Draw Me A Picture (56 page)

“Well...” her uncle said, smiling back. “You won’t have the name Gregory much longer but I think you’ll like your new one just fine.”

“I will,” Michelle said; she spoke the words like a promise, one her uncle seemed to understand.

“Well, get on with you,” he said, picking up his paper. “You don’t want to be late for appointments on this day.” Michelle shook his offered hand and grabbed her luggage. The bride and her entourage walked out the door to the waiting car.

Nobody made fun of Michelle’s unfading smile as they drove onward. The young bride did not bubble or talk incessantly, throw tantrums or squeal. Happiness radiated serenely from her face as she gazed out the window. Margaret was waiting for them at the lobby doors of William’s building and skipped daintily out to the car as it pulled up; she held a garment bag of her own. The white-haired matron greeted all in the car warmly, but seemed to know more words were not necessary; the entire party rode onward in a sort of calm quiet. Somehow, each felt Michelle’s tempered joy and respected it. After all, there would not be many peaceful moments today, at least until after the reception.

A half hour later, Michelle was seated in a sort of sitting room of large comfy chairs, her feet soaking in some kind of mineral bath; the little basins were built right into the floor in front of each chair. Looking to her right, she saw Margaret was enjoying her foot soak.

“What a clever idea,” the older woman remarked, smiling. “Most relaxing; Laurel, you are a genius.” The young blond woman sat across from Michelle and Margaret, her feet also in a hot basin.

“I’ve actually never been here,” she said. “I should bring my mom here for Mother’s Day.” A young girl in white staff uniform came by and scattered rose petals in the mineral baths. The hot water and the relaxing music playing the background made Michelle’s eyelids feel very heavy. Her lack of sleep the night before weighed in, letting its strong opinion be known.

Laurel looked up at Michelle a minute later, about to ask a question; she stopped and smiled. Getting Margret’s attention via waving, she pointed at Michelle. The bride was fast asleep, her head leaning on one side of the chair.

“How adorable,” Margaret said, quietly. “I do wish I had a camera.” Laurel giggled softly.

“Oh, no... she’d never forgive us!” she said, smiling. “She does look cute, though; like a little kid napping in a big chair. She must have been up a lot last night.” Margaret nodded sagely.

“William was as well, poor boy,” she said, in a quiet voice. ”He had 'the jitters' something terrible. When I left this morning I think he was finally asleep. But, not to worry; Alfred has strong orders to wake him in time.” Laurel smiled, nodding.

Margaret looked at the blond woman carefully a moment.

“If I may, you seem to like Luca D’ Angelo very much,” she said, casually. Laurel bit her lip and nodded.

“I do,” she admitted. She looked at Margaret. “Michelle told me she’d met his mother.”

“Sophie. Yes; she’ll be at the wedding.” Margaret smiled encouragingly at the girl. “You’ll like her as well, I imagine, and even better… I can safety say she'll love you.” Laurel blushed happily, allowing herself a few wistful thoughts of her own.

The hair-stylists came into the room and naturally woke Michelle up as they began taking out her ponytail. She rubbed her eyes, looking a little more refreshed.

“Wow, I’m so rude. Please forgive me,” she mumbled. A staff member brought her a strong cup of cappuccino. Margaret laughed.

“Nonsense, my dear. I am glad you had a little nap. You’ll need it before you leave today.” Michelle gave the elegant lady a grateful smile and drank her coffee.

The stylist listened to Laurel and Michelle as they described what Amelia from the bridal dress boutique had done to Michelle’s hair.

“It was all up in a simple kind of Roman style, with a plain white, sheer band over her head, tied down by the back of her neck,” Laurel said, dreamily. “It was perfect with her gown.” A well-made up stylist stood behind Michelle; the woman opened a wooden case on a table nearby and looked through several compartments; she apparently found what she was looking for and brought out large, ceramic hot rollers. Michelle let the stylist do her work but nervously waited, not being able to watch; there were no mirrors around. The stylist worked quickly; she managed to pile Michelle’s silky tresses similarly to how Amelia had. Instead of a plain wide sheer ribbon over her head, however, the girl found two thin, white ribbons, placed slightly apart. She dabbed a small amount of some kind of weak glue on the back of the ribbons to hold them in place. Laurel clapped her hands, seeing the finished product.

“Oh, you look like one of those girls from Pride and Prejudice!” she said, smiling. Margaret nodded her approval as well.

