Читать книгу Elly in Love - Colleen Oakes - Страница 9

Present Day

Elly Jordan, the owner of Posies Florist in Clayton, Missouri—a swank St. Louis suburb—wondered if she had just broken a very large and expensive-looking piece of erotic art. She looked down at the rusty metal arch, now laid out before her on the ground, and made a small circle with her foot in the dark soil. Well, this is crap. The hot sun beat down on her neck, warming her blond curls while a cold panic rushed through her body. It was March, middle of the day, in Laumeier Sculpture Park in St. Louis. Elly would rather be anywhere than here. This was turning into the worst wedding ever. Then she thought about that for a minute. Nope. Not even close. There had definitely been worse weddings. That had been last October, when her ex-husband Aaron had married his redheaded mistress Lucia, the woman who had broken apart their marriage. That had definitely been the worst wedding ever. This wedding didn’t really compare. She looked down at the metal twisted on the ground. It still wasn’t great though, that was for sure. Elly heard the echo of footsteps on gravel behind her and arranged her mouth into a grimace. She could hear her clipped voice now….

“Oh. My. GOD. What did you do?” Snarky Teenager, her adolescent assistant, sauntered up next to her, a pink potted azalea balanced on her bony hip. “How did you manage to knock this over? Is it broken?” She paused. “Did your butt hit it?”

Elly ignored her rapid-fire questions and took a deep breath, taking her mind somewhere else, instead of standing in the middle of a park next to a broken art piece. Instead of sweating to death in a park, she was with Keith, her handsome boyfriend. Maybe on a beach somewhere. Like in Antigua. Antigua had beaches right? Or was that land-bound? Never mind, it didn’t matter. Keith walked up to her and stared intensely at her face, his eyes a deep, riveting blue. His hand rested gently on her cheek for a split second and then forcibly struck her face. Wait, what? Again and again. Worst fantasy ever. Elly opened her eyes to see Snarky Teenager staring down at her, patting her face gently. “Um, yeah, hello? Elly, now is not the time to fantasize about a ganache waterfall or whatever it is you are thinking about. We have this god-awful broken arch, a ton of flowers hanging out in buckets, and a very pissed off mother of the bride that is bearing down on us at twelve o’clock.”

Elly’s bright-blue eyes focused. “Sorry. I was on a beach—okay, never mind, you’re right. Help me get this up.” Snarky Teenager gave an exaggerated sigh as they grabbed at the outlying rims of the arch. Elly’s clients for this particular wedding were artists, wildly in love, and totally unattached to reality. They had hired her immediately on one condition: that she decorate and set up their original art piece that symbolized their life together. At the time, it seemed devastatingly romantic. Now Elly had her face mashed up against some sort of metal faun and her hand wrapped around…. Oh dear. Yup—that was definitely a metal expression of male virility. The sculpture had turned out to be more of an expression of their bedroom life then their impending marriage.

Snarky Teenager’s lips coiled into a snarl. “Ugh. I hate modern art.”

“Amen,” Elly breathed. Exerting tremendous force, they heaved the heavy, twisted piece to its feet. A large metal breast was pressed next to Snarky Teenager’s temple, and Elly suppressed a laugh.

“What can we use to stabilize this … monstrosity?” The lean teenager asked, grunting as she braced her shoulder against the giant bosom.

“Be nice. They’re artists.”

Snarky Teenager looked around. “I think I saw some concrete blocks by the entrance. Let me go look.” Without warning, she let go of the sculpture and ran toward the entrance. It was so easy for skinny girls to run.

Elly was left holding up the giant art piece, both arms stretched out to full length, her body pressed against its side in an intimate fashion, and her hand wrapped around the metal, er, handle, the only grip on the statue. Fantastic, thought Elly, I’m violating a wedding arch in the middle of a field. She leaned her forehead against the corrugated metal. How exactly did I get here again? In spite of herself, she smiled as a bead of sweat dripped off her nose. It had been an interesting journey, that was for sure. Last year had almost ended Elly: Her best friend Kim had quit Posies because she was pregnant. Elly had dated Isaac, the world’s most self-absorbed musician, only to end up with Keith, the owner of the deli next door. And to top it all off, she had been hired to do that wedding. All of this was while properly grieving the death of her mother, Sarah Jordan, from ovarian cancer. Yes, that year had almost been the death of her, but she had come out the other side feeling confident, adored and … a little heavier. Since dating Keith (two and a half amazing months and counting!), she had gained three pounds. Having a boyfriend who made sandwiches for a living was not great for the waistline. Luckily, they took a lot of walks together, so hopefully it all evened out in the end. Elly grimaced as her feet began slipping in the dusty ground. She heard a raspy voice echoing through the swirled metal.

“Is the florist here? Can I talk to her? Where is she?”

