Liar's Guide to True Love (9 page)

My phone rings and it is Suzanne. I can tell she is in a good mood because she has remembered her Briticisms. “I just had the greatest afternoon, Cass. Remember that bloke who I went on a few dates with, and I thought he fancied me, but then he didn’t call for what, ages? Turns out his aunt had died! He just called and asked me on a mini-break! Can you believe it? I haven’t been on holiday in forever, and he called to see if I wanted to go
with him
on a mini-break.”

I have no idea what a mini-break is, but I guess it is some sort of vacation. “Listen, Suze, I’m really happy for you, but I have a crisis!” I proceed to tell her, from the beginning, from the time I received Kevin’s email, so that she has all the facts. No, I don’t tell her every detail of the sex, but she gets the idea. “Cass, I’m so happy for you! He
obviously
wants to get back together. Gosh, you can be so dense sometimes for someone who brings couples together for a living. Maybe we can double date—”

“Hold on there, Suzanne. I don’t know for sure he wants to get back together. His note was pretty platonic. Well, except the Gorgeous part, but that could just be him. Oh my God, I can’t believe he sent flowers.” I put my nose in one of the roses. I can’t help myself. There is no baby’s breath in this arrangement; he knows I
hate
baby’s breath.

“And did I tell you I’m going out with Nick? Kate’s friend? On Wednesday.”

Suzanne lets out a sigh. “You and Kevin
were
great together. I hate to say Cass, because you know we are the same age. But you don’t exactly have so much time to be starting over with dating who knows who. Don’t be like me and be on the dating scene again—wondering if he’s into you, and if he’s going to call. And maybe it’s awful to say, but if this guy is Kate’s friend, well, he might be a
man whore.
” She whispers the words “man whore” and I honestly don’t know if it is because she is in a public place, or if she is embarrassed for herself for using those words.

So I know where Suzanne stands on The Kevin Thing, and before I know it I have to get going to the rehearsal dinner without enough time to take the subway. I throw all the necessities back into my Prada, get dressed and get out the door. Luckily I find a cab right away and I am at the Palm House talking to their onsite coordinator before anyone in the bridal party arrives. We won’t be able to rehearse in Cranford Rose Garden where the ceremony will take place since the space is currently occupied by another event. Not so unusual, since the Botanical Garden gets booked two years in advance, but I am hoping that my Sunflower Bride maintains her laid-back Midwestern attitude, even as I mentally prepare to rattle off all the reasons why we don’t need to be under the exact cascading rose arch that we will be under tomorrow.

The parents and grandparents of the bride are the first to arrive. They have never seen the venue before today, and I can see they are in awe of the size and elegance of the gardens. They find it hard to believe that New York City actually has
three
botanical gardens. The best man and matron of honor arrive together, being already married to each other (two years ago, in Long Island, a black-and-white themed wedding). The bride arrives next with her two bridesmaids and flower girl who had all just been for manicures and pedicures. They have remembered to bring the practice bouquet made out of ribbons from the bridal shower, so I won’t have to use the fake peonies in my Prada. The groomsmen arrive just behind the parents and grandparents of the groom and I let out a small sigh of relief—single men either take their wedding responsibilities ultra-seriously, or blow it off all together and I have had to fill in for many a groomsman during rehearsals.

It is getting to be twenty minutes after the designated rehearsal time, and Charles from the Palm House is getting antsy about the next scheduled appointment. He keeps checking his watch every thirty seconds or so as I paste on a grin and nod giddily with the bride and her mother about the last-minute plans and how exciting this all is. Anything to keep her from noticing how late the groom is, and how her site coordinator is trying to hurry along. She isn’t used to the rigid schedules of New Yorkers, and it is my job to keep her relaxed and carefree. In fact when the groom comes running into the garden, I swear she gives him a puzzled look like “what on earth are you doing?” I hope that she will be this calm tomorrow.

“Sorry I’m late,” he says once he catches his breath and says hello to all. Charles is visibly calmer now and is about to call everyone’s attention to get the rehearsal going. Until the Groom announces, “I have a very good reason for being late, though.” He has moved next to his bride and takes her hand and faces her toward him. “My whole life I have looked for a life partner, and I have finally found her. I want to fulfill her every wish and every hope, including those for a perfect wedding day.” (Yes, I’ve always thought it a little odd when people made heartfelt speeches in the third person—as if they are speaking for their audience and not for the person right in front of them). He proceeds to pull out a fancy jewelry box from his laptop bag, to reveal an exquisite diamond necklace—sixteen inches in length, all round graduated stones. The box says Graff, and must have cost the Gross National Product of a small country. The bride is beside herself in happy tears, the bridesmaids look a tad grumpy, and even Charles recognizes a good reason for being behind schedule.

