Brooke hurried off, bridesmaids and Tara in tow.
Snarky Teenager came in behind Elly, carrying the ceremony décor. “Whoa. What a train wreck,” she breathed, giving a subtle eye-roll.
Elly turned on her. “She might be a crazy bride, but she’s my bride. Don’t be mean. Let’s go set up the ceremony.”
Setting up flowers always took longer than Elly imagined it would. In front of a line of white chairs with lavender bows, Elly and Snarky Teenager hung up dangling white dendrobium orchids strung on fishing wire. Each aisle chair got a small bundle of wildflowers: black velvet delphinium, grape hyacinth, vendella roses and white stock that made the air in the museum smell of fresh cinnamon. They lined the aisle with white football chrysanthemums, which gave an appearance of poofy white clouds. Shimmering with the spinning fish, the room looked like an underwater meadow. Snarky Teenager snapped a picture behind Elly.
“It looks nice!” she declared. “Okay, let’s go get the reception set up.” Elly wiped some sweat off her brow. Even here, in the air conditioning, she was…moist.
The reception was located in the Vault Room, which was filled with St. Louis artifacts and a kaleidoscope of mirrors that reflected hundreds of candles and twinkling lights above. Huge beautiful vaulted doors led to an outdoor patio, complete with views of downtown St. Louis and its famous Arch. Working in perfect synchronization, Elly and Snarky Teenager placed the long centerpieces of pale blue hydrangea, hyacinth and lavender parrot tulips on the tables, surrounded by tiny mirrors. The overall effect was of ghostly romance, and it was sheer perfection.
Snarky Teenager was staring out the window at the groomsmen. “Hey – could I pin that guy, you think?”
Elly rolled her eyes and shoved the boutonnieres toward her.
“Yes. Go, and try not to give ALL of them your number.”
Snarky Teenager tightened her ponytail with the determination of a soldier going into battle and trounced out the door. Elly straightened her apron, sighed loudly, and headed toward the bride’s room. From outside the door she heard a heated argument, accompanied by loud shrieks, which were no doubt coming from Brooke. Oh Lord, she said in her head, please don’t make this last very long. She pushed open the wide door, which was flanked by stone gargoyles. Brooke stood in front of her in a white corset and a thong…and nothing else. Elly tried not to stare at Brooke’s bare cheeks, and instead focused her gaze on the ceiling.
“How are things going in here?”
Brooke let out a warbling sigh and threw herself dramatically on the couch, veil and all.
“I can’t believe so much has gone wrong.”
Elly patted her head. “What’s wrong?”
“The deejay isn’t here yet…..I don’t think he’s coming!” Elly glanced at the clock. It was still two hours before the ceremony.
“What time is he supposed to be here?”
Brooke looked up from her Kleenex. “3:00?”
“Brooke, its 2:15.”
“So? He should be early!” Brooke wailed.
Elly rolled her eyes. “I’m sure he’ll be here. You seem really upset. What is your actual problem?”
Brooke pointed toward the bathroom. “My mother won’t wear the dress I picked out for her, and the dress she wants to wear is HIDEOUS!”
Hanging on the bathroom door was a pale lavender dress with an overlay of intricately beaded plum flowers. It was a perfect gown for the mother of the bride. The door swung open, revealing a short, solidly built woman with short, no-nonsense hair. She was smacking her gum loudly.
“Brooke, honey, I can hear you talking about me. Who is this?” she asked in a flat Western accent.
“It’s my florist. MOM, just put on the dress!”
Brooke’s voice was now reaching banshee levels. Her mother’s steely gaze lingered on the hanger.
“I am not wearing this fancy, expensive, ridiculous dress. I’ll be the laughing stock of my friends. What I’m wearing is just fine.”
Brooke’s mother was wearing some sort of prairie garb – a long brown skirt with brown loafers and a neon blue short sleeved button-down shirt with what appeared to be a mustang running across the chest. Elly held her face together with an act of impressive will.
“Mom, please! You’re ruining my wedding!” howled Brooke.
Elly firmly grasped Brooke’s shoulders and turned her toward her the mirror area with strict authority.
“Go put your dress on and get ready. I’ll talk to your mom.”
Brooke flounced away, her bridesmaids trailing behind her like ducklings. Elly approached her mother gingerly.
“Ma’am, I’m just here to help. Can you tell me why you don’t like the dress that Brooke has picked out for you?”
The woman looked at Elly, obviously annoyed.
“Look at this thing. This looks like it cost over a hundred dollars!”