School of Fortune (8 page)

“The boys made us do it!”

“Surely you've been in contact with the male species prior to last night. By now you should be familiar with the proper countermea-sures.” Thayne sniffed the air. If anything, it smelled of alcoholic halitosis. “Have you forgotten to wear my perfume?” Many sheepish faces affirmed her suspicions. “That won't do. Kimberly, a small question. Early this morning I received a phone call from the
Dallas Morning News.
Their society reporter claimed you had relayed some information about Lance's unfortunate toast. Is that true?”

Despite her fierce hangover, Kimberly turned three shades greener. “I don't know what you're talking about, Mrs. Walker.”

Thayne gave her a small envelope. “Open that, please.” Inside were two tickets to a performance that evening at the Dallas Ballet Theater. “Enjoy the show. You are expelled from the wedding party.”

“Mama!” Pippa cried. “You can't do that!”

“Don't cross me again, Pippa. The alternate is already en route. Leave the room, Kimberly. You are a traitor.” Thayne watched as Kimberly stumbled out. Following a door slam that must have set the chandeliers quivering five floors below, she calmly continued. “I want
nothing
to stand in the way of a perfect day. Remember that I still have one more alternate just praying for the phone to ring.” As Thayne switched on the video camera, her demeanor brightened for posterity's sake. “Our first gift is from Miss Louella Hackers of Houston.” She handed a box to Pippa. “Read the card, darling.”

In a daze, Pippa opened a box of napkins that looked as if they had just been ordered from Horchow. “ ‘Dear Pippa and Lance, These napkins belonged to my great-great-aunt, the Duchess of Saxony-Coburg-Gotha. They were used to entertain royalty, politicians, and legendary artists. The napkin with the corner missing was used by Charlie Chaplin as he demonstrated a new trick during a dinner party attended by the Duke of Bedford. I hope these napkins' history will enliven your dinner parties for years to come.'“

Six of the twelve napkins had corners missing. “They will certainly enliven dinner parties at the Salvation Army.” Thayne tossed the box aside. “Continue, Pippa.”

“From Mr. and Mrs. Trevor Hingham of Houston. ‘We hope you will love this new hobby as much as we do.'“ Pippa unwrapped His and Hers square-dancing outfits in a bright purple check. “ They were designed by Bill Blass.'“

“Square dancing must be popular in Houston.” Thayne sniffed, tossing that box atop Louella's. “What is in those pink boxes?”

A huge soup tureen and forty soup bowls, all embossed with a gold seal. “From the estate of Sam Houston,” wrote the Digbys of Houston. “Our idol.”

Thayne shook her head. “Couldn't they have found anything from the estate of John Neely Bryan?” He had founded Dallas. The soup set joined the reject pile. “Open a few of those envelopes, Pippa. Maybe we'll see some nicer things in small packages.”

The first envelope contained a certificate of ownership for ten thousand barrels of crude oil, a gift from the Trumbulls of Corpus Christi. “That's more like it.” Thayne nodded.

The next envelope contained a picture of a white pony. “We hope you and Lance will enjoy owning a genuine Lipizzaner stallion. Her name is Trudy,” wrote Mrs. Anthony Ludling of Houston.

“Why didn't they just send a Ducati?” Thayne sighed. “Trudy can stay in the Henderson stables until you and Lance find a house.”

Next Pippa opened a few gifts from Lance's friends: a gold-plated football, a case of bourbon, and a two-person sleeping bag. She got ten bread machines. Another small envelope contained a photograph of a white Yamaha baby grand piano. “We know Lance is musical,” wrote the Pembertons of Houston.

“Yamaha?” Thayne frowned. “That sounds Japanese.”

“It looks like a nice piano, Mama. Maybe I'll take lessons.”

“They didn't include a year or two of lessons?” Thayne's eyeballs rolled toward the ceiling.

Mr. and Mrs. Harve Pruett V of Fort Worth sent six Fujiwara chef's knives. Thayne's annoyance at receiving another Japanese import abated when Chardonnay informed her that they retailed for four hundred dollars each.

Noticing that the bridesmaids were having difficulty staying awake, Thayne asked everyone to read a line from the bridal registry that she had been compiling for months.

“Eight settings of Flora Danica,” yawned Leah.

“From?”

“The Burtons of Amarillo.”

“Very nice. Pass the book along, Leah.”

“Eight settings of Flora Danica,” read Cora, passing the book to the next lap. “From the Huddlestons of Dallas.”

