“Can you believe the cheek of him?” I said to Kirby as we reached the door of Mode For Brides a couple of days later. “He wanted me to dump Alex from the bridal party because she’s a bit tubby.”
Kirby’s head shook in disbelief. Her golden highlights sparkled in the afternoon sun. “Like, what a dick! I hope you, totally, told him to stick his head up his bony little bottom.”
“I told him to get out.”
“O.M.G! You, like, sacked the wedding planner?”
“Well, yeah, but then I had to reinstate him. I’ve got no idea how to organise a wedding.” The whole thing was a nightmare and we hadn’t even begun. I was going to be grey before the day arrived at this rate.
I held the door open for Kirby and followed her inside. “Angus wants me to employ a stylist.”
“What? For Alex?”
Oh God.
“No. For me.”
“But there’s nothing wrong with you. I mean, I know the Boho look isn’t for everybody but that ‘just got back from a love-in’ thing, like totally, suits you. If you dropped a few kilos you could, totally, be Mary-Kate or maybe even Nicole Richie. Like, take your pick.”
“Um. Yeah. I don’t think I’d like to be that thin. Even if Angus said bulges on brides are bad in photos. He’s coming today, by the way. To give his approval on dresses. So I hope you haven’t eaten. We wouldn’t want a paunch.”
“What would he know?”
“He probably does know something. He’s quite a celeb in Wedding Planner world.”
Kirby’s hand reached out to knock on my forehead. “Ah, hello? He’s, like, a man. I’ve never met one yet who could give an opinion on a dress that didn’t begin with ‘your tits look great in that’.”
“He’s gay.”
“Oh. No wonder he’s on to you about weight then. I’ll bet he’s man-orexic.”
I didn’t bother to ask what trashy magazine she’d read that in. Instead, I immersed myself in wedding heaven.
Mode For Brides was a frosted wonderland. It was as if crystals of snow had been sprinkled on every surface and frozen for posterity. Glass cases sparkled with all manner of tiaras and jewellery. Row upon row of satin slippers adorned the walls and the dresses ~ white, cream, ivory, lace, satin. How would I ever choose?
“I think my lungs have stopped functioning,” I whispered, suddenly feeling rather overwhelmed by it all.
Kirby gave my hand a tiny squeeze and led me over to the shabby chic chaise where Alex was perched, twittering like an overexcited sparrow.
“It’s like, totally, okay. I was like that the first time I came here, too.”
“You’ve been here before?”
She waved a blasé hand. “Of course. I used to come here all the time when I was with Rambo. I used to, like, dream of a Collette Dinningan wedding gown with matching hand-stitched underwear and Christian Louboutin pumps with custom pink soles. Like, thank freakin’ God I got rid of that sorry excuse for a man. He’d never be able to afford the wedding I deserve.”
“Have you heard from him since he got back to Perth?”
“No. I don’t think he was totally with me over the whole wine thing.”
I smirked at the memory of Kirby’s division of assets strategy. She’d been the talk of the club for weeks after she’d tipped out half of every expensive bottle of wine Rambo had owned and freighted the remains back to him. It taught him not to underestimate her blondeness that was for sure.
“Okay, let’s pick a fucking dress and get this show on the road.”
A long, dark haired girl swung through the glass doors and walked towards the chaise. Gently curled locks swung in time with her hips and she wound them around her hand and flicked them over one shoulder to partially cover her chest. If it weren’t for the hair I would have sworn…
“Fucking hair,” she muttered as she dumped her handbag at my feet.
“Mel?”
“Who the fuck else do you think it is? Jesus, how many bridesmaids are there going to be in this circus?”
“Your hair…”
Mel straightened, stopping her tirade. “Do you like it? I blame Kirby if you don’t. She talked me into getting extensions after you asked us to be in the wedding party. She ranted so much I did it to shut her up. Cost me four hundred dollars so I’d better be getting a shag at the reception.”
“I only said it would be, like, nice if we could all put our hair up in the same style. I was thinking sort of Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany’s.”
“Oooh, I love that movie,” said Alex. “Are we wearing black, Millie?”
I hadn’t thought of colours ~ possibly because I hadn’t thought of having twenty bridesmaids either ~ the original plan had been for Alex to choose her own gown and we’d work a scheme in with it. I wasn’t that fussed.
