1
Two months before Valentine’s Day
HAYLEY PARISH WAS a woman with a wedding—a wedding and no groom.
And it was time to tell her mother.
Yes, after spending months eliminating all the bachelors at McLauren Industrial Services, where she worked as a technical writer, at three church singles’ groups and on the Internet, Hayley was going to throw in the towel, or the ring or whatever it was a woman threw when it was apparent that fate had decreed that she remain single for the time being.
She’d tried—she’d really tried—to find someone, but since the time had come to place concrete orders for wedding goods, and Hayley didn’t have a concrete groom, she was going to have to tell her mother that she’d broken up with Sloane and regretfully give back the wedding.
There was bound to be weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth, but wasn’t that why she’d left an icy pitcher of margaritas in her apartment refrigerator?
The sooner she delivered the news, the sooner she could slurp margaritas.
“Mama, Sloane and I had a fight.”
Hayley and her mother had just finished their weekly Saturday lunch and were sitting at the dining room table in the house where Hayley had grown up.
“I thought you were acting a little preoccupied. Well, don’t worry. All engaged couples have these squabbles, Hayley.” Lola opened a bridal magazine to a page she’d marked. “It’s due to the stress of planning the wedding.”
“Sloane hasn’t been under any stress,” Hayley pointed out.
“Of course, he has.” Lola took off her reading glasses to stare at her daughter. “He must feel very frustrated to be all the way on the other side of the world and miss out on the wedding excitement. You should be more understanding.” Lola put her glasses back on.
Hayley found herself resenting a person who didn’t exist. She prepared to kill him off anyway. “He can’t make it back in time for the wedding. And, under the circumstances, I feel that—”
“Nonsense. It’s his wedding after all. I’m sure if he properly explains the situation, he can schedule a vacation. He’s been gone for over a year. He must have a lot of time saved up.”
“Yes, but his job is at a critical juncture—”
“He’s known about this wedding for months.”
“That’s my point. If Sloane can’t make time for a wedding, then he certainly can’t make time for a marriage.” Hey, that sounded pretty good. “I think marrying him would be a mistake.”
“He’ll just need a little reeducation, Hayley.” Lola paged through a different magazine, then turned it to show her daughter. “What do you think of these bridesmaids’ dresses? I believe they’re the same as the ones in that issue, but without the bows in the back. Now, I like a pretty bow in the back. It adds interest for the guests, and your sisters are slim enough to carry them off. If there is anything less flattering than a bow unable to lay flat, bouncing around as the bridesmaid does the hesitation step down the aisle, I don’t know what it could be.”
“Being jilted.” Hayley propped her chin on her fist. Her mother wasn’t listening. “He’s not going to show up.”
“Oh, Hayley.” Exasperated fondness sounded in Lola’s voice. “I don’t think there has ever been a bride who didn’t mentally touch on the possibility.” She pointed to the lingerie catalog from the store where Hayley had won a two-hundred-and-fifty-dollar gift certificate. “We’ll go shopping and spend your gift certificate. Then you make sure Sloane comes back a week ahead of the wedding. A little reminder of why he’s getting married won’t hurt.”
“Mother!”
But Lola merely gave her an arch look that she never would have given Hayley before her “engagement.”
The loss of this close relationship with her mother would be the worst fallout from doing away with Sloane. That, and giving up being the envy of her sisters for the first time in her life. But they’d been happy for her, too, and were expecting to come to Memphis for the wedding. Her mother had been looking forward to the family reunion. Nuts.
“I nearly forgot!” Lola jumped up, ran back into her bedroom and returned waving swatches of fabric. “Dusty rose velvet and ecru lace! Isn’t it perfect?”
Hayley gazed into her mother’s animated face and realized that she might have to spread the news of her “breakup” with Sloane over two visits. Today she’d lay the groundwork. But next week, for sure, Sloane would be history.
“Valentine weddings are always red and white or burgundy or wine—but pink velvet will acknowledge the day and look ahead to spring.” Lola spread the lace over the velvet. “What do you think? Don’t you just love it?”
