Claire had laughed, then sobered. You don’t have to do this, you know. Really. It’s a lot of work to have a wedding ready in nine days.
Meg knew Claire didn’t really want her planning this, and that knowledge stung. As with all opposition, it strengthened her resolve to do a great job. I have a meeting in town, so I’d better run. As Meg started to leave, Claire had said, Don’t forget the bridal shower. Tomorrow night at Gina’s.
Meghann had forced herself to keep smiling. A “couples’?” shower. No doubt she’d be the only single woman in the room besides Gina.
What fun.
She unlatched the picket gate and stepped into a surreal Candy Land yard, half expecting Pee-wee Herman and his pals to jump out at her. A green Astro Turf walkway led her to the porch steps, which sagged beneath her weight. At the salmon-pink door, she knocked.
The door started to open, then thunked into something. A voice cursed thickly, “Damn door.”
This time the door opened all the way.
An old woman with pink hair sat in a motorized wheelchair, a canister of oxygen beside her. Clear tubes slipped into each nostril, rode across her high, hollow cheekbones, and tucked behind her ears.
“Am I supposed to guess?” she said, frowning.
“Excuse me?”
“What you want, for Henry’s sake. You knocked on the damn door, dintcha?”
“Oh. I’m here to see the event coordinator.”
“That’s me. Whaddaya want? Male strippers?”
“Now, Grandma,” came a thin male voice from the other room. “You know you retired twenty years ago.”
The woman backed up, spun her wheelchair around, and headed away. “Erica is in trouble. I better go.”
“Forgive Granny,” said the tall man who came to the door. He had curly bottle-blond hair and a California-dark tan. His glasses were heavy and black-rimmed. He wore skintight black leather pants and a teal green muscle-shirt, which showed off scarecrow-thin arms. “She has a little memory loss now and then. You must be Meghann Dontess. I’m Roy Royal.”
She tried not to smile.
“Go ahead, have a good laugh. I’m just lucky my middle name isn’t Al.” He swung one hip out, planted a hand on it. “Those are some pretty sharp clothes, Ms. Dontess. We don’t see much Marc Jacobs in Hayden. Our labels of choice are Levi’s and Wrangler. I can’t imagine what brings you here.”
“I’m Claire Cavenaugh’s sister. I’m here to plan her wedding.”
He actually jumped into the air and screeched. “Claire! All right, girl! Well, let’s get going. Only the best for Claire.” He ushered her into the sitting room, toward a pink velvet settee. “Wedding at the Episcopal Church, of course. Reception at the Moose Lodge, catering by the Chuck Wagon. We can get tons of silk flowers from Target. Then they can be reused.”
Meg thought, Simple and casual, simple and casual.
She couldn’t do it. “Wait.”
Roy stopped in mid-excited-utterance. “Yes.”
“That’s a wedding in Hayden, huh?”
“Top drawer. Only Missy Henshaw’s was better, and she sprang for the clubhouse at the golf course in Monroe.” He leaned forward. “They had champagne, not just beer.”
“And what does a wedding cost around here?”
“Not like Missy’s, but a good, solid event? Say … two thousand dollars.” He looked at her. “Maybe a little less if one of the community college kids takes the photos.”
Meg was the one who leaned forward now. “Do you read People magazine, Roy? Or In Style?”
He laughed. “Are you kidding? Cover to cover.”
“So you know what a celebrity wedding is like. Especially the kind they call ‘simple and elegant.’?”
He waved his hand in the air, snapped his fingers. “Are you kidding, honey? Denise Richard’s wedding was supposedly simple and they had enough fresh flowers to cover a Rose Parade float. Simple in Hollywood just means really, really expensive but no bridesmaids and an outdoor reception.”
“Can you keep a secret, Roy?”
“I stayed in the closet during the Reagan years. Believe me, honey, these lips know when to close.”
“I want the kind of wedding this town has never seen. But—and this is important—no one but you and I can know that it’s a big deal. You have to master the phrase It was on sale. Deal?”
“No kidding,” he grinned and clapped. “What’s your budget?”
“Perfection. Every little girl’s dream.”
“In other words—”
“Money isn’t something we should worry about.”
He shook his head, still smiling. “Honey, that’s a sentence I’ve never heard before. I do believe you’re the best-looking woman I’ve ever seen.” He reached out to the coffee table and grabbed a copy of Bride’s magazine. “We should start with the gown. It’s—”
“She’s got it.”
He looked up.
“Vera Wang.”
“Vera Wang,” he repeated it in a reverent tone of voice and closed the magazine. “Okay. Let’s get to work.”
“It has to be outside.”