Chapter Four

I woke the next morning, reflecting on the night before. I had informed the Funsisters about my new position at Wedding Wonderland, and my girlfriends and I rejoiced over the most excellent news. Mostly, Trixie acted the most ecstatic. Visible relief glowed on her face. She helped me find jobs and wasn’t keen on helping me find others. After three strikes, she lost her loving feeling.

“Hattie.” Tracey snagged my sleeve. “Since I am your beloved sissie, and you are my maid of honor, could you use your employee discount to buy my dress and accessories? Pretty please?”

I hadn’t been on the clock for long, and my sister took advantage of me. “Um, I’ll need to check on the store policy first.”

She nodded. “You do that. You know how Stuart’s all about saving for his, soon-to-be our, 401K.”

Oh boy. Stuart’s interesting hobbies—ballroom dancing and financial investing.

“Told Allan?” Jenny cruised by and lobbed her question over her shoulder.

“What?”

“About the job.”

“Why should I?”

She walked backward, shrugging. “Maybe Allan would like to know.”

He would love to bug me.

****

After a shower, I dressed carefully. I waffled about the perfect outfit to wear and had nearly been late. I didn’t think jeans would be appropriate clothing for the store. I settled on black slacks, a nice T-shirt, and tossed over my shoulders a pale gray sweater embroidered with flowers and beads in a variety of colors.

I arrived a squish before ten A.M. for my first day at Miss Anastasia’s Wedding Wonderland. Miss A. opened the door at my knock. I greeted her cheerfully as I entered the store. Since my interview, many nouveau things took place overnight. I circled about to study what Miss A. accomplished. She transformed the store into the ultimate in wedding wonderland. Stunning, like a magic fairy swept her wand and beauty abounded.

“Miss A., the store is…exquisite,” I couldn’t help but say. “Removing the paper from the windows and the dust covers brought in a light which enhances the understated silvery swirl in the carpet and on the walls. Well done, you.”

A happy countenance captured Miss A.’s face. “Thank you, Hattie. I worked late last night. I became totally immersed and couldn’t stop. The store is coming together, and I’m pleased with the results.”

How enthusiastic she sounded. Her white-enameled smile and her about-to-bust-a-button demeanor broadcasted her excitement. I said, “I should have brought you a cup of coffee.”

“I have an empty pot in my office. I feel like I’m running on jet fuel.”

Hmm. Probably not the jet fuel from high school days. I was familiar with a concoction of a powdered drink mix and grain alcohol. I doubted Miss A. ever imbibed anything like that. “Did you get any sleep?”

“A little. In the office. I couldn’t help myself. My eyes shut on their own. My forehead dropped to my desk. I think I drooled.” She threw back her shoulders and bobbed her head from side to side. The kinks in her back let loose with a pop-pop-pop. “Itching to get to work?”

I clapped my hands and bounced on my toes. “I am. I am.”

“Let’s get to it.”

My journey began at the check-out desk. I trailed a finger over the pecan-stained wood. A brand-spanking-new monitor and laptop sat on top. The matching credenza was positioned along the wall behind the desk with a printer, the ready light glowing green. Comfy cushioned armchairs created two waiting areas to the left and right of the reception area. Glass-covered tables sat between the chairs. Floral arrangements featuring my favorite flower, stargazer lilies, along with other colorful blossoms, were artfully assembled in cut-glass vases.

Throughout the space, chrome-and-acrylic shelf units lined the walls. A mixture of stand-up advertisements featured local suppliers like makeup artists and hairdressers. Jewelry, gloves, shoes, and other accessories filled some of the shelves. Framed portraits of beautiful brides posed in their finery adorned the walls.

Only an idiot couldn’t find anything to purchase in here.

I proceeded to the staging area and sat on the built-in banquette. I floated my hand over the softness of the dark blue velvet upholstery. Blue carpet covered the raised platform and the rest of the store. I noted my reflection in the mirrors, which she polished streak-free. Miss A. placed additional silk arrangements on pedestals positioned next to the end mirrors. As far as my experienced eye could tell, she skimped on nothing for the store.

I rested my head against the tufted seat back and clasped my hands to my breastbone. “I can’t wait to see brides modeling their dresses and family and friends celebrating with them. What a joyous occasion. Will we hold a grand opening? Serve champagne and chocolates?”

“I love your party ideas,” Miss A. said. “Any recommendations?”

“One favorite chocolate is made locally and a tiny bit expensive, but I believe they make mini versions. Perhaps, we could cut a deal with the store and fill trays with individually wrapped ones. As for the champagne…maybe we could consult with a liquor store, and if we order regularly, we probably can negotiate a discount.”

Miss A. scribbled on a notepad. “Another good idea. I’ll add small bottles of water and paper napkins printed with our store name.” She looked up. “Anything else?”

