You know how they say, “It never rains in Southern California”? Well, that’s a straight-up lie. It often rains in the winter here. Even on Christmas.
“Yes, but your wedding’s all inside. You’ve just got to get from the limo to the church. I’ll hold the umbrella for you.”
“How am I supposed to get from the limo to inside the church in ballet slippers and a full train without getting wet?”
Good question, which I didn’t exactly know the answer to, but I said, “We’ll figure it out.” Which is a line that had served me well in my new career when my clients asked me things like, “How am I going to get that director whose wife I slept with when I was high on ecstasy to take me off his blacklist?”
Suddenly Veronica’s voice went from angry to vulnerable. “I know I said you didn’t have to be here until one, but could you come now?”
I looked at the clock. It was eight a.m., which meant that Veronica wanted me to hold her hand for like five more hours than originally planned.
“Well, I have my hair appointment,” I said.
“Tammy’s on the phone with your stylist now. She says that she’d be more than happy to come here to do your hair.”
I blinked. “Really, Pearl agreed to that? Even though it’s Christmas?”
“We made it worth her while,” Veronica assured me, back to her cold voice. “Can I expect you soon?”
“Well, I have to shower,” I tried again.
“We have showers here, too. I’m sure you’re aware of that.”
Fine, if she was going to say it like that, I guess I had to just tell her the true reason I was stalling.
“Um . . . is James there yet?”
So far, I had been lucky. I hadn’t run into him again in the months leading up to the wedding. And three days ago, James had gotten called away to a product development meeting at Gusteau’s Paris headquarters. Apparently Farrell Men was doing so well in the USA that they wanted to discuss a worldwide product launch. It was a huge deal for James’s line, but it meant that he had to miss all the planned festivities leading up to the wedding, including the bachelor party and the rehearsal dinner. Although I was mostly at peace after letting James go, I couldn’t say that I minded not having to see him until we walked down the aisle.
But on the other end of the line, Veronica didn’t sound too happy with my hedging. “Does it matter?” she asked. “Does your coming right now or not depend on it?”
“Of course not,” I lied quickly. Yes, I was trying to be more authentic, but old habits die hard.
“Then, no, he’s not here yet. His plane doesn’t land until two p.m.”
I didn’t say what I was thinking—that two p.m. was cutting it awfully close for a four p.m. wedding. I’m sure Veronica was already well aware of that and that it was probably one of the reasons for her current worse-than-usual mood.
And I knew her mother wouldn’t be much help. Veronica’s parents were still officially together, but Mrs. Farrell was currently residing at Farrell Manor while Congressman Farrell stayed at their home in Washington, D.C.
After the cheating story broke, he just barely managed to get reelected, but much like her daughter, Mrs. Farrell couldn’t bear being humiliated. Other than hosting a small bridal shower in Mississippi, she had opted out of most of the wedding festivities and at last night’s rehearsal dinner had announced that she would meet us at the church.
It made me sad for both her and Veronica that her own disillusionment left her unable to enjoy Veronica’s special day.
“I’ll be there in like twenty,” I
said, just deciding to give in.
“Yes, we’ll see you then,” Veronica
said in such a brusque way that you’d think she hadn’t just totally
manipulated me into coming early.
Then she hung up. I looked at my now
dead cell phone. If I hadn’t grown to honestly like Veronica, I could have easily kept the hate alive. I threw back the covers and got out of bed.
. . .