THAT MAN 4 (The Wedding Story-Part 1) (11 page)

Blake’s mother glanced down at her gold and diamond beveled-faced watch. “Oh, dear, I’m going to have to say ta-ta. I have a board meeting downtown for the Philharmonic at one thirty.” She scurried back into the dressing room and five minutes later, reappeared in her gazillion dollar designer pink silk suit.

She kissed me good-bye. “Darling, it’s going to be perfection. Sorry to have to go, but I’m leaving you in good hands.” Hugging Enid and then Monique effusively, she asked them to send her a photo when all was said and done. In a breath, she was gone. I was shocked she wasn’t staying for the entire fitting and more than ever wanted my mom to be here. Along with the other person I’d invited. Coming from downtown, maybe he was stuck in traffic.
Hurry!

Monique made a few final nips and tucks. “You know, Jennifer, given how close your wedding is, you are
so
lucky this dress was available. I custom-designed it for a very famous rock star—whose name I can’t divulge—but TMZ caught her equally famous fiancé in bed with an even more famous supermodel so she called the wedding off.”

Great. So, I was going to be wearing someone’s doomed hand-me-down.

“It would have taken months for the silk fabric to get here from Italy and forget about the genuine Swarovski crystals.”

I gazed down at the glittery crystal starfish cupping my tits and hugging my hips, thanks to the pin-job. They did little to cheer me up. A welcomed familiar voice, however, did.

“Oh my frickin’ God! That is so wrong!”

Chaz! Finally! Tearing my eyes away from the sad image in the mirror, I watched him storm into the atelier. His eyes clashed with Kat’s. Poison daggers were going back and forth. Kat’s lips snarled.

“What the hell is he doing here?” she snapped at me.

“I invited him. I wanted him here to give his opinion.”

Chaz jumped back in. “Jenny-Poo, you look like Bridezilla! Take that hideous thing off immediately.”

Monique’s face darkened. “Excuse me? Did you just insult my one hundred thousand dollar creation?”

Gah! One hundred thousand dollars?
Maybe some of the crystals were real diamonds.

Chaz held his own. “I don’t care if it cost one dollar. A Las Vegas showgirl wouldn’t be caught dead in that rag!”

God, I loved Chaz. He just told it like it is. He was so brutally…no, beautifully honest. He was right. Who was I kidding? The dress was
vomiticious.

Flustered and obviously having a hot flash, Enid began to fan herself. “Jennifer, who is this intruder?” she panted.

Kat retorted before I could say a word. Her scrunched up expression was one of pure disgust. “Mommy, he’s that man I told you about who called me rude at that Beverly Hills Hotel event back in January. The one Blake was at.”

“Shut up, bitch!” Chaz barked. “Or I’m going to have to slap you.”

All at once, Kat, Enid, and Monique gasped. I stifled a laugh.

Monique was the first to respond. “Whoever you are, I’d like you to please leave.”

“My name is Chaz Clearfield, and I happen to be LA’s hottest new designer and one of Jennifer’s best friends. And she’s going to wear
my
dress.”

“Excuse me?” breathed Enid.

Kat turned to her mother. “Mommy, do you want me to call 911?”

My heart was in a flurry and my stomach twisted. A sharp pain stabbed me in the gut. Clutching my belly, I winced.

Chaz’s eyes grew wide with alarm. “Are you okay, Jenny-Poo?”

I nodded, still in pain; I was sure, just stress. “Chaz, why don’t I meet you at El Coyote. I’ll be done here soon.”

“Sure, honey.” After a bear hug, he proudly sashayed out of the atelier, leaving me alone with the three barracudas.

Fifteen minutes later, the fitting was done and I was back in my work clothes. I grabbed my bag and headed to the stairs.

“Don’t forget, Jennifer. Geary’s at three o’clock sharp,” Enid called out.

I stopped dead in my tracks and flipped around. “What do you mean?”

Enid scowled, making the tiniest crease in her Botoxed forehead, while Kat smirked. “Darling, don’t tell me you’ve forgotten.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Didn’t you read Katrina’s e-mail? I’ve set up an appointment at Geary’s to create your bridal registry.”

“I never got it.”

“Well, I sent it,” snapped Kat in a snide singsong voice. “Maybe you need a new pair of eyeglasses.”

Inside, I was fuming. She was lying. She
never
sent it. And probably deliberately.

“Where’s it located?” I asked, trying hard to mask my anger.

Enid rolled her eyes in disgust. “Seriously, darling? It’s on Rodeo Drive. I’m sure you’ll find it. Helen is meeting us there, so please don’t be late.”

My eyes clashed with Kat’s before I powered out the door.

*

“Oh God, Chaz. You’re so lucky you missed the headpiece. It’s some super-weird sequin headband concoction with this ugly rhinestone starfish that sits in the middle of my forehead.” Another leftover from the rock star, who was obviously in love with being a star.

Seated in a booth at the popular Mexican restaurant El Coyote, I was on my second margarita and my thoughts were flowing freely. I dug into my tostada.

“Thank you, honey, for sparing me,” replied Chaz, helping himself to another shot from the pitcher we’d ordered. He took a long sip and set his margarita glass on the table.

“Jenny-Poo. Listen to me. Go along with those bitches. I’ve moved forward on your dream dress and I’m not stopping.”

My heart fluttered with happiness. “Oh, Chaz! Really?”

“Trust me, they’re not going to stop you from wearing it on the day of your wedding.”

Where there’s a will, there’s a way.
Blake had ingrained these words in me. Chaz and I would make things work. Somehow. Someway.

A delicious lightness swept over me. I was going to be a beautiful bride after all. Wearing my dream dress. I couldn’t wait to marry my Blake.

“When can I see it?”

