Wicked Forest (21 page)

He studied me for a moment, then looked away.

"Best man. Me, a best man? I suppose I'll have to wear a tuxedo and all."

"Of course. We're all going to be quite dressed up. Mother's going with me to pick out the wedding gown, and I'll get her to choose a beautiful new dress.

I'd be happy to go with you to help you get fitted for a new tuxedo. too," I offered.

He couldn't help but look interested,

"When is this world-shattering event, anyway?"

"The last weekend in June," I said.

He looked thoughtful,

"I'll do it if you will let me give you a wedding present," he said. "Let you? Why shouldn't I let you give me something?" I asked.

"You have to help me create it." he said. It will take up some of your time."

"You want to paint me again?" I asked, realizing. "You've already done a beautiful picture of me. Linden," I said softly.

"This one will be different," he insisted, "I was looking at you with different eyes then. Well?"

"Of course," I said. "Thatcher will be very happy to hear about it."

"I'm doing it for you,‖ he said.

But it's a wedding gift, right? That means its for both of us." He thought a moment.

"I suppose so," he said. "He's never really commented about my work except to say it's really something, whatever that is supposed to mean. I always felt he was laughing at me behind my back."

"That couldn't be so. Don't forget, he helped get your work into some galleries, Linden. Right? Right?"

I pursued.

"Yes. I suppose."

"Just give him a chance, a real chance, okay?"

He nodded.

"Thank you. Linden," I said, and kissed him on the cheek. He brought his hand up to touch it as if the kiss still lingered there.

.

There were moments when Mother and I both wished we had left the choice of my wedding gown and the bridesmaids' gowns to Bunny Eaton after all.

What we had assumed would take only a few hours took all afternoon the following day— but it wasn't only the time, it was the feeling we had truly fallen into the fishbowl. Thatcher was certainly right about the speed of gossip and social news. I wondered if there was anyone within fifty miles who didn't know by now that I was his fiancee and we were planning our wedding. Just the mention of my name put more hurry into everyone's steps, more excitement and interest in everyone's voices.

For one thing, we didn't even have to begin to research where we should go to choose a wedding gown. Less than an hour or so after our meeting with Bunny Eaton, our phone began to ring. Three bridal shops called within ten minutes of each other, one of which was the shop Bunny had recommended. Being skeptical of Bunny's motives all the time. I suspected she had her spies there and would somehow overpower Mother's and my opinions with her own.

We decided on the third shop, simply because we both liked the name. the Bride's Nest. Even before we stepped up to the door, it was opened for us, suggesting the saleswomen had been told to keep an eagle eye out for our arrival.

Fawned over and treated as though we were both royalty, we were quickly led to a showroom where three women modeled one wedding gown after another. The manager of the shop. a French woman named Monique Patachou, delivered continuous descriptions of the gowns and commentary including mentions of prominent women who had worn dresses by the various designers. After the fifteenth gown, both Mother and I were exhausted by the choices. We conferred and, amazingly, both centered on a silk chiffon over silk shantung gown that had beaded lace covering the bodice and an off-the-shoulder sweetheart neckline. The beaded lace also traced the hems of the skirt and the detachable chapel train. Both of us also preferred it in ivory.

Then began the fitting. Once I came out in the gown. I could see the pleasure and excitement in Mother's eyes. Her face took on a healthy, happy glow that put the flutters of joy into my own heart.

"I would recommend you buy your shoes now,"

Monique suggested. "You can wear them a bit to break them in and wear them at all your fittings. Get something you're used to wearing. too. I see you favor flats." she added, and suggested a satin shoe with soutache, which was a type of narrow braid.

After that we chose the gloves, settling on opera-length. Nearly four hours after we'd started, we were too exhausted to begin choosing a bridesmaid gown. but Monique addressed Mother and offered some opinions about what she should wear.

"Mothers are always putting their dress choice off until the last moment. I wouldn't recommend that.

