I checked out of the Duncan Arms and brought my suitcase to the house. I’d barely finished unpacking when Mariel appeared in the doorway of my room and insisted we bring our gowns into town to get them altered.
Twenty minutes later, we walked into Marcello’s Tailoring with our garment bags. A black-and-white cat curled up in a chair near the door opened his eyes, raised his head, squinted at me, and collapsed back to sleep. Halfway across the room, Bella, mid-fifties, olive complexion, thin frame, knelt in front of a small platform with a mirror around it and directed a customer to turn as she pinned the hem of her dress. Bella had been running the business since her father, Marcello, retired a few years back.
“I’ll be right with you, ladies.” She glanced at us and pushed a couple of dark curls behind her ears, revealing silver hoop earrings.
We took seats near a wall of wooden shelves filled with bolts of cloth. I remembered going there as a child with my father and being mesmerized by all that fabric, organized by color, from pale yellows to peachy pinks and teal blues to the darkest, inkiest blacks. There was another room in the back where the work was done, a room Dad and I got to glimpse once when we were there. How surprised I was to see two women working away on old sewing machines. I’d always imagined Marcello did everything himself, like a singular Santa’s elf.
“It’s the Harrington girls,” Bella said, greeting us after her other customer left. “Nice to see you. It’s been a while.” She eyed the garment bags, a pincushion in her hand. “What can I help you with?”
“Well,” Mariel said, hanging her garment bag on a rod by the counter, “I’m getting married, and I have a very special wedding gown that needs some final alterations.”
Bella’s eyes danced. “Ooh! You’re getting married. Congratulations. When’s the big day?”
“A week from Saturday,” Mariel said.
“And I have a bridesmaid gown that needs to be altered,” I added as I hung my gown on the rod next to Mariel’s.
“You’ve worked on wedding gowns before,” Mariel said in a tone that was half question, half statement.
“Of course,” Bella said, turning to glance at a calendar on the wall. “A week from Saturday. That’s coming right up. Go try them on so I can see what I’ll need to do.”
Mariel and I took our gowns to the dressing room in the back. She unzipped her garment bag, and my first glimpse of her gown took my breath away. It was exquisite. Sheath silhouette, a scoop neckline, fitted waist, and a simple but elegant train. There had to be five layers of fabric in that dress, the one on top being the most gorgeous floral-patterned lace I’d ever seen. It looked like the kind of lace someone’s great-grandmother had made by hand a hundred years ago in a tiny little town in Italy. I looked at the label: Valentino. No wonder.
“That’s quite a dress,” I said, running my hand over the fabric. It was thick, luxurious. I’d never felt anything like it. Or seen anything like it. I stared at the minute patterns in the lace. Every square inch was a work of art.
It must have cost a fortune. I knew Carter had paid for it because Mom told me he’d insisted on buying the gown. I couldn’t believe Mariel had asked him to buy such an expensive one, though. I would never have done that. But then, I understood the value of a dollar. Mariel, who had always depended on others for her financial well-being, did not.
She stepped into the dress and I zipped up the back. She turned, studying her reflection in the mirror. The gown looked spectacular—the cut, the fabric, the lace. If only I were the one wearing it. If only I were the one marrying Carter. I pictured us at the altar, Carter saying his vows to me. To love and to cherish…
“Hello,” Mariel said, waving a hand in my face. “You need to try on your dress.”
“Right,” I said, unzipping the other garment bag. The bridesmaid’s gown was tulle over silk with a ruched, crisscrossed top and flowing skirt. I put it on. It was at least four inches too long. Baily Richardson was one tall girl.
“Hmm.” Mariel stood back and studied me. “Not sure that’s the best color on you.”
No kidding it wasn’t the best color on me. “Couldn’t you have gotten it in a different color? You know I don’t look good in mauve.”
“Hey, you weren’t even coming to the wedding when I picked out that dress.”
“Well, I’m here now.”
“And you have to wear it.”
There was a knock on the door. “Excuse me. Do you need some help with zippers or buttons or…anything?”
Bella. She’d probably heard us. “We’re okay,” I said.
When we emerged from the dressing room, Bella clasped her hands and I could see her eyes were misty. “Look at you! What a beautiful bride you’re going to be.” She circled Mariel, studying the gown, touching the fabric, nodding. Then she turned to me as if she’d suddenly remembered her manners. “Oh, and you too. You look very nice.”
I forced a smile.
She directed Mariel to the platform. “I can see it’s a little big for you—”
“It’s way too big,” Mariel said. “I can’t believe the bridal shop didn’t get this right. I have a tiny waist. I’m swimming in this.”
Bella gathered some fabric on either side of Mariel’s waist. “If we take it in a bit here and here…I think…yes, that should do it.”
“Don’t you see?” Mariel said, looking in the mirror, angry little lines crossing her face. “Don’t you see how tiny my waist is? How could they have thought this would fit me?”
If she said tiny waist one more time, I was going to choke her.
Bella picked up a pincushion and began pinning the dress. “Who’s the lucky man?”
Mariel’s face relaxed. “His name is Carter Pryce. He’s a lawyer in Los Angeles. An entertainment lawyer. He works with movie stars.”
“Movie stars.” Bella sounded impressed.
“Yes, movie stars, singers, writers. Producers too. He has all kinds of celebrity clients. He’s very successful.”
Oh, please. Did we really have to hear this?
“We’re going to the Telluride Film Festival next month. Or maybe it’s the month after. I don’t remember.” She smoothed the bodice of her gown like a preening bird.
