Draw Me A Picture (37 page)

“East 77th, I know,” Drake said, coolly Michelle smiled. The car took off rather quickly, weaving its way with deft precision through the Manhattan traffic. Michelle clutched her door handle with alarm but forced her face to remain calm.

“Dang it!” Laurel snorted, retrieving her glasses from the back window. “Drake… I’ve asked you not to do that.”

“Sorry, Miss Ecland,” Drake said, smiling. “I saw a hole in the line of cars and had to take it.” Laurel mumbled something under her breath. Michelle laughed softly; she wondered if all the people her uncle hired were such interesting characters.

The sales staff at the Vera Wang flag-store seemed to be expecting them; they drove down an alley behind the store, and were let in a side entrance to a small, secure parking lot. Michelle felt ridiculously like they were being treated as celebrities or something.

“All the duck and cover is hardly necessary,” Michelle said, quietly. Laurel only smiled at her.

“It’s much more fun this way, and you don’t have to wait in line,” she explained. Drake chose to wait in the car but Daniels accompanied them inside.

A tall, thin woman dressed entirely in brown met them; she was in her early forties and wore a black head-scarf and a long, jingly necklace of twisted brass pieces. Michelle thought she looked like a skinny gypsy, but did not say so.

“Miss Gregory…” the woman intoned, musically; her smile had a just little real mirth in it, so Michelle thought she had some promise. “The bride. A lovely bride. Follow me, please.” Laurel and Michelle exchanged a look; Laurel rolled her eyes. Michelle hid a smile and followed after the lady in brown. She led them into a sort of white waiting room decorated with small, black accents.

For an entire hour, Michelle and Laurel watched models parade by in gown after gown; nothing appealed to the bride. It was all a little off-center and bold for her; she was looking for something feminine and sweet… but very simple. Also, the model’s hairstyles were very messy, similar to most of the women characters in ‘Les Miserables’. Michelle indicated to Laurel that she wanted to go. Laurel stood up quickly.

“Well, thank you for your time. Miss Gregory doesn’t see anything she liked so far.”

The lady in brown arched an eyebrow at this.

“Oh?” she said, looking at Michelle as if she had no taste.

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” she said. “It’s all very cold. It may be wonderful design and they are all lovely models but I wouldn’t feel like a bride in any of those gowns.” With that she stood up and followed Laurel out.

Sighing, Michelle sat back against the seat.

“Oh, my gosh... their hair!” Laurel said, collapsing into giggles as she sat down. “They looked like French whores!” Michelle laughed with her.

“I know...” she said, chuckling. “I was mentally singing 'lovely ladies ...Waiting for the customers... Who only come at night'...” That only made Laurel laugh harder. In the front seat Daniels cleared his throat.

“I thought they all looked like walking sticks,” he remarked.

“That they did,” Laurel said, wiping her eyes. She consulted her clipboard and scratched through one line. “OK… next place.”

WILLIAM WALKED into his office building a little early; the spring was back in his step and he whistled as he rode the elevator up. The renovations were nearly complete, as far as he could tell. A new receptionist greeted him politely and asked his name; she looked him up on her computer screen.

“You are in your former office, sir,” she said, smiling. “Your secretary is already in.”

“Thank you,” William responded, heading down the corridor. Mabel actually smiled at him when he entered her part of the office.

“I’m glad he didn’t give you the Axe,” she said, sitting at her new desk; she typed rapidly away on the keyboard of a new computer. The whole office seemed vastly improved, not only in color scheme and materials but the lighting had been improved as well, and there were more shelves for file organization.

“I am equally glad to see you here,” William answered, smiling at her. “He couldn’t find a more hard-working secretary on the Island.”

“You bet your life,” Mabel said, concentrating on her work. Grinning, William made his way into his. He was first relived to see his handmade mahogany desk present. A can of Old English furniture polish sat on its top, along with another post it note. Scowling a little, William took up the note. Reading it, he smiled. The note read: “I couldn’t get rid of such a great piece of furniture. It’s a little dusty, though.” William took out one of his spare handkerchiefs and gave the desk a good rubdown with the polish. Despite the tangy smell of citron oil, it did look better.

