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Planning a wedding can be murder. Planningweddings for a living is nothing short of suicide.
"Is there a patron saint for wedding consultants?Because I think after this wedding, I just mightmeet the requirements." I stood near the top of thewide marble staircase that swept down the middleof the Corcoran Gallery of Art's central foyer.Below me, dozens of tuxedo-clad waiters scurriedaround the enormous hall filled end to end with tablesand gold ladder-backed chairs. After havingdraped ivory chiffon into swags on all forty tables,I massaged the red indentations left on my fingersby the heavy pins.
"Annabelle, darling, I may be a lapsed Catholic, butI'm pretty sure you have to be dead to qualify forsainthood." Richard Gerard has been one of my closestfriends since I arrived in Washington, D.C. threeyears ago and started "Wedding Belles." At the time, he'd been the only top caterer who'd bother talking toa new wedding planner. Now I worked with him almostexclusively.
"The wedding isn't over yet."
"At least your suffering hasn't been in vain."Richard motioned at the room below us. "It's divine."
The museum's enormous hall did look magical. Theside railings of the staircase were draped with a floralgarland, leading to a pair of enormous white rose topiariesflanking the bottom of the stairs. Amber lightwashed each of the three-story limestone columns borderingthe room, and white organza hung from the ceiling,creating sheer curtains that were tied back at eachcolumn with clusters of ivory roses.
"I just hope the MOB is happy." My smile disappearedas I thought of the Mother of the Bride, Mrs.Clara Pierce. I started down the stairs to double-checkthe tables.
"I don't think she does ‘happy.' " Richard followed,his long legs catching up to me quickly.
"If I'd known she would make my life so miserable,I wouldn't have taken this wedding." I brushed a long,auburn strand of hair out of my face and tucked it backinto my tight bun. I wore my hair up to make me lookolder and more experienced, but it didn't make me feelany different. I still got butterflies in my stomach atevery wedding I planned.
"You must be kidding, darling." Richard lowered hisvoice as we reached the floor and a waiter walked pastus. "This event is your ticket to all the big, societyweddings."
"If society weddings mean more women like Mrs.Pierce, then I'm not interested." I leaned over the table closest to me and smoothed one of the organza bownapkin ties.
"Well, sure, she's been difficult ..." Richard camebehind me and fluffed the bow back up.
"Difficult?" I narrowed my eyes at Richard and pickedup another napkin. "I had to drive her fifteen-year-old,incontinent poodle to the church this afternoon."
"Her dog was a guest?"
"Not a guest. The ring bearer." I watched as Richardbegan to shake with laughter. "Turns out there wasn'tenough room in the limousine for the wedding partyand Muffles, so I got the honors."
"Look at the bright side." Richard ran a handthrough his dark, choppy hair. "You're barely thirty,and you beat out all those older consultants for thiswedding."
"Probably because I charge less than they do. Thefirst thing I'm doing on Monday is raising my rates." Ipicked up an unlit votive candle, and Richard produceda long, butane lighter from his suit pocket.
"Then we're going shopping." Richard gave me theonce-over and shook the flame of the lighter at me. "IfI see you in one more pantsuit, I'm going to cry."
"But they're so practical for working." I lookeddown at my "lucky" navy blue suit. "Lucky" becausethe long jacket covered up the fact that I'd been eatingway too much take-out. "And this one is silk."
"It's a blend." Richard shook his head as he rubbedthe fabric of my jacket lapel between his fingers. "Ifyou want to be an A-list wedding planner, then we'regoing to have to dress you like one."
"Fine. As long as you promise not to go overboard."
"When would I ever go overboard?" The spread col-lar of Richard's fuchsia and green Versace shirt peekedout from underneath his black four-button suit.
My eyes darted to his neck, and I cleared my throat.
"You don't like the shirt?" Richard extended his armso I could see the French cuffs. "It looks just darlingwith my white linen suit. I'd have worn that tonight butI never wear white before Memorial Day."
"Thank God for small favors."
"Speaking of doing favors, I'm also going to takeyou to the makeup counter. What's the use of havinggreat cheekbones if you don't accentuate them?"
"I appreciate the flattery, Richard, but I don't like towear lots of makeup."
"No kidding." Richard studied my face. "I'mamazed you look half decent with that drugstoregarbage. Imagine how great you'd look if you used adesigner line."
"I'll think about it."
"It would be cruel to tease me." Richard formed hislips into a pout.
"If there's any teasing to be done, I should be theone to do it." My assistant, Kate, came down the staircasebehind us, her high heels clicking on each step.Kate always wore heels to weddings to show off herlegs and make her look taller. She said you never knewwho you might see at a wedding, and I was pretty sureshe didn't mean old family friends.
"How's it going upstairs?" Richard asked. Thenearly four hundred guests were being served cocktailson the upper level of the museum, which overlookedthe foyer.
"Well, the sushi chefs almost quit because Mrs.Pierce timed them and took notes on their presentation."
"That damn notebook again." I rubbed my templeswith my index fingers ...
Excerpted from Better off Wed: An Annabelle Archer Mystery by Laura Durham All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