After a few minutes pass to allow for requisite oohs and ahhs over the new piece, and comments like “You’ve set the bar too high for the rest of us, buddy” we are finally ready to walk. The bride insisted on having music to practice to, so she is walking down the aisle to Pachelbel’s Canon in D, but to an acoustic guitar version, not the flute and string combination that she chose for the real moment. As I watch her and the bridal party, with their relaxed postures and non-camera-ready expressions, I am struck by the familiar thought that I often have at these rehearsals, that it is the casual moments like these—before the fancy dresses, hairdos and tuxes are put on—that are often filled with most genuine emotions.

Wednesday

Wedding Planning Tip: Mothers don’t play well together. Keep them apart. It’s that simple.

Late last night I got a call from my bride in Seattle who is getting married at the Plaza in March. It turns out she is in town unexpectedly for some business meetings later in the week, and could I possibly fit it in my schedule to take her dress shopping, and then to see photographers? She has flown in early especially to work on her wedding. She is hitting the nine months out deadline and seeing all the promotions around June weddings and has started getting anxious about booking vendors and getting a couture gown in time for multiple fittings around her travel schedule. I call her back first thing in the morning, and then proceed to work on my schedule for the day. I will be able to work in two consultations this morning before the series of appointments that I have made at Kleinfeld’s, Vera Wang, Saks Fifth Avenue and four different photographers.

I am a little disappointed that I won’t have time to come home and primp for my date with Nick, but with a seven-day-including-evenings career, it won’t be the first time that I’ve had to go straight from someone else’s event to my own. In fact the only way I’ve managed to maintain a social life during high wedding seasons of spring and fall has been to develop a system.

I put on a little black dress, one of many that I’ve collected. At times I’ve worn a LWD during summer, but I would never do that on a bride’s first time out trying on gowns. This LBD is a low cut halter—fun Cassandra, right? I put on a lilac short-sleeved shrug to make it appropriate for day time. I put a pair of chandelier earrings in my bag. I will be on my feet all day, so I put on a pair of ballet flats, and throw a pair of black strappy sandals (again, one of many) into the Prada.

I grab a muffin and chai on my way to my first consultation. I usually like to meet with Brides for the first time in their home—to get a sense of their style and personalities in a place where they are most comfortable. But in this case the Bride is a divorce attorney who spends most of her time at the office, and so has asked me to come in between client appointments. The assistant shows me to the Bride’s expansive office, and we lurk at the door while the Bride is on the phone. She waves me in to sit down on the couch in the corner. She is behind her desk, wearing a crisp black suit, hair in a chignon, 9mm pearls at her throat. “Don’t worry, we’re gonna grab him by the balls and take that bastard for every penny. He’s gonna wish he had his dick cut off instead of dipping it where it didn’t belong.” I look around her office a bit, trying not to listen in, isn’t there attorney client privilege or something? But I suppose I have no idea who she is talking to. I start thinking maybe I should wait outside, but she gestures for me to stay seated, giving me a bright smile that belies the nature of her conversation.

She has shelves of those law books that I’ve never actually seen an attorney use, and all the requisite framed degrees on her wall, offering little insight into her personality. Undergrad at Harvard. Law school at NYU. One framed photo of a man I think must be her fiancé since that is the only photo in the room, but I can’t tell what he looks like since it’s taken from far away. I expect to find orchids or some formal type of flower, but instead there are peace lilies by the window, and hydrangea on the occasional table in front of me.

She hangs up the phone, and comes out from behind her mahogany desk to shake my hand warmly and sit with me on the couch. She is cheerful and gushing about one of the weddings I did last year, and how she thought of me to do her wedding as soon as she got engaged last month. I instantly think that if I were to get a divorce I would want her to represent me.

Her engagement ring is an antique cushion cut diamond surrounded by pave-set sapphires. Again, not the contemporary sleekness that one would expect.

Attorney Bride gets up to pull out a stack of bridal magazines from behind her desk—all of which I’ve already perused of course. She is a little embarrassed by how many she has, and blushes like a young girl when talking about wanting a ball gown with a tulle skirt. She has no idea when or where she wants to get married, but mentions that if Disney World was a cab ride away, she would buy their Cinderella package in a heartbeat. I assure her that I can be the one to plan her Cinderella-in-the-City event, in a way that will fulfill her vision and yet not be too childlike (there will be colleagues there, and she does have a sharklike image to protect). We make an appointment for next week to start looking at possible venues, and flesh out concepts for themes, and then I am on my way to meet Seattle Bride.

By the time we are at the third photography studio we have seen at least ten individual portfolios. So far nothing “speaks” to Seattle Bride, and she keeps saying she just “doesn’t have the eye that Guy [the fiancé] does.” She is suffering from the stress of planning her wedding from a distance, jetlagged and indecisive. I suggest that we cancel Kleinfeld’s to get coffee and a snack instead, even though Kleinfeld’s has the largest selection of dresses.

