THAT MAN 5 (The Wedding Story-Part 2) (8 page)

Leaving the deck of cards on the table, the three of us followed Swell back to the bedroom. Still bound to the bed, Kat was now blindfolded and screaming. “What the fuck did you to do me, you fucking bull dyke?”

I moved in closer and my eyes popped. At the same time, Libby and I burst into mad laughter. We were laughing so hard we were crying.

“What the fuck are you laughing about? Take off this goddamn blindfold, you bitches.”

Swell did as bid. “Oh my fucking god,” shrieked Kat upon making eye contact with her chest.

“Some of my finest work ever,” boasted Swell.

Inked across Kat’s breastbone was one word. Of course, I should have known. With all her tattoos, Pussy’s girlfriend Swell was a tattoo artist.

“I was going to ink “BITCH,” but this is so much better.”

BUTCH.
I was laughing so hard I wet my pants.

Kat couldn’t stop shrieking. Libby raised Kat’s cell phone to take a photo.

“Stop it!” wailed Kat.

Too late.
CLICK.

“Lib, make sure you e-mail me everything.”

My bestie gave me a thumbs up. After my laughter died down, my eyes clashed with Kat’s.

“What the fuck do you want?” she seethed.

“It’s simple. I want you to leave the country by tomorrow and not come back until Blake and I are married.”

“Is that a threat?” Venom poured from her mouth.

“No, it’s an ultimatum. If I don’t have proof, I’m going to send the footage and photos to your mother. And post it on YouTube and all over Instagram.”

“You wouldn’t!”

“I would.”

Libby chimed in. “And it would be perfect for the new show Blake’s developing—
America’s Sexiest Home Videos.

Kat’s mouth dropped open, forming a perfect O.

I shot her a wry smile. Oh, and by the way, if one word of your past with Blake leaks out—Which. I. Know. All. About.—you can count on the same.”

Kitty-Kat was too shocked to say a word. Her wide-opened mouth remained frozen.

Grinning, Libby handed me Kat’s cell phone and I slipped it into a pocket. The four of us pivoted toward the door.

“You’re leaving me here?” Kat called out in a panic.

“I’ll call security shortly. Enjoy your stay at The Beverly Hills Hotel.”

With that, my production staff and I said adieu to my shrieking and cursing nemesis and headed to the Polo Lounge to celebrate a job well done. Our own little wrap party. We couldn’t stop laughing.

Two hours and two bottles of champagne later, an e-mail dinged on my phone. It was from Kat, who must have made her way home. No message. Only an attachment. A round-trip ticket to Rio in her name. The date of return was not till January. A triumphant smile lit my face as I put my cell phone away. Fingers crossed Blake and I wouldn’t be honeymooning there.

A waiter came by, and I took care of the bill.

Fuck the Bitch
was a fait accompli.

Jennifer

W
hen I told Blake the story of how I took Kat down, he doubled over in laugher. Then, recovered from his drugging, he gave me an epic fucking that for sure belonged in
The Guinness
Book of World Records
. I had so many orgasms I lost count.

We couldn’t be happier that Kat was out of the picture. But things were no less stressful. In fact, they were more stressful. With the wedding only a month away, Enid was in panic mode. In addition to losing Kat, Jeffrey, the receptionist, quit on her. Little did she know he was starting up his own event planning business and had stolen her list of “preferred” vendors. I knew this from Chaz, who now was dating Jeffrey. It was hot and heavy and I was so happy for him.

I spoke to my mom everyday. Dad was doing great. Except he’d become a little bit of a
kvetch,
complaining constantly about how slowly my mother drove. She begged Blake and me to go to Boise for Thanksgiving, but as much I wanted to, I couldn’t. In addition to catching up on my crazy workload (which I was frantically trying to wrap up before the wedding), there were so many last minute wedding details to attend to, including meeting with Blake’s rabbi…a wedding cake taste-testing…a meeting with the bandleader to go over our playlist… applying for a marriage license…and going for Monique Hervé’s final dress fitting as well as Chaz’s first one. Last not but least, there were also all those thank you notes to write. The wedding gifts kept pouring in. The final headcount was at 1150!

On the Saturday after Thanksgiving, which we celebrated at Blake’s parents’ house, I was going to meet Chaz downtown for my first dress fitting. I couldn’t wait to see what he’d designed. He knew the vintage look I wanted but had been very secretive, wanting to surprise me when it was close to finalized. At the crack of dawn, I got a call. With Blake still sound asleep, I reached for my cell phone on the nightstand. It was Chaz.

“Jenny-Poo, it’s gone,” he said, before I could even say hi. His voice sounded frantic.

I bolted upright to a sitting position. “Chaz, what are you talking about?”

“Your dress. There was a fire in the studio last night. Everything was destroyed.”

“Oh my God!” I said the three words so loudly I woke up Blake.

“Baby, what’s going on?” he asked groggily.

“Chaz, sweetie, hold on.” I turned to Blake and told him the news. He was almost as devastated as I was. I returned my attention to Chaz.

“Chaz, where are you?”

“I’m here at the studio. You wouldn’t believe what it looks like.”

“I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” Chaz, who had always been there for me, needed my moral support. Though Blake insisted on going downtown with me, I told him to stay put. In five minutes, I was dressed and out the door.

*

Libby and Jeffrey were already at Chaz’s studio. Or should I say former studio. We stood in a line like four zombies taking in the damage. It was worse than I’d imagined. In addition to the smut-covered walls and charred bolts of fabric, the fire department had gutted and flooded the loft-like space to put out the fire. The studio was a shell of what it had been with puddles of water everywhere and exposed wires and beams. And it was still smoking.

