The Dream Dress Read online

  I thought back to my rushed prayer time in the bathtub and how good it had felt to cry out to someone. Something. Talking to myself was highly overrated, to be sure. And I did have the sense that my ceiling-bound pleas had led to my rehiring. Still, the idea of this buddy-buddy God thing felt weird.

  As Jordan continued to share his heart, I couldn’t help but find myself captivated. He was my polar opposite in every respect—blond, tall, eyes as sea-green as the Caribbean. His polished speech told me that we traveled in different circles—he in the wide-open places where planes, trains, and automobiles would take him, and I in the coziness of my own little corner. In my own little chair.

  Yes, we definitely came from different worlds, but as I gazed into his sparkling eyes—eyes that ushered me into the comfort of his presence—I realized how inviting his world felt to me.

  Face it, you don’t get out enough, Gabi.

  Oh, but I wanted to get out now. As he smiled—that beautiful, boyish smile—I found myself wanting to summon up a fairy godmother to turn my sewing machine into a carriage that would carry me to the ball. Or at least throw in some mice to hem Nicolette’s dress.

  Nicolette!

  From outside my workroom I heard Demetri ranting to the Dynamic Duo about our incoming bride-to-be. Apparently her dress had arrived from the cleaner’s, ready to be hemmed.

  He hollered through my open doorway, clearly oblivious to Jordan’s presence. I knew this because he called Nicolette a couple of choice names, complete with expletives, and ranted about how she wouldn’t be happy with the gown even if we cleaned and hemmed it to perfection. Lydia and Corinne responded with a few not-so-nice things to say about Nicolette, one of them—Corinne, maybe?—commenting on her new DDs. After that Demetri lit into a frantic talk about how he planned to wrap Nicolette around his little finger before day’s end in spite of her hesitations about his design.

  All of this from just outside my door.

  Jordan shifted in his chair and cleared his throat.

  This must’ve captured Demetri’s attention. He stuck his head in the door and blanched when he saw the reporter sitting there. At once my boss’s tight jaw flinched, and he nearly dropped the gown. He shifted from ranting mode to polished pro.

  “Hello, Meez-ter. . . Meez-ter . . .”

  “Singer.”

  “Right. Meez-ter Singer. I didn’t realize you’d come back. Good to see you again.”

  What a faker.

  “Yes.” Jordan pivoted around to face him. “Hope you don’t mind, but I’m trying to get a thorough look at your place of business so that I can write a . . . well-rounded article.”

  Was it my imagination, or was the guy fishing for words?

  “Vell, surely you don’t need to spend time here, in zee alterations room.” Demetri rolled his eyes. He hung the gown from the top of my open door. “Come, and ve vill talk business. Then, if you like, I vill take you back to my studio, where zee real seamstresses work. Gabi here is just zee material girl. Nips and tucks. That sort of thing.”

  My self-confidence flew out the window—not that I had a window in this dungeon. How dare he denigrate me in front of the reporter? Didn’t he see that Jordan found my work fascinating?

  To his credit, Jordan didn’t appear interested in jumping to attention at Demetri’s command. “Tomorrow, maybe,” he said with a wave of his hand. “Right now I’m fine. Here. With Gabi.” He gave Demetri a pensive look. “Besides, it sounds like you’ve got some wrinkles to iron out with Nicolette Cavanaugh.” Reaching for his iPad, he added, “And a wrinkled bride is never a good thing, especially not one with a feature article in Texas Bride.”

  Demetri squirmed and then muttered something under his breath about the Fab Five needing his help with something. Seconds later, he disappeared from view.

  Jordan looked back my way and smiled. “Now, where were we again?”

  After his “gotcha!” comments to Demetri, I figured we were halfway to heaven. At least from my perspective. But I couldn’t tell him that, now could I? Instead, I flashed him a thank-you smile and leaned back in my chair, suddenly feeling better than I had in ages.

  Vivacious Lady

  I adored Fred. We were good friends. Our only problem is that we never aspired to be any kind of a team. We didn’t want to be Abbott and Costello. We thought of ourselves as individuals. We didn’t intend to be another Frick and Frack. But it happened anyway, didn’t it? And I’ll be forever grateful it did.