“In a few weeks.” As Chaz reached for the check, he looked at me sheepishly. “I have a big favor to ask.”

“Anything.”

“Would you find out if Jeffrey, Monique’s receptionist, is single? He’s so cute.”

“Sure.” A big smile lit my face while Chaz blushed. My father always said something good always comes out of the bad.

*

Geary’s in Beverly Hills was glittering spectacle of china, crystal, and silver. It smelled of money. I was sent to the second floor where Enid, Katrina, and Helen were already gathered with a spindly silver-haired sales woman, who was holding an iPad. I recognized her. She was the woman who’d helped me at Bloomie’s earlier in the year with picking out a gift for Gloria. And the woman who’d assisted my ex, Bradley, and his new fiancée, Candace, with their registry. She must have switched jobs.

“You’re late,” snapped Enid.

I glanced down at my watch. It was 3:05.

“We don’t have all day so let’s get started.” She introduced me to the woman who would be working with us. Her name was Bea.

“Lovely to see you again,” she said in her husky smoker’s voice.

Enid looked puzzled. “Do you two know each other?”

“Yes, we met last year when I was still at Bloomingdale’s”

“Such a despicable store,” huffed Enid.

“Can I offer you ladies some champagne?” asked Bea, ignoring the putdown.

Everyone except me agreed to a glass. I still had a buzz from the margaritas. Bea sauntered off, telling us to start earmarking items while she got the champagne.

“Shouldn’t we wait to do this until Blake gets back in town?” I thought engaged couples were supposed to pick out their registry together.

Helen laughed lightly. “Puh-lease, darling. Men have no clue whatsoever when it comes to these kinds of things. You’re so much better off he isn’t here.”

“And Blake obviously doesn’t have a handle on the finer things in life,” added Kat with a smirk. It was clearly an insult directed at me. It took all my effort to let it go.

“Jennifer, chop chop. Stop wasting precious time and get moving,” urged Enid with a clap-clap of her bony hands. “I’m going to use the restroom and then I’ll be right back.” Helen and Kat joined her.

Truthfully, I didn’t know where to begin. All around me were hundreds of dazzling china patterns, crystal glasses, and silver settings. Fit for royalty. Truthfully, I didn’t want or need any of this stuff. Blake and I needed basics. Things like everyday china, dishwasher-safe silverware, pots and pans, and the like. Being a player and dining out most of his adult life, Blake had very few of these things, and we’d purchased just a few essentials when I’d moved in with him. I should be at Crate & Barrel. Not here.

I forced myself to meander through the store. My eyes bugged out. Everything was so super expensive. Can you imagine—three hundred dollars for a teeny weenie eggcup? I mean, who in their right mind would gift such a thing? None of my friends or my parents’ could afford even one. If they asked what to get us, I was just going to tell them whatever. Or to make a small donation to a charity in our names.

Examining a silver-rimmed dinner plate that at least reminded me of my mother’s lovely Lenox china, I was distracted by a familiar voice.

“I should be registering, not you.”

I spun around. Kat with a flute of champagne in her hand.

“What are you talking about?” My tone was sharp.

“Blake should be marrying me. I’m the one he really loves. You whored your way into his heart.”

At her untrue words, a deluge of anger swept through me. “You’re delusional. Blake even told me himself.”

She narrowed her eyes at me. “Oh, and did he tell you about—”

“Darling.” Kat’s mother cut her off. “That’s wonderful you’re working with Jennifer. She can learn a lot from you.”

She smirked again. “Yes, Mommy, she
can.”

Enid sauntered off to join Helen and Bea.

Kat glowered at me. “Good luck, delusional one.”

To my utter shock, she flung her glass of champagne at me and strutted off. My mouth hung open.

One soaked hour later, Blake and I had a registry that came close to $500,000. It included three sets of hand painted Limoges china (breakfast, lunch, and dinner), the finest Christophe cutlery, matching Baccarat wine and water goblets plus a set of flutes, a dozen Buccelati silver picture frames along with a complete tea service, and twenty-four of those little egg cups. Guilt rippled through me. Maybe after we were married, Blake and I could return all this shit. A half a million dollars would feed a lot of hungry children. And they sure didn’t need eggs in eggcups.

Blake

B
y the time I checked into my hotel, The Walden, where I always stayed in New York, it was going on eight o’clock. The rush hour traffic on the expressway from Kennedy into Manhattan had been nightmare. And made worse by some badass accident that every Tom, Dick, and Harry stopped to gawk at.

I plopped down on the king-sized bed, and propping myself against a mountain of fluffy pillows, I speed-dialed the top number on my contact list. That of my tiger. I hadn’t even been away from her for twenty-four hours and I fucking missed her. She picked up on the first ring.

“Hi, baby. You landed okay?” She sounded tired.

“Yeah. I’m here. Are you okay?”

She launched into her afternoon. Shit. Fucking Kat was antagonizing her again. Every muscle in my body tensed. Sooner or later, the psycho bitch was going to let the cat out of the bag. While Jen went on about her disastrous dress fitting and the ridiculous wedding registry, I half-listened, debating whether I should tell her what had happened. Nah. It had to be done face to face, plus, I didn’t want to ruin my little surprise. My cock jumped at the thought.

“Baby, I need you to do me a favor. Go to my office. And when you get there, lock the door.”

A minute later, she was just where I wanted her. “Blake, what’s this all about?”

“Open my top desk drawer. Inside you’ll find a DVD. Insert it into my computer and watch it.”

“Hold on.” I heard the beginnings of a familiar theme song. I knew she was watching the DVD—various sexy poses of yours truly (including some photos from my modeling days) that I’d strung together with my own narration. Damn, I was good. Tom Cruise would be fooled.