Читать книгу Wedding Belles - Beth Albright - Страница 7

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I arrived before Coco and Jean-Pierre, entering the kitchen where Meridee was standing in her apron at the stove, humming “Summertime.” I felt that instant sedative that always kicks in the second I enter Meridee’s house and see her busy making something delicious to eat. Being here always settled my nerves, no matter what was going on.

“Hey, Nanny.” (Hey is the way we greet each other down South. I can’t remember anybody ever saying Hi. And hey is almost always followed by a hug, unless you’re a man.) I leaned in and hugged her hello. She smiled and kissed my cheek just as the Fru Frus rang the doorbell.

“Hey, baby girl,” Coco called, then shot me an air kiss as he stepped inside. He took in my red pencil skirt, sleeveless navy blouse and white pearls. “You are rockin’ the patriotic look big-time today.”

He hugged me, then stepped back. “Are you wearing MAC Red Ruby Woo lipstick?”

Stunned, I nodded my head.

“I knew it. That is the best 1940s red I have ever seen.”

Jean-Pierre walked in right behind Coco. “Oh, precious, that red, white and blue outfit is so summer, so July, so America, so...future senator’s wife.”

Cringing a bit, I hugged Jean-Pierre, too. Harry’s run for senator was exactly the reason we’d kept our separation a secret. Despite our differences, I still wanted to support Harry through this major turning point in his career. And I knew how difficult it would be for him to present himself as Senate material with nasty divorce gossip spreading all over town. We’d decided not to announce anything about our split until after the election. And that meant suffering quietly through awkward moments like this one.

He inhaled deeply. “Miss Dior perfume. Heavenly,” he said all singsongy.

He hugged Meridee next. “Oh, my, and you are wearing Charles of the Ritz. I am inspired by you already.”

They were a sight for sure, both of them tall and skinny and immaculately dressed. Coco had long sandy hair and beautiful ocean-blue eyes. He had an angular jaw and a wide, warm megawatt smile. He was so tan. He loved wearing bright-colored skinny jeans and striped short-sleeved shirts. He usually wore a long knotted scarf around his neck and a beret on his head. He just loved his namesake, Coco Chanel. And French was his style in a nutshell.

Jean-Pierre was a little more understated. He had long spiky dark hair and green eyes. His clothes were usually less flashy, but still fashionable. Today he wore skinny black jeans and a dark dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, his arms full of books and planning agendas. He looked more studious in his black thick-rimmed glasses. He was sarcastic and dry, while Coco was more quick and funny and much louder.

Coco scanned the room, looking beyond the doorway, as well. “Is this the venue for the big double event? We can work with this, sugar! So much space.”

“We can even use the big yard outside,” Jean-Pierre said.

My grandmother laughed. “Oh, gosh, honey, not outside unless you want big ol’ mosquito bites all over our momma-bride. That yard is a feeding ground this time of year!”

“She sure would be a sight,” Coco said. “I hear welts are the new black.”

Jean-Pierre smiled. “Very funny. Indoors it is. What are we talking about for space?”

“Mostly the living room, kitchen and dining room,” I said. “Meridee has given us the go-ahead to decorate anything we want. We should talk about the shower theme, though. I want it to be really fun.”

“Honey, there’s no way it won’t be a blast,” Coco reassured me. “I’ve already come up with an invitation idea. Picture this...” He gestured as if reading from a theater marquee. “The Bride We Are Lovin’ Has a Bun in the Oven. Don’t y’all just love that?” Coco was so proud of himself.

Meridee stood in the living room doorway, her eyes bugging out of her head.

“Oh, my, we’ll have to talk about that a bit later,” I said, trying to be nice. “That theme might need a few revisions.”

“Can we run down and see the basement?” Jean-Pierre said. “We wanna party all over this house.”

