Hitched

“There’s a human-interest story for you,” Regan remarked.

“I’m afraid to call her. Would you call her for me?”

“And say what?”

“That we’re going to be on Patrick and Jea

“I don’t know, Alfred.”

“Please, Regan! That show is so popular! They’re going to show pictures of my beautiful dresses. It would mean so much for my business. It might even help us get the dresses back. Please, Regan! This is national television!!!!”

“What’s her number?”

“Thank you, Regan. Thank you. I love you so much.”

“Love you, too.”

Jack turned and looked quizzically at Regan. She shrugged as Alfred gave her Bria

“Eight o’clock.”

“I’m not going to get much sleep tonight,” Regan commented.

“Charisse and I aren’t going to get any sleep for the next three weeks!”

When Regan hung up, she looked at Jack, then at Kit. “I’m going on TV tomorrow morning.”

“Huh?” they both answered at once.

Regan explained as she dialed Bria

“Hello,” Bria

“Bria

“I’ve had better days. But I’m at my apartment with my girlfriends. It’s one of my last nights here. We’re revving up to go out tonight.”

“That’s good. I know it’s been rough for you,” Regan said, trying to sound sympathetic, then asked her about the Patrick and Jea

“What?!” Bria

Regan could hear a chorus of cheers and shouts of encouragement. “Bria

“The only bad thing,” Bria

A chorus of boos erupted. “We’ll just have to stay out all night!” one of Bria

They’re having no problem getting psyched up for their night out, Regan thought. “So you’ll do it?” Regan said loudly into her phone, hoping Bria

“Yes! Can I bring my fiancé?”

“Of course. The studios always have a greenroom that’s stocked with coffee and donuts. He can wait there while we’re on the air.”

“What about the other brides whose dresses are gone?”

“They all have their reasons for not wanting to do publicity.”

“Must mean they’re guilty of something.”

“No,” Regan protested. “It might be hard to believe these days, but some people aren’t interested in being on television or having their name in the paper.”

“It’s very hard to believe. Regan, this is my bachelorette party tonight. I might not look my best in the morning.”

“I’m going to have a long night, too. But don’t worry. They have makeup artists on these shows who can perform miracles.”

Bria

“Thanks, Bria

“Okay.”

“Remember, Bria

“Is she going to be your new best friend?” Kit asked from the back seat.

“Highly unlikely, Kit. But let me tell you something. Her group sounds as if they’re going to have a grand old time tonight. She invited us to stop by the club where they’ll be later on.”

“Maybe we should take her up on it,” Kit suggested.

Regan raised her eyebrows. “It might be a good idea to check in on Bria

Jack shook his head as he steered the car onto the Jersey Turnpike. He turned to Regan and smiled. “Are all our Saturday nights going to be this exciting?” he asked.

“Till death do you part,” Kit answered from the backseat.

Somehow her words didn’t have the humor she intended.

24

After their side trip to the cemetery, Francis and Marco had searched in vain for a post office that was still open. Rain, hail, sleet, and snow might never prevent the United States Postal Service from making their appointed rounds, but closing time on Saturday would halt them in their tracks.

The only thing Francis and Marco did accomplish was getting their taillight fixed. And it was by accident. At one of the many gas stations where they stopped to see if anyone knew of an open FedEx or post office, the attendant admonished them about their broken taillight.

“No post offices open now. But what you should do is let me fix that taillight for you. You’re going to get yourself a ticket,” he said with an expression that seemed to warn he’d call the cops himself if Marco didn’t let him make the buck fixing it.

“I know it’s broken,” Marco grumbled.

“It’s Saturday night. Cops around here are always on the lookout for trouble. I wouldn’t drive around for too long with that thing.”

“Fix it then,” Marco snapped.

After the light was replaced, the attendant stuffed the money in his pocket. Impatiently, Marco pulled out of the gas station.

“I’m hungry and my leg is bothering me,” Francis whined.

“How do you think my wrist feels? It’s sore as hell. I’m lucky I didn’t hit an artery. I need to see a doctor.”

“Why don’t we stop at that diner ahead and grab a couple of burgers?” Francis suggested. “We’ll both feel better.”

Marco nodded. He steered the car into the parking lot of Madge’s 24 Hour diner. Wordlessly they went inside, grabbed a booth, and then placed their orders with a waitress who clearly was not experiencing career satisfaction.

But when the food arrived it was hot and the beer was cold. The cheeseburgers and french fries hit the spot, wherever that spot is.

Marco wiped his mouth with a flimsy paper napkin. “I didn’t realize how hungry I was. We haven’t eaten much today.”

“We didn’t sleep much last night, either,” Francis complained. “I’m tired. I wish we were home.”

Marco looked around the empty, dreary diner and then whispered, “Cheer up! We have twenty thousand dollars cash and we’re on our way to Atlantic City! Once you walk into the casino and hear all those bells and whistles and the clatter of coins spilling out of the slot machines, you’ll perk up. Believe me! Let’s turn our twenty thousand into forty!”

Francis could have kicked himself as he heard himself asking, “You think we could double our money tonight?”

“Yes! I’m going into the men’s room to rinse off my wrist. It might be getting germs. I’ll be right back.”

As Francis sat alone, the depressing surroundings got to him. The diner where Ma works is much nicer than this, he thought. Then he remembered what she had said on the phone earlier today-that at work they were all talking about the stolen wedding dresses. A wave of guilt and dread washed over him. After downing the cheeseburger and beer, he’d felt good, but that sense of well-being quickly vanished. They had to get rid of those dresses. And it looked like it would be Monday before they could get them out of their possession.

When Marco emerged from the rest room, he grabbed the check off their table. They paid the bill, grabbed toothpicks and stale mints from the bowl by the cash register, and headed out to the car. One of the lights from the parking light shone right into the backseat, illuminating Joyce’s dishwasher like a coveted prize on a game show.

Before too long they were on the Atlantic City Causeway heading east. It was already nine o’clock. Marco flipped on the radio.