Carol Clark - Hitched

Regan pulled a pair of dark pants, a raspberry-colored cashmere sweater, and black jacket out of the closet. She fished around and found a pair of high-heeled boots.

At seven forty-five, she was combing her hair when the buzzer sounded from downstairs.

Regan answered. “I’ll be right down.”

Jack and Regan drove through the wonderfully quiet streets to the studio of Tiger News on the far west side of Manhattan by the Hudson River. Tiger was a new cable network and they were getting great ratings. Their popular Sunday morning show was a mix of news, entertainment, sports, and chat.

Alfred and Charisse were already in the greenroom drinking coffee and looking fresh as daisies when Regan and Jack arrived.

“Regan, darling!” Alfred exclaimed, giving her a big kiss.

He’s thrilled with all this, Regan thought. I guess any publicity is good publicity. “Are you ready for your close-up?” she asked.

Alfred laughed. “We are indeed. We got here early. They’ve already done Charisse’s makeup and powdered my nose. Oh my. I just have one little thing to tell you.”

Regan paused. “What?”

“I gather you haven’t seen the New York Post this morning?”

“Not yet.”

Alfred picked a copy of the paper off the chair and held it up. WEDDING DRESS BLUES the headline screamed.

Regan took the newspaper from his hands. A picture of Alfred and Charisse staring forlornly at Brianne’s shredded dress took up half the front page with instructions for the reader to turn to Page 3 for the full details. Regan did so. Another headline screamed ROBBERY AT ALFRED AND CHARISSE’S COUTURE SALON TURNS FIVE APRIL BRIDES INTO MODERN DAY CINDERELLAS.

“Cinderellas?” Jack said in a stunned tone.

“She had nothing to wear to the ball,” Regan muttered.

The article began:

You thought Cinderella had problems? Minutes before the Prince’s big ball she was sartorially challenged. Luckily, her fairy godmother showed up with a gorgeous gown that fit perfectly. How would you like to be a bride about to be married in the next few weeks only to discover that the dress of your dreams has been stolen or shredded? Downtown designers Alfred and Charisse were the victims of a brazen robbery at 3:00 A.M. Saturday but insist that they will act as fairy godmothers and make new dresses in time for the following brides’ big day…

“They list all the names!” Regan gasped.

“It’s unfortunate,” Alfred said, as he sipped his coffee.

“How did they get the names? You knew that Tracy, Victoria, and Shauna didn’t want their names mentioned. Especially Tracy.”

“I don’t know. Honest. I don’t know. I didn’t tell them.”

“Then who did?”

“I didn’t tell,” Charisse said breathlessly. “The reporters called back a couple times last night while we were working on your dress, Regan.”

“It’s coming along beautifully,” Alfred interjected.

Regan ignored his weak attempt to smooth things over. “Was there anyone else with you last night?”

“Our assistant who works with us once in a while. He came up for a couple of hours. He answered the phone for us while we were working. So many people were calling. There was so much excitement.”

“There’s your leak,” Jack said matter-of-factly.

Regan shook her head and looked down at the paper. “I hope Tracy doesn’t sue you.”

The names of the brides were there for the world to see: Regan Reilly, Brianne Barth, Tracy Timber, Victoria Beardsley, and Shauna Nickles.

The article continued:

Regan Reilly was on the scene yesterday. Reilly, who happens to be a private investigator, is set to marry the head of the NYPD Major Case Squad, Jack Reilly, next Saturday afternoon at Saint Ignatius Loyola Church in Manhattan. She is the daughter of mystery novelist Nora Regan Reilly…

“How did they find all this out?” Regan asked. Jack raised one eyebrow. “The same way you do, my sweet.” The elevator door next to the greenroom opened. Brianne hurried off, followed by a guy who looked like he would rather be anywhere else.

Brianne introduced him. He was Pauly, her fiancé.

Pauly said hello and immediately headed for the food. He helped himself to a donut and a glass of juice, inhaling both, then helped himself to seconds.

“Regan, have you heard anything more about Joyce?” Brianne asked.

Regan shook her head. “Did you see the paper this morning?”

“No. It’s so early. I’m surprised I made it in time.”

Regan showed them the article.

“Look at that, Pauly,” Brianne said with a smile. “I’m famous.”

“Uh-huh,” he mumbled as he read the story over Brianne’s shoulder.

What’s with him? Regan wondered. He seems so nervous.

“You’re the head of the Major Case Squad?” he asked, pointing at Jack.

“Yes.”

“Oh.”

A producer’s assistant appeared in the doorway. “We’re ready for Regan and Brianne in makeup. Right across the hall.”

“Make them look bridelike,” Alfred advised. “Nothing too harsh or dramatic.”

The assistant pretended she didn’t hear him.

A makeup artist and hair stylist worked side by side in the small room. Regan was always amazed at how fast those people could bring out the best in whoever ended up plopped in their chairs. Over the years she’d been to plenty of these studios with her mother. The hair stylist, armed with a blow dryer, round brush, and can of spray went to work on Regan’s crowning glory while the makeup artist skillfully and quickly touched up Brianne. Then they switched places. Within minutes they were being shepherded into the freezing cold studio.

In one corner of the vast room, a seating arrangement for six had been set up. A life-size photo of one of Alfred and Charisses’s dresses was in the background.

Alfred clapped his hands when he saw his creation. “Marvelous!” he cried.

The attractive young hosts, Patrick and Jeannie, were set to do the interview together. Jeannie was tan and blond, Patrick was black-haired and blue-eyed, with chiseled features. They were dressed in their “weekend clothes”-designer blue jeans, boots, and sweaters. The show was trying to capture the segment of the Sunday morning television audience that would enjoy starting their day with the two fun and easygoing anchors. As viewers at home sipped their coffee and read the newspaper, Patrick and Jeannie would be doing the same, shooting the breeze with each other and their guests.

Today’s guests were seated and miked.

Patrick and Jeannie hurried over from the anchor desk with big smiles. They sat down and adjusted their mikes. Patrick winked at the group.

When the cameras rolled, Jeannie introduced the segment.

“It’s wedding season,” she began. “A time when brides are running around trying to get everything done. Well, how would you like to be a bride who, on top of all the other things that can go wrong, learns that her wedding dress has been stolen just a week, one week, before her wedding? It happened to two of our guests.”

The camera focused on Regan and Brianne as Jeannie gave their names.

I feel like an idiot, Regan thought.

“We also have the incredibly talented designers, Alfred and Charisse, with us. In the last couple of years they’ve had write-ups in numerous fashion magazines because the wedding dresses they design are so gorgeous. Take a look,” Jeannie said, pointing to the life-size photo. “But, unfortunately for them, they made the wedding dresses that were stolen. Still, when I get married, I want you to make my dress!” Jeannie giggled.

“We will,” Alfred promised with a big smile while Charisse waved demurely at the camera.

Jeannie told the viewers the tale of the robbery, then turned with a look of wide-eyed sympathy to Alfred and Charisse. “How are you two doing today?”