We all headed downstairs. This had been my playground every rainy day of my childhood, back when the Ouija board was at the height of its popularity. It was a tad musty down there, but it still had the old pool table, TV set and a big octagon-shaped wooden card table. Bookcases lined the wall to the left as you entered the main room. The basement held a lot of memories for me, but I don’t think the boys were too impressed.

“Oh, dear, that smell might be an issue,” Jean-Pierre said, his nose crinkled with distaste.

“Sometimes it gets damp down here,” I explained.

“Well, since the theme isn’t Mildew Madness, I think we need to stay upstairs,” Jean-Pierre said, shaking his head and leading the way back to the main floor.

Meridee directed us into the kitchen. She had fixed coffee and iced tea and put out some mini coffee cakes she’d just pulled out of the oven. “Watch out. These are hot. Have a seat and help yourself. Don’t be shy.”

“Oh, Miss Meridee, you shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble,” Jean-Pierre said, taking a seat next to Coco at the yellow laminate table. “But, honey, I am so glad you did.”

“My word, everything sure does smell delish.” Coco took a bite of the coffee cake. “Mmm, wonderful. Thanks for letting us use your lovely home for this very unique event.”

“My pleasure, y’all. Miss Vivi is like a granddaughter to me. She grew up in this house almost as much as did my Blake. I will do whatever y’all need.” Meridee poured herself a fresh cup of coffee and walked over to the sink to wash the coffee cake pans.

“Okay, down to business,” I said. “I want this event to feel extra special to Vivi, like she is a princess for the day.”

Jean-Pierre grabbed his notebook. “Okay, a princess bride and baby momma combo. Got it. We can have a lot of fun with all the games and activities this way.” He jotted down a few notes, then peered over his glasses. “Anything else you want to throw into the mix?”

Meridee spoke up from the sink. “I thought y’all were goin’ down to see Miss Myra Jean for Vivi’s shower.”

“Oh, Nanny, I haven’t had a chance to tell them about the psychic yet.” I would have used a little more tact, seeing as they were the ones planning the shower.

“A psychic?” Jean-Pierre asked slowly.

I cringed. They were a classy company. They even had swans planned for the wedding. Swans! I wasn’t sure where a psychic would fit in with an affair planned by guys who considered swans and string quartets essential to an event’s success.

“Yes,” Meridee went on. “My dear old friend Myra Jean does readings and talks to spirits. We’re gonna take all the girls down to see her. Isn’t that gonna be fun?”

“Seriously?” Jean-Pierre was already frazzled. He stood up and walked around the table. “Does this visit to the tarot card lady or whatever she is really need to be part of the shower? I just don’t know if it will fit in with—”

“It surely does,” Meridee insisted. “And Myra Jean only uses tarot cards sometimes. Besides, Vivi is the one who decided it would be fun for everyone at her shower to have a reading. She believes in Miss Myra’s gifts.”

Yes, Vivi did believe what Myra said, and I just hoped that her shower day predictions didn’t trigger a homicide attempt on the hubby/daddy-to-be.

Jean-Pierre glanced at me, a bit exasperated. “Can’t you do anything to stop this?”

“Not likely,” I said. “The readings are her wedding gift from me.”

His mouth dropped open in horror, as if I’d shattered his former belief in my exquisite taste.

“Don’t look at me like that,” I protested. “Vivi asked for this and I just want my best friend to be happy. That is my job, after all. I am her matron of honor.”

“Okay, then,” Jean-Pierre said, throwing up his hands. “We’ll put group mystic reading on the list. The day is all about Vivi, after all.”

“Oh, I just love the whole idea!” Coco stood up and began moving around excitedly. “I always wanted to have a reading myself. It sounds like a teetotal hoot and a half.” He leaned over to a grumpy Jean-Pierre and linked one arm with his. “Hand me my ruby slippers, honey, we’re off to see the wizard!”

I smiled at his enthusiasm, relieved to have at least one of them on board with the idea. I was just hoping the “other woman” the psychic spoke of didn’t turn out to be the Wicked Witch of the West.