The One Who Got Away (7 page)

Why hadn't he proposed?

Friends had ribbed us about it. Clients were always asking and I had no idea what to say. I couldn't work it out. Did he think I was too young? Maybe. I wasn't yet thirty, but David was coasting towards forty, and it wasn't as if he was going to marry somebody his own age.

I was in despair about it, which probably explains why I was doing something so stupid as making Engagement Chicken, and you know what, maybe it worked, because next thing I knew, everyone in town was reading the same headline:
THE WEDDING OF THE CENTURY.

That's how the local newspaper, the
Bienveneda Bugle
, broke the news.

A little birdie tells us that Bienveneda's most eligible bachelor, David Wynne-Estes, has popped the question and if what we're hearing is correct, this is going to be the Wedding of the Century.

Was it the chicken? Alright, probably not. More likely it was me being patient, and David being ready. The point is, he did pop the question – and he did do it right, meaning down on bended knee at the end of the Bienveneda pier, with a diamond the size of an iceblock – and I accepted.

I accepted knowing that David wasn't perfect. Who is?

I accepted knowing that I didn't quite fit into his world. David's sister, Janet, seemed to understand this. ‘Who will you have?' she said, shortly after we told her.

‘I'm sorry?'

‘The wedding planner? Who will you have?'

I didn't know that I needed a wedding planner.

‘I think I can do it myself,' I said, ‘and Molly is going to help, and …'

‘Don't be silly,' said Janet dismissively. ‘This is not the kind of thing you can do on your own. And you can't just let anyone do it. Let me think about it.'

A day or so later, she came to the door at David's and pressed a card – a completely square business card, with gold trim – into my hand. ‘Here.'

‘J.J. Kim? You know him?'

‘I know him, and I've told him about the wedding,' Janet said evenly, ‘and my advice to you is to use him and nobody else.'

I waited a day or so before putting the call in. J.J. Kim was California-famous for his over-the-top appearances on the breakfast shows. He had purple hair, held vertical with product, and a super-smooth forehead, like Janet's. The gold on his business card was a nod to the chunky gold rings he wore on all ten fingers.

‘So you're the lucky lady marrying David Wynne-Estes?' he cried when I called. ‘Now, don't you worry, I know just what you need.'

He knew what I needed? How about what I
wanted
?

We had our first meeting at J.J.'s offices in Hollywood. His chair was a giant plastic hand. Molly had insisted on coming along, she said for moral support, although I suspect to ogle J.J.'s plastic surgery. (‘It's too much,' she told me afterwards, ‘just too, too much. He's got, like, tennis balls in his cheeks. Too much!' and it was all I could do not to say, ‘Molly? You have tennis balls in your cheeks, too!')

I opened by saying: ‘You know, my mom's no longer with us, so when we're thinking about the bridal table, it'll be David's parents, and then my dad with Molly's mom, who is Val …'

‘Wait, wait, wait,' cried J.J., throwing himself back against the giant fingers behind his head. ‘What do you mean, bridal table! Bridal table? You want a bridal table? There will be no bridal table!'

‘No bridal table?'

‘No, no, no, no,' J.J. said, wagging a finger from side to side in an exaggerated motion, ‘we will NOT be having a bridal table. Oh no. I have in mind something very special for you.'

Molly said: ‘Something special like what?'

J.J. looked triumphant. ‘Thrones! I have in mind the exact same thrones that Posh and Becks had at their wedding. The exact same! Because that is how I see this wedding. You are – okay, David is – Bienveneda royalty. So you need thrones.'

J.J. was by now squealing.

Molly was doing her best to keep a straight face. It was a struggle.

‘But how will that work?' I said. ‘Where will everybody else sit?'

‘In the garden,' said J.J., clicking his fingers theatrically around his own head. ‘You'll have your golden thrones under a canopy in a lavish garden, with fairy lights and waiters dressed like motor mechanics, and we'll have driftwood benches and sophisticated milk crates for tables … can't you just see it?'

Sophisticated milk crates? I could not see it. ‘Where would people put their plates?'

