Carol Clark: Hitched

“Oh, my god!” Francis squealed. “We’re going to get caught!”

“Did you make a stupid mistake?”

“I don’t think so,” Francis moaned as he clutched the blanket for comfort, the blanket Joyce wouldn’t allow anywhere near her bed. He knew that this was not going to end well. “Maybe getting out of town tonight is a good idea after all.”

Regan, Jack, Nora, Kit, Brianne, Teresa, Alfred, and Charisse were all seated on the horseshoe-shaped couch in the salon, finishing up the sandwiches and coffee that Charisse had ordered from the local deli. The fact that she was fed and had already appeared on local television had slightly cheered Brianne. But not for long. She wiped her mouth and announced, “Alfred, I want a cash refund. My mother and I are heading over to Kleinfeld.”

Teresa nodded in agreement. “This is outrageous.”

Kleinfeld was the legendary bridal shop that had provided beautiful wedding gowns to happy brides for generations. It opened its doors in Brooklyn, New York, in 1941 and recently moved to a new location on West 20th Street in Manhattan. Kleinfeld had the largest selection of designer wedding gowns in the world. Women from all over walked through their doors and found the dress of their dreams.

“Cash refund?” Alfred gasped.

“Cash on the barrel,” Brianne answered. “Or at least a check. I can’t be nervous all week about whether I’m going to have a dress or not next Saturday.”

“It’s not right,” Teresa said mournfully. “Not right at all.”

“I wouldn’t be able to go to sleep tonight wondering whether I’ll have to walk down the aisle in my prom dress.”

“I promise we’ll get it done for you,” Alfred moaned. The thought of handing back the five thousand dollar deposit made him dizzy.

“I’m not willing to take that chance.” Brianne shook her head stubbornly and stood. “Nice meeting you all. We’re out of here. Alfred, I want my money back. Now.”

Alfred threw his hands in the air. Dragging his feet, he went around the corner and into his little office. A moment later he came back and handed Brianne a folded yellow check. “If you don’t find anything, just call. I will make you a new dress in time for your wedding. That is, if you let me know by tonight,” he added almost snippily.

“Can you fix my wedding dress so that Brianne could wear it?” Teresa asked.

Alfred’s face looked aghast. He started to stammer. “Ah, ah…most designers are only interested in working on their own…”

Teresa’s expression was steely. “It wouldn’t be very good publicity if you didn’t help one of the brides you let down because you either didn’t lock the door or you lost your keys.”

“I don’t know whether I lost them or not,” Alfred protested.

“I heard the police ask you. You said you couldn’t find them. It’s your fault this happened.”

Oh, boy, Regan thought. The police had questioned Alfred extensively because there was no sign of forced entry. He said that he couldn’t find his keys and had promised to look for them. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d used them.

“Charisse is always the one taking care of things like that,” he’d explained. “When we go out, she is the one who brings the money and the keys. I rely on her for all those little matters…”

Charisse was sitting quietly in the corner. With her delicate features, pale skin, and long, wavy blond hair cascading past her shoulders, Regan thought she looked like she came from a long-ago era-and she certainly dressed the part. She now had on a white lacy blouse and burgundy velvet pants that matched Alfred’s silk robe. She had an ethereal quality that made it hard for Regan to believe that she was the one with the practical sense. But, then again, her partner was Alfred. “Even though Alfred leaves that kind of thing to me, I couldn’t ask for someone more protective. He double locks the door during the day. I don’t think that whoever was in here last night gained access with Alfred’s keys.”

“Whatever,” Brianne said dismissively. She glanced at the check and stuffed it in her front pocket.

You’re not so careful either, Regan thought. That check has to be for several thousand dollars. “Brianne, I’d like to talk to you…”

Teresa looked at her watch. “We have to go.”

“Can I have your number?” Regan asked. “I’d like to call you later. I’m also going to be speaking to the other three brides whose dresses are gone. Will you please think about the times you were here-did you see anyone or anything that seemed suspicious? Also, I’d like to know if there was anyone who knew you were having your gown made here and might have wanted to try and ruin your wedding for you.”

“Are you trying to blame this on me?” Brianne asked.

“Of course not,” Regan answered. “I just want to explore all the possibilities. It’s hard to believe that this was a random crime.”

“Everyone makes enemies,” Teresa declared.

That’s a sweeping statement, Regan thought. Brianne must have more than a few.

“Let me tell you something, Regan,” Brianne said. “I’ve gone out with a lot of jerks. Like everybody else…”

Regan noticed that Kit was nodding vigorously and a slight smile came over Jack’s face. He’d met a few of Kit’s questionable beaus and obviously agreed with her assessment of them.

“But I don’t think any of those losers are smart enough or would have had the nerve to pull something like this off.”

“That’s for sure,” Teresa agreed.

“I’d still like to call you.”

“Fine.” Brianne pulled out a business card from her large purse and handed it to Regan. “I work for a decorator. My cell phone number is on there.”

“Thanks.”

Brianne leaned down and picked up her other bag that contained everything she needed for her final fitting: brideworthy strapless bra and underwear, control-top panty hose, and her white wedding slippers. “A waste of energy carrying this up here today,” she muttered with disgust.

Alfred flinched, ever so slightly, then escorted the mother and daughter out to the elevator. When he returned, he collapsed dramatically onto the couch by the window. “Look at how gloomy it’s gotten outside. It’s starting to pour. It’s a dark, dark day…”

Jack’s beeper went off. His office was trying to contact him. He quickly called back and Regan watched as a look of frustration came over his face. He hung up the phone and turned to her. “I’ve got to run. It started raining uptown twenty minutes ago and our rainy day robber struck again.”

“We’re all doomed,” Alfred cried. “Doomed!”

Luke Reilly was enjoying his Saturday. He had just played an early round of golf with a couple of his buddies who teased him about being the Father of the Bride. Getting in his car, he knew that he was going home to an empty house. He didn’t like that much but smiled at the thought of Regan and Nora picking up Regan’s dress and enjoying their day in the city with Kit. It was hard to believe his little girl was getting married. As he drove, a slight feeling of sadness came over him. To be expected, he thought. It’s natural at a time like this.

When he pulled into the driveway, he parked the car, hurried up the path, and unlocked the front door. The weather had suddenly taken an ominous turn, clouds had rolled in, and it started to rain.

Luke stepped inside and glanced at the family picture on the table in the front hall that was taken a couple of years ago at Christmastime. She takes after me, he thought. His hair was now silver, but Regan had clearly inherited her Black Irish looks from Luke. His eyes moved to the picture of Regan taken on her first communion day. She’d been so excited about that little white dress and veil, he remembered, and the anklets with the ruffled trim and patent leather shoes that completed the outfit.