Smooth as Silk, page 10
“Yes. So this has been nothing short of the holiday from hell,” she said.
“I doubt if Jake and Evie would see it that way. Is that why you were asking me if I thought they would get married?”
“I hoped you might have some inside information. I believed it would happen, but I was trying to get some idea of when.” She let out a long breath. “I guess now I know.”
“I see.” Cold moved through his gut. Yes, she had layers. This was one that he didn’t like. “You aren’t even happy for Evie and Jake, are you?”
“Of course I am.” She sounded shocked, but it wasn’t enough. His gut remained frozen. “Especially Evans. She’s my best friend—she and Ava Grace.”
“But it would have been better if they had gotten engaged first and got you on All Dressed in White?”
“They would have still had each other. Anna-Blair, Layne, and Ellis would have had the wedding they wanted. And as for me—”
“Yes. As for you.” This was what sick disappointment felt like, just when he’d thought there might be a way to put behind them all the bad that had happened.
“It’s a moot point, but I don’t see what’s wrong with that,” she said defensively.
“If you don’t, I can’t explain it to you.” There were few things more important than loyalty. Hyacinth might even believe that. The trouble was, she was loyal to herself first, and that was no loyalty at all.
They didn’t say another word all the way home.
After a time, she really did go to sleep.
Chapter Eight
Hyacinth put the sign that said Select Bridesmaid Dresses $99 in the window.
Brad had urged her to do more for Black Friday—a free veil with the purchase of a bridal gown—but she’d resisted. As a rule, Black Friday wasn’t a huge day for bridal salons, and a giveaway was risky. Veils were high-dollar items.
She’d thought that such an offer wouldn’t bring in business so much as it would have caused brides who had bought recently to delay their purchases until today. But maybe Brad had been right and she’d been wrong. She hadn’t questioned her decision until now. Come to think of it, she hadn’t questioned many of her decisions until two days ago.
And she didn’t like feeling unsure worth a damn.
The truth was Robbie befuddled her at every turn. After their tug of war last night over who was going to drive, he had ended up putting her so at ease that she found herself telling him things she hadn’t talked about in years, and other things she’d never told anyone. Surprisingly, it had been very comforting—maybe because he was easy to talk to or maybe because it had been easy to talk in the dark while speeding down the highway. It didn’t matter. In the end, it had all crashed with no more talk between them aside from his curt goodnight after he’d carried her bags in.
That had left her feeling emptier than she would have expected.
She moved the rack with the sale bridesmaids dresses to a more prominent place. Brad might have been right. This sale wasn’t going to do anyone any good if there were multiple bridesmaids in the wedding. She added a few more dresses to the rack—not that it was likely to bring in more foot traffic. Maybe a few teens thinking ahead to the high school Valentine dance or prom. But that was fine. She’d have more time to concentrate on the appointment with Connie Millwood.
Brad had put an Odette Pascal that met Connie’s criteria on the mannequin, and Hyacinth was double-checking the other dresses she’d pulled as possibilities for Connie when she heard the back door open. It was still almost an hour before opening time, so that would be Brad. Patty would follow soon.
“There you are.” He entered the storeroom, carrying a cardboard tray of three coffees, like he always did.
“You say that like you were expecting to find me here this morning.”
“I was.” He set the tray on the counter. “Your car outside would have tipped me off, but I knew you’d be here this morning anyway, which is why I got you your usual.” He handed her a tall, insulated cup. It would take more than a nonfat mocha latte to prop her eyes open today, but it was a start. She’d hardly slept after getting home last night.
She took a sip of her coffee. “And you knew this how?”
“I saw the video.”
He’d pegged her reaction. No surprise. She groaned. “Do you think a lot of people saw it? I mean people we know?” she asked hopefully. She’d been so sure yesterday that the world had seen it, but maybe she was wrong.
“Hard to say. I did, but I’m a social media whore and I read The Face Off Grapevine every day. But so what if every person on the planet saw it?”
“Reputation, Brad. It’s important in our business. And that video didn’t exactly present Trousseau as an elegant dream dress sanctuary or me as an organized, dependable professional who can be trusted to guide a bride to that one enchanted, predestined dress.” She unlocked the register and began setting it up for the day.
“You don’t believe that. I’ve heard you say a thousand times there aren’t any magic dresses.” He removed some jeweled belts, tiaras, and earrings from the jewelry case and went to hang them on the silver Christmas tree Hyacinth had put up last week. “You didn’t put enough on. It looks skimpy.”
“Whatever. It doesn’t matter what I believe. It matters what they believe. You’ve heard them go on and on about that bridal moment, when they just know. Does it ever make you wonder if they put as much thought into the groom?” She slammed the register drawer shut.
“I’ve never heard you sound so cynical.”
“Yeah, well. I’m tired. And I’ve made a fool of myself.” She retrieved the Windex from under the counter and went to polish the jewelry case.
“You’re overreacting. Let’s say a few tight asses decide to take their business to Warehouse Dresses by the Pound. Good riddance. Most people who would shop here probably haven’t seen it, don’t care. It’ll blow over.” He removed the tiara she’d used as a tree topper and replaced it with a more ornate one.