“Eight settings of Flora Danica,” read Francesca. “From the Craw-fords of Piano.”

“Eight settings of Flora Danica,” read Tara. “From the Jeffersons of El Paso. How many place settings do you need, Pippa?”

“Fifty,” Thayne replied. “Pass the book along, dear.”

“Thirty settings of Waterford crystal, Lismore pattern,” read Ginny. Rather than a wig, she wore a monumental polka dot turban and gigantic reflective sunglasses. Neither Pippa nor Thayne had the energy to inquire what kind of statement Ginny was making today. “From my mother.”

“How nice of her,” Pippa said.

“My father sent the other twenty settings.” Ginny's parents were divorced. “You're going to have to buy a castle to store all this crap.”

“Are you calling Waterford and Flora Danica
crap?”
Thayne inquired icily.

“I'm just wondering where one might find a cupboard for fifty place settings. Not to mention a dining room table.”

“They will be custom built,” Thayne informed her. “Pass the registry along, Ginny. We've barely made a dent in that mountain of gifts.”

“Fifty place settings of silver from James Robinson in New York,” read Hazel. “Who's that? Is he married?”

“That
is a company, one of the last in the world making handmade silver. It is very difficult to scratch. What a fantastic gift. Who sent it, Hazel?”

“Dusi and Caleb Damon of Las Vegas.”

“My college roommate.” Thayne smiled at Pippa. “She and Caleb are in Rangoon for double surgeries. They send their regrets.”

Pippa smiled vaguely. Rangoon sounded pretty good about now.

The opening of boxes dragged on for three hours, by which time six of the girls were snoring robustly. Thayne did not dismiss them until every last gift had been catalogued and critiqued. Pippa received more ewers, decanters, candy bowls, salt and pepper shakers, butter dishes, and platters than she could use in ten lifetimes. She received enough food processors to open a kitchen supply store. She got Italian mirrors, Aubusson rugs, Tiffany lamps, rare maple trees, a Nakashima table, and a pair of historic Smith & Wesson revolvers with pearl grips. Her arms ached from tearing open the wrapping paper. Her face ached from smiling.

Finally Thayne looked at her watch. “My goodness, time to get our hair done again! Hurry upstairs, girls.”

The room emptied. “Thank you for keeping track of all that, Mama.”

“We didn't do too badly.” As she switched off the video camera, Thayne was already calculating changes in a dozen of A- and B-list invitations. “A Lipizzaner! Now that takes the cake.”

“I wish Lance could have been here.”

“Truly you don't. Men find this sort of event boring to the hilt. Honey! What is it?”

A sharp pain in Pippa's stomach had doubled her over. “I'm getting nervous.”

“Why, baby? Cedric has been at Meyerson Center all night reinforcing the chorus bleachers and your train. The girls will pull themselves together. They always do. All you have to do is walk a decently straight line on your father's arm. If you can't remember to say ‘I do,' simply nod your head. Just don't faint on me! That would be the mark of a rank amateur.”

“I've never fainted in my life. I'm not going to start today.”

Sliding an arm around Pippa's shoulder, Thayne walked her to the elevator. “I am so proud of you. This is a historic day for the Walkers.”

“Or else?”

“Don't even make a joke like that.” They boarded the elevator. “Rest a bit, Pippa. Wipe that look off your face. You're too young for worry lines. I'll send Brent down as soon as he's done with the girls.”

“I hope tonight will be a total triumph for you.”

“Thank you for humoring me, darling. I've had a lot of fun putting this all together.”

Pippa's stomach twisted into another painful knot as she left the elevator. A split of Cristal and a dozen chocolate truffles, consumed in the bath, helped somewhat. Pippa semidozed as Brent did her hair and a cosmetician applied her makeup. Margarita arrived with the wedding gown, a stunning confection of seed pearls and silk organza. Its strapless, beaded bodice limned Pippa's torso like fondant on a wedding cake then, a few inches below her waist, blossomed into a gossamer waterfall of silk organza. Girls dreamed of such dresses when they gazed into the mirror and imagined themselves walking down the aisle; Pippa's dream was now coming true.

“Why you do not smile, Pippina?” Margarita asked, drenching her with Thayne perfume. “You are not happy?”

“Just nervous. I think I strained my back pulling the train yesterday.”

“Santa Marla!
Tomorrow you relax the back. With Lance,” Margarita winked.

Anson knocked and entered. His eyes teared up at the sight of his granddaughter in her gown. “You look stunning, Pippa.”

“Thanks, Grampa. I'm so glad this is almost over.”

