Diary of a Single Wedding Planner (Tales Behind the Veils Book 1) (11 page)

Thursday, October 31st

Mom called today to ask if I had a date for Halloween. I didn’t, and I wasn’t nearly as upset about it as she was. I had made plans to go downtown with some of my old coffee shop friends. No date, no drama. Just dancing, one of my absolute favorite things to do. I invited Cabe, but he didn’t feel up to being around people. He says that a lot. Some days I feel sorry for him and other days I want to tell him to snap out of it and start living.

“Are you wearing a costume?” Mom asked.

“Yeah, but nothing fancy. I got a cat-ear headband, and I’ll paint on some whiskers. I’m wearing a black dress and black tights,” I said.

“Well, that’s original,” she said with more than a hint of sarcasm. “Why don’t you put some thought in it and come up with a good costume? You were always so creative.”

“We’re not going to a costume party or anything, Mom. We’re going to stop by some bars and go dancing. I don’t want to have some elaborate costume I can’t dance in.”

“I just think if you’re going to dress up, you ought to put in the effort and do it right.”

“Mom, I’m twenty-five years old. I’m not going trick-or-treating. It doesn’t matter what costume I wear. We’re going out. It’s not a big deal,” I said, rolling my eyes and wondering why I answered the phone.

“Your sister says Erin is going to be Raggedy Ann and Eric is Raggedy Andy. Do people still have Raggedy Ann dolls? I don’t think anyone will know who they are. I wonder why on earth she would pick that. Undoubtedly, there was something else the kids wanted to be.”

Sounds like Tanya had gotten quite the earful about my niece and nephew’s costumes. Of course, Tanya wouldn’t care. She doesn’t let Mom get to her the way I do. She simply does what she wants to do. It doesn’t bother her if Mom doesn’t like it.

“Maybe it was an easy costume to do,” I offered.

“No, she sewed them. Made them matching outfits with aprons and overalls. Stockings, too. There’s no telling how long it took her. She’s always complaining she has no time, but then she puts more on her plate. Now why couldn’t she just go to Wal-Mart and buy them a costume already made? That would have made more sense.”

“I don’t know, Mom. I guess that’s not what she wanted to do.”

“So why don’t you have a date tonight?”

I wondered how long it would take to bring her back around to that popular topic of conversation.

“I’m going out with friends, Mom. It’s a big group of us. No one has dates.”

“You need to get new friends. You need friends who will introduce you to someone. You need to go out with someone other than Gabe.”

“Cabe, Mom,” I interjected.

“You never meet anyone new. All the men you meet are either getting married already or coming in town for a wedding and leaving right after it. You need to meet local men.”

She was right on that count. Every wedding serves up a handful of groomsmen and a bevy of guests, usually with at least a couple of single ones in the group. Sometimes the single ones are great-looking, fun guys. Occasionally, one seems either interested or interesting, or both. But I’m working, and they’re partying. Then they go back home to their own lives, and I greet the next group.

“I did meet someone local, Mom. He works at a hotel. We’re going out next month.” What the hell? Why did I say that? Why did I even tell her about him? I have no idea what’s going on with him and whether or not I even want to go out with him, and now I blabbed about it to my mother?

“Really? Well, why haven’t you said something? Who is he? What does he do? Does he go to church? Is he divorced? I know at your age there’s a high probability anyone you date might have been married before, and I don’t think you should rule that out. Why aren’t you going out with him tonight?”

Immediate regret for my big mouth. I wanted so badly to say, “This would be why I haven’t said anything.” Instead I said, “It’s only been a few phone calls. We haven’t gotten into a whole lot yet.”

“Well, you need to ask these questions! Don’t wait until your heart is involved before your head gets the facts. You need to be your own best advocate.”

“I know, Mom, I know. I need to go get ready. I’ll talk to you later.”

“How long can it take to put on a cat-ear headband? Please put some effort in. I’ll tell Tanya to send you pictures of Erin and Eric. She texted me some, but I still can’t figure out how to open pictures on this new phone. Don’t eat too much candy, okay? You know it goes straight to your hips, and it’s not worth it. Love you! Happy Halloween!”

Amazing how a conversation with my mother can make me feel like I got the trick instead of the treat.

I had a great time tonight, though, cat-ears and all. There’s nothing I love more than dancing, and we danced the night away. It’s so fun to just hang on the dance floor with the girls without the pressure of worrying about a guy.

Some poor dude came up and tried desperately to have a conversation with me. He literally screamed over the music. “So, where ya from?”

“What?”

“Where ya from?”

“Here. I live here.”

“Wow. That’s cool. So what do you do?”

“What?”