“Black would be very chic,” Kirby commented. “It’s not done often and I look, like, totally hot in black. Goes with my hair.”
Mel walked over to a selection of dresses. She flicked a few across the rack and pulled one out, holding it against her body. “You won’t get any argument from me. And Sasha was Queen of Black a couple of seasons ago, so she’ll be up for it. Speaking of which, where is she? I’d have thought she’d have been the first one here. We all know how much she loves a good fucking romp in a gown.”
“She had to do an afternoon shift,” I said. “But I’m going to message her any of our selections so she can choose too.”
“Cool,” Mel said, hooking the dress back on the rack. “Now, do we get free drinks in this place? If I have to spend an afternoon frocking up, I’m going to need a champagne or two to loosen my bra straps.”
And as if by magic, the shop assistant appeared from a back room bearing a tray of bubbles. Lovely.
About half an hour after that Angus arrived. He put his man-bag on the floor next to Mel’s tote and handed me a ‘sorry’ posy of daisies before taking a glass of champagne from the shop assistant.
“So ladies, how far along are we?” he asked, pulling his paisley diary out of his bag.
Mel, Alex and Kirby stood before me wearing three different black gowns. Poofy, swirly, tight at the knee, taffeta and even feathers - we’d tried them all before he arrived.
“I gather the theme is black?” he asked, adding, “Please don’t tell me you’re putting silver with it. Black and silver is so last year. Damask is a little passé also.”
“Don’t be ridiculous! This is a rugby wedding, Angus, not freaking Cirque Du Soleil,” Kirby squawked. “We have standards.”
“We were thinking a simple black and white theme,” Mel explained. “Attendants and Sam in black, boys with white ties and Millie in ivory with a huge ivory bouquet. No fucking silver. Silver is for people who do craft and make their own centrepieces. God.” She rolled her eyes at him.
“The black could work,” Angus said. “If you keep the attendants bouquets small and have the jewellery in pearl it could be very glamorous. Almost Audrey Hepburn.”
“Exactly.”
“We could, like, even do black evening gloves,” Kirby offered.
“Possibly. Flowers?”
“Lilies, orchids and roses. All Millie’s favourites with like, maybe even a hint of Baby’s Breath.”
Angus’s eyebrows shot to the top of his head. I think he stopped breathing for a second. Baby’s Breath hadn’t been done since the wedding of Fergie and Andrew.
“It’d be retro but not tacky. My mother had a bouquet like that in the 70’s and it was divine.” To further justify her claim, Kirby raced to her handbag and fished out a wedding photo of her mother. She handed it to me. The dress was a hideous seventies creation but she was right. The flowers were divine. And timeless.
Over my shoulder, Angus nodded. “Yes. Yes, I can see that. Very nice.” He took a photo with his iPhone. I’ll get onto some florists for mock ups for the bridal party when I get back to the office.”
*****
We stayed in the shop another two hours by which time, I was becoming convinced I would never find the dress of my dreams. The girls had been easy once we decided on the colour. Tired and emotional, I flopped down on the chaise beside Alex, who had taken up residence after trying on twelve bridesmaid outfits and declaring herself knackered.
“None of these are the one,” I moaned.
“What’re you going to do? The other boutiques have nothing like quality and range of the dresses here and I don’t think I have the energy to go through this again without a few shots of Ouzo.”
Angus’s brow gathered. He pulled out his iPhone and consulted the calendar. “We don’t have time for custom, with only fifteen weeks up our sleeve.”
“I might have a solution…..” The young shop assistant stepped forward. She looked all of sixteen and possibly related to that swimming instructor I’d encountered a few months back ~ the one who’d called me ‘Mummy’. What could she possibly do that would help apart from shoving me into a few more revolting dresses?
“Yes?”
Her mouth turned up at the corner in the tiniest of smiles, as if she were sharing the biggest secret in the world. She leant towards me. “I shouldn’t be telling you this, but Lisa is coming across from Sydney next week.”
“And?”
“She’s doing the final fitting for my sister’s wedding.”
I stared at her. Some skinny girl’s sister’s wedding wasn’t my concern. I had enough trouble trying to control Angus and his crazy plans.
But Kirby had begun to quiver with excitement. Her face lit up brighter than the time she’d scored the latest Mac lip-gloss before the rest of the populace. “O.M.G! Lisa Ho is, like, making your sister’s wedding gown?”