In the beginning, I’d been excited about those things too. The parties, the benefits, the industry events. Black-tie this, black-tie that. I remembered how impressed I’d been by a Thanksgiving dinner at Carter’s, early in our relationship, with a lot of Hollywood A-listers and food catered by some trendy new restaurant. A little part of me had longed for a simple family meal, but I’d tried to think of it as a once-in-a-lifetime experience.
“You’ll probably like the film festival,” I said. “Personally, I’m glad I don’t have to do that kind of thing anymore. All those crowds and starstruck fans.”
“I’m looking forward to it.”
“Not to mention the altitude. It’s hard to breathe.”
“Then it’s good you won’t be there,” Mariel said, sounding cheerful, as Bella gestured for her to turn. “I’m sure you’ll be happier in Chicago. With those cold winters. And the crime. And the pollution.”
I wanted to remind her she was the reason I’d had to escape LA and go to Chicago, but I bit my tongue. I had to keep my eyes on the prize.
Bella finished pinning the right side of the dress and was about to start on the left when the door to the back room opened and in walked a small man, slightly hunched over, bald, with bushy eyebrows. Marcello. He stared at us for a few seconds and then burst into a grin.
“The Harringtons. My, my. How long has it been? Three, four years?”
“At least,” I said.
He looked at Mariel. “And what’s this? You’re getting married?”
She smiled. “I sure am.”
“Congratulations! Such a surprise.” He glanced at Bella. “Nobody tells me anything.”
Bella shook her head, her brows raised. “I didn’t know, Pop.”
“Who’s the lucky man?”
Did we really have to go through this again? “She’s marrying an entertainment attorney,” I said. “In Los Angeles. Carter Pryce.” I needed to speed things up here.
“And you’re a bridesmaid.”
“Yes, I’m a bridesmaid.” I was clenching my teeth.
He turned to Mariel again. “Are you going to live in Los Angeles?”
“Yes, we already live there. But we’re looking for a new house.”
They were? Carter had a gorgeous home on a hill overlooking Santa Monica. Who wouldn’t want to live there? I remembered those lazy Sunday mornings, the two of us sitting on his terrace, reading, drinking coffee, the city skyline visible through a clearing in the trees, the ocean wild and blue beyond it.
“My fiancé has a house,” Mariel said. “But I think we should start with something new. A place we can make our own, not a house he already has. My designer has a lot of ideas and I’m sure when we find the right place, it will turn out to be perfect.”
Her designer? She was talking about Carter’s designer. I was ready to explode.
“I thought you retired,” I said to Marcello, hoping to change the subject.
He smiled a patient smile. “Sure. I did. I’m almost eighty. But, you know, retirement isn’t something you do all at once. I get bored. So I come in sometimes and help my Bella.” He gave her a gentle clap on the shoulder.
“Don’t believe it,” she muttered, putting a final pin in the dress. “He’ll always be the boss.” She stepped back. “There. What do you think?”
Mariel looked in the mirror, turning in one direction and then the other. “I think this will work.”
“Okay, next,” Bella said, nodding to me.
I stepped onto the platform as Mariel walked back to the dressing room. Bella pinned the hem and made a couple of adjustments in the shoulders as I stood there fuming. Couldn’t Carter see Mariel was manipulating him into buying a new house when he didn’t need one?
“There,” Bella said when she was done. “How does that look?”
It looked better, but it was still mauve.
“All right,” she said as Mariel came out of the dressing room. “Let me get your information down. Phone numbers and all.”
Mariel followed her to the counter, and I went to change. When I opened the dressing-room door, I saw her gown hanging there, pinned by Bella to ensure the perfect fit. I stared at the graceful neckline, the lace, the fitted silhouette, the layers of fabric, the train that would swirl gracefully around Mariel’s feet. I imagined her floating down the aisle in the gown, a spray of orchids at the end of each pew, candles flickering, all eyes on her.
Then I remembered my client, the girl the seamstress had had to sew into her gown, and the image of my sister changed. She was still walking down the aisle, but suddenly there was a loud rrrrip and her dress split open, exposing a three-inch-wide strip of skin all the way down her back.
The bridesmaids shrieked and huddled around her, trying to block everyone’s view. The guests gasped, and the priest looked as if he would rather be selling fire extinguishers door to door than be there. Carter was pale, clearly in shock. Then he saw me, sitting off to the side. Our eyes locked and I knew he was smitten. Again. It was as if no time had passed, as if nothing had happened.
I never stopped loving you, Sara, he said, loud enough for everyone in the church to hear. He grabbed the wedding rings from the ring bearer—who was only five but knew this wasn’t how it had gone at the rehearsal—walked over to me, and said, Sara Harrington, will you marry me?
My sister fainted dead away. Even my spritzer of Poison didn’t bring her around. They had to carry her off somewhere to revive her. Texas, maybe. But meanwhile, the wedding went on, except now I was the bride. I modified the ceremony a little and switched out a couple of the music selections. At the reception, I put all my favorite tunes on the band’s playlist, changed Mariel’s name to mine on the wedding cake, and…
“I don’t know how they could have done that,” Mariel was saying to Bella. “You do see how tiny my waist is, don’t you?”
She thought she had a tiny waist? I’d show her a tiny waist. I took Bella’s pins out one by one and moved them to make the dress an inch narrower on each side. Now, that was a tiny waist.
The sabotage had begun.