Кэрол Дуглас - Cat In A White Tie And Tails

“I don’t know,” Temple said, “but I surely can come up with something unique to lend her. That leaves ‘something old, something new.’”

“Matt’s vintage Dylan song is something old,” Electra suggested.

“Yes,” Temple said, “but I can find something more material somewhere. And after the Marriage Bureau date early tomorrow morning, I’ll treat Mira to a shopping spree on the Strip. If she didn’t have a brideworthy dress at home, I’ll find her the perfect one in Vegas.”

“You women are loving this ‘family emergency,’ aren’t you?” Matt asked.

“We are arrangers,” Electra boasted, with an elbow nudge in Temple’s direction. “Emergencies social and emotional our specialty.”

Temple nodded. “Speaking of arrangements,” she told Matt, “stop by here after you deposit the happy couple at the Crystal Phoenix.”

“I won’t have much time then before leaving for my Midnight Hour show. And that eight A.M. Marriage Bureau date will come early for a three A.M. lights out.”

“I’ll scoot along. Lots to do.” Electra rose and skedaddled for the door. She clearly didn’t want to overhear bedtime logistics discussed.

Temple didn’t foresee much scandalous going on. She and Matt would be scrambling for the next twenty-four hours to bring off this impromptu wedding.

“This is crazy astounding,” he said when they were alone again and cozy on the sofa except for Midnight Louie watching them avidly from the armrest. “Why are they doing this Vegas thing again?”

“Because there’s only one person whose presence would make Mira’s wedding extra memorable. You. She doesn’t really want to share this moment with anybody else.”

“Because…”

“Frankly? You’re the son she was frantic to give legitimacy and instead she gave you, and herself, years of grief.”

He looked unconvinced.

“Hey, Mr. Voice of Shrinkology.” Temple put her hands on Matt’s shoulders and leaned even closer to whisper in his ear. “It’s hard to see your own family forest for the trees sometimes. This is what Mira wants, this is what she needs, to step away completely from family influences and do what’s best for her. Trust me.”

He nodded, pulling her into another long, deeply promising kiss that would have to hold them for at least a day. “I do,” he said, mimicking the marriage vows. “We’ll have to say that for real and all as soon as we decide what we want, free of family influences.”

“Good thing we waited,” Temple said, grinning. “I get to be maid of honor again. I’m just not ready to be a ‘matron.’ It sounds so Girls Gone Wild in jail.”

Chapter 51

Makeover of Honor

Eighteen hours later, after the Marriage Bureau business was followed by a celebratory brunch for four at the Paris hotel, Temple banished the prospective groom from seeing his bride until the 5 P.M. ceremony. The women left the men bonding over coffee while Temple led Mira into temptation … the Bally’s-Paris Promenade.

Under an artificial cloud-airbrushed blue sky, quaint three-story storefronts promised Paris byways lined with excessively smart and expensive goods.

Mira was unsure about this expedition. “I brought along a perfectly good suit. Beige silk from Marshall Field’s.”

“Piffle,” Temple said. “Beige silk suits are for luncheon benefits. This is your wedding, girl! We are looking for splash. We are shopping for smashing!”

“At my age—”

“You certainly don’t want to go for sedate. We need something sophisticated.” She stopped and examined Mira. “Something feminine. What jewelry are you wearing?”

“Just … earrings. The blue topaz ones Matt bought me. I thought they could be something semi-old and something blue.”

Temple smiled approval. “Now we get ‘new.’”

“I really can’t afford—”

“Nonsense. This is on Matt and me. Well, mostly Matt. I’m the poor creative one.”

“Temple—”

“Tut-tut, ‘Temple,’ good-bye.” She linked arms with Mira and steered her to the goal; a nearby shop front.

“‘Nina Ricci,’” Mira read aloud the elegant letters above the entrance. “Isn’t that perfume?”

“You’re thinking of L’Air du Temps, the perfume in the Lalique glass bottle with two doves atop it. So symbolic for weddings. This brand is way more than perfume now. Every designer has expanded into across-the-board merchandise.”

Temple swept Mira inside before she could offer more objections. Clothes ringed the perimeter of the spare space that featured gift-worthy accessories and lingerie in the center. Only a few choice pieces of clothing hung in each display bay. Size and price were extremely invisible. Many of the clothes were neutral in tone, otherwise known as the currently fashionable “nude.”

Mira was confused. “But isn’t that color there, sort of, in a very extravagant way … just beige?”

“Shhh,” Temple whispered. “Are you saying the empress wears mere beige? What we have here is designer ‘blush’ silk chiffon. It does wonders for the complexion.”

“And ruffles … so immature.”

“Loose, flattened folds.”

By then they’d attracted a sales assistant, tall, thin, and balancing like a Cirque du Soleil acrobat on extreme platform heels almost higher than her skirt was long.

Temple indicated the bay full of dressy summer numbers just shy of being formal. “Something for an informal wedding.”

The sales clerk’s kohl-rimmed eyes darted from the clothes to Temple and Mira, then settled on the right candidate. “My name is Briana. What size, madam?”

“Ten.” Mira couldn’t help looking like she expected to be admonished for her answer.

“Excellent. We have several delightful options for you. Please follow me.”

Armless upholstered white leather chairs awaited at the shop’s rear. Briana vanished, and Mira leaned close to Temple to whisper, “Don’t I have to pick some things to try on?”

“Briana does that. She’ll bring out pieces in your size and we decide from there what’s in the running.”

“What about the price?”

“We don’t ask about such trivial matters until you’ve tried on some candidates and whittled down your choices. Frankly, if you’ve found ‘the’ dress, you’ll get it no matter what.”

“But I don’t … I’m not, I didn’t expect—” Mira looked around the shop. “She’ll see I’m not wearing underwear like the things in here.”

“Excellent. Something more she can sell you.”

“I’d never wear these.”

Temple shrugged. “A bride should have a mini-trousseau at least. Mira, isn’t Philip a successful businessman from a well-to-do Chicago family?”

“Yes, but that had nothing to do with our … connection.”

“I’m sure not, but do you really want to play the poor little match girl forever?”

Those mild blue eyes flashed a smidge of white-lightning anger. “I know I’m not of the same class. I don’t have to try to be something I’m not.”

“You’ve already done that, Mira. You’ve tried flying under the radar for a lot of years and it was a disaster. Now maybe you can, you know, spread your L’Air du Temps wings and soar a little. Matt would want you to. Your husband-to-be would want you to. You can go back to Chicago and knock all those snobby rich bitches off their platform heels.”

“Temple!”

“Just saying. Pride can often go in drag as false modesty.”

Tears made Mira’s eyes sparkle like those signature blue topaz earrings. She looked away. Briana appeared and took a perky pose, two soft, luscious silk dresses hanging from either hand.

Mira looked back, her spine straightening. “The one on the right,” she said. “Possibly.”