One espresso and a muffin later, my Bride is looking almost perky again, and is excited about the appointment at Vera Wang. Truly, trying on dresses at Vera Wang, whether she buys a dress there or not, never fails to be one of the wedding planning highlights for my brides—or I would guess any bride for that matter. She has invited both her future mother-in-law as well as her own mother to the gown appointments—not uncommon for Brides to do, but against my advice since it often applies unnecessary pressure for all parties. Mother-in-Law is trying to behave as we go through the dresses on hangers. She is visibly trying not to express her own opinion and to allow the Bride to choose which dresses to try on her own.

Mother-of-the-Seattle-Bride arrives a little late to the appointment, but in time to see the first try-on—a simple sheath dress in ivory. Seattle Bride is a little disappointed that all the sample dresses are in ivory and not white, but as the saleswoman tells us, “It’s Vera’s favorite.” Mother’s face falls as Seattle Bride steps up on to the pedestal, even as the Bride is beaming. “Don’t you think it’s a little…indiscreet?” She is frowning at the low back, and the way the saleswoman is pinning the extra fabric so that it hugs the Bride’s curves to show her how it would fit in her size. Seattle Bride then tries on a dress of her mother’s choosing—a traditional ball gown with an extremely full skirt. There is silence as she steps up on the pedestal, but her mother is beaming. Mother-in-Law has noticed how happy the Mother is as well.

“It’s a very traditional look,” I say, “if that is what you are going for.” I try to give the Bride an out—a huge opening to say that it is not, indeed, what she is looking for.

“Like Cinderella marrying her Prince Charming,” her mother gasps.

“Well isn’t that just what every bride wants? To be a princess?” The Future Mother-in-Law is not smiling. Note to All Brides: It is never,
never
a good sign for your in-laws to call you a princess in
any
context, not even for your wedding day. Seattle Bride does not respond, thank goodness.

“I think the skirt is a
little
wide for you.” I jump in. “Let’s try something more in an a-line, why don’t we?” The Bride obviously can’t wait to take the gown off, even as her mother says, “But still traditional, yes? Nothing—immodest?”

Seattle Bride proceeds to try on four more gowns of her mother’s choosing, all with full skirts. Gorgeous Italian lace, yards of high quality silk organza. They are all gorgeous, and the mother likes every single one—and the Bride has a pasted-on smile, so eager to please and unsure of her own opinion. I pick out a couple of dresses—a-lines and sheaths with full backs to start. The Mother is unsure, but when the Bride comes out in a full length sheath, her relaxed, natural smile makes all the difference. Neither one can pinpoint why it is that this gown looks better than all the others when it doesn’t even fit properly. But they agree it is more flattering than the princess-style dresses. “Very sophisticated” is the future in-law’s comment. And I can see this day turning around. When our hour appointment comes to an end, there are two sheath dresses that are contenders, and Seattle Bride feels more confident that her wedding preparations are well underway.

We are the last appointment at Saks Fifth Avenue. Seattle Bride twirls in a silk satin Amsale sheath gown, in white, with a square neckline, and slight trumpet skirt. It is gorgeous and she feels gorgeous in it. Her mother tears up and I am confident that I am going to find the astute photographer who can capture her happiest moments in this dress. And I will find her the flowers that will highlight her look without overwhelming it. We have found The Dress and she has her measurements taken so that the order can be placed, and her next visit timed for a fitting.

The Bride and her Mothers leave Saks, just before my mother calls to check in for the day. In fact, I am surprised that it has taken her this long to call—I have only listened to her recorded messages for the past couple of days. She knows weekends are busy for me, but she wants to know where I was a few nights ago. I know that the truth is, she does
not
want to know that I spent the night at Kevin’s. “Were you on a date? Did you have a good time?” she says, trying to be Friend Mom—using the tone of voice that says “I’m cool. I watch
Sex and the City
reruns on TBS and know what single girls are up to.” I am no fool.

“I was on a date, Mom, but I didn’t check my messages until the morning. You know how it is. I thought they were all from clients and I’ve got to be off the clock some time.” I feel a little bad about this—she
doesn’t
know how it is, having been married to my father since she graduated college and never worked
outside the home
a day in her life. But I need to get her off the phone, so that I can get ready for my date.

“Well, you working girls just take yourselves so seriously. Was your date anyone I know? I ran into Jacob Trawler’s mother at the market again, you know. Apparently he is doing
really well
.”

“Too bad he is short and can’t carry a conversation.”

“Looks aren’t everything, Cassandra.”

“I can’t date someone who weighs less than I do.”

“Well if you exercised a little more—”

“Mom, you’re cutting out. I must have a bad signal in here. Call you later!”