“Yes, definitely a Regency flavor; very elegant my dear,” she agreed, smiling. “It shows off your neck and face perfectly. I can hardly wait to see how it looks with your gown.”

“William will sure like it,” Laurel said, grinning. Michelle blushed.

“I’ve no doubt he will,” she said, smiling at the floor.

After thanking the stylist and staff, they slipped out of the spa and into Sunday morning traffic. The bridal party made it to the Waldorf in plenty of time, however. Michelle felt quite eager to get her dress out of the vault; with Daniels at her side, she stood at the front counter in the lobby and signed the paperwork. Mr. Chan was summoned to sign off on it. He smiled at Michelle and personally fetched the thick, white garment bag that held her precious gown.

“Many happy returns, Miss Michelle,” he said, smiling at her. “Thank you for the invitation; it was most kind. Work, however impedes.” Michelle smiled at him.

“I understand. Thank you for all your kindness,” she said, gratefully. Mr. Chan smiled and shook his head.

“You have saved this hotel a lot of money,” he remarked. “There will always be a room here for you.” With this he gave a little bow and walked away.

“A very pleasant man,” Margaret said, approvingly.

Daniels held the gown with care, draped over his arms; he and the ladies followed Michelle to the Starlight Roof room, where the wedding and reception would be held. All was prepared within; Margaret and Laurel both gasped and smiled at the sight of the room. Michelle had somewhat followed the décor of Amelia at the Bridal Accents boutique, with sheer white fabric draped down here and there, with just a few pale pink rose garlands. A small, white canopy adorned one end of the room, where William and Michelle would say their vows. The dark roof of the room was lit with hundreds of tiny lights; their light glanced off the chandeliers like sparkling stars.

“Oh, my dear, it’s lovely!” Margaret said, with one hand to her chest. “Really beautiful... and you didn’t overdo it with a bunch of frills.” She nodded several times, looking around.

The chairs for the seventy-plus guests had been donned with white slipcovers; they were arranged before the altar in smooth, semi-circle rows flanking the central aisle. Flowering rose-trees had been set up in white planters on either side of the canopy, completing the romantic look of the room.

“It will all be moved around for the reception, apparently,” Michelle said; she surveyed the room with a dreamy expression. In the corner, a string quartet warmed up their instruments with partial notes and the faint plucking of strings. There was not a thing out of place.

“We should get you dressed, my dear,” Margaret reminded her, gently.

Like the Conrad suite, the reception hall had a small, private room off to one side in which to dress and prepare. Daniels left the ladies to themselves and took off on his own errand, namely getting ready himself. The wedding started in one hour. In the dressing room, Margaret made certain the door was locked and laid out the wedding dress bag on a divan. Laurel collected hers and Margret’s dresses and hung them on the back of the door. There was a privacy screen for dressing behind; Michelle ducked behind it to undress.

It did not matter if butterflies weren’t really able to get in one’s stomach. Michele felt every flutter of each imaginary wing and had to breathe deeply, many times. Oddly, despite the nervousness, she couldn’t stop smiling. Her inner joy seemed to reach an overflow valve as the minutes went by; Michelle bit her lip to keep from giggling like a schoolgirl. Taking out her white lingerie she dressed carefully. The strapless bra fit well enough, though it pushed up Michelle’s breast a little more than she would have liked.

“Ah well,”
she thought, biting her lip.
“William will like that part, anyway.”
The idea made her blush. She wore no stockings, having carefully shaved her legs earlier in the 5am shower; she did however put on a half slip and stepped into the delicate bridal shoes she’d picked out at Amelia’s boutique.
 

“I think I’m ready for the gown now,” Michelle said. “Would you be so kind as to hand it to me?” Margaret unzipped the bag herself and helped Laurel bring the gown over.

“It looks lovely just by itself, Michelle,” the older lady said. “Though you’d look a lovely bride in anything, I’ll wager.” At her side Laurel giggled.

“Yes; you could pull of a white track suit and sneakers,” she said, smiling. Michelle snorted but laughed a little at the suggestion

“That would go over well,” she said. “it would have saved  alto of money having the wedding at a gym.”

Taking the gown from Margaret, Michelle stepped into it gingerly, slowly drawing it up over her hips. She was careful not to mark the white fabric with her hands; her palms felt a little damp.

“I’m already nervous,” she thought, biting her lip.