  Ginger Rogers

  The following morning I awoke in a panic. The hands on the clock showed a very clear 9:30. I’d obviously slept through my alarm. Ugh!

  No. As reality hit, I released a slow breath and willed my racing heart to calm down.

  This is Saturday. No work today.

  No Haute Couture work, anyway.

  While flinging the sheet back, I accidentally knocked the clock off the bedside table. It clattered to the floor. I reached down to scoop it up and caught a glimpse of the sun peeking through the window. After a long night of work, my bleary eyes could hardly stand the glow. I squinted and turned the other way.

  “Good morning, sleepyhead.” Mimi Carmen’s voice sounded from outside the door. “I hear you stirring in there. Everything okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine. Just knocked over my clock, but it didn’t break.”

  She opened the door a crack and peeked inside. “You were up late again last night, weren’t you?”

  “How did you know?” I did my best to stifle the yawn that threatened to work its way out.

  She gave me a knowing look. “I saw the light from under the door of the guest room and heard the sewing machine. Glad it’s running again. That Singer man really knows his stuff.”

  “Yes, he’s good at what he does.” What else could I say, really?

  Her eyes twinkled. “And he’s mighty cute too, if you don’t mind an old woman noticing such things.” A girlish giggle followed and her cheeks flushed.

  “I don’t mind a bit. And yes, I’m glad the machine is running well again.” No point in telling her the truth about Jordan’s real job. It would probably just complicate the matter. “And I didn’t mean to stay up so late. It’s just that I’m meeting with Scarlet today to talk about her wedding dress, and I’m loaded with ideas.”

  Too many ideas, actually. By three in the morning I’d sketched out four completely different ones.

  Mimi fussed with the covers on my bed, pulling them up as she talked. “I’m sure she’ll love whatever you come up with. You’re the best.”

  “Thanks, Mimi.” I helped her finish making the bed, smiling as she fluffed my pillows, then followed behind her to the kitchen, where Mama worked at the stove, flipping eggs in a skillet.

  “Morning, sunshine.”

  “G’ morning, Mama.”

  “Hope you’re hungry. Mimi made chorizo and I’ve got eggs cooking. I’ll warm up the tortillas and we can dive in.”

  “Okay. Smells great.” Then again, if I continued to eat like Mama and Mimi, chances were pretty good I’d end up a size 3X too. Not that the size of either really bothered me, but it did occur to me that I’d better be careful, starting now.

  As we ate, my mother quizzed me about my meeting with the bride-to-be.

  “You’re meeting at Club Wed?” When I answered with a yes, her eyes took on a dreamy look. “One of these days I want to go there. See the inside of the chapel and the reception hall for myself.”

  “Oh, I’m sure Bella would love to show you around. Or maybe her aunt Rosa. She’s so sweet.” Well, sweet and feisty.

  “Rosa? The one with the cooking show on the Food Network?” Mimi Carmen spoke around a mouthful of chorizo and eggs.

  “Yeah.”

  My grandmother’s eyes lit up. “I would love to meet her.”

  “You two have a lot in common, from what I can gather. Maybe I can arrange it.”

  Mimi looked as if I’d just offered her the moon. “Really? Then I must take her some
enchiladas. I think she would like them, don’t you?”

  “Oh, I’m sure. She’d be crazy not to.”

  “Oh, but she’s a professional. I would embarrass myself. I’m just a home cook.”

  “But that’s how she started too, Mimi,” I said. “In fact, that’s what makes her so appealing to the television audience. They can relate because she’s all about home and family.”

  Mimi rambled on and on about the possibility of ending up with a show of her own on the Food Network someday. I couldn’t picture it, to be honest. Not because of her cooking skills but because of her tendency to slip into Spanish. Was there such a thing as a Spanglish cooking channel? I’d have to look into that. Right now, however, I had other things to think about.

  I turned my attention back to the matter of Scarlet’s wedding dress. “I’m just loaded with ideas for Scarlet’s gown. I’m sure she’s got a design in mind, but I’m hoping to win her over with what I’ve been working on. I’ve come up with a few that would be perfect for her.”