Elly turned her head and saw the mother of the bride walking briskly toward her. Oh no. Try to look like this is totally normal. She let a brilliant smile play across her rust-smudged face. “Hello, Ms. Keenan, how are you?”

The bride’s mother was by far the most unlaid-back hippie that Elly had ever met. Her long dress, made of several different layered pieces of truly hideous fabric, brushed the ground as she shuffled over. Ms. Keenan put her hand on her hip and stared down at Elly as her wrist bangles twinkled in the sun. “Is there a problem with the arch? Why are you leaning against it that way? And why are you holding the …?” Her eyebrow arched quizzically and Elly was convinced that she would end up on the news that evening, the crazed florist who went around accosting large metal structures.

Elly put on an assured face. “Oh, we’re just making sure it’s a bit more secure, that’s all. My assistant just went to grab some….” Her eyes widened as she saw Snarky Teenager pushing toward them a cart with two dilapidated cinder blocks. “Some supports.” Removing one hand as the statue leaned up against her, she gestured wildly to Snarky Teenager, who quickly pushed the cart into the bushes, disappearing just before the Ms. Keenan got a good look at her. Elly eyed the main building. “You should go make sure that Jonna is okay. I know from experience that a bride needs her mother on her wedding day.” The mother scowled with skepticism.

“Everything will be ready in …,” she glanced at her watch, “thirty minutes?”

Elly nodded, displaying much more confidence that she felt. “It’s going to be gorgeous.” Ms. Keenan gave an exasperated sigh and headed back for the building. Elly felt her legs shaking beneath her, and a tremor ripped down her tan arms. This crap piece of art is not going to be upright for much longer. Snarky Teenager poked her head out from around the bushes.

“Hurry!” Elly yelled. “I’m going to drop it!”

Snarky Teenager pushed the cart over the grass, jogging steadily. Elly quietly thought to herself that while she was not ecstatic about holding up this hunk of twisted metal, she was glad that she wasn’t running.

Snarky Teenager peered at her face. “You are, like, so red. Are you going to have a heart attack?”

Elly gave a loud groan. “What am I paying you for? Set up the blocks! Now! Before I drop it!” The concrete blocks slid into place on either side of the structure, with Snarky Teenager securing them in what seemed like slow motion. Finally, her blond assistant stepped back and let out a puff of air. “Okay. Let it go.”

Her arms feeling more like spaghetti than muscle, Elly released the sensual sculpture into the air, saying a silent prayer while waiting for the resulting crash. It never came. She stepped back. Twisting metal rose up feet above her head and came back down in an elegant cascade, dozens of naked bodies entwined and dancing along the edges. Elly peered at it. “It’s actually kind of pretty.” She paused.

Snarky Teenager squinted in the sun. “I’m pretty sure my cat could make that.”

Elly gave a sigh. “All right, let’s get to work.” She was answered with a loud moan.

Working briskly beside one another in a perfected dance, Elly and Snarky Teenager transformed the bare field—it’s overgrown, yellow-green grass blowing in the wind—into an organic and modern ceremony site. Natural fruitwood chairs fanned out from the art piece, their bases surrounded by tiny succulents, accented with sharp pieces of black bamboo. The metal arch stood starkly against a bright-blue sky, which looked hazy with the rising humidity. Several ferns were placed around the base of the arch. Elly glanced up while repotting a succulent. “Oh. That looks great—I can’t even see the cinder blocks.”

Snarky Teenager stepped back to admire her work, her skirt hiked up so that she was almost mooning Elly. Who wears a skirt to a wedding delivery, Elly thought.

“Of course you can’t see them! I know. I’m, like, so amazing.”

Elly laughed. “Could you be amazing at pulling your skirt down? I’m going blind over here. Help me finish with the garland and we can head inside.”

Snarky Teenager halfheartedly yanked her skirt down before tying a hemp garland across the aisle. Elly stood up and brushed off her khaki pants. Smiling, she pushed the damp hair off her face and hummed quietly to herself. She stopped when she realized that Snarky Teenager was staring at her. This alarmed Elly. “What are you staring at? Aren’t you supposed to be misting the plants?”

“Nothing.” A sly grin crawled across the teenager’s face.

“No really, do I have soil on my face?” Elly looked around for a mirror. There was a reflective statue across the park that she could walk to….

“No, really. It’s just …,” Snarky Teenager smiled. “You’re sweaty and you’re smiling. What I mean is, you’re never happy when you’re sweating. You’re always a snappy, miserable beast.”

“This is getting better and better,” Elly mumbled as she quickly fashioned a decorative wreath out of curly willow.

“Elly.”

Elly looked up, surprised. Snarky Teenager actually sounded quite sincere.