“Do you need a hand fastening it up, my dear?” Margaret inquired, kindly. Michelle nodded, taking
another deep breath. The elegant lady smiled as she zipped up the gown and fastened the two, tiny, white-covered buttons at the top. She stepped back, dabbing at her eyes with a hankie. “Michelle, my dear... I honestly think you’re the prettiest bride I ever saw.” Laurel nodded, sighing.
 

“You look like Princess Grace... but with more skin,” she said. Michelle laughed, alleviating her nerves a little.

“Yes, more skin,” she said, moving her shoulders back. “I feel nearly half-naked in this.” Margaret chuckled at the young woman’s flushed face.

“Well, it is a stylish kind of bare skin…” she interjected, judiciously. “… But, acceptable on this day, despite the weather. I can say that William will definitely appreciate it, as will every other man in the room.”

Michelle let out a soft laugh. Taking a deep breath, she ventured a look at the long wall mirror. The sight that greeted her eyes caused an almost overwhelming sentiment to well up within her. The girl looking back at her was a far cry from the waif-like, lonely street artist she’d resembled, not six weeks ago. Every little girl wants to look like a princess on her wedding day; Michelle did not have a crown, or train or hordes of guests, servants or a castle but she felt better than royalty. No royal ever felt this happy, of that she was certain. The beauty of finding her soul-mate descended on her like a mist; the day would not end with the sunset, nor would this feeling soon disappear. Certainly, life would not be always as roses in full bloom, but at the very least Michelle had her right companion to work through it all with.

Michelle turned her gentle smile and teary eyes to Margaret.

“Thank you so much for accepting me into your family,” she began. “You’re a beautiful lady. I thought that when you spied William’s portrait that day, on my corner. I wished you would just pass by, I was so ashamed of my appearance.” Margaret looked near tears herself, but Michelle continued. “You welcomed me with open arms and I will never forget that.” Margaret gave the young bride a warm hug, though she was careful of Michelle’s dress.

“My dear girl, if I’d had a daughter I would have wanted her to be like you in every way,” the woman said, gently. “I am just so glad I saw that picture, though I think William would have noticed you eventually. You’re a good, sweet girl; I am certain you and he will be very happy together.” Margaret wiped her eyes and went to dress behind the screen.

Laurel blew her nose into a handkerchief.

“Don’t you dare say anything like that to me,” she said, frowning. “I’m already crying like a pre-teen at a chick flick.” Laughing softly, Michelle gave the young blond woman a hug.

“I think I’ve found a good friend in you, Laurel,” she said, smiling. “You know perfectly well things would not have been done if you’d not been here. I don’t care if it was your job. You did it exceptionally, and you have my thanks.” Laurel sniffed again and looked around for a tissue box.

“You really do look gorgeous in that dress,” she quipped, blowing her nose again.

“I bet Luca sees only you in your gown,” Michelle said, quietly. “It compliments your skin and hair so well.” Laurel perked up at this.

“Really? I wonder if he’s here already...” The young blond woman gathered her dress and ducked into the bathroom. Taking her purse, Michelle dragged a high chair over to the wall mirror; setting her purse on top, she stood by the mirror putting on her makeup, not wanting to sit down and muss her dress.

The sounds of gathering voices slowly grew out in the reception hall. Some minutes later, a soft knock came at the dressing room door. Margaret came out from behind the screen. The white-haired lady wore a long, pale-blue gown with elegant sleeves; she looked a little younger on this happy day. The spa stylist had rolled her hair inward in a kind of reverse crown; she looked very aristocratic, even without the dark blue stones around her neck. Moving to the door, the elderly lady opened it, just a little. James Torville stood there in an old-fashioned suit, and bow tie; a camera danged around his neck. Michelle smiled at him.

“Let him in, please, Margaret,” she said, softly. “This is Mr. Torville, our photographer. Mr. Torville, meet my future mother-in-law, Margaret Montgomery.”

“Charmed,” Mr. Torville said, with a benevolent smile. Margaret won a few points with the man by naming one of the magazines he worked for, saying she’d seen his work. Mr. Torville smiled at her, but his eyebrows rose as he beheld the bride. Michelle leaned forward towards the mirror, putting the last touches
on her makeup. She did not notice the man taking pictures of her doing so, nor when she paused and smiled at her reflection. James Torville was adept at going unnoticed; of this he took full advantage for his pictures. Standing by the door Margaret watched the bride carefully put on lip gloss, smiling to herself.