William was unpacking some of the old files and sorting them into logical fashion in the new shelves, when his door opened. Turning, William felt surprised by the person in his office, but concealed it. Standing by his desk was Oscar Maclane, though a completely different-looking man than previously seen. This man looked like a serious lawyer; he wore a tailored, expensive suit, proper shoes and had a facial expression that would make a less experienced man shake in his shoes.

“Montgomery,” the man said; his tone held no trace of pleasantry.

“Mr. Maclane,” William returned, matching his glare. After a few seconds of silence, Oscar smiled a little and held out his hand.

“I didn’t get to shake your hand yesterday,” he said. “Welcome to Felix-Maclane.” William put on a polite smile and shook the man’s hand, firmly.

“Thank you,” he responded.

“Good grip,” Oscar said. Letting go William’s hand, he stepped back a little. “I was expecting a soft lawyer’s hand, but you have calluses. Now I’m curious.” William grinned.

“I build furniture,” he said, tapping the top of his desk. “Hobby.”

Oscar’s eyebrows rose up a fraction of an inch.

“Impressive,” he said. “What do you know about Brazil?”

William almost expected a question out of left field from this man; his expression remained unfazed.

“Not much,” he admitted. “Just what I’ve read in books. Never been there.”

“Well, you’re going… today,” Oscar said, evenly. He took a large file from a briefcase and handed it to William. “We have been trying to get clients in Brazil for the longest time,” the man continued, sitting down in a nearby office chair. William flipped through the file while Oscar spoke. “Good business environment, lots of money to be had; several corporations relocated there for cheap labor, etc. I’ve set up a meeting for you; all the details are in the file; I’ve arranged the tickets and visas already. The flight leaves in six hours. Better make arrangements; get to the airport two hours early. The lines and security checks are a real hassle.”

William looked at his boss.

“Visas?” he asked. Oscar smiled. The boy was sharp.

“Bob will go with you as an aide,” he said. “You remember Bob, right?”

“Yes. The man with the watermelon seed-encrusted power-saw, I believe.” William said, looking back at the file in his hands. Oscar chuckled.

“The very same,” he said. “Convince them to sign with us as their legal firm and I’ll keep you on. Try to get some of the company’s subsidiaries to join too.” He looked at William keenly. “Think you can handle that?”

William looked him in the eye and resisted grinning. A silver platter--with a golden opportunity perched on top—had just been offered him.

“I can, Mr. Maclane,” he said, seriously. Oscar stood up.

“Good,” he said. “Details are in the file. Oh...” He stopped and fixed William with a stern glare. “Keep your nose clean down there; I know Rio De Janeiro’s a party-town but I run a reputable firm here. No seedy lawyers and no seedy clients. Are we clear?”

“Absolutely, Mr. Maclane,” William said. He felt no worries there; he had but to think of Michelle and no one else existed. His boss nodded and swept out. Sitting down, William ran his hand through his hair. He’d negotiated mergers and so forth before, but this would be his first solo flight in client procurement. He started to dial Michelle’s number but remembered she as out making wedding plans.

“I hope she gets back before I leave for Brazil,” he said to himself.

Michelle and her new entourage visited two more dress designers before ending up at a boutique called Bridal Accents.

“You have to call to get an appointment to even get the directions to this place,” Laurel informed her as they parked. The store itself appeared to have no unusual outward characteristics; just another office in an office building.

A tall, elderly woman met them at the door with a warm smile; she reminded Michelle of Sophie and the comparison put her more at ease. The boutique’s decor seemed more femininely decorated, in flowing white fabric and rose garlands of various, muted pink tones; here and there stood an elegant mannequin, draped in a white gown. The woman sat down with them on some small, comfy chairs near a window.

“Please call me Amelia,” said she. The woman possessed white hair swept up in French twist; she wore a dove-gray tailored dress. Michelle noticed the wedding ring on her finger and felt a bit more comfortable; it made sense to have someone like her help choose dresses for brides, having been one herself.

“I love your shop,” Michelle said, looking around. “It’s the first place we’ve been to that actually looks like a bridal shop, and not a mens shoe store.” Amelia laughed, softly.

“Thank you, dearie,” she said, smiling. “Now, tell me what you’d like.” She looked at Michelle’s face carefully as the young woman told her what she liked and was hoping to find.