“What is your job?”

“I kind of just want to dance.”

“What?”

“I don’t want to talk. I only want to dance.”

“Oh. Right. Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

I turned and danced away from him. The poor guy has probably been told he needs to talk to women and ask them questions to get to know them better. I myself have complained that guys need to be more straightforward and let you know they’re interested. The middle of dance floor surrounded by blaring music is not the place to put it in action, though. We’re all trying to figure it out, buddy. Kudos to you for trying. Tonight, I just wanted to dance.

November

Saturday, November 2nd

When you hear the bride’s name is Diamond Starr, you automatically think stripper or porn queen. Stripper, in this case. The groom, Billy, owns a chain of upscale gentlemen’s clubs (strip joints) in Manhattan. Diamond is his main attraction. Personally and professionally, it seems.

Chaz said she was born Elizabeth Anne but changed her legal name to Diamond Starr after she dropped out of college to pursue her lucrative dancing career. Diamond Sparkl Starr according to the marriage license.

I’m not sure what I expected, but she wasn’t it. She stood a little under five feet, and I think her thigh might have been as big around as my arm. I’ve been dying all day to ask if the long cascade of dark brown hair hanging well below her hips is a wig, but I couldn’t figure out how to work it into conversation. I do know with absolute certainty her boobs are fake. I encountered them up close and personal when I went to her room.

Diamond looked like a tiny living doll. By which I mean a nude doll wearing nothing but white lace garters, thigh highs and heels—Stripper Barbie. Hard to look at and hard to look away from. As if I didn’t have enough self-esteem issues when I look in a mirror. I awkwardly averted my gaze and tried to speak casually, but it’s hard for me to be casual when people are naked.

Maybe it’s my conservative upbringing or my mother’s own obsession with being fully covered at all times. I don’t know, but I definitely felt overdressed in this forced encounter with someone so comfortable with her body she’s made a career out of sharing it.

Diamond rushed forward to shake my hand and tell me how much she appreciated me being there with Chaz for her big day. I think she said something about Chaz raving about me. I’m not sure. I can, however, report there are two light bulbs out in the chandelier in the Gardenia Suite.

She finally released my hand and introduced me to her bridesmaids, who thankfully were clothed. Albeit in the sheerest of sheer cotton candy pink, wearing nothing but white thongs underneath. And yes, it was sheer enough for me to know that.

I nodded as I shook hands with Vanity, Destiny, Vixen, and Carla. (Carla was Diamond’s cousin. She didn’t have a stage name.) If we’ve ever had a more beautiful group of bridesmaids, I don’t remember them. None of them had spared any expense in their quest for cleavage, and they didn’t share my inclination toward modesty. Laugher erupted all around when I offered to step outside so Diamond could finish dressing.

“Don’t worry about me!” Diamond said. “I paid a fortune for these puppies. I fully intend to show them off to anyone who will look.” She emphasized the puppies’ size and prominence with a playful juggle.

I couldn’t help but look. I have never in my life seen such humongous boobies up close and personal. I tried to look away, but they fascinated me. Maintaining eye contact proved damned near impossible. No wonder men have a terrible time with it.

I struggled to focus on her face as she stood there with her hands on her hips, making no effort to cover herself or get dressed. As if drawn by invisible magnets and without any conscious thought on my part, my eyes kept glancing at her massive breasts.

She laughed and said, “It’s okay. Go ahead and look.” She cupped her hands underneath and lifted them up like a pair of bowling balls. “Aren’t they beautiful?” she asked. “You have to touch them. You just have to. You will not believe how natural they feel.”

She leaned her chest toward me, and I took a couple of steps backward. “Nope, that’s okay. I’ll take your word for it!”

“No, seriously,” said Vixen. “You have to touch those things. Mine are hard as glass.” With no warning at all, Vixen grabbed my hand and mashed it against her breast. Yep. Hard as glass. I tried to jerk my hand away, but she quickly switched it over to Diamond’s breast. Which I must admit by comparison felt soft and squishy.

“See?” Diamond said. “Aren’t they amazing? Don’t they feel natural?”

I pulled my hand back and blinked several times, nodding. I had no idea whether or not they felt “natural”. In all honesty, mine are the only breasts I’ve ever touched. I pretty much have to squeeze my elbows together to get enough cleavage to even justify a monthly self-exam. But if I had to imagine what every teenage boy thinks a breast would feel like, it’s probably exactly like what I had just felt.

“She got them in Brazil. Best on the market,” said Carla, as though we were discussing a new set of tires Diamond bought for her car.

