"How exhausting," Mother cried when we were in my car and heading home. "I can't imagine doing all the things Bunny Eaton has taken on."
"What else does she have to do with her life? Still. I hope I'm not making a big mistake having such an elaborate wedding. I could be more insistent with Thatcher and have a small affair, maybe just the immediate family."
"No, no Bunny Eaton's right. You'll never forget it."
"I wonder if a big wedding adds any strength to a marriage," I said. "Does it make your vows seem that much more lasting and serious? Is it like a coronation?"
"I used to fantasize about your father and me getting married. It was always a simple ceremony, but somewhere beautiful, not in the back room of some justice of the peace's house. I think deep down, no matter what face we put on to the public, we all want something romantic and wonderful. Willow. It's a chance to be a star, to shine and glitter, to be queen for the day."
"Here you can't be queen for the day. Mother." I said. 'It's either a lifetime appointment or nothing."
Mother laughed.
"Won't we have fun though." she said.
I glanced at her as we drove on. She was looking out the window, but I could see from the way her eyes took on that dreamy far-off look that she was gazing inside herself rather than at the scenery. She was remembering good times, wonderful times, loving times. I had helped her revive that. At least for now, in doing all this I had given her something. I thought.
I felt very good about it all, Nothing Bunny Eaton could throw our way would change that. I concluded, We would bring the jeweled glitter back to our home. Thatcher and I, and Mother and Linden.
Weddings were times when people believed with all their hearts in the line, "And they lived happily after."
Let it be true for us, I prayed.
.
Now that Thatcher's and my wedding was a reality, I was not surprised to receive a phone call from Thatcher's sister. Whitney. It came just before we were about to begin dinner. Thatcher had called to say he was going to be involved with a dinner meeting, taking on some interesting new clients. Mother and I were having so much fun preparing dinner that Linden came out to see what was causing all the commotion. and I put him to work peeling potatoes. Mother and I performed imitations of Bunny Eaton for Linden, and we had him roaring with laughter. It was the warmest, happiest time all of us spent together yet. It was so good to hear the sound of Linden's laughter. Mother and I were so bright with happiness, we didn't need lights.
Then Whitney called.
"Now that this all appears to be a reality," she began, "I suppose you and I should have lunch."
"Yes, lunch usually follows," I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. It was the way she pronounced 'reality.' making it like a disease had been diagnosed and confirmed and not a wedding and a marriage.
She missed my tone, perhaps deliberately. I had met Whitney only a few times before and always found her to be cold and aloof. She was a tall woman, actually as tall if not a bit taller than Thatcher. She had a long, lean face with thin lips that fell into a habitual slash of pale red with the corners tucked in tightly as she contemplated someone or listened to someone speak. In just the short period I had been in her company, she'd struck me as one of those people who are always looking for flaws and weaknesses in others, taking pleasure in pointing them out because it made her feel superior.
I had to admit she had striking rust-tinted eyes that were so powerful they glued her gaze to the face of whomever she was speaking to, commanding them to pay strict attention to her valuable comments and criticisms. She was the type of person in whose company you were never really comfortable, but if you were in her company and she wasn't singling you out for some criticism or another, you felt grateful, even a bit superior to the others who were victimized.
Whitney's husband. Hans Shugar, was. as Bunny had told me, years older than Whitney. actually old enough to be her father. They made such an unlikely couple, showing no warmth or affection toward each other whenever I saw them together. I would have suspected that their two children. Laurel, age fifteen. and Quentin, age thirteen, were adopted, if they didn't look so much like their parents. Laurel more like Whitney's side of the family. Quentin almost a clone of Hans.
I agreed to meet Whitney at the Brazilian Court's Chancellor restaurant at one o'clock the following day. It was on Australian Avenue, only two blocks from Worth Avenue, so on my way there the next day. I stopped by the bridal gown shop to pick out two dresses for Mother to consider. which Monique gave me to take home so Mother could try them on in the comfort and security of her own house. Monique understood we would make more progress that way.
Whitney wasn't there yet when I arrived, but the hostess brought me to our table in the courtyard near the grand fountain. After fifteen minutes. I ordered a glass of white wine. It was a pleasant and actually quite romantic place, but being made to wait like this began to stir up my insides, making my stomach feel like a concrete mixer. Nearly twenty after one. Whitney sauntered in, paused to greet a number of people and then, finally, turned her attention to me.
"Hello, Willow," she said.
"I thought you said one o'clock." I snapped. I could see she had no intention of apologizing for being so late.
"Were you here at exactly one? Everyone from Palm Beach knows to be twenty minutes late."
"I'm not Palm Beach. I'm from a place where people make an effort to be on time."
She raised her eyebrows. I thought whoever advised her about her makeup believed in a heavy hand. She used too much rouge and painted her lips too thickly, probably to make up for their thinness.
"I was hoping we wouldn't start off on the wrong foot," she said. Before I could respond, she turned to the waiter and ordered a champagne split. "I have decided to have your shower at my house." she blurted, turning back to me. "You can give me a list of the people you would like to invite."
"I don't know anyone here vet, really. and I don't think anyone I know from back home or even my relatives would fly down for a shower."
"Why not?" she demanded. "It's not like traveling in a covered wagon. They're on a plane for a few hours at the most, and then here. I'd think they'd love to use it as an excuse to come to Palm Beach."