You want something that complements your

daughter's choice. Bone and off-white remain the most popular colors for the mother of the bride, and I have selections that are anything but matronly. In fact, a pretty halter dress with a jacket might work. You will certainly look young and trendy."

"Later." Mother pleaded. "Please."

"We've accomplished what we set out to do today," I explained. "We'll be back soon."

"
Oui
, "Monique said. "But remember not to wait too long and be too rushed. You might think you have a great deal of time, but with fittings and all the other decisions to make—"

"I understand." I said. "Thank you."

"We'll call you for the first fitting. Maybe then, madame," she told Mother, who eagerly agreed.

"How exhausting," Mother cried when we were in my car and heading home. "I can't imagine doing all the things Bunny Eaton has taken on."

"What else does she have to do with her life?

Still. I hope I'm not making a big mistake having such an elaborate wedding. I could be more insistent with Thatcher and have a small affair, maybe just the immediate family."

"No, no Bunny Eaton's right. You'll never forget it."

"I wonder if a big wedding adds any strength to a marriage," I said. "Does it make your vows seem that much more lasting and serious? Is it like a coronation?"

"I used to fantasize about your father and me getting married. It was always a simple ceremony, but somewhere beautiful, not in the back room of some justice of the peace's house. I think deep down, no matter what face we put on to the public, we all want something romantic and wonderful. Willow. It's a chance to be a star, to shine and glitter, to be queen for the day."

"Here you can't be queen for the day. Mother."

I said. 'It's either a lifetime appointment or nothing."

Mother laughed.

"Won't we have fun though." she said.

I glanced at her as we drove on. She was

looking out the window, but I could see from the way her eyes took on that dreamy far-off look that she was gazing inside herself rather than at the scenery. She was remembering good times, wonderful times, loving times. I had helped her revive that. At least for now, in doing all this I had given her something. I thought.

I felt very good about it all, Nothing Bunny Eaton could throw our way would change that. I concluded, We would bring the jeweled glitter back to our home. Thatcher and I, and Mother and Linden.

Weddings were times when people believed

with all their hearts in the line, "And they lived happily after."

Let it be true for us, I prayed.

.

Now that Thatcher's and my wedding was a

reality, I was not surprised to receive a phone call from Thatcher's sister. Whitney. It came just before we were about to begin dinner. Thatcher had called to say he was going to be involved with a dinner meeting, taking on some interesting new clients.

Mother and I were having so much fun preparing dinner that Linden came out to see what was causing all the commotion. and I put him to work peeling potatoes. Mother and I performed imitations of Bunny Eaton for Linden, and we had him roaring with laughter. It was the warmest, happiest time all of us spent together yet. It was so good to hear the sound of Linden's laughter. Mother and I were so bright with happiness, we didn't need lights.

Then Whitney called.

"Now that this all appears to be a reality," she began, "I suppose you and I should have lunch."

"Yes, lunch usually follows," I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. It was the way she pronounced

'reality.' making it like a disease had been diagnosed and confirmed and not a wedding and a marriage.

She missed my tone, perhaps deliberately. I had met Whitney only a few times before and always found her to be cold and aloof. She was a tall woman, actually as tall if not a bit taller than Thatcher. She had a long, lean face with thin lips that fell into a habitual slash of pale red with the corners tucked in tightly as she contemplated someone or listened to someone speak. In just the short period I had been in her company, she'd struck me as one of those people who are always looking for flaws and weaknesses in others, taking pleasure in pointing them out because it made her feel superior.

I had to admit she had striking rust-tinted eyes that were so powerful they glued her gaze to the face of whomever she was speaking to, commanding them to pay strict attention to her valuable comments and criticisms. She was the type of person in whose company you were never really comfortable, but if you were in her company and she wasn't singling you out for some criticism or another, you felt grateful, even a bit superior to the others who were victimized.

