that on a day like today we would all be on edge. But no; once back from the spa with an hour to spare, we all went upstairs…for a nap. I went to sleep with Alfie one last time, taking Mitch up with me for his nap. I was informed by Noor that I would have to lend my room to Andrew’s parents for the night and would have to sleep in our childhood home tonight. I’ve already packed a small overnight bag and will be bringing Belinda home with me. But most importantly, Carolyn gave us one Xanax each during breakfast – what a team player! We didn’t ask where she got them from; after all, it was her gift. We should have saved one for Axelle but I did put a couple aside for Noor…just in case. The day was still young.

“Gather up, ladies,” Noor tells her bridesmaids. She gives them each a large shot glass of “The Noor”, a drink invented just for today. I take hers away and replace it with a small bottle of water and shake my head. “What?” she whispers.

“No,” I whisper back. Not on my watch. We’re almost there; less than two hours to go. The bridesmaids are dressed in their fifties-inspired, shiny, grey, linen tea dresses, burgundy pumps and a big matching burgundy belt. Only fifties-style hair and makeup is allowed and it suits all nine of them very well. Juliet and Catherine just look timeless with their short hair.

“I want to start by saying that I’m so happy to have all of my cousins with me today – Riddells and Mpobos alike. You’re the best crew ever! And let’s face it, most of you lost the next bride’s pool,” Noor tells them laughing. Because
she
won.“Isn’t that right Sasha, you Italian beauty queen!”

Sasha blows her a kiss. “Si Bella. I’ll be next. Thomas can’t make me wait forever,” she laughs. Sasha and Noor are six months apart.

“Anyway, I wanted to thank you all for putting up with me all week. I know we’re family but it means a lot to me. And I have to say, you all look gorgeous. Almost as good as me!” she says, still in her robe with a slick fifties beehive and side bangs, dark smoky eyes and lipstick.

“Hear, hear!” we all proclaim and drink. I’m still in my robe too. I’ll help her ring bearer, Mitch, first then mother of all brides
herself, before getting in my suit. At least my hair and makeup are ready. I’m just wearing my hair down and away from my face with the masterful help of small burgundy calla lily hair pins. Straight hair is sexy!

“I have something for each of you,” Noor tells us then goes to her dressing table and picks up small Tiffany boxes. “I know a guy who knows a lady who has amazing connections,” she says, giving them their gifts: small platinum brooches stating their names; the groomsmen got one as well.

I discreetly leave the room and go help little Mitch with his outfit, a cute little grey suit. He doesn’t put up too much of the fight and after I’m done with him, I quickly drop him off to his dad and go back to Noor. Her bridesmaids are now downstairs and she’s with Granddaddy and Lelly.

“Okay, I’m back. Let’s get this bride in her dress,” I tell them. It’s almost 6.00 p.m.

Granddaddy smiles and opens the big box in his hands. “It’s blue, it’s old…and I want it back…” he says while locking the sapphire and diamond tennis bracelet on Noor’s wrist, “eventually. Your grandmother’s wedding present. I thought that as you have her name, Nooradine Suzanne Georgia…”

“Thank you!” Noor jumps in his arms, “You have been spoi
ling me – spoiling us – for so long, Granddaddy.” She’s all emotional but It’s too early to ruin her makeup.

“You more than deserve it, all three of you.
I’ll see you all in an hour.” He gives us each a kiss before leaving the room.

“I’m going to get ready too. Guests will be starting to arrive soon,” Axelle says before leaving the room.

“Finally alone!” Noor screams. “Can I have a drink now?”

“No,” I say while getting her dress out. “Not until after you say I do.” She takes her robe off as I lay the dress on the floor for her. She has been all about fifties fashion for the wedding, but with a twist. She too is wearing a fifties-style, black and white, A-line, strapless wedding dress. The white, silky bodice is covered with embroidered black flowers and the skirt has black flowery patterns. I close off the dress and she turns around. She looks stunning…and her black, satin, diamante, bow peep toe pumps really complement her dress…her knees…her calves.

“So…” she says.

“You’re a bride, sweetie. The mother of all brides indeed,” I tell her, all chocked up.
             

In the world of weddings, brides are queens and the mother of all brides wants me to wear black, high-waist, wide-leg pants instead of capris with the rest of my tux. Like the bridesmaids, I have to wear something burgundy. I opted for the thin blouse under my vest and my earrings. My open-toe pumps are the same color as my nail polish, black. It’s T-minus-thirty-minutes and I need a drink. Just a small one. I quickly go to the kitchen; the bar is already open in the ballroom but I don’t want to run into any guests.              

“Hi, boys.
Can I get a small glass of champagne?” I ask. Hot sous-chef number two, also named Clark, gets in the fridge and pours one. “Thanks, love.”

“Pre-wedding jitters?” he asks.

“I’m not the bride but I am feeling those bloody jitters!” I laugh.

Clark seems confused. Hot sous-chef number one, Donnie, comes to his rescue. “She’s her sister, mate.
The one who baked those delicious cookies for the guests’ favors.”