“I think it’s beautiful, Mama,” Hayley said, just so she could watch her mother smile. The delicate colors would set off Lola’s blond coloring. Her sisters’, too, come to think of it. Hayley, a brunette through and through, needed more oomph.
But since the wedding wasn’t going to happen, Hayley could be generous now.
“We have to decide on the dresses today. The spring catalogs are already out and we won’t be able to order these after Christmas. If you don’t want to get caught in chiffon, we’ll have to contact the bridal shop this week. As it is, we’re cutting it close.”
Hayley knew that. She was surprised she’d been able to put her mother off this long. “Just let me talk with Sloane first. M-maybe he hates pink.”
“No one could hate this color.” Lola held the pink up to herself. “I know I can find a crepe to match for my mother-of-the-bride dress. Oh, Hayley.” Dropping the fabric, Lola gripped Hayley’s hand, tears glistening in her eyes. “I know how hard things were for us financially after your father died, but I want you to know that I still managed to put aside some of the insurance money for your wedding. Your sisters had gorgeous weddings, and I wanted my baby to have a wedding she’d always remember, too, but I knew I could never have afforded... Well, when you won your wedding, it was an answer to my prayers.”
“Mama...” Hayley didn’t think she could feel any worse.
Naturally she was wrong.
“Once you’re settled with Sloane, I’m going to take that money and move to Sun City, Arizona, with your grandmother.”
“What?” Hayley had known her grandmother was thinking of moving there, but her mother, too?
Lola released Hayley’s hand. “It’s a lovely retirement community. The Lowes and the Darnells moved there two years ago.”
“I remember.”
“And Marjorie Dickinson has been sending me pictures and begging me to come visit her. I—I miss Marjorie.”
Hayley felt horrible, selfishly horrible.
“Anyway, as you know, I’ve been worried about Maw Maw living all alone. And this house has so many stairs, it wouldn’t be practical for her to live here. But now I can sell this big old place, and Mother and I can move to Sun City all because you won your wedding.” Lola beamed. “Isn’t it wonderful?”
The chicken salad they’d eaten for lunch threatened to make a reappearance.
No wonder her mother had been so desperate to get Hayley married off. Lola wanted to see Hayley, the youngest of her daughters, settled before she made any major changes in her own life. She was preparing to relinquish the responsibility for Hayley’s happiness and security to Sloane. An old-fashioned attitude, but there it was.
Hayley was going to have to convince her mother that she could take care of herself. “Mama, you should move to Sun City even if I don’t get married. You know, that fight Sloane and I had was...was a real doozy. I just don’t see us getting back together.”
Her mother’s face paled so rapidly, that Hayley automatically tried to cushion the blow. “Or if we do, it might not be in time to get married on Valentine’s Day. And if that happens, then we’ll just have a small, quiet family wedding.”
“You’ll have no such thing.”
“Mama, I couldn’t enjoy having a big wedding if I knew you’d spent your savings on it.”
Lola’s brown eyes grew wide. “But it’s wedding money. I—I just couldn’t bring myself to use it for anything else. And I won’t leave you all alone.”
“I’m not alone. I have friends.” A thought occurred to her. “Anyway, Sloane would have to go back to El Bahar after the wedding and I wouldn’t be able to go with him because foreign women aren’t allowed to live there. I’d be alone then, so whether or not I’m married shouldn’t matter if you want to move to Sun City with Maw Maw.”
Lola gave her a secretive smile. “Hayley, honey, it’s time we had a little mother-daughter talk.”
“We had one of those talks.”
Lola shut the bridal magazines. “We’ve never had one of these talks.” Her fingers edged toward the lingerie catalog.
Oh, no.
“Sloane may think he’s returning to El Bahar, but if you orchestrate your honeymoon properly, then he won’t stay there long.”
Ohnoohnoohno.
Lola flipped open the catalog and pointed to a long white peignoir. “The wedding night, and thereafter to be worn only on anniversaries.”
“Why?” The expensive gown would eat a huge chunk of the gift certificate—not that Hayley was going to spend any of it.
“Because it represents you as a bride, not as a wife, and you want to complete the transition to wife as quickly as possible.”