He patted her hand. “So are we all, pumpkin.”

Thayne, Robert, and two photographers awaited them in a white limousine. “I don't think I've ever seen two more beautiful women,” Anson said.

Thayne blew him a kiss. “Thank you. I do feel special today.” Besides the family diamonds, she wore a lilac chiffon gown with a belt of hammered gold. The brim of her lilac hat created a three-foot no-fly zone around her head. “Pippa, I don't care if the roof comes tumbling down, just keep walking forward. When Lance takes your hand, everything will fall into place. The fate of the Walkers rests in your hands.”

“That's a bit over the top, luvvie,” her husband remonstrated.

“Shut up, Robert! I'm talking about your grandchildren, not the eighteenth hole.”

The bridesmaids were already at Meyerson Center, excitedly applying their final ten layers of mascara. Everyone's half up, half down hair looked stupendous with the Henderson barrettes and the Walker earrings. Thanks to Lipo in a Box, their gowns flowed like rivers of aqua cream over their hips. The new bridesmaid, Carola, had absorbed three years' worth of gossip in the thirty minutes she had been with the bridal coterie. She was the only one not too hungover to drink now.

Ginny, regal in her second wig, swaggered over. “Where's something old?”

Pippa pointed to her diamond choker. “My grandmother's.” “Something new?” “My bra.”

“Something borrowed?”

Pippa displayed an ankle bracelet belonging to Thayne. “Something blue?”

“The tattoo on my butt. Would you like to see it?” “No thanks.” Ginny wrapped Pippa in a ferocious hug. “You're ready to rock.”

Arabella, the flower girl, arrived in an embroidered Victorian gown. The bridesmaids all screamed when Pippa wriggled into her train: fantastic! As the minutes ticked toward five, the excitement became almost unbearable. Florists distributed bouquets of gardenias and yellow roses. Seamstresses tacked emergency darts. Carola doused ten necks with Thayne perfume. Out in the hall, brass quintets began to play ceremonial introductions.

Cedric rapped on the door. “Everyone in the lobby in two minutes.”

His words precipitated a final death cloud of hairspray. Then the door swung open. The girls—even little Arabella—shrieked in horror as Lance walked in. He looked to die for in a black and gray morning suit. “You can't be here! It's bad luck on your wedding day! Get out!”

His eyes found the bride-to-be. “I must speak with you, Pippa. Alone.”

B
ridesmaids, photographers, florists, and seamstresses fled the dressing room as if Lance were radioactive. When they had all gone, he quietly locked the door. He and Pippa looked across the room at each other for a long moment, each taking in the other's sheer beauty. “You look ravishing,” Lance finally said. His voice sounded sad.

Pippa led him to the sofa. “Something's wrong, isn't it? I've known for days.”

He sat without blinking for an eternity. When he finally spoke, Lance seemed his old self again. “Pippa, never doubt that I love you totally. To be your husband would make me the happiest man alive. I've hoped and prayed that we could have a normal life together. But mother nature has conspired against me.”

“Are you ill?” she cried. Cancer? Brain tumor? “I'll take care of you. You'll get better.”

Lance shook his head. “I'm gay. Always have been, always will be.”

Pippa hardly breathed as the calamitous news sank in. Finally she whispered, “I think I need a drink.”

He produced a flask from his coat. “Here.”

They nearly emptied it. “Why didn't you tell me?” Pippa whimpered, near tears.

“I thought I could change. I feel more attracted to you than to any woman I've ever met.”

Tears stung her eyes. How could she have been so stupid? “All this time I thought you were obeying the Henderson code of honor.”

“I'm deeply sorry, Pippa. I've been in therapy. Confession. Taken hormone shots. I even rented a whore for a week in Peru.” He laughed to himself. “She may as well have been a teddy bear.”

That
was fairly annoying. “How could you have let this charade go on so long?”

“I didn't have the courage to stop it once things got up to warp speed. I've been feeling so guilty and craven and worthless. After that speech last night I felt like killing myself.”

All things considered, that wouldn't have been a bad resolution to the problem. “Does Rosimund know?”

“She suspects. That's why she's been pushing the wedding harder than Thayne.” Lance covered his face with his hands. “Thank you, mommy dearest.”

“I'll be the laughingstock of Dallas forever.” Pippa swallowed the last of the bourbon then threw the flask at a mirror. Lance winced as it shattered. “You stupid ass!”

“We could go through with the wedding and divorce after a year. Woody and I will take care of you financially for life.”