  “How can she help but be won over by your designs, Gabriella?” Mimi Carmen said. “They’re prettier than any of the dresses I see in magazines.”

  “And certainly more normal-looking than anything I’ve ever seen in that so-called high-end store you work for,” my mother added, then rolled her eyes. No doubt she felt I didn’t belong in the couture world.

  “You’re brilliant, Gabriella.” Mimi smiled and filled another tortilla with eggs and chorizo.

  “Thanks, Mimi, but you’re supposed to say things like that. You’re my grandmother.”

  “I only say them because they are true. Even the Singer man sees your talent. He said as much at dinner the other night.”

  My heart quickened as she mentioned Jordan’s name. Well, his last name, anyway.

  “True.” Mama gave me an inquisitive look. “That very handsome young man did seem interested.” She cleared her throat and took a sip of her juice. “In your designs, I mean.”

  Gee, thanks, Mama.

  “Let’s invite him over for dinner again soon,” she added. “He seems to like Mimi’s cooking.”

  “Good idea. I’ll make my tamales.” Mimi Carmen rose and walked to the refrigerator, where she grabbed a jar of homemade salsa. “I’m guessing the Singer man loves tamales. His mother is Puerto Rican, you know.”

  “Do they eat tamales in Puerto Rico?” I asked.

  Mama shrugged and took another bite of her breakfast taco.

  “What time is your meeting with the bride-to-be?” Mimi asked as she dumped a large mound of salsa on top of her food.

  “Three o’clock.”

  “Ah.” She took a bite and talked around the mouthful of food. “I need to make a run to the store.”

  I knew which store she meant, of course. Walmart. And when Mimi Carmen said she had to “make a run” to the store, she certainly didn’t mean she needed to get there in a hurry. Neither did she mean that she would shop in a hurry. Or check out in a hurry. Or unload the car in a hurry. No, she moved at a snail’s pace, enjoying every second of the adventure.

  Not that I’d ever considered a trip to Walmart an adventure, but she certainly did. I’d never seen a woman so enamored with the various food products as my grandmother. She read every label top to bottom before buying a thing. This slowed down the process considerably and basically made me want to smack my head into a wall, but I usually coped by going to the candy aisle.

  Visions of myself wearing a size 3X floated through my brain again. Maybe I should find a new way to pacify myself.

  “Would you drive me?” Mimi asked. “You know how much I hate to go by myself.”

  “Sure.” I bit back the sigh that wanted to escape. Looked like I’d be spending my morning at the local Walmart instead of touching up my sketches. “Give me a few minutes to get up and running, okay?”

  Half an hour later, Mimi and I joined approximately a thousand other rushed and frazzled shoppers as we perused the store. It took over an hour, but we finally made it to the register, and I congratulated myself for avoiding the candy aisle.

  Once there, my grandmother used her coupons to get reduced prices on nearly half of the products. One of these days we wouldn’t have to live like this. I hoped. I dreamed of a day when the woman could purchase a bottle of laundry detergent without having to fret over the price.

  Is that too much to ask, Lord?

  There I went praying again. I’d been doing a lot of that lately.

  When we returned to the house, I dove back into my work, finalizing my designs for Scarlet. Hopefully she would like my ideas.

  By 3:00 I could hardly wait to meet up with her at Club Wed. I always looked forward to spending time at the island’s most beautiful wedding hot spot.

  Turned out I wasn’t alone. I pulled up to Club Wed just as a bride and groom emerged from the front door.

  In that moment, the weirdest thoughts ran through my mind. Would I get married at Club Wed one day? If so, would my rickety old Ford Focus end up covered in multicolored streamers, with the words “Just Married!” etched in shoe polish on the back window? How did one go about covering rust spots with shoe polish, anyway? And would it matter that I still hadn’t fixed my side mirror? Would my groom and I get arrested on our way to the honeymoon?

  Hmm. Maybe my new life—the one with the handsome prince in it—would include a car that actually ran. One could hope.