“You sound like Robbie and Evans.” Brad knew she wanted to be on All Dressed in White. Everyone did, but unlike Robbie, Brad didn’t know she hoped to become a repeat venue for the show.
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Brad said. “Robbie’s a good guy.”
Yeah, I thought so for a while, too. “Not the best time to say that, Brad. Remember, if he hadn’t wandered in off the street that day...”
“He may not think before he acts all the time, but that doesn’t make him a bad guy. He’s just a free spirit.”
Free spirit. Like her parents. Her gut clenched.
“You, know,” Brad went on, “he and I hang out sometimes—play video games or go out for a burger and beer. There aren’t that many men like Robbie who are willing to pal around with an openly gay man.”
“What do you mean by men like Robbie?”
“Straight, good looking, rich. He’s not one bit concerned that people might think he’s gay.” He took the Windex and rag from her. “I’ll do the door.”
“Do y’all ever talk about me?” Why had she said that? She never spoke without thinking. Besides, she didn’t care. But did they? And if so, what had they said?
Brad laughed. “Not that I recall. We mostly talk about hockey, Scotland, and how a wedding can make normal people go absolutely bark-at-the-moon crazy.”
This was solving nothing. She took another drink of her coffee and went to store it under the front counter. “I’m going to brush my teeth and touch up my makeup. It’s almost time to unlock the door—not that I expect there to be much traffic today.”
“One question, Hyacinth?” Brad paused with his polishing.
“That is?”
“If you really don’t think anyone’s coming in today, why are you back so far ahead of schedule?”
Good question. “I thought you said you expected me.”
“I did. I usually know what you’re going to do, but I almost never know why.”
That made two of them, at least these days.
* * *
When Hyacinth unlocked the door at nine o’clock, she was fully prepared for no one to come through it. Under the best of circumstances, Trousseau wasn’t Walmart, offering three-hundred-inch TVs for fifteen cents.
However, she was not prepared for Claire.
She should have been.
Hyacinth had known Claire from the days when Memaw used to sew for her, long before their Trousseau partnership. Even back then, Claire had seemed to know things no one else did. There was no chance she had missed Hyacinth’s internet debut.
Hyacinth figured Claire to be somewhere between forty-five and fifty, but she looked younger. Statuesque, and pure class on a pair of high heels, she wore her blond hair in a messy low bun and her confidence like a crown. The emerald green silk wrap dress she wore today might be a vintage Diane von Furstenberg original or a thrift store find. It wouldn’t have mattered to Claire. She did what she wanted—like Robbie, though she was certainly more prudent. The dress was exactly the color of Robbie’s eyes.
“I brought y’all a little bite of breakfast for Black Friday.” Claire handed Hyacinth a basket covered with a black and white checked linen towel. “Just some sausage balls, a spinach and mushroom frittata, and some orange rolls.”
Just? Claire wouldn’t have made the food herself, but she would have had to collect it up and pack the baskets—plural—because Evans and Ava Grace and their staffs would be getting the same goodies.
“Thank you,” Hyacinth said. “I appreciate it, and Brad and Patty will, too.”
“I was surprised to see your car here. I thought you weren’t coming back until midday.”
Here it was. “That was the plan. But in view of what happened...”
Claire smiled. “That was quite the surprise, wasn’t it?”
She was smiling? “I’ll say.”
“We must do something for them. A party, don’t you think? Cocktails. You, Ava Grace, and me?”
Oh. She was talking about the elopement. Was it possible she didn’t know about the video? That was bad news because Hyacinth would have to tell her, describe every wretched detail—probably bring it up on her phone to share, when she’d sworn she’d never watch it again.
“Of course, we need to find out what their families have planned,” Claire went on.
Hyacinth willed herself to get with the present subject. She’d deal with the other later.
“Anna-Blair said something about a reception. Later on. Maybe when Jake has a break, or even after the season’s over.”
Claire nodded. “I’ll call her.”
They seemed to be finished with that, so time to face the music. “Did you see the video?”
Claire took a deep breath. “I read The Face Off Grapevine every morning.” As part owner of the Yellowhammers, she would.
“I’m sorry.”
“What are you apologizing for?” Claire truly looked puzzled. You didn’t often see that.
“My part in putting Trousseau in jeopardy.”
“Trousseau is not in jeopardy,” Claire said. “You could lose some sales, I admit, but we’re in good shape here. You are a far, far cry from losing this business.”
Claire was the first one to admit that the video could impact Trousseau, so her assurance was somewhat of a comfort—however, though Claire knew she’d wanted to be on All Dressed In White, she didn’t know how much it figured into Hyacinth’s goals or how close she’d thought she’d been.
“I just wish so much it hadn’t happened.”
“So do I,” Claire said sympathetically. “But I don’t know what you could have done.”
“I don’t either, but something—stopped the videoing, made Robbie leave.”
Claire shook her head, laughed. “That Robbie.” No. Surely to Lucifer and all his minions not. Was Claire—the one person who somewhat understood—really amused and letting a fond expression take over her face? “There’s no stopping him once he gets started. He’s like a high-speed train leaving the station. It works on the ice, though.” Another person under his spell.