As Hayley pondered the transition process itself, and whether or not she wanted it to be all that quick, her mother paged past the black gowns.
“Some unfortunate brides make the mistake of wearing something like these on the next night.” Lola shook her head. “Black should never be worn earlier than the second week of marriage. It’s even better to wait until the one-month anniversary. Just when your husband thinks he knows everything about you...” She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Black.”
“Black?” Hayley repeated.
“Yes. Black is the color of seduction. By then, you’ll have been lovers for a month—” Lola closed her eyes and held up her hand. “And I don’t want to hear about anything to the contrary.” She opened her eyes and flipped through the catalog. “A bride shouldn’t wear black until after a whole rainbow of experience.”
A rainbow popped into Hayley’s mind with a groom at the end instead of a pot of gold. “So, should I wear red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo and violet?”
Her mother looked startled. “Red on the second night? Oh, I think not. Red is playfully passionate. Wear it just before you wear the black. Now as for orange and yellow...” Lola looked doubtful. “They’re difficult colors to wear. Perhaps peach...”
“No, Mama, you said rainbow and I flashed back to freshman earth-science class. You know, red, orange...”
Her mother looked at her as though an alien had inhabited Hayley’s body. It was an expression Hayley hadn’t seen since she’d invented Sloane Devereaux.
“It was a joke. Never mind.”
Lola blinked in the strained silence that always followed these misconnections, then returned to the catalog. “Here’s a lovely pink gown. It’s nice to echo the wedding colors on the second night.”
She’d made a mistake to leave the margaritas for later, Hayley thought. The next time she tried to announce her broken “engagement,” she was going to drink them ahead of time. Maybe even bring a pitcher with her.
“Now isn’t this just the cutest thing?” Lola pointed to his-and-hers pajamas. “Would Sloane look good in something like this?”
“I don’t know.” Hayley didn’t want to think about lingerie anymore.
“Try to be more helpful, Hayley.” Lola sighed in exasperation. “It’s bad enough that I’ve never met my future son-in-law, but I haven’t even seen a picture of the man!”
“I showed you a picture.” Hayley had found a group photo of workers in front of a drilling rig. They were identically attired in baggy, dirty overalls, hard hats and grimy faces that emphasized their white grins. She’d indicated that Sloane was the second man from the left on the back row.
Or was it the second man from the right?
“I can’t believe that’s the only picture you’ve got. Why, he could be anybody!”
As Lola continued to mark pages for the rainbow of love, a plan—a face-saving, albeit expensive plan—formed fully whole in Hayley’s head.
Her mother had never met Sloane Devereaux. No one had met Sloane Devereaux. He could be anybody.
All Hayley had to do was find someone to pretend to be Sloane Devereaux for a long weekend. Her mother could still plan the wedding, then Sloane would return to El Bahar and their marriage would go downhill from there.
But by then, her mother and grandmother would be living in Sun City.
The drawback to this plan was that Hayley would have to borrow money to cover the tax bill she’d owe on the value of the prizes. Her mother was oblivious to the taxes Hayley would have to pay, but Hayley vowed to carry that information to her grave.
But the pluses—oh, were there pluses. No more blind dates, unless she felt like it. No more humiliating cross-examinations. She’d get a lot of appliances and pretty underwear, a cruise and a happy mother.
Sure there were a few details to work out, but by and large, this seemed like the best solution. Lola wanted to see Hayley get married, so she’d see Hayley get married.
She smiled at her mother. “Okay, Mama. Now let’s go back to those black outfits.”
JUSTIN BROOKS OPENED the hood of his faithful, though oil-guzzling car, and pulled out the dipstick. The old jalopy had to hold out a few more months before he could afford to replace it.
By then, if all went according to his master plan, and there was no reason why it shouldn’t, he’d have a new, high-paying job as a corporate attorney, and could go car shopping.
And then life as he wanted to live it would begin. Justin Brooks, former debt-ridden high school math teacher, now debt-ridden IRS tax attorney, would become Justin Brooks, yuppie corporate attorney, with a yuppie bank account, and a yuppie haircut and yuppie friends and a yuppie social life with yuppie women.
