School of Fortune (4 page)

The door swung open. In strode Thayne, dressed in a light blue cashmere suit with midnight-blue mink cuffs. Her sapphires sparkled. Her hair and makeup were perfect. Despite the maniacal glint in her eyes, she looked very attractive. “Are you ready for my comb-out, Brent?” Then she saw Ginny. “What in God's name is
that?”

“I didn't do it!” the frazzled hairdresser shrieked.

Thayne sighed; the gods were lobbing nonstop catastrophe at her today. “You would have had plenty of attention as you were, Ginny. That hair will look ridiculous with a large barrette.” No one even tried to refute that. “You're fired.”

“No!” Pippa cried, grabbing the cell phone out of Thayne's hands before she could call a replacement. “You can't do that!”

“I certainly can. We will not have a neo-Nazi in our entourage.”

“Ginny goes, I go!” Pippa screamed. “This is my wedding, not yours!”

Thayne stared at her daughter, mystified by the outburst. “Honey, are you having a bad day?”

“Yes, I am having a Very. Bad. Day.” Pippa collapsed onto a presidential couch. “I should have stayed in Prague and become a
ménage a quatre.”

Brent rushed over with a box of chocolate kirsch bonbons. “Take three, sweetheart.” Last thing he needed was the bride going up in smoke: Thayne had only paid him fifty percent of his fee. “I have wigs,” he announced, pulling one from a trunk. “We'll fix her in no time.”

Ginny was not enthusiastic. “Sounds like I'm getting spayed.”

“Humor us,” Thayne hissed.

Did she have a choice? Ginny slid into the salon chair. “I'm doing this for you, Pippa.”

“Thank you,” her friend whimpered into the cushions.

After Ginny left, bemused and bewigged, Thayne went to the couch. “What exactly is the problem, honey?”

That was a complicated issue. “I think Lance visited a whorehouse today.”

“That is ridiculous! He could have any woman he wanted simply by snapping his fingers.” Belatedly realizing that this was anything but reassuring, Thayne added, “And if he did, that's nothing to get upset about. Believe me, in a year you'll be begging him to go back whenever he has the urge.”

Someone knocked. Arming himself with a can of mousse, Brent went to the door.

“Mrs. Henderson sends an ornament for Pippa's coiffure,” Harry the butler announced. “If she would wear it tonight we would be so pleased.”

Brent returned with a little box. Inside was an heirloom hairclip encrusted with four carats of old mine-cut diamonds. “Pretty,” Pippa said, knowing full well the barrette was less a gift for her than ammo against her mother.

“You're not
thrilled?”
Brent cried.

“Rectangles are so passe,” Thayne informed him. “I would have had the diamonds reset in a platinum oval. I suppose you'll have to wear it or Rosimund will be crushed.” To her surprise Pippa barely moved. “Enough tantrums, baby. Please. People are depending on you.”

That did the trick, as always. Pippa slid off the couch. As Brent swept her hair into a twist, she watched Thayne chain-smoking at the window. “Nervous about tonight, Mama?”

“Not a bit.”

Actually, Thayne was surprised she wasn't lying on her back in the cardiac unit of Baylor University Medical Center. Wyeth had gotten her day off to a poor start by quitting. The bridesmaids were on the verge of caloric mutiny: chances of them gorging themselves at the Henderson Ball were great, and there would be no more gown fittings. Wyeth's replacement Cedric was a terribly eccentric man. Thayne was anything but confident he could handle the situation. Worst of all, Pippa was about to snap. Lance at a brothel? Rosimund had probably bought him an all-day pass out of pure spite. “Have you been crying, dear? Your eyes look red.”

“I ate some hot and sour soup. It always makes my eyes water.”

“I hope there wasn't any MSG in it! It will keep you awake all night.” Thayne glanced at her gold Cartier Tank Franchise watch. “Go to your room and put a cucumber pack on your eyes. I want you looking perfect.”

So did Rosimund. So did everyone. Pippa kissed Thayne's cheek. “I'll do my best, Mama.”

Thayne was already dialing out on her cell phone. “Cedric? Call the bell choir. The large bells must be polished again. I saw fingerprints.” She hung up.

Pippa paused at the door. “Who's Cedric?”

“Did I not mention I dismissed Wyeth this morning?”

