The Body in the Boudoir (7 page)

Therefore, she was a little fuzzy about Sky's past exes. She knew he'd lost one, or maybe it was two, to disease and then there were two more to divorce, but he'd never had any children, which was probably sad at the time, but a good thing now. She had no desire to be a stepmother and an even greater loathing for the idea of grandparenthood.

She liked his nieces and nephews, in small doses, though. She especially liked Faith Sibley, who knew a Judith Lieber when she saw it and didn't have to ask where Tammy had gotten the cute little bejeweled bag, or worse, not comment at all. Funny that Faith should set up her own business, but girls seemed to do that nowadays. Even down home. Her sister had written that her daughter, Tammy's niece, was starting a business, Magnolia Managers, with her best friend. From what Tammy could deduce from her sister's description, the girls would do everything from organize your closets to find you a house with plenty of them. Well, this wasn't a bad way for a girl to kill time before someone put a ring on her finger, Tammy had told her sister, adding that she wondered if they would get enough business to cover gas for their cars, since all the Southern women Tammy knew had the managing part of life down pat.

She was thrilled to pieces that Faith was getting married at The Cliff. It would be like having a daughter without those terrible teen years. Besides, Tammy loved to throw a party.

The door opened again and a familiar voice said, “Is my baby doll ready for some sugar?”

Her mouth curved up. Her man was home.

O
ne of the lawyers in Hope's firm was handling the sale of Have Faith's catering equipment. Faith had been fortunate to get a good offer from a company already established in Westchester that wanted to take a stab at the city. They would take over her lease and were not interested in her name, which she was holding on to for the future. She'd toyed with the idea of putting some of her pots, pans, and the like in storage, but she felt she had to leave almost everything behind—or nothing. And that decision had been made. After she signed some papers at the office, she and Hope were meeting Jane Lennox Sibley and Eleanor Wayfort Lennox—Mom and Nana—at the bridal salon at Bergdorf's. Its Art Deco décor was an elegant and unique backdrop for their equally elegant, unique gowns.

Now they were waiting for the lawyer to get back from lunch. The phone on Hope's desk buzzed and she quickly picked up the receiver.

“We'll be right there.”

She got up from behind her desk. “Take your coat and we'll go straight from his office. It's a few floors down.”

Hope didn't have a corner office—yet—but she had a great view of the East River and enough space for a couch, which often served as her bed, Faith knew. They passed Hope's secretary on the way out. She was a recent hire and looked like the “after” in one of those old movies when Miss Pendergast or whoever loosens her hair and takes off her glasses. The sisters were alone in the elevator.

“Nice-looking secretary, Hope. Good typist?”

“We say ‘keyboard' now. As in computers. And yes, she's a whiz. Why?”

“No reason. Just, well, you have noticed that she's spectacularly good-looking.”

“Not really,” Hope said as the doors opened. “I guess she is. Her aunt went to Pelham.”

That explained everything. An affiliation with Hope's alma mater would have gotten a crash-test dummy a job.

It didn't take long to sign the papers and they were soon walking across 57th Street on their way over to Fifth Avenue. Faith spied a hot-dog stand with the familiar blue and yellow Sabrett's umbrella.

“Want one? My treat.”

“Sure.”

The sisters shared an affection for New York street food—roasted chestnuts; warm, oversize pretzels; and especially these hot dogs, with everything on them.

“Do they have Sabrett's in Boston?” Faith asked.

Hope had been to the city on a number of business trips and had lived in Cambridge while getting her MBA.

“Nope. Fenway Franks, as in the home of the Red Sox, and they eat them with pickle relish, not sauerkraut and onions. Not on the street—in the stadium. I've never seen any food carts outdoors except for ice-cream trucks in the summer.”

It was as Faith feared. She'd evidently have to watch a baseball game.

“Here, have a Tic Tac. Somehow I don't think the picture of the bride wolfing down a frankfurter before picking out her wedding gown is what Nana has in mind, and you know how good her sense of smell is.”

Faith took two. The time, some years ago, when she and Hope had come in from the beach after a bonfire at The Cliff and their grandmother had smelled the beer on their breaths the moment they'd come through the door was still fresh in her mind.

