Heather Macallister - Undressed

Beth waved everyone outside the dressing room and into the main area of the salon where three carpeted pedestals were positioned in front of a bank of mirrors. Before following them, she pounded once on the dressing-room wall with her fist. The vacuum whined to a stop. “I’ll talk to you later,” she said in the empty room.

The group had gathered by the sofas and cushy club chairs available for waiting fathers or others who shouldn’t be privy to the sight of the bride struggling into complex underwear.

“Listen!” Mrs. Brantley ordered dramatically.

The videographer held out the camera and Beth dutifully gave her attention to the tiny screen. Sure enough, she heard the vacuum cleaner start up on the recording. “I do hear a slight hum.”

“Slight hum?” Mrs. Brantley was in full meltdown mode. After years in the business, Beth was extremely familiar with the signs. “That ‘slight’ hum has ruined the video scrapbook. The chapter on selecting the bride’s dress is second only to the wedding itself. The look of awe and joy on her face when Cara knew she was wearing The Dress brought tears to my eyes. But can we hear what she said? No. No, because of all the noise.”

As the bride’s mother vented, Beth tried to figure out what to say. It wasn’t as though she could dictate to another store’s cleaning crew. But she’d tried. Oh, how she’d tried. The truth was that William Seeger, owner of Tuxedo Park Formal Wear next door, was also her business partner.

“The vacuuming has stopped, Mrs. Brantley. Why don’t you re-create the special moment now.”

“Re-create? Re-create? There is no way to re-create the joyful awe—”

“Dear madam, do please sit down.” William and his fake British accent had unlocked the front door, made their way through the racks of gowns and were now in the salon.

Fabulous. This was all she needed. What are you doing here? she mouthed at him.

“You pounded?” he murmured, then swept past Beth, and zeroed in on Mrs. Brantley.

“I find that life’s disappointments are never as dire when one deals with them from a comfortable chair while sipping champagne.” William and his British-butler accent led Mrs. Brantley to one of the sofas.

Beth hated when he used that voice. He only did it to annoy her after she’d asked him to class up his act.

She really hated that it seemed to work. Put a man in a tux and add a British accent, and Texas mamas just melted. Go figure. She herself was immune. William irritated her. On purpose. And enjoyed doing it.

Without looking away from Mrs. Brantley, William held out a hand for a glass of champagne, which Beth supplied, and then stepped back and let him do his thing.

Why was it women responded to him? Yes, he looked good in a tux—but what man didn’t?

It had fooled her, hadn’t it? Regretfully, William lacked any sense of taste, sophistication or elegance himself, which Beth hadn’t known before partnering with him because she’d been seduced by a black wool suit with satin lapels and a matching stripe down the side of the trouser legs.

True, they were well-fitted trousers fitted to something worth fitting, but that was beside the point. Or maybe it was the point. Whatever. Even though William was a natural salesman, she should have known better than to go into partnership with a man who’d named his original formal-wear store the Monkey Suit.

They’d both relocated their stores to Rocky Falls from Wanda’s World of Weddings for a fresh start—a more elegant, tasteful, sophisticated start. It was why Beth Ann Grakowski now went by Elizabeth Gray and why she asked Bill to go by William. Little touches made such a difference, but William thought she took those things too seriously. Beth thought he didn’t take them seriously enough.

“You don’t need to hear what she’s saying,” William assured Mrs. Brantley. “You know your videographer is going to make a collage of clips with music—I’ve always been partial to ‘Thank Heaven for Little Girls’ from Gigi, myself.”

Mrs. Brantley nodded and sipped.

Beth turned away so no one would see her roll her eyes.

“And look—I know what she’s saying. ‘Oh, Mum. I love it!’ And you said, ‘My baby. You look so beautiful.’”

“Yes. Yes, I did say that.” Mrs. Brantley heaved a great sigh.

Beth stepped forward with the credit card and receipt and offered a pen.

“It’s been a long, emotional day for you.” William actually patted Mrs. Brantley’s hand. Fortunately not the one holding the pen.

Nodding, Cara’s mother signed and now it was Beth’s turn to sigh in relief. But silently.

They all agreed to come back and order the bridesmaids’ dresses another day, and within five minutes, Beth was alone.

Except for William.

Tie loosened, he sprawled on the sofa with a self-satisfied look on his face. It was an appealing face, Beth supposed, although how that substantial nose and those crinkled eyes and the general rumpled effect of the rest of it managed to look attractive, baffled her.

He did not fit her vision of a romantic partner. Frankly, he wasn’t fitting her vision of a business partner. She served champagne and he offered his customers beer, thus perfectly illustrating their different outlooks on business and life.

“What are you still doing here?” she asked.

“Rescuin’ yer cute li’l butt.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You ran the vacuum cleaner on purpose, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I did.”

“William!”

“Just trying to hurry them along.”

“But you jeopardized an important sale!”

“That girl and her mother have been in three times already, and you’re exhausted. I could hear it in your voice.”

“You were listening?”

“You bet I was.” He gave her a stern look. “It’s late and you’re here all alone.”

William had spent his evening in the fitting room that shared a wall with hers to make sure she was safe. If the appointment hadn’t dragged on so long, she’d never have known. “You were looking out for me.”

A corner of his mouth tilted upward. “I always do.”

Now how could she stay angry at him?

William patted the sofa. “Come have a seat, Beth Ann.”

“Elizabeth,” she corrected automatically. “And I’d better not.”

He regarded her a moment before standing. “You’ll always be Beth Ann to me.”

Thinking he was on his way back to Tuxedo Park, Beth started to enter Cara’s dress information into the new handheld computerized ordering units. But William took her by the shoulders and propelled her to the sofa.

“William, I’ve got work to do,” she protested.

“Time for a break.” He pushed at her shoulders until she gave in and sat down.

Oh, that felt good.

“Put your feet up.”

Beth shook her head as he sat next to her. “It’s late.”

But when he reached for her feet and propped them on his lap, she surrendered. Weak, that’s what she was.

Easing off one of her black pumps, William tsked at the red line where the stiff leather had pressed against her swollen foot. “You should wear more comfortable shoes.”

“These look elegant.”

“Do you think anyone notices?”

Beth pulled her foot away and sat up. “Yes. Yes, I do. It’s all about appearances, William.”

He tugged on her other shoe. “You appear not to have a life outside this salon.”

“Oh, please. So I work hard. You do, too.”

“But I also play hard. You don’t play at all.”

As her shoe hit the floor, Beth realized that she had no idea what William did when he wasn’t at Tuxedo Park. If anything, she assumed he used the time to catch up on chores and the minutiae of life like she did. “What do you do?”