“I just want a white gown that is beautiful in its simplicity… and doesn’t hide the fact that I’m a girl,” Michelle said, all in one breath. It seemed to her that she'd said the same phrase a hundred times already.

Amelia seemed to consider this a moment.

“Come with me,” she said, standing up. Michelle and Laurel followed the older lady back behind the mannequins. Walking through an archway, they came into a large, white room with three walls of mirrors. A wedding-cake style display of bridal shoes sat in the middle, with a few chairs.

“Sit,” Amelia said before disappearing through a small archway to another room. Laurel sat down with a sigh; Michelle looked at all the pretty, dainty shoes on the display. One pair caught her eye and she picked them up; they looked like princess shoes, all white satin. Lovely antique white embroidery dressed up the shoes subtly, with a few clear cut stones here and there; a single, tiny white-silk rosebud finished the shoe perfectly. Hearing a rustling sound behind her, Michelle turned. Amelia stood there with a gown; she looked at the shoes in Michelle’s hands and smiled.

“I am so good at this,” she said, in a satisfied tone. Incredibly, the dress she held matched the shoe Michelle had just picked out. It was a white princess silk-satin sheath gown, with A-line embroidered tulle overlay, empire sweetheart bodice and a chapel train. Michelle was speechless; it was by far the most beautiful gown she’d ever seen, and it was simple. She could actually envision herself in this dress, standing by William at the altar.

“It is a Lazaro,” Amelia said. Laurel gasped a little and smiled very big. “So are the shoes. The gown comes in white and ivory.” She looked at Michelle with a kind smile. “I am guessing you want white.” The young bride blushed and nodded. Amelia looked at Daniels; the man stood nearby, looking at the ceiling with a bored expression.

“She must try it on,” she said, giving the guard a meaningful look. Daniels took the hint and ducked out to wait in the lobby. Amelia opened a door in the wall that Michelle hadn’t even seen and put the gown inside. She stepped into the dressing room and shut the door behind her.

Michelle looked at the dress for a moment, almost afraid to touch it; it looked like it had been made by delicate and fair elves in some secret, moonlit forest. Undressing, she put on the gown with great care. The skirt was not too long in front but had a short train in back like a graceful circle; the back of the bodice was shaped like giant ‘v’ up to the spaghetti straps. The neckline showed off most of her assets, Michelle noticed with a blush. The skirt swept up from its circle base on the floor up a smooth, clean line until connecting with the bodice; the small bodice was embroidered beautifully with the antique white thread over the pure, white-silk fabric studded here and there with a tiny, clear stone. Michelle loved this dress already and she hadn’t even seen herself in it. It occurred to her that this design it would be a bit cold for a late fall ceremony, but she figured that wherever they were, they’d be inside.

The other ladies knew when Michelle stepped out of the dressing room that she’d found her dress. It looked made especially for her; the hue of the embroidery brought out color in the young woman’s skin and the design looked uniquely feminine.

“Oh, my gosh… you look like a freaking princess!” Laurel squealed. Amelia gave Laurel a sideways look that shut her up.

“How do you like it?” the older woman asked Michelle, already knowing the answer. The bride-to-be gave her a dazzling smile. “I thought so,” Amelia said. She took a box from under the shoe display and looked judiciously at Michelle’s feet. “Nine and a half?” she queried, Michelle nodded again.

“You are good,” she said, impressed. Amelia chuckled a little.

“I have been doing this for forty-one years,” she said. Amelia had Michelle step into the shoes. They brought her up so the dress was just floating over the ground. “Perfect,” Amelia said, very pleased. Laurel dug in her planner and handed Amelia a card.

“We’ll take it,” she said. The lady nodded and went over to a small, white desk that almost blended in with the wall.

Standing tall in the slender shoes, Michelle looked at herself in the mirror.

“William will definitely like this,” she thought, smiling. She blushed at the reaction she knew this dress would get. Amelia came walking up behind her.

“Here,” she said, gathering Michelle’s hair gently in her hand; she rolled it deftly and secured it temporarily up in a kind of Roman-style up-do at the top back of Michelle’s head. She produced a plain white ribbon from somewhere and tied it like a headband over the top of Michelle’s head. “There,” she said, looking at Michelle’s face. “It is such a lovely gown that simple accessories are best.”