Jane took a deep breath and returned the smile. "Okay, we'll find somewhere to show this stuff off. I hope all the cards are with the proper gifts. I have to give Livvy the list so she can write the thank you notes.”
Jane stomped off, walking hard on her heels. Fortunately, the people who'd brought the folding chairs had an extra table along, which Jane asked them to put in the side room where the bride's shower was to be held shortly. They draped it with one of the linen sheets that had returned from the laundry the day before and Jane and Shelley hastily arranged the gifts so that the places that had been darned didn't show.
While they were setting out and drooling over the Steuben and Waterford items, Larkspur returned from the city. "What are you doing? What's this extra table? Am I supposed to floralize it? Is this that scene from High Society? Issomeone going to burst into 'True Love' with full orchestration?”
Jane only picked up on one word and it tickled her. "Floralize? Please tell me you didn't really say that!”
Larkspur blushed slightly. "A technical term," he said. "This is so tacky, Jane. Do all these things still have their price stickers on them?"
“It's not my fault," Jane said. "Livvy's dad's idea. And if you're smart, you'll stay as far from him as you can. He'd mop the floor with you. He's already scraped the windows with me."
“Daddy Dearest?" Larkspur asked. "I love strong-minded men."
“Well, you're not going to love this one," Jane said. "And if you do, I don't want to hear about it. Ever!"
“Have you met the groom's family yet?" Larkspur asked. "They were just coming in as I drove up. Not quite crème de la crème."
“I hope this meeting goes better than the last one," Jane said. She fluffed up her hair, took a deep breath, and forced a pleasant smile as she went back to the main room. The Thatchers and the Hesslings were chatting. Jane hung back, pretending to be studying one of her notebooks rather than interrupt.
Dwayne Hessling, the groom, was easy to spot. He was a stunning young man. Curly dark hair, blue eyes, a Cary Grant cleft in his chin. But as Eden had said, there was a touch of the cheap gigolo about him. His stance was cocky, his hair a bit too long and shiny, his trousers just a bit too tight. While the others spoke, his gaze was darting around the room in an acquisitive manner.
Dwayne's brother Errol was standing next to him. He was to be the best man. Superficially, they were alike in coloring and features, but Errol was burly, and he smiled a lot and when he did, his eyes crinkled. Jane thought that Livvy had picked the wrong brother. Errol looked a lot more open and friendly and was staring at Livvy with the unabashed admiration of a hunting enthusiast for a really good dog.
The third member of the family group was their mother, Irma, who was clearly out of her element. She was a short, dumpy woman who was wearing what was probably the best dress from a cheap store. Her ensemble was a shell blouse, a skirt, and lightweight coat that might have been fashionable ten years ago if it had been linen and an attractive color. But it shouted polyester in mustard tones. She kept oozing back away from the group, and Errol kept taking her arm and bringing her back. She answered the few remarks addressed to her with a nervous giggle.
Jane felt enormously sorry for her and now understood why Irma had insisted that she and Errol would stay in the nearby motel rather than at the lodge. She'd known, or feared, she'd be out of place with the Thatcher crowd. Dwayne was the one marrying into the Thatcher clan, not his mother.
Jack made a gesture that seemed to be an orderto take a tour of the house. Livvy and the Hessling brothers followed obediently. Irma slipped the noose and sat down in a high-backed chair, took her right shoe off, and started rubbing her foot. Jane approached her and Irma hastily shoved her shoe back on with a grimace.
“New shoes," she explained. "I should have known better."
“Mrs. Hessling, I'm Jane Jeffry. I'm the wedding planner. We've corresponded."
“Yes, yes. I've appreciated you keeping me up on the plans. I'm a waitress, you know," she added as if it were relevant.
“No, I didn't know," Jane said, confused. "Uh — you must meet a lot of interesting people."
“You do," Irma Hessling said, nodding sagely. "And you learn a lot about how they think and act. That Mr. Thatcher… he's the kind who'd send his hamburger back if it wasn't cooked just right and then refuse to pay because of the delay.”
Irma was sharper than she looked. Common sense in the place of fashion sense.
“I believe you're right," Jane said, thinking uneasily about the final payment that was due on her work at the completion. He'd probably dock her for Mrs. Crossthwait's death.
“And poor little Livvy would bury a burnt bit in her mashed potatoes before she'd complain.”
Jane thought for a moment and said, "You're not very pleased about this match, are you?”
Irma leaned forward and spoke in almost a whisper. "No, not really. It's not good for any‑ body. 'Course, the Thatchers are rich and Dwayne likes that, but it isn't the money that's wrong. Now, Errol, he could marry a rich girl and he'd stay the same person. And he could marry a shy little thing like Livvy and treat her real nice. But Dwayne's always been bossy unless I stood on him real hard." She'd taken her shoe back off and was massaging a bunion. "And Livvy, poor thing, is used to being bossed. It's going to bring out the worst in him.”