“Sparkling apple cider is festive. Add a slice of lemon and orange with a splash of ginger ale—party time!”

“I like where you’re headed, but no red wine.” She tossed her head.

“I agree. Red wine makes for a nasty mess.” With a wince, I sympathized. The thought of the undesirable stains on gowns and carpet—ick. I am happy she likes my ideas. I sure hope I have others stockpiled. “Let’s do champagne and water only. Keeps things simple.”

“I had a fabric protectant sprayed everywhere; however, if a discoloration sits, it could be difficult to remove,” Miss A. said.

“Helpful Hanna’s Home Advice column addressed the topic in last week’s Sommerville Express. What did she say?” I snapped my fingers. “I remember. Blot. Dilute with water. Blot. Top with a baking soda paste.”

Miss A. bobbed her head. “I’ll check into the remedy just in case because you can never say never.”

“Add cake. Every festive occasion has cake. Your bakery vendors can supply petit fours. They’re miniature cakes.”

“Cake is a good thing.” She scrubbed her palms. “You have perfect ideas, Hattie. I believe we’re off to a great start.”

Across from the reception area, she had heavy-duty six-foot-high rods hung from the walls for the bride’s, bridesmaid’s, mother’s, mother-in-law’s, and other attendants’ gowns. Behind the mirrored platform, two large dressing rooms with wide doors were built. To the left of the platform area stood a storage room-slash- office for Miss A.

Not a huge shop, but she had covered almost everything related to weddings. And if the business grew as she hoped and more space might be needed down the road, footage could be rented from the vacant retail unit sandwiched between Wedding Wonderland and the men's store.

Miss A. peered through the reading glasses balanced on the tip of her nose. “Shall we talk about the computer program?”

I picked up my tablet for notetaking. “Absolutely.”

I situated myself in front of the computer. Miss A. pulled a chair next to me. She explained how the latest in technology had infiltrated the wedding industry. She purchased special software containing a step-by-step program necessary to plan the big event from months out to zero hour, organized through a calendar with the specified time frame for each bride to order invitations, schedule fittings, flowers, etc.

Every morning, a prompt appeared on Wedding Wonderland’s computer with brides’ names and their respective notifications. The bride could log-in and use her account to access the information, too. I could check the program first thing in the morning to see which brides needed to do what and remind them by email or text in case they forgot to look at their account. All appeared simple, mostly data entry, and the computer took over. Not tough.

Miss A. and I reviewed what seemed like the whole shebang. Dividing the duties, we decided most of her responsibilities would focus on the planning and gown selection, especially with fitting.

She tapped the computer. “Are you comfortable with the software, Hattie?”

“I can do the data entry—no problem. My experience from my days at Tucker's will be helpful. I want to play around with the program for a while, but over time, I’ll be fine.” Tonight, I could review the voluminous notes I’d taken.

Later, Miss A. shoved aside the mouse, her glasses to the top of her head, and tucked a white curl behind her ear. She stood, and, with her palm along her spine, she stretched her back. “You look exhausted, dearie. I know I am. A change of scenery will do us good. Go. Eat lunch. Come back in an hour or so.”

“I’m hungry. I’m starving.” Wedding brain dead, I came to my feet. I rummaged through the credenza, where I stored my handbag in a locked drawer. “Do you want me to grab a sandwich for you?”

“No, thank you, dearie.” Miss A. tousled her short hair. “I need to run errands. I seem to have misplaced the hammer and must hang some pictures—which reminds me. I want to purchase picture hooks for large frames. Start a list for me, please.” She rustled a sticky notepad from the drawer.

I scrambled for a pencil tucked in a pen jar.

“Take your time.”

“Sorry.” Miss A. is gracious. Not a mean bone in her body. The kind of employer I admired. Works hard. Considerate. Educated. I scribbled “hammer” and “picture hooks.”

“Anything else?” I asked.

“I don’t think so. Maybe if I carry the note, something will come to mind. Have a nice lunch, dearie.”

After saying “bye,” I exited the store and hopped in my ride. I drove to my favorite fast food joint, where I grabbed a chicken Caesar salad and diet soda. I parked the car and killed the engine. I took a long slug of my drink, so long, nearly half disappeared. I let the back of my head drop against the headrest and closed my eyes. The buzz from my phone caught my ear, making me snap upright. A check of my watch told me I napped roughly fifteen minutes.

“H-Hello?”

“Hey,” Jenny said. “How’s the first day?”

She sounds way too cheerful. I drank a small swallow, then squeezed dressing on the salad. I stirred my fork through the lettuce for a more even coating. “I’ve never been so tired, not even at Tucker’s when we opened new stores,” I said in between chomps. “Am eating lunch now.”

“I hear.”

I paused mid-crunch. “Sorry.”

“Working late?”

“Don’t know. Why?”