‘On their laps,' said J.J. Kim, exasperated. ‘This isn't going to be a chicken-and-beef wedding you know, Loren. This isn't going to be people sitting at a round table with a white cloth, a glass of Merlot and a bread roll. This is going to be something special. Delicate dishes. Tasting spoons!'

‘Tasting spoons?' said Molly. ‘Our dad is six-foot-seven and shaped like a queen-bed mattress. You're going to have to give him more than a tasting spoon, especially since he's going to be paying.'

‘He's what?' If my expression was anything like J.J. Kim's, we must have looked like two open-mouthed dolls at a sideshow carnival.

‘Your father is paying?' said J.J., aghast.

‘Oh no,' I said. ‘Oh, Molly, surely not.'

* * *

A few days later I was having dinner at Dad and Val's. It's a house I know well, because throughout my childhood I spent occasional weekends there, sleeping on a trundle on the floor near Molly's bed, as part of the custody arrangement my parents worked out.

Dad was seated where he pretty much always sits, in the recliner near the flat screen TV I'd bought for him for the most recent Father's Day, to replace the big box they'd had for years.

We'd all finished eating (actually, my father and Val had finished eating; I was on J.J.'s famed wedding diet) and I had stayed in the kitchen long enough to pretend to dry the dishes, but Val's not silly.

‘Go talk to him,' she whispered.

I nodded, and went to find Dad. He was well into his nightly routine – feet up, crime novel open – but he took his feet down from the ottoman when he saw me coming.

‘Wedding of the Century,' he said. ‘Impressive.'

‘That was a stupid thing for the
Bugle
to write,' I said, fiddling nervously with my engagement diamond.

‘When does a newspaper not write something stupid?' Dad said. ‘But the main thing is, I don't want you worried, Loren. Whatever you're planning, I've got it covered.'

Oh, my goodness, he so did not have it covered.

I took a deep breath. ‘Well, here's the thing, Dad, you don't have to pay.'

By this stage, Val had come out of the kitchen, carrying two cups of tea on saucers, with plain biscuits.

‘What are you talking about?' said Dad, taking the cup. ‘We've planned for this day, haven't we, Val?'

Val did her best to smile but she looked terrified. ‘Indeed we have.'

I thought,
Oh, God bless you two, but really?

‘Please listen, Dad,' I said, as he took his first sip of tea. ‘There are a lot of people on David's side … people that I've never even met, people who are clients, who apparently have to come to this wedding, and we obviously don't expect you to pay for people that I – let alone you – don't even know.'

Dad picked up one of his biscuits and had a nibble. ‘Why are they coming if you don't know them?'

‘Because,' I said, ‘it's good for business. David has these clients. He calls them the Big Fish. Big catches. He makes big money from them. They have to come because, you know, if they get invited, it makes them feel special. It's a way of showing them they have a personal relationship with David, that he's not just interested in them for their money.'

‘But isn't that the truth? He is only interested in them for their money, surely,' said Dad, nibbling some more. ‘Why does he have to pretend to be their friend?'

I thought,
You old bastard. You're not stupid. You know exactly what I'm trying to say.

‘David's not actually pretending,' I said. ‘I suppose what I mean is, he wants to show his appreciation to certain big clients by having them at the wedding.'

‘Well, I don't know,' said Dad. ‘What do you make of this, my love?'

‘Well,' said Val carefully, ‘if David sees the wedding that way – as a way to entertain clients – and, I mean, if he wants to put in, maybe we should let him.'

Dad's eyebrows shot up. ‘Have you gone mad?' he said. ‘Of course David's not paying. I'm paying. Loren here is my daughter. I'm the father of the bride. My job is to cover the cost of the wedding. And I mean, how much can a wedding even cost?'

Was he kidding, or did he really have no idea? A wedding can cost nothing more than seventy-five dollars for a licence at City Hall or a wedding can cost … well, the sky's the limit, and J.J. Kim was aiming for the sky.

‘I guess that depends …' I said.

‘It doesn't matter,' said Dad, picking up his novel, ‘because we have it covered. Don't you worry. It'll be fine.'

I looked over at Val. The conversation was over.

‘Well, if you insist,' I said, rising to smooth my skirt, ‘and thank you, Dad. It's generous of you.'