The two older women were waiting on the seventh floor with Mrs. Lennox's longtime saleswoman, Irene, and another saleswoman from the bridal salon. Their perfumes mingled deliciously—Arpège, Shalimar, and Bergdorf Goodman Number Nine, the inspiration for the catchy, but less classy, hit song “Love Potion Number Nine.”

“We've just been discussing a wrap,” said her grandmother, who was wearing gloves and a hat, without which she would no more leave her apartment than streak nude down Park Avenue. “June at The Cliff is usually dry and warm, but not too warm. Yet it might be a good idea to have something made up that you could throw on if you get cold. Of course if the weather is really dreadful, pouring rain, the whole thing will have to be indoors. Good thing Sky had the ballroom repainted last year.”

Faith dearly loved her grandmother—and her father's mother, too, who had died when Faith was only ten. And she adored Aunt Chat, and the list went on and on. But her favorite relative was Uncle Sky. And his house, the Wayfort family's house, was her favorite house in the world. She'd learned to swim, play tennis, and ride at The Cliff, although Sky hadn't kept horses for some years now. She'd always hoped to be married there, picturing her wedding ceremony in the front garden, the sea as a backdrop, the reception under a tent behind the house, with all sorts of good things to eat. She and her cousins had played endless games of dress up as children, raiding the trunks in the attic. Her mother had a picture of her daughter as a very young bride, in a small frame next to her bed. She was wearing a flapper ancestress's chemise with a frilly crinoline pulled low on her brow for a veil. Faith looked about the salon at the gowns. She was about to play dress up again. For keeps.

An hour later she thanked the wedding gods for granting her a grandmother, mother, and sister with not only good taste but taste she shared. Before she tried anything on, the group had quickly decided that the Lady Di dress designed by the Emanuels with its puffy sleeves and twenty-five-foot train was not for Faith. No train at all and a simple, short tulle veil.

“It can be windy in front of The Cliff,” her grandmother reminded Faith. “We don't want you blown over the side, off to sea.”

No billowing veil. No leg-o'-mutton sleeves, definitely no bustle, unaccountably a current bridal trend, and Faith further narrowed things down by saying she wanted a white dress. “Not ivory, ecru, or cream. White.”

Hope laughed. “You don't have to prove anything to anyone, Fay. It's not as if you're preggers—you're not, are you?”

“Faith wants to be an old-fashioned bride, don't you, dear? And that's enough out of you, Hope.” This last was said with a smile, but Hope got her mother's message, although when Jane wasn't looking Hope stuck her tongue out at her sister just for good measure.

Faith was having fun. Yet, fun as it was trying on all these gorgeous dresses, she didn't want to look further, but wanted to make a decision today. Not to get it over with, just to move on to the million and one other things she had to do, knowing one big item was crossed off. She sighed.

“Are you feeling all right, darling?” her mother asked anxiously. She'd wanted to postpone the outing despite Faith's assurance that Sunday's episode had not left any ill effects.

“Fine. Better than fine. It's just that picking out your wedding dress is a big decision.”

“You could always wear my dress,” her grandmother offered. “But you've seen it. Long sleeves, heavy satin, and ivory at that. We were married in December, just before your grandfather was called up. It does have lovely lace trim at the neck from
my
mother's dress, though.”

“And mine,” her mother said, “wasn't a dress at all. We got married in June, too, but I had the idea that I wanted to be different and wore a raw silk evening gown that wasn't really a bridal gown at all and no veil, just some flowers in my hair.”

“Oh, you hippie,” Faith teased her. “I'm surprised you didn't gather daisies from the meadow at The Cliff and get married barefoot.”

Irene from Bergdorf's gently cleared her throat.

“If I might suggest?”

“Of course,” Mrs. Lennox said. “You always have such good ideas.”

“The third dress Miss Sibley tried on, the fitted one with the full skirt and the off-the-shoulder cap sleeves, fit beautifully and it would be possible to take the lace from Mrs. Lennox's dress and have it appliquéd on the bodice.”

Hope clapped her hands. “Perfect! And that will take care of the something old and the something borrowed things all at once.”

Faith had loved the dress, but it
had
seemed a bit plain. Irene's solution was perfect.