“I just wanted to say I’m glad to see that Keith is making you so happy. If you’re smiling when you are covered in sweat, then he must be doing something right.”

Elly couldn’t hide the blush bubbling up from below her cheeks. Yes, he was definitely doing something right.

Snarky Teenager began jumping from foot to foot. “Okay, enough of that—is it groomsmen time yet? Is it?”

Elly laughed. “Okay, okay, we’re going. Try to keep the hormones in check. I don’t want to be responsible for any sexual harassment suits. You know, against you.”

Snarky Teenager nodded. “Gotcha.”

Once they were in the sculpture museum, Snarky Teenager bolted for the groomsmen, boutonnieres in hand, while Elly followed a winding cement hallway to a room washed in natural light. It reeked of patchouli and incense. Three women stood clustered around a dilapidated easel mirror, all staring at themselves. Elly crept in silently and placed the bridal bouquet—an asymmetrical masterpiece, filled with olives and olive leaves, tiny oranges, succulents, plum grapes, and dripping moss—on the desk. She turned to leave, coughing awkwardly in the thick air.

“Elly?” The bride turned around, her pretty brown eyes wide with concern.

Elly smiled at her. “Oh, Jonna. You look beautiful.” Elly repeated the speech she had said to so many: “I don’t know that I have ever seen such a stunning bride, and I see a lot of brides.” Elly bit the inside of her cheek. She meant every word, each time she said it. Each bride was beautiful. In the back of her mind, however, she knew which bride had been the most beautiful. Lucia, the woman who had married her ex-husband. Thinking her name didn’t cause her spasms of pain like it used to. Now Lucia’s name elicited nothing more than annoying twinge in her heart. It was liberating. Jonna walked toward her, a gorgeous muslin dress shifting loosely around her body. Elly smiled and placed a crown of rust-orange waxflower on her honey curls. Jonna was a true hippie, ripe and earthy. She had been so laid-back throughout the process, and Elly had loved working with her. The mother, not so much. But Jonna had been simply lovely.

The bride wrapped Elly up in a quick hug. “Thank you so much for everything you did for us. My bouquet is … oh …,” she clapped her hand to her mouth, “oh my goddess. Are those oranges?”

Elly looked at up at her, concealing her mild annoyance. “Yes, remember that we talked about having fruit accents to make it a truly organic bouquet? And those are organic oranges, the perfect color to accent your crown and your bouquet. I bought them straight from a farmer’s market as you suggested….”

Moving so fast she made Elly jump, the bride flung herself away from the bouquet and pressed up against the cement wall. “I’m allergic to oranges! I can’t even touch them! Oh my goddess, get them away from me!” The mother of the bride ran to her daughter and scowled at Elly. “I should have known the help would be useless! Jonna can’t have a physical breakdown on her wedding day! How could you possibly dream of putting oranges in the bouquet? What is wrong with you?” She gently rested her hand against Jonna, who was hyperventilating.

“Can’t believe oranges …,” gulp, gasp, “oranges on my wedding day….”

Elly took a step back and put her hands up. “Everyone calm down. I can remove the oranges with no problem.” She tried to look sympathetic even though inside she was fuming, “Jonna, why didn’t you tell me that you were allergic to oranges?”

Jonna shrugged, her flower crown pushed up against her face. “I thought you would just know. I’m sorry.” With a smile that was as real as her tan, Elly reached for the bouquet and tenderly withdrew the oranges, one by one, their fat heads bouncing on tiny wooden sticks. Then she removed all the flowers that the oranges had touched. She looked up at her bride, who was literally clinging to her mother with terror. Elly’s stomach clenched uncomfortably and she felt guilty for causing Jonna panic on her wedding day. But really, didn’t you think it might be important to tell me that you are deathly allergic to a certain fruit when you requested fruit in your bridal bouquet? Elly’s hip bumped the table and one of the removed oranges rolled off it, bouncing in the bride’s direction.

Jonna screamed and climbed on the table. “Don’t let it touch me! Mom!”

The mother pressed her body over her daughter’s as if shielding her from a bullet. It would have been admirable if it hadn’t been an orange.

Elly picked it up and put it back on the table. “Everyone is going to be okay,” she said, more to herself than to them. She took a deep breath and centered herself, staring at the bouquet that now had some large, gaping holes in it. She pulled floral wire out of her apron and stretched one of the strands of plum grapes down its length. She wrapped the wire around it, securing the grapes to the stick, cut it into a few small pieces and then began arranging them over the hole where the oranges had been. In a stray bucket, she found some extra olive leaves and tucked them around the looser stems. Taking her spray bottle, she misted down the entire bouquet and then wiped down the areas around where the oranges had been.