He would revel in meaningless yuppieism. He’d flirt with frivolity, dance with decadence and preach the virtues of paying full retail.
Justin smiled to himself as he wiped the dipstick and threaded it back into the crankcase of an engine that had run a hundred-and-twenty-two thousand miles. It would be a novelty to own a car in which both the air conditioner and the radio worked. His new car would have a CD player and—
“Yo, Justin!”
At the sound of his friend’s voice, Justin peered out from under the hood. “What’s up?”
Ross jogged to the apartment complex parking lot. “I’ve got an audition.”
“Hey, great.” Ross getting called for an audition was still an occasion for celebration. If he actually landed an acting job that paid money, Justin would personally spring for a six-pack of imported beer.
“So...can I borrow your car? Mine’s got a flat.” Ross’s car was in even worse condition than Justin’s. “Here.” Justin tossed him the keys. “The jack’s in the trunk.”
“I don’t need the jack.”
“Then how are you going to put on the spare?”
“What spare?”
Justin swallowed his irritation. Ross took too many chances. There was a difference between living life on the edge and foolishly dangling over that precipice. “You need new tires.”
“Yeah, I know.” Ross leaned over the open hood. “If I get this gig, I’ll buy new ones, I swear.”
Pulling out the dipstick again, Justin grimaced. “Look at that. A quart and half low this time.” He shook his head and replaced the dipstick.
“So buy a new car.”
“I can’t afford a new car.”
“You could if you’d quit doubling up on your loan payments.”
Justin shot him a look.
“Oh, man, lighten up.”
“I’ll lighten up when the time is right, and the time will be right after I’ve paid off the last of my college loans.”
Ross spread his hands. “That’ll take another five years at least.”
“Not if I can help it.”
“Justin, you don’t have to—”
“Yes, I do,” Justin interrupted him. They’d had this argument before. Ross’s money, or rather, Ross’s father’s money, was the collateral for Justin’s law school loan. Justin intended to free the collateral as quickly as he could.
“All right, then at least buy a different car,” Ross said. “You can afford that. Oh, and get a real babe magnet this time.” .
“I don’t need a babe magnet.”
“But I do, and I’ll be borrowing it.”
Laughing, Justin punched open a quart of oil and propped the can in a funnel. “I’m headed over to the office, so you’ll have to settle for a ride to your audition.”
“You’re going in to work? Man, it’s Saturday! You’re not getting overtime for this, are you?”
Justin shook his head.
“Then what’s the point? Kick back and relax. You’re going to forget how.”
“I’m fighting the computer and need the quiet time to see if I can figure out what’s wrong.”
“Let one of the technogeeks handle it”
Justin tapped the last drops of oil from the funnel and replaced the crankcase lid. “First, I want to make sure I didn’t transpose numbers anywhere. The computer techs love to make you look stupid in their reports.”
“So, can we leave soon? I’m supposed to be there by nine.”
Justin slammed the hood of his car shut. “Anytime.”
HAYLEY SAT on a cracked-vinyl green couch in the office of Lawrence Taylor’s acting and modeling studio. Mr. Taylor wore a scarf around his neck and drank tea with honey and lemon, along with something stronger, Hayley suspected. His accent and trilling basso profundo intimated a career in the English theatre—the kind spelled with the last two letters reversed.
Hayley was in awe of the posturing Mr. Taylor, but not in awe enough to agree to hire any of the actors who’d read for the part of Sloane Devereaux.
They’d all needed lines. Hayley didn’t have lines. She wanted someone who could take the background she’d created for Sloane and improvise.
And what was this motivation thing they all kept talking about? Sloane didn’t need any motivation. All he had to do was show up and convince Hayley’s mother, her sisters and the bridal fair people that he was for real.
Mr. Taylor plucked an eight-by-ten glossy from the stack, hesitated, then showed it to Hayley.
A mildly attractive man with a goatee smiled back at her. She wasn’t much on goatees, but she shrugged.
“I’ll ask him to come in.” Mr. Taylor strode—he always strode—to the door and flung it open, then paused for dramatic effect. “Mr. St. John!”
