The Cinderella Pact (40 page)

With that, Eileen bursts out crying and falls off the dais, hugging me. “You don't know how worried I've been. I've been sick about it.” Chloe, the queen of tact, politely backs out of the dressing room to attend to her other clients.

“Why?” I say, patting down her hair. “It's perfectly natural, Eileen. Besides, you're in your thirties. You've got money. And you love him.”

But Eileen is sobbing and I understand it all. I understand why she's been so pale and bitchy and out of sorts. “Does Jim know?” I ask gently.

Eileen lifts her blotched face. “No.”

“Why not?”

“I wasn't sure how he'd react. You know how weird men can be about pregnancy. You have to ease them into responsibility. Marriage plus a baby is an awful lot at once.”

“Jim seems pretty mature. Why don't you tell him right now?”

“I don't know. That's, that's”—Eileen hiccups as she talks—“that's what I was going to ask Belinda. That's why I wanted her to be here. She's the ethical expert. She'd have known what to do.”

“Eileen,” I say, sitting her on a chair. “
I'm
Belinda.”

Eileen wipes away the tears with the back of her hand. “What?”

“I'm Belinda. I've always been. I pretended to be her so I could write a column at
Sass!
”

“You're just saying that so I won't throw one of my tantrums.”

“No, I'm not. It's true.”

It takes a few seconds for my sister to comprehend this. And it's not until I explain about the accent, the cell phones, and all the rest that she finally catches on. “Does Mom know?”

“No.”

“Who else knows?”

“Only a few people.”

“And you told me?”

“I thought it was time you knew. Besides, you're my sister and we've been together a very long time.”

Eileen pulls herself together and tries to undo the zipper herself. “Then it wasn't Belinda, it was you who I said those awful things to on my birthday, about you not getting a guy . . .”

“Forget about it.” I finish undoing the zipper for her. “That was my fault for pretending.”

“No, Nola,” she says sincerely, though it's kind of funny because the dress is hanging off her hips. “That was my fault for being a jerk. You've done so many nice things for me, not the least of which is springing for this superexpensive wedding and I've never really appreciated everything you've done. And after all my nastiness . . .”

“Stop, Eileen. It's over. Done with.”

“Not for me. I'm going to make it up to you. You just watch. I'm going to knock your socks off, Nola. I am so, so glad you're my maid of honor. I could not have asked for a better sister.”

Chapter Thirty-Nine

“I guess we're smarter than you think. We figured it all out about a week ago.”

Deb drops this bomb as we are cooling our heels in the upstairs lounge—what some people might call a library—of St. Anne's, waiting for Eileen's wedding to get under way. We can hear the muffled organ playing “Greensleeves” in the nave below, as a December rain falls outside on a damp evening. I have chosen this moment amid oriental rugs, heavy maroon velvet curtains, and musty Bibles to confess to Deb and Nancy that I am, indeed, Belinda Apple.

In other words, to do it before Eileen and her big mouth blab it all over hell's half acre.

I don't know what I expected. Shock, I suppose. Or maybe, selfishly, admiration that I could pull off a scheme so well. At worst, anger that I hadn't told them sooner. Somewhere along the way I must have forgotten that these are two women who have known me since public school and that they probably know me better than I know myself.

“How could you think we wouldn't know?” Nancy asks. “When you said you were picking her up at the airport it was clear you were lying. It just confirmed our suspicions.”

I am completely befuddled by this. “So why didn't you say anything?”

“We figured it was your business,” Deb says. “If you wanted to keep it a secret we weren't going to pry.”

“Though I have to say,” Nancy adds, “that seeing you at Stanton's gala took my breath away. I mean, I've never seen you so stunning.”

“I wish I'd seen you,” Deb says. “I missed everything all because of stupid Paul.”

Nancy leans toward me. “They were having a fight. A fight to end all fights.”

“I hate to tell you this on your sister's wedding day, Nola, but Paul and I are through. He moved out yesterday, after Christmas.”

