Читать книгу The Cinderella List - Judy Baer - Страница 11

“Are you sure you want to do this? Two devastating humiliations in one week might be too much for you.” Lucy looked at Marlo with an expression that was half genuine concern and half repressed amusement. “We can postpone the Bridesmaids’ Luncheon until you’ve recovered from your faux pas at the Hammonds’ the other night.”

Marlo turned an attractive shade of pink. “I must be thick as a brick to have blurted out what I did.” Despite Jake’s graciousness and avoidance of her error, thinking about it made her cringe. Studs…horses…what else?

“But he laughed, Marlo. He thought it was funny.”

Sense of humor. Check. “Then he’s a better man than I am.”

“That goes without saying.” Lucy turned around and the enormous sunflower-yellow bow on her backside almost brushed an entire row of swan-shaped cream puffs off the counter.

The annual Bridesmaids’ Luncheon that Lucy and Marlo were hosting for their friends had started after Marlo had been asked to be a bridesmaid for the fourteenth time. It had begun half in jest and half because her friends had chosen the dresses with the deluded hope that they might be worn again. All had overlooked the fact that no dress ever worn by someone playing second fiddle to a woman in white lent itself to a second wearing.

Marlo had taken lemons and made lemonade by hosting this luncheon. She and Lucy required that everyone come in an old bridesmaid dress, and wear their hair in whatever fashion that particular bride had requested—an unflattering chignon or French twist, usually.

They served things like chicken Kiev on a bed of watery, undercooked wild and white rice, or minuscule medallions of beef on reconstituted mashed potatoes, duplicating typical wedding food as best they could. It wasn’t truly authentic, however, since they refused to leave the meals on the counter until they’d cooled off before serving them.

Every year, when the guests began their yearly conversation about disbanding the Bridesmaids’ Luncheon, Marlo would bring out the pièce de résistance, the item that brought them back year after year in their flouncy fashion disasters—the wedding cake. Few of her friends had tasted their own wedding cakes, other than for the obligatory shove-a-piece-into-each-other’s-mouths photo. This year the cake was carrot cake, layered with melt-in-your-mouth vanilla cheesecake, cream cheese frosting, walnuts and slivers of grated carrots.

Lucy eyed Marlo critically. “Speaking of dresses, you haven’t changed yet. Let me handle the kitchen. It’s not that hard to scorch one pan of food and undercook another. Do you think the carrots have been boiling long enough? Is there any color left in them?”

Lucy edged Marlo toward the bedroom, where an array of fashion disasters awaited. “You should wear the pink tulle you wore to your sister’s wedding,” Lucy advised. “It enhances your skin.”

“It makes me look like a gob of cotton candy.”

“There are worse things. I have a dress that makes me look like an Eskimo Pie.”

Marlo dropped onto the edge of the bed. “At least we’ve been able to go through most of these wedding traumas together. You’re a good friend, Lucy. I don’t tell you how much I appreciate you nearly often enough.”

“I’m guilty of that, as well. You are the most loyal, supportive, enthusiastic person I’ve ever known. I hope you find that Prince Charming you are looking for, Marlo. You deserve it.” Then Lucy glanced at the clock. “You’d better get ready. The doorbell is going to ring in five minutes.

“By the way, did you find a present to swap?”

Marlo regretted ever starting the regifting portion of the party. She was running out of things in her house as useless as her bridesmaid dresses.

“I have a set of knives that probably can’t cut through air. It’s the best I can do since I don’t have any wedding gifts I want to get rid of.” Marlo leaned heavily against the doorjamb. “It’s getting more and more difficult to ignore the fact that I’m one of the last single women in the group.”

“Whatdayamean? I’m single,” Lucy protested.

“You don’t count. Your man is doing a tour of duty overseas.”

“Don’t forget Angela, our beloved professional woman, control freak, neatnik and germaphobe.” Lucy wrinkled her nose. “No man in his right mind would tangle with Angela.”