The man who entered was shorter than Hayley would have preferred Sloane to be, but she liked the banked alertness in his eyes. And he’d shaved off his beard.
“Hi, I’m Ross St. John.” He shook her hand, then glanced toward Mr. Taylor.
“Ross, Ms. Parrish is casting the part of a bridegroom.”
As she’d done eight times before, Hayley explained what she wanted and who Sloane Devereaux was. Each time she repeated them, the details of her mythical fiancé’s life seemed thinner and thinner.
Mr. Taylor was barely able to contain his sneer.
Ross St. John was the first actor who hadn’t demanded a script. “What kind of man is Sloane?”
“An imaginary man.”
“And what did you imagine him to be?” he asked patiently.
Hayley had never thought about it, but with Ross asking leading questions, she managed to create a character she thought would please her mother. “And he should act like he’s capable of taking care of me,” she added. “My mother won’t be content otherwise.”
Ross nodded. “Do I need to wear a suit?” He straightened and subtly changed his body language and expression. “I can do suits.”
He was wearing a knit shirt and khaki slacks, but somehow, he exuded all the arrogant competence of a captain of the industry.
“How did you do that?” she asked.
He gave her a smile that was both sweetly sad and wise. “My father.”
He didn’t have to say anything else. Hayley understood all. His father didn’t understand him any more than her mother understood her. She smiled at Mr. Taylor. “I’ll take him.”
JUSTIN STARED into his closet and realized he didn’t have any clean shirts, which meant he didn’t have clean socks or underwear, either. Not surprising since he’d spent every waking moment at the IRS office during the past week and a half tackling the horrendous mess left by software incompatibility glitches. It should have been a painless upgrade, but no. It should have been a department-wide upgrade, but no.
It shouldn’t have corrupted the data, but yes.
And that corruption was delaying the start of Justin’s master plan. He wanted to start sending out his résumés, but couldn’t until he knew which of the returns he’d given to the tax examiners had been incorrectly flagged. When he left this job, he wanted everything to be running smoothly. He didn’t want it to appear that he’d bailed out when things got rough.
So now he had to run a couple of loads of laundry. Justin needed a break, anyway. Rather than sorting through his clothes, he simply picked up his entire hamper and a roll of quarters and headed for the apartment laundry room.
At seven-thirty in the morning, he should have it all to himself, but Ross had already staked out the only machine that didn’t have balance problems and he was stuffing it full.
“Hey! He lives.” Ross grinned at him.
“Barely.” Justin looked at the second-best machine, which bore an Out Of Order sign. He ignored the sign and lifted the lid.
“Feel like gambling today?” Ross asked.
“Give it up. I recognize your handwriting.”
“Did it occur to you that the machine might actually be broken?”
Justin pointed to the clothes Ross hadn’t been able to stuff into the first machine. “Nope.”
“I’m going to have to invest in a more official-looking sign.”
“I’d let you have the machine, but I’ve got to get into work.”
“What have you been doing?” Ross added liquid detergent with a lavish hand and closed the lid. He patted his pockets.
“Computer foul-up.” Justin tossed him the roll of quarters.
“Thanks. I’ll pay you back.”
Justin waved it off and borrowed Ross’s detergent. When he struck it big, he was sending everything out to be cleaned.
“Since you haven’t been around enough to notice that I haven’t been around, I’ll just tell you that I got the gig.”
For an instant, Justin forgot his problems and sincerely congratulated his friend. “A commercial?”
“No. I’m a groom. A bridegroom.”
“You’re getting married?”
“No. Heaven forbid, though the bride is cute in a dangerously marriageable way.” He carried his clothes to the other row of washing machines and selected one that restarted if you banged it on the side during the rinse cycle. Ross liked extra rinsing.
“So it’s a play?”
“A private production with print ads, lots of exposure for moi and kind of a pageant thing at the end.”
Justin smiled to himself. “By ‘pageant thing,’ do you mean a wedding?”
“Yeah. It’s great, man. A huge break. Plus, I’ll be spending the weekend in the lap of luxury at the Peabody.”
“Well, congratulations. If anybody deserves success, you do.” Justin meant every word.