“I’m not surprised you dis-remembered. Tango lesson number twoooo. Ring a bell?”

Crap. I’d forgotten. Another torture session.

The previous night’s dance resurfaced, and through only God knew how, merged with the wedding salon and the dream I’d had. Dressed in a lacey, V-neck confection, which billowed at my ankles, I swayed in time with the music. At first, the man’s image eluded me, but even in my imaginings, I sensed him to be Allan.

“Hattttiiieee???”

Jenny. I sucked the rest of my drink to the ice crumbles. “You don’t have to yell.”

“You vanished.”

“I heard you.”

“Are you coming? You’ll be with…your favorite…partner. Again.”

Jenny’s singing dialogue maddened me. “Don’t remind me.”

I crisscrossed the fork through the romaine and parmesan shavings for hidden chicken and crouton bits. Some bacon would have rounded out the salad nicely because everything food-related tasted better with bacon.

“I have four words for you—”

I can’t wait to hear this. “That would be?”

“It’s. Only. A. Dance. Moron.”

Huh. Not every day a BFF called her BFF a moron. “Five words. Your counting is off.”

She hung up.

I mouthed moron at the screen because, well, just because, and tossed the phone to the passenger seat where it landed next to my handbag. Closing the takeaway lid, I set the container on the floorboard and started the car.

Lordy. Tango lessons. What’s a girl to do?

****

Back at the shop, Miss A. and I unpacked bridal gowns from exceedingly big white boxes we removed from larger cardboard shipping boxes. She lightly steamed the dresses, and when finished, I suspended the garment on a padded hanger. The dresses were encased in clear plastic garment bags and then were hung on the rods.

“I order each style from the manufacturer in a size ten,” Miss A. explained. “We use these.” She showed me two-inch binder clips, the black kind sold at office supply stores. “The bride tries on her dress to see if the style suits, and if need be, we can adjust for fit with the clips. We order other sizes from the manufacturer, which is why a shipment can take so long. Or alter.”

“I see.” I rubbed my chin. “Do we have an in-house alteration staff?”

“Not yet.” She shook a no. “That is, not a permanent one. I found someone local who does alterations and is available to work with us. We’ll test her before making her permanent.”

“Sounds good.”

By six, exhaustion ruled. “We’ve hung about half the gowns,” Miss A. said. “Tomorrow, I will provide a white jacket embroidered with your name which will identify you as Wedding Wonderland staff. What is your favorite color, dearie?”

“Light pink.”

She squeezed her brows. “Do you think light pink lettering would be hard to read? Would dark pink be more visible?”

I guessed the store didn’t have a hard and fast signature color, and I truly appreciated her asking my preference. “What about fuchsia? Or hot pink? Shrimp? Flamingo?”

Miss A.’s laugh tinkled. “Very well, your name on the jacket will be embroidered in a readable shade of pink. And tomorrow, we can hang the bridesmaids’ and flower girls’ gowns.”

Oh, God, my shoulders ached. I overlapped my arms and massaged my biceps. Lifting eight to ten pounds over and over made them throb. “No need to go home and lift weights.”

“I agree. Some dresses are heavy due to the decorative goodies, like beading and crystals. You will be relieved to know we won’t carry very many mother-of-the-bride and little girl ones. Those can be ordered from a catalog and modified after arrival—thank God.”

Miss A. retrieved her belongings from her office. I pulled my handbag from the credenza. After she secured the premises for the day, I walked to my car. I couldn’t wait to get settled at my apartment and trade my shoes for comfy ones or none at all.

She paused in the parking lot. “We need to plan more of the opening day festivities.”

“That’ll be fun.”

“Any more ideas?”

In front of my Jeep, I paused and leaned against the front bumper and slipped off my shoe so I could rub my toes. “A basket of trinkets for giveaways. The drinks, cakes, and chocolates we talked about earlier. Perhaps, some postcards with discounts.”

“I like your suggestions”—Miss A. stroked the Jeep's fender—“and your style, dearie. A very cool ride.”

“I love my fun car. My mother believed a four-door sedan more sensible, but I rebelled, and I’m glad I did. I love my baby.” After slipping on my low-heeled flat, I clicked open the lock and looked over my shoulder. “See you tomorrow, Miss A.”

“Hattie.”

I straightened with my foot propped on the running board. “Yes, ma’am?”

“I’m so grateful you interviewed.” She stepped closer and embraced me.

Her powdery rose scent teased my nose.

“I don’t know what I would do without you.”

How nice to be liked and valued for my contribution—for once. I smiled. “My pleasure.”

****

I could hardly concentrate on the drive to mi casa. Drained. Ravenous. Weak. Overjoyed with Miss. A.’s compliment.

“Honey,” I drawled as I opened the apartment door. “I’m home.”

Jenny popped out of her room. “You look awful.”