Even though I knew they were having problems, it's always a shock when couples who have been together as long as Deb and Paul finally break up. “I'm so sorry.” I reach out and give her a hug. “I guess Paul won't come around, after all.”

Deb heaves her shoulders. “Don't be sorry. It is what it is. Like I told you when you rescued me from the Tiger Tail—and thanks for that, by the way—I had to get down to a normal weight to realize I was no longer in love with Paul. I had settled for someone who would accept me instead of looking for someone I wanted to be with for the rest of my life. I had absolutely no faith that someone would find me loveable.”

She doesn't have to say another word. Silently we wrap her in a big hug. Deb cries and says she doesn't want to get makeup on my dress. Nancy tells her to put a cork in it and I am backing away because, hey, I really don't want to get makeup on my dress.

“So this probably is not the best timing, but it seems like I ought to come clean about Ron and me,” Nancy says. “You and your sister aren't the only ones hiding a secret. In fact, Eileen's kids could be playmates.”

I shoot a glance at her stomach, which is still relatively flat.

“What? I say I'm pregnant, and the first thing you do is eye my gut?”

Deb laughs so hard that tears come out her nose. “That's rich. You, the hard-as-nails lawyer, knocked up after hot sex. I knew you'd turn into the tramp you were born to be once you lost the weight.”

“Ain't that the truth,” Nancy says. “We've been insatiable. In the bathtub. On the kitchen counter. Think of it. Me. On the kitchen counter.”

“No, thanks,” Deb says.

“A once holy and sacred spot reserved only for the most holy sacrament of food. Who knew that it's the perfect height for eating—”

“Stop, Nancy,” I hush. “We're in a church, for God's sake. You're about to become a mother.”

“I hate to bring up a touchy subject, but what about Ron's girlfriend on the side?” Deb asks.

“Ancient history. I don't want to get psychoanalytical or anything, but if there was anyone holding on to the adultery, it was me. I was just so mad at Ron, but also so angry for letting myself get out of control.”

That's not much beyond college psych 101, but I let it slide.

There is a knock at the door. Nigel pops his head in. “I've been sent to find you. Your sister's in hysterics that you might have run away.”

“She's always in hysterics.” Deb insists on fixing my lipstick. We give each other one last hug before they run down the stairs and into the church.

“Ready?” Nigel holds out his hand.

“As I'll ever be.”

“You know, I take a dim view of marriage in general and weddings in particular, but I have to say you might be changing my mind, Nola Devlin,” he murmurs as he escorts me down the winding stone steps. “You're such a vision of beauty, I can barely take my eyes off you.”

“You'll never change, Nigel. You're not in love. You're just a sucker for redheads in black satin.”

“Don't I know it. I'm destined to be cursed with a broken heart.” He stops me in the foyer. Ahead of us Eileen is waiting in billowing white on the arm of my father while the bridesmaids ahead of her are tittering nervously. Eileen flashes a strange smile at Nigel.

“By the way, my darling, I am not the only one with a broken heart tonight,” he whispers.

I wish he would stop talking and let me get in line. Can't he see the whole wedding procession is waiting for me to snap into place?

I turn to tell him so and find that Nigel is gone and that in his place is David Stanton. My heart stops. What the heck is he doing here? Isn't he flying to England to search for Belinda? I don't know what to say. It's so unreal. “What . . . ?”

“You know what I love about weddings,” he says, completely unconcerned that the sexton is motioning us to the church. “Being with the one you love while two other souls profess their own love for each other until death do they part.”

There are the swelling strains of “Ave Maria.” People must be standing, because this is the first processional song. And here is Chip telling me about how much he likes weddings.

“Listen, Chip. We can talk after—”

“I love you,” he says.

I study his face, searching for truth.

“Holy Mary, Mother of God, Nola.” Dad is getting peeved. “What are we waiting for?”

“Shhh!” Eileen says, nudging him. “Give her a few minutes.”

“I'm sorry. I didn't quite catch that,” I say.