Marlo didn’t want to admit it to Lucy, but misery does, indeed, love company. Instead she headed toward her bedroom, took the pink confection out of her closet and put it on. Jenny had desired a Cinderella wedding, handsome prince and all. Unfortunately her brother-in-law, Mike, had looked more like a miserable, depressed marshmallow than a prince, in his white tuxedo.

An errant thought popped into her mind. What would Jake Hammond look like in a groom’s white tuxedo? He’d carry it off, no doubt, just like he seemed to do with everything else. That, she realized, was something she should not dwell on, and she hurried to put on her makeup.

Marlo was barely dressed when she heard a commotion at her front door. Three women in billowing skirts were trying to break in. Tiffany came through first, in black tulle, looking as gloomy as if a funeral dirge were droning in the background. Jenny flitted in next, wearing a burgundy sheath with black lace inserts in the front and back, which made her look as if she was wearing a nightgown. She stood on tiptoes and gave Marlo a peck on the cheek. “You look stunning as always, sis.”

After Jenny, Linda arrived in a diaphanous chiffon number and Becky in royal blue. Christine, looking sour, refused to remove her jacket to show everyone what was underneath, citing ten extra pounds and several safety pins holding the dress together. Angela in Kermit green looked as tart as a lime.

“More proof that Angie will never find a man who can tolerate her,” Lucy whispered to Marlo, and received a poke in her ribs for the effort.

The Bridesmaid Club had arrived in full force.

“How’s your love life, Marlo?” Linda inquired over the last of her chicken Kiev.

This was the moment Marlo had been dreading—more so this year than others. Inevitably, when the luncheon conversation waned, her love life became the topic of choice. Her friends’ favorite activity was living vicariously through her dates. After a few years of marriage, they were beginning to view dating as a blast from the past and wanted to be reminded of how wonderfully romantic it was. They’d obviously forgotten the actual realities of dating—being fixed up, stood up or waiting by a phone that didn’t ring. In Marlo’s experience, dating could only be romanticized in hindsight.

Before Marlo got her mouth open to say as much, Lucy unexpectedly took the stage and blurted, “Marlo has met someone interesting.” Every head turned in Marlo’s direction.

“Does he fit the Cinderella List?” Jenny blurted.

Marlo nudged her ankle, not wanting Jenny to discuss their childhood game. Even louder, Jenny said, “I didn’t know your ideal man actually existed, Marlo.”

“List? What list?” Becky pounced on Jenny’s words. “An ‘ideal’ man actually exists? And you’ve found him, Marlo? Have you been holding out on us?”

“I think that’s absolutely wonderful!” Until that moment, Angela had been unusually quiet. Everyone turned to stare at her. Angela was a lot of things, but gracious wasn’t usually one of them. Angela’s features flushed with happiness. “I’m overjoyed, Marlo. It makes everything even more perfect.”

The group was taken aback by the transformation. Angela never beamed. She waited a beat before announcing, “I’m getting married!” The room was silent, as the astonishing news sank in, then everyone erupted in a cacophony of happy chatter.

The news hit Marlo like a piano dropped off a ten-story building. Angela married? Angela married? Bossy, controlling, frenzied and career-oriented Angela who had never had a nice thing to say about any man she’d ever dated? She was getting married?

Now Marlo was the only single woman in the Bridesmaid Club and was surprised to realize that she actually cared that she was losing this elusive race. She’d fallen behind in an unspoken marriage competition she hadn’t even meant to join. She felt an unexpected twinge of longing. Even more confusing were the images of Jake Hammond that skittered through her mind…the broad shoulders, a flashing white smile turned her way, his surreptitious peanut butter sandwiches with Bette….

Then a more practical thought came to her: if Angela got married, it meant another wedding—with cake and flowers and bridesmaids—and another dress. Fortunately or unfortunately, the Bridesmaid Club would survive and thrive another year.