Whitney's husband. Hans Shugar, was. as

Bunny had told me, years older than Whitney.

actually old enough to be her father. They made such an unlikely couple, showing no warmth or affection toward each other whenever I saw them together. I would have suspected that their two children. Laurel, age fifteen. and Quentin, age thirteen, were adopted, if they didn't look so much like their parents. Laurel more like Whitney's side of the family. Quentin almost a clone of Hans.

I agreed to meet Whitney at the Brazilian Court's Chancellor restaurant at one o'clock the following day. It was on Australian Avenue, only two blocks from Worth Avenue, so on my way there the next day. I stopped by the bridal gown shop to pick out two dresses for Mother to consider. which Monique gave me to take home so Mother could try them on in the comfort and security of her own house.

Monique understood we would make more progress that way.

Whitney wasn't there yet when I arrived, but the hostess brought me to our table in the courtyard near the grand fountain. After fifteen minutes. I ordered a glass of white wine. It was a pleasant and actually quite romantic place, but being made to wait like this began to stir up my insides, making my stomach feel like a concrete mixer. Nearly twenty after one.

Whitney sauntered in, paused to greet a number of people and then, finally, turned her attention to me.

"Hello, Willow," she said.

"I thought you said one o'clock." I snapped. I could see she had no intention of apologizing for being so late.

"Were you here at exactly one? Everyone from Palm Beach knows to be twenty minutes late."

"I'm not Palm Beach. I'm from a place where people make an effort to be on time."

She raised her eyebrows. I thought whoever advised her about her makeup believed in a heavy hand. She used too much rouge and painted her lips too thickly, probably to make up for their thinness.

"I was hoping we wouldn't start off on the wrong foot," she said. Before I could respond, she turned to the waiter and ordered a champagne split. "I have decided to have your shower at my house." she blurted, turning back to me. "You can give me a list of the people you would like to invite."

"I don't know anyone here vet, really. and I don't think anyone I know from back home or even my relatives would fly down for a shower."

"Why not?" she demanded. "It's not like traveling in a covered wagon. They're on a plane for a few hours at the most, and then here. I'd think they'd love to use it as an excuse to come to Palm Beach."

"Not everyone is so fascinated with this place.

Whitney, I think too many people who live here are under that illusion. I mean, we don't exactly have the world's most fascinating natural scenery, and you can look at the homes of the rich and famous in dozens of places nowadays, as well as on television and in magazines."

"If you think so little. of Palm Beach, why did you decide to make it your home?" she snapped.

"I didn't say I thought so little of it. I'm simply realistic about it. and I'm here because it's my mother's and my brother's home— and, now, the home of my future husband as well," I told her.

The waiter brought her champagne split.

"Do you want to wait to order?" he asked.

"No. I'll have my usual," she said with a flip of her long hand. I glanced at the menu, and ordered a shrimp salad,

"That's my usual," Whitney remarked as if I had won a contest.

"Lucky for me," I quipped.

"I thought you would sound a bit more grateful concerning your shower. Willow."

"I'm not asking you to do anything for me.

Whitney," I said I leaned across the table to return one of her intense stares and lock eyes. "I know how hard you tried to prevent Thatcher and me from becoming engaged and married. I know all about the Kirby Scott fabrication."

"I didn't know it was a fabrication," she replied.

"But I'm not making any excuses for my mother or myself. For a long time now, I have had to look after Thatcher when it came to his involvement with women."

"Excuse me?"

She sipped her champagne and then leaned

forward, too.

"I have to look out for my brother. When it comes to women. Thatcher loses his superior intelligence. His hormones overcome his reason. He thinks with his penis," she said.

"And what makes you so superior that you know who is best for him and what is best for him?"

Whitney smiled coldly.

"I know him better than he knows himself. Who do you think mothered him when he needed it the most? Bunny? Hardly. It was left to me, only a few years older chronologically, but years older mentally and physically.

"I can't tell you how many times I've gotten him out of trouble with the wrong woman." she bragged.

'little does anyone know, but I was the one who saved him from Mai Stone. I told her things that kept her from closing her grimy hands around him."