“I bet,” I answered with a nervous sigh. Between this and the pantyhose incident with Barney the Bride, I’ve started thinking maybe I need to work somewhere in a cubicle away from people. I’ve never considered myself a prude or anything, but I don’t think it’s normal to keep ending up in situations where I’m touching other people’s bodies against my will. It’s just plain weird.

“Uh-oh, we got you all freaked out,” Diamond said, seeming genuinely concerned at my discomfort. “I’m so sorry. We forget how shy people can be about their bodies.”

I suddenly felt as though I’d done something wrong or outside the norm. Maybe I am a bit reserved, but am I supposed to be perfectly comfortable feeling up some woman’s breasts I only just met? Or any woman? In the circles I travel in, breast groping is not a socially acceptable greeting. No one I know goes around grabbing each other’s tatas for comparison.

I made my way to the door, willing my eyes not to look at Diamond’s prized possessions. “No, no, you’re fine. I need to go check on a few things. I’ll be back. When you’re dressed.”

Later, when we were finished with the post-ceremony pictures, I watched Billy escort Diamond to the limo as I walked behind them carrying her train and her bouquet. His right hand caressed the small of her back as they walked. His left caressed a glass of champagne.

He was a good-looking guy, tall and broad-shouldered, with soft green eyes. Probably mid-forties, I would guess. His shaved head highlighted the large crescent-shaped scar above his left ear, the smaller jagged scar over his right eye, and the large hole in the center of the back of his head, like a bullet wound. I was torn between wanting to know bad enough to ask and wanting to be professional enough to remain silent. As my granny would say, he’d seen some scrapping in his day.

I wondered if Diamond would still be dancing in his clubs after the wedding and how all that would work. The boss’s wife up on stage. I mean, how is that a “Honey, I’m headed to work” kind of job, especially when he is right there in the club watching it all? Does he walk people over to her pole and introduce his wife? And if he’s already watched her make all her moves for every patron who comes in, then what constitutes a sexy night at home? Baking cookies and watching television? I don’t get it.

Diamond stopped short as we reached the limo. “Oh, no! My dancing shoes. I left them at the hotel. Is there any way I can go get them?”

“Are you kidding me, Di? We’re already missing the party,” Billy said. “Just dance in what you’re wearing.”

“Honey, I can’t dance in these things!”

She lifted the lace hem of her exquisite gown and revealed a stunning pair of gorgeous strappy stilettos with distinctive red soles. Clearly, I was quite distracted earlier in the dressing room if I did not notice Louboutins. Maybe I should have been looking at the floor instead of the ceiling.

They were from this year’s wedding collection, at least three inches high with a sharply-pointed toe. I wouldn’t have been able to walk in those things, much less dance in them. Heck, I probably couldn’t have stood still in them.

Billy was clearly not as impressed as I was. “I paid fifteen-hundred dollars for a pair of shoes you can’t dance in? You gotta be kidding me,” he said.

“I have to get my dance shoes. I’m not going to my own wedding without being able to dance.” Diamond stood her ground outside the limo. Billy shrugged and got in the car, already pouring more champagne. He didn’t even bother to help his new bride get in.

“Can we go to the room? It won’t take but a minute for me to change shoes,” she asked.

“Um, sure,” I answered.

I stepped to the back of the car to call Chaz as the limo driver helped Diamond get in.

“But we’re already late!” Chaz whined. I rolled my eyes and sighed. I could only deal with one diva at a time.

I offered to go to the room with Diamond to keep it quick and prevent a huge delay, which appeased Chaz enough to get him off the phone.

Just when my feet thought we were done for the night.

Billy was chomping to bits to get to the party, so he stayed in the limo while I escorted Diamond up to the Gardenia Suite to get her dancing shoes.

“I can’t believe he thought I could dance in these damned things,” she said as we entered the suite. She kicked off the Louboutins and flung them across the foyer with her toes. I cringed to see them bounce across the floor.

“I know, right?” I felt like finally I could commiserate with Diamond on something. There was no way humanly possible to dance in those stilettos.

But then I saw what she was strapping on. Her “dancing shoes” were at least five inches high, much higher than the Louboutins. They were clear Lucite with a huge platform under the ball of her foot, and a thick, clear Lucite heel with sparkling crystals floating in some gel-like substance. She stood and stomped each foot lightly on the floor, activating lights in the heel that morphed from red to green then blue, purple and pink.

Ohhhhhhhhhhh. It slowly dawned on me. Her
DANCING SHOES
. Yeah. So much for commiseration and bonding with this bride. I had nothing.

I ended up staying for most of the reception just to watch this party happen. I saw things I’ve never seen before and probably will never see again.

Man, that girl sure knew how to use those shoes.