Carol Clark - Hitched

“He was only out of work for a few months.”

“It still can make a man go bonkers. Especially when he’s engaged to be married. Let’s go upstairs and check out the dress.”

On the second floor of their modest-sized house, Brianne tugged at a rope that hung from the ceiling in the hallway. A trap door swung down, and a set of folded-up wooden stairs followed, losing its fight with gravity. Brianne promptly unfolded them, made sure the bottom section was planted firmly on the hallway floor, and started her ascent.

“Be careful,” Teresa ordered.

“I am, I am.”

“I’m right behind you.”

Brianne reached the top of the flimsy stairs and stepped into the attic, carefully avoiding the insulated sections that were not meant to support anyone who weighed more than three pounds. Step on them and you end up in the extra bedroom. Brianne pulled on a smaller string that was hanging from a lonely lightbulb protruding from the ceiling. The lightbulb made a popping noise as it flashed light for a brief second then died.

“Daaadyyy!” she screamed. “We need another lightbulb.”

“Howie!” Teresa screamed, relaying her daughter’s message. “We need another lightbulb.”

A short time later, guided by another dim bulb, they rummaged through the attic looking for the cherished family dress.

“I don’t believe this,” Brianne complained after about two minutes. “I thought you said you put it away so carefully.”

“I did. But this family has collected a lot of junk over the years. We’ve got to clean this place out. Oh look, here are some of your school pictures…”

“Ma! We can’t take time for that now. Where’s the dress? I swear if I get my hands on whoever it was who ruined my gown I will kill them. Kill them!”

“Calm down dear. Now let me see. Oh look! It’s behind this pole.” Teresa pulled aside a carton of junk and reached for the faded white box with a window top that partially revealed the front of the beaded white wedding dress. “Here it is! All packaged nicely from that dry cleaner that went out of business. They did such a good job with wedding dresses. It’s such a shame the owner was so nasty and customers stopped going. Who needs to be insulted when you’re paying good money?”

Brianne hurried over to take a look at the dress she had never laid eyes on, except in pictures. It was obviously packaged on some sort of form that simulated a woman’s chest. At first glance, Brianne became hopeful that it might work. It looked pretty enough.

Teresa could tell that Brianne’s reaction was positive. “Let’s take it downstairs, honey, and have you try it on. I promise you it’ll be wonderful.”

Like a child on Christmas morning, Brianne grabbed the box and hurried down the attic stairs, barely grabbing onto the skimpy railing. Teresa was just a little more careful in her descent down the rickety steps. They hurried into the master bedroom and placed the box on Teresa and Howie’s king-sized bed. Brianne held her breath, pulled off the cover of the box, and started to scream bloody murder.

An army of black ants had sprung to life and were frantically running around the top of the dress.

For the second time that day, Brianne fell to her knees in shock and grief over the state of a beleagured wedding gown.

“Howie!” Teresa bellowed. “Get up here! We’ve got to get this dress out into the back yard! And grab a can of Raid!”

“I start to feel good when I get near the ocean,” Marco declared. “There’s something about the salt water. Remember summer after senior year of high school? We made the rounds looking for chicks on every beach from Long Island to South Jersey.”

Francis looked glum as they continued down the Garden State Parkway. “We had to keep moving. You promised so many girls you’d call them, we could never go back to the same place twice.”

Marco waved his hand at his passenger. “We had fun.” He rolled down the window partway and flipped on the radio. “I’m glad the weather is clearing up. I feel like singing.”

“We’d better have that tail light fixed,” Francis reminded Marco as he checked his cell phone. He was hoping that maybe Joyce would call to say hello. No reason she should. Particularly since he blew her off on another Saturday night.

“Don’t worry,” Marco said as a deejay’s voice came over the tinny speaker.

“You’re back with Kenny and Jess. We’ve got a lot of news here to tell you about, but one of the stranger items of the day is about the wedding gowns that were stolen from a designers’ loft in downtown Manhattan -”

“Oh, my God,” Francis muttered.

“-four dresses stolen, one slashed and bloodied. All the brides were to be married in the next couple of weeks. ‘I’m getting married in the morning…’ ” he sang, “ ‘but, I’ve got nothinggg to wear.’ Tell me, Jess, what should those brides do?”

“They can always look for a dress on the Internet. You’d be amazed how many gowns are sold there every day. At great discounts.”

“Why would someone sell their dress?” Kenny asked.

“Because somebody got coooold feet.”

“Gotcha. Eeeww…painful stuff.”

Jess cooed, “But I can’t imagine being one of those brides whose gowns were stolen. When I got married I spent months looking for the perfect dress. When I finally found it I had to go back to the bridal shop for several fittings. It was so much work! To have all that planning and preparation go down the drain is a crime in itself!”

“I wonder where those dresses are now. And what those thieves plan to do with them,” Kenny said in his playful radio voice.

“They’ll probably try to sell them. But they better not do it in the New York area. This story has been all over the airwaves today.”

Marco looked at Francis, smiled, and tapped his head with his forefinger. “You see? I’m always thinking. We’ll get rid of them in Las Vegas.”

“I’ve got an idea!” Kenny announced. “Let’s start a contest. See who can come up with the most original idea of where the thieves might be hiding those dresses.”

Francis turned white.

“That sounds like fun,” Jess agreed. “A scavenger hunt for our listeners. Call our phone lines if you have an original idea. And keep a lookout. If you notice anything unusual-”

“Or happen to spot four designer wedding gowns lying around in a Dumpster-” Kenny said as he laughed heartily.

“Then give us a call.”

“Let’s offer a reward!”

Francis snapped off the radio.

“I told you the Dumpster idea was bad,” Marco gloated.

“Marco! We’ve got to get rid of those dresses. Everyone is going to be looking for them. And I just thought of something. We can’t pull into the hotel parking lot. They do random checks of people’s trunks.” Francis’s leg was starting to hurt. “Let’s go back home.”

“No. That parrot drives me crazy. I need to walk on the beach.”

“Then we need to find a big box so we can pack them up and send the dresses off to Vegas.”

Marco was silent for a moment. Finally he sighed and agreed. “You’re probably right. We don’t need to be driving around with the evidence. As it is we’ve got all the cash and jewelry with us. But that’s easier to hide than four wedding gowns.”

“Where are we going to find a box?” Francis asked impatiently. “I can’t imagine there are too many box stores around here.”

“That means we have to buy something that comes in a big box.”

“Like what?”

Marco put on the blinker and pulled off at the next exit. “I know you’re nervous about leaving Joyce behind tonight-”

“I am,” Francis interrupted. “I’m beginning to think I should just marry her. That settled-down life is looking pretty good to me after hanging around with you.”