“Woody?”
Pippa cackled. “You're dumping me for that fat slob?”

“Please,
please
don't take it personally. And he's not a fat slob.” Lance swallowed with difficulty. “What do you think? One year, then we call it quits?”

After a moment's reflection Pippa shook her head. “I don't think so.” Cedric pounded on the door. “What's going on in there? Everybody's waiting!”

“Tell them to play Beethoven's Ninth,” Lance shouted. “We're not ready.”

After a stream of expletives, Cedric called, “Three minutes. Then I'm coming in with a shotgun.”

Lance and Pippa listened to his footsteps recede down the hallway. “We could run away,” she said. “Make a break for the limousine and disappear to Tahiti.”

“Our mothers would never recover. I'd never play football again.”

Lance began to sob. “God, what have I done? I've let everyone down so hideously.”

No kidding. “We have to make the best of it. We'll just walk in there and tell them the wedding's off.”

“What would be the reason?” Lance wailed.

“It will come to me.” Pippa's mind locked into gear. “We can donate the flowers to the children's hospital. Thayne can still throw a Derailed Wedding party. People don't need a bride and groom to drink themselves under the table.”

“Wouldn't it be easier to just go through with it?” Lance repeated tearfully. He began to tremble. “Rosimund will never forgive me if word gets out.”

“If I can take it, she can,” Pippa snapped. “Look, I'll say it's all my fault. She'll believe that.” “But it's not your fault.” “It's half my fault. I should have known.”

Lance fell to his knees and put his head in Pippa's overflowing organza lap. “I don't deserve you. I never have. I love you so much.”

As she forlornly patted his head, Cedric returned with a small army. “At the count of ten, we're breaking down the door,” he shouted. “Ten! Nine! Eight!”

Pippa sprang into action. “Get up, Lance.” She caught a glimpse of hot-pink underwear as he hastily tucked his shirt back into his pants. “We're coming, Cedric.”

“Seven! Six! Five!”

As her fiance stood before her in all his male glory, Pippa's heart broke. What a man never to have had! “I love you forever,” he whispered.

“And I you. Could you unhook this damn train?” Pippa stifled a tear as he unsnapped the titanium harness: that was the closest Lance would ever come to undressing her.

“Four! Three! Two!”

She swung open the door. “Hold your fire.”

“Do you realize what a mess you've made?” Cedric screeched, dragging them outside. “The organist has been improvising for the last ten minutes. The new bridesmaid started in without waiting and the rest of those f-ing cows followed. Now everyone's onstage staring at the chandeliers.”

Pippa's father, pacing the foyer, was most relieved to see her. He held out his arm. “Ready to go, darling?”

“Daddy, go sit with Mama. Lance and I have decided to walk up the aisle together.”

“That's a switch. When do I recite your mother's eight names?”

“You don't.” Cedric shoved a potted geranium into Robert's hand. “Pretend you're a bridesmaid.” He pushed Robert into the packed auditorium.

A murmur ran through the crowd as Robert slowly proceeded up the aisle. His wide smile allayed fears that anything could be wrong. “Where's Pippa?” Thayne hissed as he sat beside her. “My God, you're hopeless! Go back and fetch her.”

“I'm staying right here.”

“Where's Lance?” Today Rosimund was dressed in a deep red gown that clashed badly with her hair and fatally with Thayne's lilac outfit.

“Right behind me, ladies,” Robert responded.

Receiving a signal from Cedric at the back of the auditorium, maestro launched the orchestra into Mendelssohn's
Wedding March.
Hand in hand, Lance and Pippa came down the aisle.

“Where's her train?” Thayne glared across the stage extension. “Have you stolen Pippa's train?”

“I wouldn't touch it with a ten-foot pole.” Rosimund was glad to see Lance smiling for the first time in days. She reached for her lace handkerchief. “Aren't they beautiful?”

“Yes, darling. Perfect,” her husband replied.

The bridal couple walked quickly up the ramp. The Reverend Alcott, majestic in a white cassock emblazoned with gold, smiled as if the gates of heaven had just opened. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered—”

Lance turned around. “Could you hold off for a second?”

Thayne's gasp could be heard in the last row. “Get up there, Robert,” she said, pushing her husband out of their pew. “Tell them who gives the bride away. And don't forget to say Tuttle!”

Confused by the nonscripted material, the conductor motioned the chorus to rise. Two hundred voices began singing “How Lovely Are

Thy Dwellings” from the Brahms
Requiem
while Lance conferred with the Reverend Alcott. Thayne and Rosimund nearly had heart attacks when the minister closed his Bible, walked to the far end of the stage, and stared serenely at the chandelier along with all the bridesmaids.