Dad sipped, satisfied to have won the argument. I stayed a while longer, then Val walked me out to the car.

‘What are we going to do?' she whispered.

‘Don't worry, I'll just send him a few bills,' I whispered back.

‘Oh, thank you,' she said. ‘I mean, there's just no way …'

‘Stop,' I said, putting a finger to my lips. ‘Of course there's not.'

* * *

‘The quote for the cake has arrived,' I said, opening the email on my laptop.

‘Let me guess,' said David, ‘is it nine hundred dollars?'

We were curled up on the L-shaped sofa in David's house, with David in the ‘big corner' and me with my legs down the chaise.

‘How do you even know that?' I said, because the cake was in fact $900.

‘Your wedding planner copied me in,' said David. ‘I think even he's worried.'

‘How can I send this to Dad?' I said. ‘Can't you just hear him? He'll be saying: “Nine hundred dollars? What kind of cake do you get for nine hundred dollars? Is it a gold-plated cake?”'

‘For nine hundred dollars, it should be a gold-plated cake,' said David. ‘And just out of interest, what kind of cake do you get for this exorbitant amount?'

‘I got the croquembouche.'

‘The what?'

‘The croquembouche. It's a tall cake in the shape of a triangle, made of balls stuffed with custard and dribbled with treacle.'

‘Well, whatever you want,' said David.

‘It's more like what J.J. Kim wants,' I said, cuddling closer, ‘which today was flamingos …'

‘Flamingos?'

‘Pink flamingos,' I confirmed, ‘because that's retro, not kitsch, or maybe it's retro kitsch. I can't remember. Plus, we have three suites at the Bonsall.'

‘Three suites!' said David, moving his hand into the space under my yoga singlet. ‘Do we get to try them all?'

‘They aren't for us.' I slapped his hand away. ‘They're for me – well, for me and my bridesmaids – to get ready.'

‘You need three rooms to get ready?'

‘Apparently,' I said, and actually, we did need to hire rooms because where else would we get ready? Not at David's. He'd already claimed his house for himself and the groomsmen.

Not at Molly's, because she had a one-bedroom, one-bathroom apartment, and there were four of us; and certainly not at Dad's, because that's really Molly's childhood home, and this was my wedding.

‘I'll organise connecting rooms,' J.J. said, ‘with views out to the ocean and interlocking doors, but still some sharing of bathrooms, because, you know, fun!'

* * *

The plan was for Dad to pick me up from the Bonsall precisely thirty minutes before the ceremony. Being ex-military, he was of course on time.

‘Daniel Franklin, reporting for duty,' he said, when he rang me from the foyer.

‘All right, Dad. Coming.'

Molly turned to me. She had her hair in a French knot, and her lips were wet with gloss. ‘It's time.'

I didn't need to be told. I was probably the only bride in the history of the world who was ready on time. Molly picked up the bouquet. The problem of how to carry our phones was solved by cousin Lisa (she's on Dad's side) who had a hard-shell clutch.

‘Let's go, let's go,' cried J.J., making shooing motions.

We crowded into the corridor, and began making our way towards the exits. The Bonsall has an old elevator, but it also has a wide, spiral staircase and J.J.'s idea was that I should take the stairs.

‘I want you coming down like this,' he said, with nose in the air, and fingers trailing on an imaginary balustrade behind him, ‘and then you stop halfway and you don't move again until every eye in the foyer is on you.'

The only face I wanted to see in the foyer was Dad's. Given his size, he was hard to miss. He was pacing the marble when he glanced up and saw me.

‘So, come on,' I said, after a pause, ‘how do I look?'

How much Dad could see of me under all the layers of veil I couldn't say for certain, but he said the right thing.

‘Like an angel.'

For a moment, it looked like my big old ex-military dad was going to cry, but no, because of course Molly was also there, competing for his attention.

‘Hey, hey, hey, but what about me?' she asked, coming down from behind where I'd paused on the stairs. ‘How do I look?'

Dad laughed. ‘Lovely,' he said, ‘but how about
me
?' J.J. had ordered Dad into a tuxedo. Dad shoved his arms down so his hands were flat by his sides, and he began to waddle. ‘I'm a penguin!'