“Do they know what caused the fire?” A dark thought crossed my suspicious mind. Did Enid or Monique possibly set it? I wouldn’t put it past those two wicked women to do something so evil. Or did Kat have something to do with it from wherever she was to get back at me? That psychopath was capable of anything.

Chaz twisted his lips. “The fire department determined it was definitely due to an electrical short. The wiring in this old building is not up to code.”

“That’s awful,” I murmured, relieved that none of those horrid women had anything to do with it. But it didn’t make things any better.

My stinging eyes gravitated to a blackened mannequin in the corner. On it were charred remnants of tulle and lace. The dress was burnt beyond recognition. My heart sunk. My fairy-tale gown had gone up in smoke. It belonged in a morgue.

Chaz followed my gaze. “Oh, Jenny-Poo. It was so beyond.”

“Maybe you can make another one,” chirped Libby, the optimist, before I could utter a word.

Chaz’s shoulders slumped. “I wish, but not a fat chance in hell. I have to find a temporary studio, deal with the insurance company, and then replace all the samples for my upcoming Spring line. Plus, it would take over a month to get the imported fabrics I used. Oh, my Jenny-Poo, I’m so sorry.”

Masking my disappointment, I wrapped my arm around Chaz’s deflated shoulders. “Chaz, shit happens. The most important thing is you’re okay.”

Jeffrey clasped my despondent friend’s hand. “Honey, I’m going to be there for you. Maybe, I’ll do a small fundraiser and invite your top clients and our friends to get things going.”

“Count me in.” I smiled for the first time, grateful that Chaz finally had a significant other in his life who genuinely loved him. If I ever had to spearhead an event, I knew who was going to be my coordinator.

“And wedding girl, if that bitch Enid gives you any grief, you let me know. I’ve got plenty of dirt on her and her slutty cohort Monique.”

“Oooh, like what?” cooed Chaz, instantly cheered up by juicy gossip.

“They give each other pussy.”

My eyes almost popped out of their sockets. “No way. They’re gay?”

“Way. Gayer than eight guys blowing nine guys. Enid’s husband doesn’t know she’s a lesbo.”

Over breakfast which I treated everyone to, Jeffrey shared more titillating tidbits about Enid and Monique. Enid was a screamer and used a whip. Why should that surprise me? And Monique liked it in her bony butt. We were shrieking and howling at everything Jeffrey revealed—from their feather fetish to their lesbian video fetish. Wow! If I ever had the need to send Enid the video I shot of her daughter she might actually get off on it. I couldn’t wait to tell Blake.

*

December was here in no time. Things for the wedding were falling into place. The wedding rehearsals—and dinner following at The Bel Air Hotel—were all set up for the night before the monumental event. To my delight, Mrs. Cho’s adorable little daughters were going to be my flower girls and walk down the aisle with Marcy’s twin sons, the ring bearers. Mom and Dad were flying in that morning. And true to his word, Dad would be walking me down the aisle albeit with a cane.

Gloria Zander gave me a surprise bridal shower. Jeffrey, whose client list was growing rapidly, helped her plan it. Held at Shutters, a chic beachside hotel in Santa Monica, Libby was there along with some of my friends from USC and my rape support group. And guess who else was there—Grandma!—though Blake’s mother couldn’t make it as she was being honored at some long-standing luncheon for her philanthropic accomplishments. To my delight, Vera Nichols, Blake’s sassy Vegas manager, also attended as well as Pussy and Swell. And so did Mrs. Cho. The only person whose presence I sorely missed was my mom; she was afraid to leave Dad alone though he’d insisted she fly out. Libby, God bless her, Skyped her in, so she virtually attended. By the end of the lovely afternoon champagne tea, we were all buzzed, and as Grandma rightly said, “Bubala, you have enough sexy
shmexy
undies for Blakela to tear off to last a lifetime.” I was going to start that night.

Later that week, I had my final fitting for Monique’s wedding dress. I’d resigned myself to being the mermaid bride, not the princess bride. Knowing Monique and Enid were secretly having an affair, I could barely keep a straight face as the former made more alterations to my dress. The dress wasn’t perfect, but I hoped my wedding would be. Soon, I’d be floating down the aisle. With all the ups and downs I’d been through, my special day couldn’t get here soon enough.

The dress had to be taken in. I’d lost some weight from stress. I’d read on some bridal blog this was common, but Blake was worried about me. He felt between the wedding and my work, I was taking on more than I could chew. He was right, but that’s just the way I was. I couldn’t wait for our honeymoon—which Blake had planned all on his own. He was mum on the destination. I couldn’t suck—or fuck—it out of him. All I knew was it some place neither of us had ever been.

There was one other problem—Bradley. Ever since that restaurant incident, he’d e-mailed me constantly. I refused to open his e-mails and simply put them in my trash file and then deleted them permanently. I wanted nothing to do with him, and I never wanted to see him again. I didn’t tell Blake about the e-mails. For all intents and purposes, Bradley Wick, DDS, was dead to me.

On the Tuesday of the week before my wedding, I had my last support group meeting of the year. I wasn’t feeling well. All day long, I’d been experiencing cramping. For sure, stress. Blake didn’t want me to go. Not only because of my rundown state, but because there had been a recent chain of gang-driven crimes in the Venice Beach neighborhood where we met. But I insisted. We were going to have a small Christmas party with a gift exchange. Plus, I wanted to thank Dr. Williams for her kindness as well as hug my friends who’d shared and learned to face their fears like me. Blake wasn’t thrilled, to put things mildly. He still had to learn I was a big girl and could take care of myself. And he couldn’t always control me.