“No, you didn't.” So that's why Thayne had been an hour late for the luncheon. Why she had called Pippa from the airport. “Where'd you find his replacement?”

“He was referred to me. Cedric is a veteran of three royal weddings. I should have hired him in the first place.”

“What happened to Wyeth?”

Thayne wasn't about to tell her daughter that bad karma had caused Wyeth to tear up a check for two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. “He couldn't take the heat, honey. Run along now.”

Pippa immediately called Wyeth, who didn't answer. She phoned Lance, who didn't answer, either. Room service delivered one perfectly chilled cucumber as she was fighting back tears of frustration and a growing fury. Pippa put a few slices on her eyes but got no beauty rest: every two minutes a bridesmaid flew in with some crisis regarding her dress or complexion. To make matters worse, word had just leaked to the press that Thayne's wedding had an A list and a B list. Everyone on the A list had received a lacquer box filled with gilt-edged engraved invitations and response cards for a multitude of barbecues, receptions, and the wedding itself at Meyerson Symphony Center followed by dinner and dancing to six different bands at the Walker mansion. Those on the B list received only a plain invitation to the wedding followed by a buffet in a downstairs function room at Meyerson, where the wedding party would appear later in the evening. Needless to say, quite a few Dallas socialites went berserk when they realized they weren't on the A list. After a dozen verbal confrontations, Pippa told the front desk to hold all incoming calls. She worked on a difficult sudoku puzzle and ate half the chocolates Kimberly had given her. When her migraine only intensified, Pippa ate the rest of the sliced cucumber as well.

At the stroke of five the bridal entourage convened in front of the hotel. Since Thayne had forbidden pantsuits for the rehearsal, each young lady now sported a skimpy cocktail dress and very high heels. Their attire delighted the crowd gawking from the veranda. As onlookers cheered and flashbulbs exploded, the girls ducked into the first of three stretch limos waiting at the curb.

“Debbie Buntz offered me four thousand dollars for an A-list invitation,” bragged Chardonnay, passing around her flask of vodka. “I said there was nothing I could do. That old bag didn't invite me to her Sadie Hawkins dance last fall.”

“Roxie Hooper offered me ten grand and a week at Canyon Ranch.” Francesca rapped on the window separating her from the driver. “Do you have a pair of scissors up there? This is an emergency.”

A hirsute hand passed a pair of nail clippers through the aperture. Francesca snipped the spaghetti straps off her lime green cocktail dress. She disposed of the straps and the clipper whence it had come. “Where's Pippa? And Kimberly? Traffic is horrible on Friday night.”

Hazel could not take her eyes off Ginny, who looked scrumptious in a teal taffeta frock that hugged her every curve. “Is that a wig?” she finally asked.

“No, I've been drinking Rogaine,” Ginny replied pleasantly.

Pippa finally arrived wearing a vintage yellow chiffon princess gown. She looked pale but totally exquisite. “Thanks for waiting.”

“Where'd you find that fantastic dress?”

“It was my mother's.” That went over like a pie in the face.

“Where'd you get the necklace?” Steffani asked with a slight note of accusation. She had always wanted a choker of graduated diamonds. “Lance again?”

“It was my grandmother's.” Pippa looked around the white leather seats. “Where's Kimberly? She was in my room five minutes ago, all set to go.”

“Omigosh, here come the Hendersons,” Cora squealed.

The limo almost tipped over as nine bridesmaids surged to one side to get a better glance at Lance, his parents, and little sister Arabella boarding the vehicle behind them. “Pinch me. I must be dreaming,” Leah murmured as her nose left a smudge on the glass.

Outside, several scantily clad women broke through the restraining barriers as Lance walked by. “You're going to put up with that the rest of your life?” Ginny asked as he stopped to sign autographs.

Seeing the disdain in Lance's smile as he scribbled in their football schedules, Pippa felt infinitely better. “If he can, I guess I can.”

The Henderson entourage had all boarded the second limousine when Thayne emerged from the hotel, cell phone at her ear. She was accompanied by husband, Robert, back from a few last holes at the golf course. Robert held his wife's Judith Leiber handbag, a second cell phone, and a Ferragamo tote stuffed with emergency supplies. Kimberly walked at Thayne's right side.

“Is she trying to sneak someone onto the A list?” Charlotte frowned.