Jane took the woman's hand. "You may be right. But they're going to have to work it out themselves. Maybe when Livvy's married and has some children, she'll get a bit more backbone. Motherhood does that for a lot of women."
“I hope that's so. I really shouldn't have said anything."
“Let me know if there's anything you need or want," Jane said. The tour group was coming back and it wouldn't help either of them to be discovered in a secret little confab.
“Shelley," Jane said a little later, "I think this wedding is cursed.”
Shelley, who had been helping Larkspur arrange the flowers and enjoying his outrageous flattery, was cool. "You just have pseudo-motherof-the-bride jitters."
“I hope that's all they are," Jane said. "I need a nap and I don't see one anytime soon on my horizon.”
Nine
Aside from the aunts demanding better bath towels, one of the caterer's local helpers twisting her ankle, and Larkspur dropping and breaking his best flower vase, the rest of what remained of the morning went fairly well. Eden, Kitty, and Layla, under Aunt Iva's supervision, had almost finished their dresses. Probably not to Mrs. Crossthwait's exacting standards, but well enough to precede Livvy without looking bedraggled and half dressed. Mr. Willis set out a "do-it-yourself" luncheon of sandwich makings, green and pasta salads, chips, dips, and an assortment of drinks ranging from white wine to sodas to coffee. The growing crowd at the lodge helped themselves.
Jack Thatcher had assigned himself and his downtrodden assistant the job of hauling the nonresident guests back and forth from the hunting lodge to their motel. Jane tried at first to sort out who everyone was, having hand-addressed all the invitations, but soon gave up. They fell into identifiable categories though. Some of the older, better-dressed men appeared to be business associates of Jack's. A few younger women were either their middle-aged crisis replacement wives — or friends of Livvy's who were gathering for the bridal shower in the afternoon. Most of these stylish young women were probably serving in both roles, Jane thought, since Livvy seemed to be a bit short on close personal friends.
There was also a handful of young men who greeted Dwayne with slaps on the back and mildly raunchy jokes. They were friends of his who would be attending the bachelor party later in the evening.
Shelley and Jane stood by the door, introducing themselves to the newcomers as they arrived and helping them find their friends. During a lull, Shelley said, "Remember the high school rule? The prettiest girl surrounded herself by ugly friends so she could really shine in comparison."
“Hmmm. You mean that wasn't coincidence?" Jane asked with a grin.
“Seems that Dwayne has done the same," Shelley said.
Jane glanced at the small knot of young men surrounding Dwayne where he stood in a Lord of the Manor pose in front of one of the fireplaces. Jane had seen Jack Thatcher strike the same pose only hours earlier. Shelley was right: none of Dwayne Hessling's friends matched him for sheer good looks, although most of them were alittle too well-dressed. Trying, she guessed, to fit in among the upper crust to the best of their budgets. Dwayne's good luck in combining romance and finance might rub off on them, they might have thought.
Jane leaned against the doorjamb and said, "I wouldn't go back and be that young now for anything. All that struggle to get ahead in life, to figure out what and who you want to be."
“And it's harder now," Shelley agreed. "Even a college degree is a requirement instead of an extra leg up in the business world. I'll bet half those boys are spending their evenings slaving away at night classes in business management or computer technology at the junior college."
“Except for Dwayne," Jane said. "Dwayne is marrying into management." She glanced around to make sure they couldn't be overheard. "And his mother isn't very happy about it."
“I'd think she'd be thrilled," Shelley said. "I sure wouldn't mind if my kids married well."
“She's too sensible to be blind to his faults, it seems." Jane repeated what she could remember of her conversation with Mrs. Hessling. "I really think she likes Livvy better than her son. No, not 'likes' exactly. But feels more protective. Even she seems to have caught on that Livvy's marrying to please her father, not herself. And that Dwayne is going to be every bit as domineering as her father.”
Shelley frowned. "It's hard for us to grasp, being of somewhat pit bull mentality ourselves, but maybe that's exactly what will make Livvy happy, Jane. There are people, men and women both, who are perfectly content to abdicate responsibility. There have to be followers or nobody can be a leader."
“Waxing a tad philosophic, are we?" Jane said. "Are you suggesting Livvy's really madly in love with Dwayne?”
Shelley shrugged. "Maybe as madly as it's possible for her to be."
“Why is it I can hardly say her name without putting the word 'poor' in front of it?" Jane mused.
“Because you're a tough old broad?" Shelley suggested.