Jonna, her mother, and an exhausted-looking maid of honor watched her with wide, panicky eyes. Elly gently set the bouquet back onto the table. “There. That should be perfect. You can’t even tell something is missing, and the grapes still give it that organic, harvest feeling.”

Jonna climbed down from the table and crept forward hesitantly. “This might be a lot to ask, but is there any way that we could still have some orange in this? I mean, I know we took out the oranges but I would still like that orange color….”

Elly silenced her with a raised eyebrow.

Jonna gave an apologetic shrug. “Actually, you know what? I think this will be fine.”

Her mother looked at her with disbelief. “But honey … if you want orange….”

Jonna waved her hand. “I think that the goddess inside is telling me that orange is not in the plan today. Let’s trust her kind spirit. The oranges can return their energy to the Earth now.”

The goddess would not be the only one telling her that there would be no orange today. Jonna looked down at the bouquet, and the smile Elly was waiting for finally crept across her face. “Actually, it’s perfect. More perfect that I could have ever imagined.” She reached out and pulled Elly into a tight hug while Elly held her orange-tainted hands out in front of her, not wanting to touch the bride. She cleared her throat.

“I’m so glad. Everything else is ready for you, blessings on your wedding, and thank you for using Posies florist!”

Back in the hallway, Elly leaned her head against the cool cement walls. These brides will kill me someday. Allergic to oranges? Seriously.

The maid of honor poked her head around the door. “Pssstt….”

Unsure of what was happening, Elly crept forward to her. “Um, yes?”

“She’s not really allergic,” the maid of honor whispered. “She just really doesn’t like oranges. She thinks she is allergic, but she’s not. So don’t worry too much.”

“Good to know,” Elly whispered back. So glad I just had a heart attack. She made her way out to the hallway, gathering buckets and tools along the way. “Note to self,” she said out loud, “add fruit-allergy question to consultation form.”

Arriving in the sculpture atrium, Elly pursed her lips together and gave a low whistle. Snarky Teenager trotted around the corner, a phone number written on her tiny hand.

“Elly! Oh my gosh. You should see the guy I just talked to. I’m pretty sure he surfs. Like, in the ocean. I didn’t know it until now, but I think I have a thing for surfers. Actually, I think I’m going to marry a surfer.” They had entered the museum’s ballroom, which was a gross exaggeration in Elly’s mind, seeing how it was a small windowless concrete block. The only bright spot in the room was the flowers on their Posies cart.

“So, what happened to Basir?” Elly asked. Her assistant’s last boyfriend had been Russian. Or something. Either way, he was a sweet boy and up until recently, she had been crazy about him.

Snarky Teenager gave a nonchalant shrug. “I got the feeling that he was more into the relationship than I was. When went out to the clubs, he wanted to dance with me as opposed to just dancing around me.”

Elly started placing square cherry wood boxes bursting with white anthurium onto the tables. “I don’t know how to say this, but that doesn’t actually sound like a real problem.”

“It is when he thinks he owns you. He wanted to hold my hand everywhere we went, wanted me to meet his mother, bought me a necklace….”

Elly started adding tiny chocolate cosmos to a perfectly square white cake as sarcasm dripped from her mouth. “You’re right. That sounds absolutely awful. How did you ever live with him for so long?”

Snarky Teenager rolled her eyes. “Elly. You don’t understand. He looked at me like I was the center of his world. Those brown puppy dog eyes were cute at first, but then all the sudden it was absolutely suffocating.” She gave a loud sigh. “He did look fantastic in the nylon briefs I bought him, though.”

Elly raised her hand. “I really don’t want to hear about that.” Okay, maybe a little. “Can you go set up the bar and the buffet table?” Snarky Teenager gave a groan, but she headed that direction.

They labored for another hour, covering every surface with Indian henna pots filled with wild herbs, root plants and rustic pods. As her assistant packed up, Elly leaned back against a circular wood table and gazed around the room. It was an eclectic masterpiece, full of bright bizarre flowers and lush petals twisted into awkward shapes. The joy of a job well done surged up in her chest. Love this job, she thought. Then she felt the weight of the discarded oranges in her apron pocket and reconsidered. Most of the time, I love my job. I also would love to eat sometime today. Skipping breakfast was a bad idea. Throwing her tools into a bright-pink tote bag, she stood quickly, her stomach cramping. Elly picked up a stray flower head and launched it at Snarky Teenager. It bounced off her perfect forehead. Elly suddenly became convinced that she would make an excellent softball pitcher. “Hey you, with the half skirt; let’s head out. I have a date with lunch.”

Snarky Teenager looked at Elly. “Oh, I forgot to tell you. You have rust stains on your face.”

Elly shrugged. “I’ll get it later. Let’s go. There is schawarma with my name on it.”

“Every schawarma has your name on it.”

“Quiet, peon!”

Together, they giggled as they made their way to the car.