“Now all we have to do is find clothes for the rest of the wedding party,” she said. “Tom's college roommate is going to be his best man, and since we met at his wedding, it's extremely appropriate, and Tom's brothers will be ushers, but I don't know what to do about bridesmaids. Hope, naturally, is my maid of honor . . .”

“Honored,” said Hope, bowing slightly. She hadn't been in such a good mood since before her big client walked out on her.

Faith continued, “I don't know how or how many bridesmaids to choose.” She was blessed with a large number of close female friends and relatives. And then there was the problem of Betsey. Shouldn't she be included? I mean, Faith hastily told herself, of course I want her to be included, and then just as hastily admitted that she didn't. Not Betsey and definitely not Sydney.

“Children,” suggested her mother. “Like the British, and so sweet at an outdoor wedding. Your cousins have plenty from which to choose.” She made it sound a bit as if they were having litters. “A few of them scattering rose petals will look charming.”

“I love it,” Faith said. She had a hunch that children would be much easier to handle than her future sister-in-law.

H
ope had to dash back to work. Faith walked with her mother and grandmother to the nearby Plaza Hotel, where they were having tea in the Palm Court, but declined their offer to join them. She, too, needed to get back to work, and she also wanted to be by herself for a minute to think. There was a coffee shop she liked near the catering kitchen. It was the real kind, not a chain or something with a cute name and a menu of ever more bizarre flavors—she'd recently walked out of a place whose special of the day was a peanut butter–Marshmallow Fluff mocha. She just wanted to sit at the counter with a thick white mug of steaming black coffee that was fresh, since Demetrious, one of the brothers who owned the coffee shop, and also made a great BLT, tossed any coffee that had been sitting for more than fifteen minutes. A popular spot, the brew rarely made it past five.

A little time. That was all. A transition. From the Bergdorf's world to her Amsterdam Avenue workplace reality. She wasn't having second thoughts about the dress. It would be beautiful with her great-grandmother's lace. And Nana thought she might have another piece tucked away, enough to make a Juliet cap for Faith's veil.

No, it wasn't the dress. Everything was going smoothly so far in the bridal department, unless you counted the shower. Was that what was nagging at her? The whole thing was so inexplicable. She didn't have food allergies. And no one else had gotten sick. With her customary thoroughness, Hope had called all the guests to be sure.

Betsey and Sydney were driving back to Massachusetts the next morning, so Faith had called Tom on Sunday night to tell him how great the shower had been, how great it was meeting his sister and his friend (and she did not say a word about the he turning out to be a she), and just before hanging up she briefly mentioned her “upset stomach.” His sister would be sure to tell him, and Faith wanted her version to be the first. He was concerned, but not alarmed. Lord knows what Betsey would say.

At the coffee shop she was greeted warmly and had a mug of coffee in her hand as soon as she sat down. She looked at the stack of blue-and-white paper cups next to the coffeepots. They were decorated with Greek keys and amphorae.
WE ARE HAPPY TO SERVE YOU
was emblazoned on the side. One more disappearing New York City icon; she was always relieved to see them displayed anyplace. Demetrious
was
Greek—or his parents were—and it was to appeal to the many Greek coffee shop owners that the “Anthora,” as the paper cup was dubbed, was produced in the 1960s.

“Something to eat?” Demetrious asked. “A sandwich? Or I have some nice apple-cinnamon muffins. I can put one on the grill.”

Faith was tempted, but she had to watch herself or the dress wouldn't fit in June. Demetrious made his own muffins and slathered them with plenty of fresh butter before toasting, so the halves turned golden brown. That's what made them so devastating, and so good.

The restaurant was filled with people enjoying a late-afternoon snack before going back out into the cold. Faith returned to her thoughts. Not second thoughts, no. She wanted to marry Tom Fairchild. Maybe it was just that she wanted to
be
married to him, not marry him. She wanted to have taken the leap, not have this long running start to the jump. She'd attended, been in, and catered more weddings than she could count and had never realized how many decisions a bride had to make, how much she had to consider. But elopement was out of the question. And not just because you didn't get as many gifts. No, she wanted to stand in front of her family and friends, saying, “I do,” as a public statement of her commitment to Tom forever and ever.