David takes a deep breath. “Nola, I love you. I came here to tell you that.”

“You're sure you mean me and not Belinda?”

“I mean you. Not Belinda.”

“And you're not too mad about Belinda?”

“Are you kidding? Not after your sister showed up at my doorstep this morning and told me how and why you came up with Belinda, about Lori not giving you the job until you pretended to be Belinda. I'm wondering if maybe Lori should be seriously demoted. Possibly sued. Anyway, Eileen said that if I loved you, I should come tonight because after this”—he pauses—“there was something crazy about you going into the nunnery, though I know that can't be true. I mean, who goes into a nunnery in the twenty-first century?”

I am speechless. Eileen did that for me? My selfish baby sister on the day of her wedding went to the man I love and pleaded my case? I think of Father Mike's mystical advice, that giving a gift from the heart with no expectations is the font of miracles.

“Nola,” Eileen says calmly, “it's time.”

Dad throws up his hands. “I'll say. Let's go and get this over with.”

“No,” says Eileen. “Not for me. For you. It's time for
your
fairy tale to come true. Remember when we were little girls?”

Then I see us with our dress-up box playing Cinderella. We have come full circle. She is right. “And you are the bride,” I say.

“And you are the princess.” Eileen smiles at Chip. “Who has finally, finally found her prince.”

“You OK with that?” I ask Chip.

“Your fantasy is my fantasy, Nola,” he says gently. “And you don't know how much I've wanted to make your fantasies come true. You might say it'll drive me mad until I do.”

And then he bends and kisses me in such a thoroughly IMAX sexy way that the bridesmaids break out in applause and my father lets out a groan loud enough to drown the church bells.

Acknowledgments

I have been overweight since adolescence, so I didn't think there was much anyone could teach me about dieting, losing, maintaining, and gaining it all back again. Boy was I wrong.

In the course of researching this book—and that is no joke—I heard many people willingly share their stories and their knowledge. They are Kim Calabrese, Toni McGee Causey, Stephanie Cotterman, Estelle Jowell, Bonny Kirby, Joni Langevoort, Lisa Sweterlitsch, and Alyson Widen, R.N. Thank you, thank you. I'm so sorry that I was not able to do justice to your very moving experiences.

In addition, I relied heavily on my stints as a past, present, and probably future follower of Weight Watchers. Unlike at Nola's weigh-in, I have never known a “weigher” to shout,
“Dropout!”
Weight Watcher leaders have always been courteous, understanding, and, best of all, discreet.

I must also thank those who have joined our online, weight-loss support group, The Cinderella Pact, a wonderful bunch of people from all over the world. Please stop by health.groups. yahoo.com/group/cinderellapact/ for a fun crowd of “losers.” Or you can find the link at my Web site:
www.sarahstrohmeyer. com.
Paula Farrell, thanks for the photo ideas.

Nor could this book have seen the light without the supreme help of my wonderful editor, Julie Doughty, at Dutton, who never flipped out as I slipped in revisions long past their due date. My agent, Heather Schroder, at ICM, also remained calm despite other much more pressing—and miraculous!—events in her life. Thank you, Margot, for filling in and providing lots of laughs during Heather's absence.

There are also three women, three fantastic writers, who hold a very special place in my heart. They are: Harley Jane Kozak, Nancy Martin, and Susan McBride. Together we make up the Lipstick Chronicles, a blog about writing, laundry, life, and all that women's stuff. They are my rock, my support and my buddies. I hope you'll stop by thelipstickchronicles.typepad. com/ and see what I mean. They are truly a
Cinderella Pact
.

Finally, thank
you
for reading this book. I'm always interested to hear from readers, so please write me at [email protected]. I look forward to hearing from you.

Now available from Dutton Books

If you ask me, the best part about the Sleeping Beauty fairy tale is that she didn't have to do anything to get a man. She just lay around for a hundred years. And one day a cute guy with lots of ambition and extra time on his hands rode up on an expensive horse, hacked through a bunch of brambles, ran upstairs, and kissed her.