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“No,” the bride says, sounding as if she’s pouting a little.
“I didn’t think so. So get over it. We’re going to Kleinfeld’s.”
“God,” the bride says as her mother drags her away. “You’re so cheap. If you had your way, we’d get my wedding gown at Geck’s.”
The mother and daughter drift away, and I find myself staring after them in astonishment. Every single nerve ending in my body is tingling. I feel as if I’ve just caught fire.
A shop that offers beautiful couture for the ordinary girl, at prices she can afford. For brides.
“Oh my God, Chaz,” I say. “Did you hear that?”
“Hear what?” He still has his arm around me. “The part about the full body massage I’m going to give you?”
“Them.” I open my purse and start digging around in it for my cell phone. “Did you hear what they said?”
“About going to Kleinfeld’s? Yeah. Hey, maybe that’s where you should get a job. That’s where everybody goes to get their wedding dresses. That’s where my sister went. Not that it helped. She still looked like me. In a wedding dress. Poor kid. She tried waxing and everything.”
“No,” I say, stabbing at the numbers on the keypad of my phone. “Not that part.”
Be there, I pray. Pick up. Pick up.
A second later, a voice chirps, “Hello?”
“It’s me,” I say. “Please don’t hang up. I know you hate me. But I’ve got a business proposition I’ve got to talk to you about. It’s important. And you won’t regret it. I promise. Where are you?”
“Me?” She sounds slightly confused. “I’m at the dog run. Why?”
“Stay there,” I say. “Do not move. I’ll be right over.”
A HISTORY of WEDDINGS
Carrying the bride over the threshold is a tradition that harkens back to the ancient practice of capturing brides from rival tribes or villages. It was also thought to—say it all together now—trick any evil spirits that might be lurking in the new home.
Today’s modern bride may find the practice sexist or—often more alarming, considering the state of many HMOs—may fear her groom will throw his back out in attempting to lift her.
It is, for these reasons, a tradition that is losing popularity and may safely be skipped in lieu of a kitchen witch.
Tip to Avoid a Wedding Day Disaster
There is a rumor flying around that the cost of the gift you give at a wedding as a guest should roughly equal the amount of the cost of the food and wine you are served at the reception. This is ridiculous. Your gift should be tasteful—and does not even have to come from the bridal registry—but does not in any way have to be proportionate to the cost of what you are being served. Any bride who suggests otherwise deserves the wooden spoon you give her applied to her backside.
LIZZIE NICHOLS DESIGNS™
• Chapter 21 •
Love is composed of a single soul inhabiting two bodies.
Aristotle (384 B.C.–322 B.C.), Greek philosopher
“Wedding gowns?” Ava echoes, her carefully plucked eyebrows raised. “At Geck’s?”
“Why not at Geck’s?” I’m perched beside her on a park bench next to the small dog run at Carl Schurz Park. The small dog run is actually a raised, fenced-in stage along the boardwalk by the East River, where pedestrians can stop and watch the tiny dogs as they skitter after te
Ava, however, is holding an exhausted Snow White in her lap. The Chihuahua has apparently run after so many te
“You don’t even see them after a while,” she says, with a yawn that, I can’t help noticing, is made all the more elfin and charming by the fact that her bee-stung lips are perfectly glossed.
“Ava.” It’s even harder than usual to get her full attention due to the fact that DJ Tippycat is still inside the dog run with his French bulldog puppy, and Ava’s gaze keeps straying toward him every five seconds. “Listen to me. You said you wanted to do something with your life. Remember? After you broke things off with Prince Aleksandros. You have to have meant something more than just another tired old reality show. Well, this is your chance. Not only to prove to the world that you’re more than just an bubbleheaded heiress, but to help out millions of brides who want to have a beautiful gown but can’t afford it.”
Ava doesn’t look remotely interested. She’s gazing through the enormous black lenses of her sunglasses at a tugboat chugging down the river in front of us. I glance over my shoulder at Chaz, who is waiting for me out of camera range. He refused to sign the waivers the film crew demanded in order for me to speak to Ava while she was on camera, so he has to wait out of the shot until I’m done. He doesn’t look too unhappy. He’s found a hot dog vendor and is munching away, enjoying one with everything, along with a cold soda, in the shade.
“I don’t know,” Ava says. “What do I know about clothing design?”
“You don’t have to design the gowns,” I say through gritted teeth. “I’ll take care of that part. You just have to market the clothes. And Geck Industries have to provide the labor and materials. I’m not talking sweatshop labor or cheap materials, either. I’m talking quality craftsmanship, sewn here, in America. The gowns have to look gorgeous and feel nice against the skin. But nothing can retail for more than four hundred dollars. It all just has to be designed by me and marketed by you… the Lizzie Nichols—Ava Geck bridal line.”
She perks up at this. “Hey. I kind of like the sound of that.”
“I thought you might,” I say, eyeing the camera uncomfortably as they swoop around us.
“Lizzie and Ava,” she says. “Or Ava and Lizzie?”
“Whichever,” I say. I can’t quite believe she’s actually going for it. I’d been shocked she’d even taken my call, let alone agreed to meet with me. I hadn’t pla
“That’s so cute,” Ava gushes with so much enthusiasm that Snow White nearly tumbles from her lap. “Can we, like, do bridesmaid dresses too?”
“I don’t see why not,” I say. One of the cameras comes in for a close-up. I am acutely conscious of the fact I haven’t powdered my nose all day, and that I am sweating copiously. I pray to God this show won’t ever get picked up by a major network. Or Bravo.
On the other hand, if Ava accepts this deal, who even cares?
“And flower girls?” she asks.
“Sure,” I say.
“What about clothes for dogs,” Ava says. “When DJ Tippycat’s divorce from that ho wife of his comes through, we want Snow White and Delilah to be in our wedding.”
I look down at Snow White, struggling to find purchase on Ava’s vinyl mini. One of the cameras zooms in on Ava’s crotch. I switch my prayer to a different one… that she’s wearing panties.
“Um,” I say. “Sure. We can do a line of wedding wear for dogs.”
“Okay,” Ava says. “That sounds like fun.” She eyes me a little uneasily. “But if we’re going to work together, Lizzie, I need to know we’re not go
I shake my head. “Ava, I swear on my grandmother’s grave, I will never blab something I’m not supposed to ever again.” And I know, as I say it, that this time I really mean it.
Really.