She grabbed Angus by the hand and together they jumped up and down like two six year olds on a trampoline.
“Lisa designed it and the seamstress here is making it up. She pops over every month to check progress. She knows my mum.” The girl waved her hand in the air nonchalantly as if everyone was B.F.F with famous Australian designers. “Maybe she’d do one for you?”
“Oh my God, Oh my God, Oh my God! Yes. Please,” Kirby squealed.
Angus stopped jumping. He opened his diary and began to froth at the mouth as he double-checked dates.
“Do you think she’d have time?” Four months wasn’t long in custom wedding dress land.
“Doesn’t hurt to ask. Give me a sec’.”
And with that she dashed off into the back room.
Angus and Kirby stood with their mouths agape. I shook my head in bewilderment. Only Alex seemed coherent, though even she looked visibly shocked. “Lisa Ho is going to design your wedding gown, Chica. Wow.”
“I have to text Sash’,” Mel said, scrambling for her phone. This was clearly a bigger deal than I realised. She never broke a sweat except to get angry with the boys for acting the fool.
“We don’t know yet.” I held up my hands with all my fingers crossed.
“I’ve, like, got my toes crossed too,” said Kirby. “You just can’t see it through my shoes.”
After a minute or two, the assistant emerged from behind the curtain. She was nodding enthusiastically, the smile on her face growing wider by the second as she came towards us, her ear still glued to her pink, sequined mobile. Removing it from her ear, she put her hand over the mouthpiece.
“She said she’d do it. She has an opening. And the seamstress will put you on the priority list. This is for the Brockton wedding on April 29th, right?”
“Yes.”
Beside me I could feel another squeal building in Kirby’s lungs. Her body, rigid with nervous tension was unmoving next to mine but her foot was tapping faster than a mouse could run on an exercise wheel.
“Cool,” the assistant said. “I thought so because that’s the only reason she agreed. Anyway, she says she’d be honored and will meet you here at 10 am this Saturday. Any ideas you’ve got, you’re to bring.”
Kirby began to hyperventilate. Anyone would have thought it was her wedding. “Really? Like, seriously?”
“Yep. I’ll pencil you in now. Oh and just as an aside… when you said Brockton, did you mean, like, Sam Brockton?”
I frowned at her. Surely Sam hadn’t hooked up with this pretty little pipsqueak in the past, too? Though knowing what he used to be like, I wouldn’t have put it past him. She was cute, in an underfed sort of way. “Yeeesss.”
“Wow, that’s cool. I saw him in some magazine or other recently. I mean like, he’s hot for an old guy. And super rich, too. You’re so lucky.”
“Old?!”
“Well, he must me at least thirty, right? He’s old enough to be my dad.”
God help us, let’s hope not. Children of any age were not on the agenda for a long time.
*****
Later that evening, I sat on the bed reading Paige a story before she went to sleep. The twins were tucked up with their teddies and Adele and Brian had gone off to a business dinner so I was back to nanny duties for the night. Since, I’d come back from Lombok, I’d been living with Sam. Even if I did seem to spend almost as much time at the Richard-Shaw’s house as I did before I left.
The house was very quiet. I leant against the headboard with my bottom half warmed by Paige’s Justin Bieber doona cover. Her little body pressed in to mine as she listened.
“Millie?”
“Yes, Blossom?”
“When you go to live with Sam in a real house, not his flat, can I come and stay? I miss you not being here.”
“Of course you can. I’ll even let you pick out a room that will be yours. It might not be for a while though. We have lots of things to do first.”
“Can I have Justin Bieber curtains?”
“Possibly not, but you could have your favourite colour. We’ll ask Sam.”
She cuddled further into my side, her fingers playing on my forearm. “Mummy said Lisa Ho is making your wedding dress. Is that true?”
“Yes.”
“Her spring-summer collection was nice this year, I thought.”
I should have been shocked but frankly, Paige knew a great deal more about everything than me, so being couture savvy was par for the course.
“And?”
Paige bit her lip.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Well, I was wondering if she’d have time to make something for me. I’ve picked out the look. It was in one of your bride magazines.”
“Paige, you’re six.”
“And eleven months!”
“I don’t think you need a designer bridesmaid dress.”
“But Jennifer Brayshaw-Jones had that man from Project Runway Australia make her flower girl dress and she was only five.”
Oh my God. The one-upping had started again.