Carol Clark - Hitched

When the taxi pulled up to 75th and Fifth, the driver wound up his dissertation on the meaning of life. Regan quickly paid him as the doorman of Shauna’s ritzy building hurried over to open the cab door.

“Thanks, lady,” the driver said. “And remember, don’t feel bad you don’t live here.”

“I don’t,” Regan assured him as she climbed out after Kit.

“Can I help you?” the doorman asked.

“We’re here to see Shauna Nickles.”

“And you are?”

“Regan Reilly. I’m here on behalf of the designers of her wedding dress.”

The doorman smiled.

Regan wasn’t sure whether she saw a look of sly amusement flash across his face. But it quickly faded as he resumed his professional air, ushering them to the front door.

“The concierge will call upstairs for you,” he said, pointing inside.

Regan and Kit crossed the polished marble lobby and stopped at a gleaming wood desk. As Regan identified herself to the concierge, his expression remained impassive. When she was finished speaking, he picked up the house phone and pressed a button. A moment later, he said, “Mr. Ney, I have some young women here to see Shauna about her wedding dress.”

A nod of his head indicated they were allowed admittance. In the elevator, a white-gloved attendant took them to the tenth floor.

“Down the hall to your left,” he told them gravely.

“Thank you.”

As they walked down the floral-carpeted hallway, Kit whispered, “Are you sure you’re not depressed you don’t live here?”

“Positive,” Regan replied as she rang the bell. “This place doesn’t look like a lot of laughs.” The door opened, and an elderly man in a well-cut suit and conservative tie was standing before them. Regan guessed that he was in his mideighties.

“Hello-” Regan began.

“Come in,” he ordered in a somewhat cranky tone. He gestured toward the ornately decorated living room that looked out over the treetops of Central Park. “I’m Arnold Ney.”

Regan and Kit obeyed his command and stepped inside.

The apartment was a far cry from the one they had just visited. A large Persian rug was the centerpiece of a living room filled with antiques. A gold framed portrait of a regal-looking woman with silver hair, dressed in a ball gown, hung over the delicate silk couch. Regan was somehow sure that that couch was not intended for naps. It certainly couldn’t be used to stretch out on and watch the ball game because there was no television in sight, nothing, actually, to suggest that the tenants lived in a modern world. A grand piano had its place by the window and was covered with family pictures.

“So,” Regan began, addressing the man who was now shooing them farther into the room. “We just need to speak to Shauna for a few minutes.”

“I know.” Arnold stopped and cocked his head in the direction of the hallway. “Shauna!” he called. “Shauna!” He turned back to them. “She’ll be here in a minute.”

“Thank you,” Regan said as she and Kit sat on the formal silk couch. Arnold took his place in a wing chair by the fireplace. “This apartment is so lovely. Did Shauna grow up here?”

Arnold furrowed his brow and looked over at Regan like she was nuts. “Grow up here? She just moved in a few months ago to plan the wedding.”

“Oh,” Regan murmured. Kit looked at her with an expression that said, “I’m glad it wasn’t me who asked that.”

“I’m coming!” Shauna called breezily as she entered the room. Regan guessed her to be about forty. She was petite, with curly, light brown hair and an elfin expression on her plain yet pleasant face. Her outfit was far more casual than her surroundings-khaki pants, Birkenstock sandals, and a peasant top. Regan was willing to lay odds that she ate granola for breakfast.

Avoiding too many pleasantries, Arnold introduced them.

Shauna had a twinkle in her eye as she sat in a chair near the couch and said to Regan, “I understand you have bad news for me.”

“Bad news? What bad news?” Arnold asked.

“My dress has been stolen!” Shauna answered, slightly raising her voice. She then turned toward Regan and Kit. “I just spoke to Alfred.”

“Your dress has been stolen?” Arnold repeated.

“Stolen! Isn’t it the worst? But don’t worry! Alfred promised he’d make me a new one in time for the wedding.”

“The wedding is in three weeks,” Arnold said, holding up that many fingers.

“He said he’d get it done.”

Regan had experienced a lot of strange situations in the past several hours but nothing quite like this. Was this man the groom? She didn’t dare ask. “Alfred and Charisse are so sorry,” she began. “They hate to inconvenience you-”

“I love them. And I love their gowns,” Shauna enthused. “I’m not into designer clothes, but Alfred’s vintage look is so perfect on me. Arnie saw pictures. He thinks the dress looks romantic. Right, Arnie?”

“I like their dresses,” he answered, waving his hand dismissively.

What is their relationship? Regan wondered. She couldn’t come out and just ask. She’d try another tack. “I ordered my wedding dress from Alfred. My fiancé asked me what it was like, but I wouldn’t tell him…” Regan let her voice trail off.

This time it was Shauna’s turn to look at Regan like she was nuts. “You don’t think?”

“What?” Regan asked, playing dumb.

Shauna started laughing hysterically. “Arnie, did you hear that?”

“What?”

“I think she thinks we’re a couple.”

“Oh, that’s a good one. Wait till Pamela hears!” He finally laughed, making one of the oddest sounds Regan had ever heard. “Kkkkkkkk,” he laughed. “Kkkkkkk.”

“I didn’t think that…” Regan protested.

“Heyyyyy, what’s happening?”

Regan turned her head. A thirtyish young man with shoulder-length dark hair, a pierced ear, and, like Alfred, sporting several day’s worth of stubble on his face, came strutting into the room. He was clad in jeans that were ripped in the places where they were supposed to be ripped these days, and a white T-shirt that showed off his great form. To say that his hip look seemed out of place in the surroundings was an understatement.

Shauna turned and looked at him lovingly. “This is my fiancé, Tyler.”

“Heyyyyy,” Tyler said again, waving at the group.

What do you know? Regan thought. Here I thought Shauna was marrying someone at least forty years older. It’s more like ten years younger! “Hello,” she said to Tyler. “We’re just talking to Shauna about her missing wedding dress.”

“What a bummer.”

“It’s okay,” Regan said. “Shauna will have a dress for your wedding. Alfred and Charisse just wanted to make sure you all knew what happened and assure you that everything would be fine.”

Shauna reached for Tyler ’s hand while she stared at Regan. “Alfred told me the whole story.” With her free hand she pointed at the portrait over the couch. “Pamela is the one who will really be disappointed if I don’t have the dress for the wedding. She loves good clothes. We put a lot of time and energy into picking out that dress.” Shauna grinned. “She thinks it makes me look like a princess.”

“Awesome,” Tyler opined, “awesome.”

“You’re getting married in three weeks, right?” Regan asked.

“Yes.”

“Tell her not to worry. They’ll have it done,” Regan said with a confidence she didn’t necessarily feel. Offhandedly, she asked, “Where are you getting married?”

“At Pamela and Arnie’s club on East 65th Street. It will be a small ceremony with about fifty guests. It’s going to be so elegant and wonderful.”