In fact, moving some third-rater onto the A list was far down Kimberly's list of priorities. Five minutes ago Pippa had told her Wyeth

McCoy had been replaced; Kimberly had immediately seized her chance to rearrange the bridal procession. She had contrived to bump into Thayne in the lobby and was now waiting for her to get off the phone. Finally Thayne did so. “What a pretty dress, Kimberly,” she said. “Outrageously short, however.”

“The cleaners must have shrunk it.” The dress was brand-new. “Could I have a word with you about the procession, Mrs. Walker?”

“Is there a problem?”

“I just wanted you to know that I can move twenty-two inches a second like clockwork. I guess that's because I have a lower center of gravity than the other girls.”

“Yes, we're quite aware of that.” Kimberly's lack of height had almost eliminated her from the bridal party. Thayne ripped the other cell phone out of her husband's hand. She had four missed calls on that line. “Please get to the point.”

“I think it's crucial that I lead the procession. Ginny's sense of coordination may not be as sharp as it was at lunchtime.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Well, maybe
she
can walk a straight line after drinking a bottle of cherry vodka. I know I couldn't.”

Thayne's cell phone rang. It was Cedric reporting that the organist had just fallen off the stage extension and sprained his wrist. They were calling replacements but so far had gotten nothing but answering machines. “Get into your limo, Kimberly,” Thayne snapped. “I'll sort this out later.”

“A few of the other bridesmaids have been drinking, too,” Kimberly added for insurance. Thayne would have thirty minutes en route to Meyerson Center to chew this distressing cud. “Only Pippa and I are totally sober, and Pippa certainly can't go in first.”

Mission accomplished, Kimberly dove into the bridesmaids' limo. “Sorry, guys! I forgot to spray myself with Eau de Thayne.” Unscrewing her flask, she swallowed several ounces of vodka.

As their limousine transported them through Dallas, the bridesmaids fixed their makeup, drank, and grilled Pippa about her honeymoon to a secret location: first one to snitch to the newspapers would earn several thousand dollars. Pippa revealed nothing, but
she
didn't even know where she'd be spending her honeymoon. She and Lance would be boarding the Henderson jet and taking off for destinations unknown. A gift from Rosimund.

Engrossed in discussion, no one noticed Thayne's limo shooting ahead of them in traffic. By the time the bridesmaids arrived at Meyerson Center, Thayne had already been there ten minutes. The young ladies were met in the lobby by a tall, humorless chap in tails who introduced himself as Cedric, the new wedding coordinator. A forty-year veteran of drunken orgies, Cedric could immediately see that the bridesmaids had arrived even more inebriated than had the groomsmen.

“Where are the boys, Cedric?” Leah asked, tottering ever so slightly (or so she thought) on her high heels.

“In the rear lounge, madam. Drinking coffee as fast as they can swallow it.” Cedric eyed the shortest woman in the entourage. “Kimberly?”

“Yes, sir!”

“Please walk from here to there at twenty-two inches per second.” Cedric assessed her progress. “Attention! Mrs. Walker has requested a change in the order of procession. Bridesmaids will now enter the auditorium beginning with the shortest and ending with the tallest. Kindly rearrange yourselves as I fetch the gentlemen. We will pair up and proceed with the rehearsal.”

Cedric disappeared for ten long minutes. He had not foreseen that one third of Lance's friends would be seriously passed out.

Meanwhile, affairs were not proceeding well in the auditorium. The replacement organist was there but had forgotten reading glasses in his rush to leave home. Thayne had ordered the back lights turned down so low that the orchestra couldn't read their music, either. The officiating Reverend Mark Alcott, who owned four evangelical television stations and was considered the Protestant equivalent of a cardinal, had a bad cold and would have to confine his mellifluous baritone to a whisper. Only one brass quintet had arrived, dressed in jeans and scruffy T-shirts instead of the dark business suits Thayne had requested. As the two boy pages played a rough game of tag, the ring bearer was frantically crawling under the auditorium seats trying to find the ring that had just rolled off his satin pillow. The bell choir was rehearsing, badly, a twenty-second intermezzo Thayne had commissioned John Williams to write for that magical moment when Lance would kiss his new bride.

Thayne was ricocheting between mishaps, shouting into a bullhorn, as Rosimund and Lyman Henderson made their way up the aisle to the front row of the auditorium. After a few seconds in her seat, Rosimund raised her hand. “Thayne! Oh, Thayne, dear!”