Thayne craned her neck at the ceiling. “What are they looking at?”

“What next, Thayne?” Rosimund asked as the music swelled. “A monkey and an organ grinder?”

“Its all right, Mother,” Lance said. “Could you come up here with Dad?”

“You come up, too,” Pippa told her parents. She would never be able to make a speech with Thayne glaring at her from the first row.

Brahms finally ended. The audience of five hundred waited for something to happen. It was painful to view Rosimund's and Thayne's dresses side by side; each brought out the worst shades in the other. Finally Pippa took a deep breath and stepped forward.

“Thank you for coming here today. Lance and I are so happy to see you. Marriage is such an exciting adventure, like climbing Mount Everest. Before you begin that climb, you have to be sure you've got the proper equipment. Oxygen. Sherpas. You've got to avoid blizzards. But the view from the top is worth it all.” She paused, wondering where to go from here. The room was beginning to tilt. When her grandfather blew an encouraging kiss from the front pew, Pippa got an idea.

“Life is full of surprises and we're all engaged in a long process of self-discovery. Sometimes people don't even fall in love until ten years after they're married, on a nice warm summer afternoon, when one of them has been napping in a hammock.”

She noticed many sidelong glances in the auditorium, as if people were having difficulty following her train of thought. Strange, her speech made perfect sense to her. “I think love means acceptance of the good, the bad, and the ugly. There's not much of the latter with Lance, of course.” Everyone laughed. “When he asked me to marry him, it was one of the happiest days of my life.” Pippa frowned, remembering the other truly, outstandingly happy day of her life, that being the afternoon Andre first took her to bed and ravished her. That man knew a woman's body better than a woman did. His hands were like pools of warm light. His mouth—

Anson Walker gently cleared his throat. Pippa's thoughts snapped back to the task at hand. “Lance and I have had a wonderful six months watching our mothers plan for today. In a way, that was our gift to you.” The auditorium filled with applause as Rosimund and Thayne bowed stiffly.

“Please wrap this up, Pippa,” her mother muttered under her breath.

“Lance and I believe love must be a little blind if it is to survive. That doesn't mean it should be deaf and dumb. We will love each other until our dying day. What do we need a little piece of paper for? Who makes the laws anyway, our hearts or a bunch of politicians in Austin?”

Pippa's heart began racing as Rosimund slowly raised her wrist and studied the face of her diamond watch. “How much longer will you be expatiating, dear?”

The room began to spin. Pippa looked desperately at Lance and was flustered to see him standing with his eyes shut. He seemed to be mumbling to himself. “To make a long story short, Lance and I will not be exchanging wedding vows today. It wouldn't be right. We're very fond of each other, of course. It's just that—there's someone else!”

After a second of deathly silence, pandemonium erupted. Pippa felt herself float to the ceiling as events roiled around her. She was dimly aware of Rosimund gathering up Arabella and Lyman and leading a platoon of outraged Hendersons from the auditorium as Lance stumbled after them, begging for mercy. Rosimund paused only once, to whap her son's face with her red beaded purse. “Don't you dare ask for mercy! You're the first cuckold in Henderson history!”

Things weren't going much better in the Walker camp. Thayne had collapsed to the floor in a furze of lilac. The only doctor present was Seth Shapiro, the society dermatologist who Botoxed most of Dallas. He was having difficulty making his way to the stage against the flood of exiting Hendersons. Cedric tried to revive Thayne with a stream of bourbon from his flask, but succeeded only in ruining her makeup. He instructed the orchestra to begin Tchaikovsky's
Romeo and Juliet.
When this had no calming effect on the riot, he shouted at the bell choir to begin “O Happy, Happy Day,” the twenty-second kissing interlude by John Williams. That did nothing, either, so Cedric told both brass quintets to blow their brains out.

Realizing there would be no celebration at Fleur-de-Lis, no catching of the bridal bouquet, and little hope of parlaying Dallas's wedding of the century into nine more, every bridesmaid save Ginny crumpled to the floor in tears. Woody also dropped to his knees, sobbing more loudly than any of them. Pippa stood alone and forgotten in the eye of the hurricane. She looked up to see Anson gazing at her with a mixture of surprise and bemusement. “I'm sorry, Grampa,” she heard herself call. She saw him smile as if he understood. A second later he clutched both hands to his chest and pitched forward.

“No!” Pippa screamed. Then everything went black.