“I figured if I hung in there long enough, something would happen. So, would you bang a couple of times on this machine for me? I’ll be back to load the dryer.” Ross acted like this job. was no big deal, but Justin could tell how important it was to him.
“I’m not going anywhere. I’ll load for you,” Justin offered.
“Great. I gotta go pack. ”I’m making my grand entrance at one.”
After Ross left, Justin sat in the hard plastic chair and stared at nothing until it was time to bang on Ross’s machine. He loaded the clothes, splitting his between three dryers so they’d finish quicker. Then he sat and stared at the tumbling clothes, finding the rhythm restful.
He’d never expected to have a friend like Ross—they were two completely different types. When he mentioned it to Ross once, Ross said he liked to hang around Justin because Justin reminded him of the kind of life he’d have if he couldn’t make it as an actor. And then he pointed out that Justin needed him for comic relief.
Justin needed relief, all right. He’d stay at his current position until May, he decided. And then...then he’d hit the job market for sure. He had stellar credentials and expected to be wined and dined. And he was going to enjoy it, too. Every minute.
That was the plan. That had been the plan since he was fourteen and finally old enough to augment the meager salary his single mother was able to earn. That had been the plan when he’d given up basketball in high school because he’d had to work a part-time job with full-time hours. That had been the plan when he’d bypassed fraternities and social clubs in college so he could work. That had been the plan when he’d taught high school and studied for his law degree at night so he could make a dent in his enormous student loans.
And then Ross, good old Ross, had cosigned for him when his credit was maxed out.
He owed Ross, big-time, and was glad things were finally happening for him, too.
The first of his three dryers buzzed, jerking Justin out of a lovely fantasy involving corporations slinging money at him.
He was quickly folding and hanging clothes when he realized that Ross’s machine had quit again.
The second dryer stopped a full five minutes before it should have. Rather than take the time to run around to the other side, Justin stretched across and jiggled Ross’s machine. The liquid detergent hit the floor and the lid bounced across the concrete.
Great.
And then the third dryer stopped. Justin decided to fold the clothes now and clean up the mess later.
“Do I have perfect timing, or what?” Ross appeared in the doorway.
“Or what.” Justin continued to hang up shirts before they wrinkled. “Your load still has another twenty minutes. But that second machine never finished. I banged it once.”
“No prob.” Ross loped toward the washer.
As he rounded the end of the aisle, Justin remembered the spilled detergent, but before he could call out a warning, Ross’s arms flew up, and he disappeared with a metallic thud as he hit a machine, followed by a sound that reminded Justin of old pumpkins smashed after Halloween.
“Ross!” Cursing himself for forgetting about the spill, Justin raced around the corner to find Ross sprawled on his back.
He wasn’t moving.
“Ross?” Justin could barely speak.
Blood mingled with the dark blue detergent on the concrete floor. “Oh, my God.” He peeled off his T-shirt and packed it around Ross’s head, afraid to move him in case his neck was broken or his back was injured.
Justin swallowed dryly. A broken neck. And it would be all his fault.
There was a pay phone in the laundry, and he dialed 911, watching as the red soaked his shirt.
Head wounds bled a lot, he told himself. But if any bleeding was to be done, it should be Justin and not Ross.
Ross REGAINED consciousness while the paramedics were sliding the stretcher beneath him. “My gig.”
Justin’s heart sank. Ross’s big break wasn’t supposed to be his head. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Wait—for me....”
“You’re going to be fine.”
“The girl...” Ross winced. “You gotta tell her....”
“Don’t worry about it,” Justin reiterated. “I’ll follow the ambulance to the hospital.”
“Pea—” Ross broke off and groaned as they lifted the stretcher.
“He must have to empty his bladder,” a paramedic commented.
“Peabody,” Ross managed as they shut the door to the ambulance.
Justin stood, shirtless, in the parking lot and watched the ambulance drive away. He wished the weather was colder so he would suffer as he’d made Ross suffer.
He had to get dressed. He had to get to the hospital.
And then he was probably going to have to find the actress Ross was supposed to meet at the Peabody.