Before Hyacinth could answer, Claire looked over Hyacinth’s shoulder toward the front of the shop. “For crying out loud. Here comes Marvell Crenshaw. Do you mind if I go out the back?”
“Of course not.” After all, you do own the back door, the front door and everything in between. Claire would never run away from a real conflict, but she would certainly move away from a mosquito she couldn’t swat. And who could blame her?
Claire reached for the breakfast basket. “I’m on my way to Heirloom and Crust. I’ll put this in your break room on my way out.” She turned to go. “But, Hyacinth? Don’t worry about the video. With those hockey players, it’s something every day.”
But she wasn’t a hockey player and she wasn’t used to something every day—or really hardly any days.
The bell above the door jingled. Because she couldn’t swat or run, Hyacinth prepared to face the mosquito full-on.
* * *
Marvell was known for showing up with a plate of pralines, with servings of bad news and strong opinions on the side. It was a popular notion around town that her pralines were so good that it was worth enduring her nosy mean-spiritedness to get them. Hyacinth did not agree. She didn’t like pralines that much.
“I saw you on the YouTube,” Marvell declared, shoving the plate she carried into Hyacinth’s hands. There were about two dozen candies—twice what she usually gave out. She must have plenty to say. “If your grandmother was still alive, I wouldn’t say this to you, but with her gone, I feel it’s my duty.”
If Memaw were still alive, you wouldn’t say whatever you plan to say to me because she would run you out of Mt. Zion Missionary Baptist Church. She hadn’t liked Marvell any better than anyone else did. She’d called her Marvell Hacksaw and said Marvell was so smug that, if she sewed, she’d refuse to own a seam ripper. But she’d always insisted Hyacinth be polite, and that was a hard habit to break.
“Yes, ma’am?”
“I didn’t like what I saw in that video.”
Hyacinth took a deep breath and recited the speech she’d typed up at two a.m. this morning. “I was as surprised as anyone to see that bridal appointment posted to social media. Neither I, nor my staff, would have compromised a client’s privacy. However, it was their right to do so if they wished.”
“I don’t care two hoots about what Daisy Dubois wears when she gets married—if she gets married, after Brenda Buckner sees her boy’s intended plastered all over kingdom come. It’s you I’m talking about, Hyacinth”—she stabbed the air with her index finger in Hyacinth’s direction—“and that hockey player you’re messing with. You’ve always been a sensible girl. Austell said so all the time. You were a blessing to her. You don’t need to be mixed up with some wild hockey player.”
What the hell?
“I assure you I am not messing with that hockey player, nor am I mixed up with him.” But she had come close, so close.
“I know what I saw, Hyacinth. I know fireworks when I see them.”
“You’re mistaken, Mrs. Crenshaw. Robbie and I are not one bit interested in each other.” She couldn’t bring herself to thank her for her concern as Ava Grace or Evans would have done.
“Robbie, is it? If he’s not sniffing around you, what was he doing in your store?”
“You’d have to ask him that.”
“And why didn’t you make him leave, if you didn’t want him here? And don’t bother telling me you tried. I’ve known you since you were twelve years old. When you set your mind to something, it happens.”
Was that true? Had she not tried? It had sure felt like it.
“And what was it with that skirt? What man goes around wearing a skirt?”
“It wasn’t a skirt.” Hyacinth was surprised at the vehemence in her voice and her inclination to defend Robbie on this point. “It was a kilt. Robbie’s a Scot.”
Marvell looked confused for second. “Like Jamie? On Outlander?”
“Exactly like that.”
“They still wear that? In Scotland?”
“Yes. That’s all they wear. The men don’t even own pants.” That was a lie, but she was counting on Marvell not knowing any better.
“Okay then. If that’s what he’s used to. But he’s here now and he ought to dress like an American, if you ask me.”
Robbie wasn’t likely to have anything dictated to him by anybody. She opened her mouth to say that, but closed it again, realizing it would have felt disloyal. Fat lot of sense that made. Unfortunately, the pause in the conversation allowed Marvell to sharpen her stinger.
“It’s time you had a beau, Hyacinth, but it needs to be a nice American boy. Now, we’ve got a new youth director down at the church. I want you to come Sunday morning and I’ll introduce you. He’s good looking. Just one more year of seminary left. I’ve always thought a youth director needs a wife to help him herd those kids on their mission trips, lock-ins, and such.”
Mother of pearl. Hyacinth hadn’t been to Mt. Zion since Memaw died. She sometimes went to St. Ann’s with Ava Grace, but she certainly wasn’t going to herd kids, be they Baptist or Episcopalian.
“I’m too busy to date right now, Mrs. Crenshaw,” she said firmly, “but I wish you luck in finding him a wife and herding partner. If you do, send her to me for a dress. I’ll treat her right. As for Robbie, forget it. There’s nothing there.”
Marvell looked somewhat appeased, but not happy. Winning the battle wasn’t good enough for her. She had to win the war and conquer the world, and she’d buzz around until she did it. But Hyacinth knew how to head her off.
