I’m riding up the escalator to work as this idea comes to me — and I’m so gripped, I almost forget to step off. This is it. We hire look-alikes, and they stand in for us at the Plaza wedding, and no one ever realizes. I mean, all the guests there are going to be Elinor’s friends. People Luke and I barely know. We could get the bride look-alike to wear a really thick veil… and the Luke look-alike could say he’d cut his face shaving, and wear a huge bandage… and meanwhile we’d have flown back to England…
“Watch out, Becky!” says Christina with a smile, and I look up, startled. I was about to walk right into a mannequin.
“Busy thinking about the wedding?” she adds as I go into the personal shopping department.
“That’s right,” I say brightly.
“You know, you look so much more relaxed these days,” says Christina approvingly. “Your break obviously did you the world of good. Seeing your mom… catching up with home…”
“Yes, it was… great!”
“I think it’s admirable the way you’re so laid-back.” Christina takes a sip of coffee. “You’ve barely mentioned the wedding to any of us since you’ve been back! In fact, you’ve almost seemed to be avoiding the subject!”
“I’m not avoiding it!” I say, my smile fixed. “Why would I do that?”
“Some brides seem to make so much of a wedding. Almost let it take over their life. But you seem to have it all under control—”
“Absolutely!” I say, even more brightly. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll just get ready for my first client—”
“Oh, I had to switch your appointments around,” says Christina as I open the door of my room. “You have a first-timer at ten. Amy Forrester.”
“I don’t like yellow or orange.” Amy Forrester’s voice is still droning on. “And when I say dressy, I mean not too dressy. Just kind of formal… but sexy. You know what I mean?” She snaps her gum and looks at me expectantly.
“Er… yes!” I say, not having a clue what she’s talking about. I can’t even remember what she wants. Come on, Becky. Concentrate.
“So, just to recap, you’re after… an evening dress?” I risk, scribbling on my notebook.
“Or a pantsuit. Whatever. I can pretty much wear any shape.” Amy Forrester gazes complacently at herself in the mirror, and I give her a surreptitious Manhattan Onceover, taking in her tight lilac top and turquoise stirrup leggings. She looks like a model in an ad for some dodgy piece of home exercise equipment. Same tacky blond haircut and everything.
“You have a wonderful figure!” I say, realizing a bit late that she’s waiting for a compliment.
“Thank you! I do my best.”
With the help of Rollaflab! Just roll away that flab…
“I already bought my vacation wardrobe.” She snaps her gum again. “But then my boyfriend said, why not buy a few more little things? He loves to treat me. He’s a wonderful man. So — do you have any ideas?”
“Yes,” I say, finally forcing myself to concentrate. “Yes, I do. I’ll just go and fetch some pieces that I think might suit you.”
I go out onto the floor and start gathering up dresses. Gradually, as I wander from rail to rail, I begin to relax. It’s a relief to focus on something else; to think about something other than weddings…
“Hi, Becky!” says Erin, passing by with Mrs. Zaleskie, one of her regular clients. “Hey, I was just saying to Christina, we have to plan your shower!”
Oh God.
“You know, my daughter works at the Plaza,” puts in Mrs. Zaleskie. “She says everyone’s talking about your wedding.”
“Are they?” I say after a pause. “Well, it’s really no big deal—”
“No big deal? Are you kidding? The staff is fighting over who’s going to serve! They all want to see the enchanted woodland!” She peers at me through her spectacles. “Is it true you’re having a string orchestra, a DJ, and a ten-piece band?”
“Er… yes.”
“My friends are so jealous I’m going,” says Erin, her face all lit up. “They’re like, you have to show us the pictures afterward! We are allowed to take pictures, right?”
“I… don’t know. I guess so.”
“You must be excited,” says Mrs. Zaleskie. “You’re a lucky girl.”
“I… I know.”
I can’t bear this.
“I have to go,” I mutter, and hurry back to the personal shopping department.