“I strive to please.” I tossed my handbag on the sofa and pointed to my bathroom. “You can find me in the tub. Covered in bubbles.”

“Seriously?” she asked with a huff. Her hands hit her hips. “We have to leave in thirty minutes for Dancing with the Wedding Party lessons, my friend.”

My head went from side to side. “Not just a no, but a big NO.”

“Mighty sassy language.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“First, my entire body has never hurt like this before. Second, I want food before I go anywhere. If I’m late, I’m late. Maybe Ms. Yolanda can be the maid of honor. She already knows the tango.” I toed off my shoes, unhooked my pants, and by the time I hit my bedroom door, I had unbuttoned my blouse.

“Thanks for asking about my great day buying luggage for Tucker’s,” Jenny said from the kitchen. “Want me to fix you anything?”

“Whatever. I’m too tired to care.” I shut the bathroom door and set the water to steamy. I poured a drop of lavender oil in the tub and inhaled deeply when the incredible scent enveloped the room. After I tugged the shower curtain into place for privacy, I let my body slink into the bubbly depths.

Jenny rapped lightly and cracked open the hallway door to my bathroom. “Naked?”

“Yup.”

“I’ll look the other way.”

Something clattered on the solid surface counter. “Appetizer,” she said.

“Appetizer?” I peeked past the curtain’s edge to find she’d set a bowl of peanut M&Ms next to the sink. How considerate.

The door closed. I heard her ask, “How did the rest of your day go?”

“Great. I like my new job.” I snaked my arm around the curtain and stretched to grab five candies. “Miss A.’s the best kind of employer. Very professional and desperately needs help—yay for me.”

“How is she professional?”

“One who doesn't kill anybody.” I slid deeper into the warm water. The heat seeped into all my joints. The twitching in my biceps subsided. “Miss A. said we might have to hire additional employees if the business takes off as she hopes. Maybe I could grow up and be a supervisor or a buyer.”

“What did you do today?”

I chewed and swallowed. The lack of protein created a brain void. Fast-food chicken Caesar salad could only go so far. I summarized for Jenny the software planning system and the unpacking of the gowns. “Tons. Literally, those things weigh a ton— well, maybe more like ten pounds. I did see a possibility for Tracey, though. A sleek number with long, sheer sleeves and a V in the back which dips to the waist. Perfect for her figure.”

“You know your mother will get ideas—”

“She better not, especially when no Mr. Right is in sight—”

“—about Allan.”

Pulling aside the curtain just a fraction, I glared at a mental image of my friend through the wooden portal.

Jenny laughed. “I’m messing with your head.”

I dropped the curtain’s edge to locate a squishy sponge. I squeezed soapy water along my arm. “But you're right. Mom’ll get ideas.”

“It’s a given.”

Notions about hunky Mr. Wellborn came to my mind. I’d like to see him wearing a tight white T-shirt and low-slung jeans. His six pack. The short sleeves tightened around his biceps. The broad shoulders. And the jeans dropped low enough to reveal skin and a trail from his bellybutton to more interesting regions—

“Speaking of the hunk, Allan stopped by,” Jenny said.

“Oh?” My thoughts raced at the idea of “what does he want.” “Too bad I missed him.”

Nothing.

“Okay. I’ll bite. What did he want?”

“He said, ‘Hey.’”

Without a doubt, Jenny believed she was hilarious. “Aren’t you special?”

“You sounded like the church ladies. He asked if you wanted a ride to the studio.”

The man knew how to punch all my buttons. Irritating. I smacked the water, sending drops flying. “Allan doesn’t understand N period O period very well.”

“You deserve happiness, Hattie. We all do. He’s the guy, The One. Take my advice—chase Allan, tie him to the bed, and you do the voodoo on him.”

I dropped the sponge and depressed the toe-pop plug to open. “Lord, how I’ve tried.”

“Failure’s not a choice. Try again, and if that doesn’t work, again. Are you a quitter?”

“No.” Until I resembled an idiot. I snagged the towel to wrap my torso, feeling indignation root in my tummy. Standing, I adjusted the ends under my armpits and maneuvered the curtain to one side to step over the rim. I opened the hall door. “If only his cell phone wouldn’t interrupt us.” I smiled. “He would probably like the binding part.”

With a grin, Jenny bounced her brows. “I hear police handcuffs are the way to go.”

I laughed. “Funny. What else did he want other than the ride offer?”

“Here.” She plucked my phone from the counter next to the toothpaste tube and a glass jar filled with cotton swabs. “Push one.”

I stared at my phone, utterly amazed. “You assigned a number…on speed dial…on my phone? Without telling me? When did you do this?”

Jenny shrugged. “Long time ago. Seemed prudent.”

Sometimes, her efficiency left me…speechless.

I rubbed my forehead. Do I want to talk to Allan?