  Thinking about the car must’ve jinxed it somehow. It sputtered to a stop about three feet short of where I’d planned to park. Oh well. With the wedding coming to an end, no one needed the space anyway. At least I hoped not.

  I paused to give the wedding facility a closer look. I’d been here before, of course—on Hannah and Drew Kincaid’s big day a couple of months ago. In fact, I’d gotten to know Scarlet better on that special day. Her bridesmaid dress had required a last-minute alteration, thanks to her weight loss.

  Seeing the facility now, fully loaded with guests I didn’t know, made me realize the significance of Bella Neeley’s impact on our little community. She and her ever-growing family were responsible for hundreds, possibly thousands, of blissful wedding days.

  Who wouldn’t want to get married at Club Wed? The gorgeous old Victorian stood tall, a fresh coat of white paint causing it to shimmer under the afternoon sun. The gingerbread trim, intricate in its design, had won accolades from the historical society a few years back. Even now it captured my imagination. For a moment, anyway.

  My eyes gravitated to the beautiful veranda and the stately columns flanking the wide front steps. Talk about inviting. How many brides had scurried up and down these steps on their wedding day?

  Off to the side, a lovely rotunda area, framed by half a dozen oleander bushes, beckoned guests to spend time visiting and relaxing. The scent of flowers floated on the breeze, a lovely perfume. Just one more reason why I loved it here.

  The Rossi home, though elegant, offered an invitation to sit and rest awhile. To step away into a peaceful place, one complete with oversized doors and lovely wooden shutters, open and welcoming. I had to give it to the Rossi family. They knew how to draw the eye . . . and the heart.

  Thinking about the Rossis made me smile. Though I didn’t know them very well, I already loved Bella’s family. Loud, wacky, over-the-top in every way, they radiated pure joy and devotion. Watching them at work gave me hope that a girl’s business really could succeed. I would learn from their example and grow my business with equal zeal.

  Surely if one family could handle all of those brides, I could handle one diva designer. Demetri Markowitz would not get the best of me, no matter how hard he tried.

  After watching the crowd for a moment longer, I got out of the car and wove my way through the mass of people on the veranda. As I entered the spacious foyer, my attention shifted to a group of ladies oohing and aahing over the rich mahogany staircase with its carpeted steps. I didn’t blame them. This place deserved every bit of the praise, and so did the
family responsible.

  Still, I must find Bella. We had much to discuss.

  I located her in the opening between the foyer and the reception hall, giving instructions to the photographer, Hannah Kincaid.

  Hannah glanced my way and grinned. “Well, hello there. If it isn’t the island’s best dress designer!”

  “Good to see you again. I—”

  Before I could complete my thought, she took off chasing after the bride and groom, hollering something about catching the picture-perfect shot.

  “That’s how she is,” Bella said. “Never misses an opportunity. But you’d better watch out or she’ll run you over.”

  “She’s very fast,” I observed as I watched her disappear across the veranda through the throng of people.

  “You have to be, around here.”

  Bella took a couple of steps through the opening off the foyer, and I followed her, now finding myself in the gorgeous reception hall. My gaze traveled up to the chandeliers above and then back down again to the heavy wooden floor, polished to perfection. Lovely.

  A couple of lingering guests visited at one of the tables, and the mother of the bride cried as she helped Bella’s mother dismantle the intricate centerpieces. I couldn’t help but notice Bella’s aunt Rosa and uncle Laz working in the kitchen off to the side of the room. I recognized them from television, though they appeared slightly less rotund in real life. My conversation with Mimi resurfaced and I smiled, hoping she could one day meet these two in person.

  At this point Rosa approached. “You! Eat. Cake.” She waved what appeared to be a knife in my face.

  “Um, okay.”

  Turned out the knife was really one of those triangular cake-serving thingamabobs. Still, an armed woman wanted me to eat cake. I would eat cake.

  And that’s exactly where I ran into Scarlet . . . at the cake table. She passed me a yummy-looking slice of white cake with raspberry filling and spouted her instructions. “Eat up, Gabi. Those folks left over half the wedding cake behind. It’s a travesty, I tell you. A travesty.”