Catharine Bramkamp - Real Estate Diva 04 - Trash Out (24 page)

It wasn’t difficult to get married. 
All we did was mention
our engagement
and the
juggernaut that was my mother, swept in.
My wedding had it all: the
country club, the
rose covered
arch
,
the
view of
well
-
irrigated
green hills.  We even found a
preacher who wasn’t too new age, but not too traditional. 
Mark let me have everything my own way, or rat
her, everything my mother’s way
. At the time
I thought he was courteous and understanding.

The
day of the wedding, I dressed up like a replica of the seven layer cake
already holding court in the
club
dining room; both of us smothered in roses and netting.  I trailed down the
aisle
behind five of my clos
est
sorority sisters.
And arrived at the end
of the aisle
to no one but a sympathetic preacher
and
sheepish best man who had
assured
everyone
minutes
before
my parade
that
Mark was on his way.

The debacle was witnessed by no less than two hundred and fifty of the most influential people in Marin County.
I would never be able to hold my head up in Marin again. Not
after
the smirks
and knowing looks. Not after watching
my mother alternating
between
crying and mouthing
:
I knew this would happen.

It was
none other than
Carrie
Eliot
who saved me.  She apparently had spoken at length with my grandmother Prue before
the
wedding, well, what
else could they do while waiting for the groom?
My sorority sisters
ended up being
worthless
in a real crisis that didn’t involve t
he wrong nail color.  They were
shocked
of course, but
just mean enough to be pleased it was
me
, not them.  I haven’t spoken to them since.

Carrie on the other hand, had nothing to lose. She was the girlfriend of a second cousin (mom searched high and low for guests
) and
said later
that as she watched me stand at the empty altar,
she could see the pain radiating from me like a furnace turned to high.  She stood, glanced at Prue who nodded, and marched up to the front of the room
.

“Come with me.”
Carrie
ignored the gaping crow
d
and
calmly took me by the arm and led me through one of the back doors to the golf course.

Once in the open air, she
grabbed my hand and dragged me around the side of the building to a tiny
disreputable
VW bug.
She ripped off the veil and
snatched the
flowers
out of my hand
.
She
unceremoniously stuffed me into the passenger seat bundling the dress and train on top of me.  It was so high, I
couldn’t see over the excess fabric. She slammed the door on
three quarters of the train and took off in a shriek of rubber.  We were clear of the parking lot before anyone thought to rush out and check on where I had
disappeared to
.

She drove straight to Claim Jump.

And what did we do in Claim Jump?  It was June (of course it was June, a June wedding, how
cliche
)
and
the Yuba was running high and cold.  Carrie and I hiked into the
quietest
spots
along the river
we could find and alternately soaked in the cold rushing water and baked in the new summer sun.  I
lay
naked on
the
heated rocks and let all the pain leach out of my pores
.
It was a poor woman’s spa program and
as effective
as anything at the Sonoma
Mission
I
nn.  But SMI is
easier
to get to. Carrie got poison oak rash and claimed she’d never forgive me.  We drank too much cheap wine. We
sampled
some of my grandmother’s best weed.  We slept in late.

I didn’t emerge for two weeks.  I never asked what or
whom
Carrie
was missing back home while she spent this time with me
and she
never
volunteered
.  When we finally
drove back to Sonoma County
, we were fast friends and I was
ready
to
conquer
a different part of California.

I vowed never to return to Marin, and I don’t, except for dinners with mom and
that one time I had
to sell a house
featuring
a
dead guy
in the kitchen
and bad art
in the guest bath
.  But
the house was an
exception
, I’m careful
. The
news
of my horrible degrading wedding
had not reached Sonoma County, frankly, no one up here cared.  I could reconstruct my life the way I wanted, with the branding I wanted.  And as a result
I spent many, many years free of any reminders of the
whole nasty episode.  The bonus is that mom was so completely
mortified;
she doesn’t bring it up either.   
 

And that is
the long story
explaining why
Allison is throwing a shower with the Furies. That is why Allison is voluntarily wearing a bright red satin dress during what is often the hottest
weather
of
the
year, in an outdoor wedding in front of 500 of Carrie and Patrick’s most intimate friends - well Patrick’s anyway. 

“Ben is different.” Carrie insisted, still holding my hands. “It will be all right.”

“You look like a fairy princess.” I said.

“Yes,
”
she brightened, “I do, don’t I?”

More like a fairy
godmother
in my world, but she knew that
too
.

“You may want to get in touch with
Mark
, just to bury the hatchet, so to speak.” She amended quickly. 

“Not bury it into his skull?”  I asked.

“Don’t talk that way
,
”
s
he snapped.  “I have enough trouble with that damn
boy
getting himself killed
.
”

She smoothed the skirt and the woman came with pins and scissors and made invisible adjustments
.

“It’s perfect, thank you.”

“Come back one more time.”  The woman shook her finger at Carrie as if Carrie were a kindergartner not to be trusted to bring home her parent permission slip.

Carrie tossed me a look, rolling her eyes.  “Sure.”

The
man
who was suppose
d
to take me away from all this, was preoccupied. 

“How was Claim Jump?”
  We had a few moments together
Friday
evening.  The patio was strewn with tables and piles of umbrellas.
We sat at one of the few cleared tables. 
In twenty hours

the
shower would, hopefully, be over.
 

“Debbie is
riling up the locals with lawsuits and class action threats
and has apparently disappeared.  A hospice nurse with an abusive husband is also missing. My grandmother still can’t cook chicken and the new floor in the hallway is practical but a different
color from the rest of the floor and I need two more bookcases.
You Can’t Take it With You
is playing at the theater
.  Grandma says hello and the bed is too big without you.”

He grinned, but his eyes looked tired and droopy.

“Have you been up late?”

“I can’t figure out why we are spending so much money on grapes, she should be finished with crush, but
she is insisting
on another round tomorrow.
  I contacted this Beth person, but she doesn’t want to talk with me, only O’Reilly.
”

“During the shower.”  I automatically said.  Sorry, every point of my life had fallen into the category Before the Shower and After the Shower.  I was looking forward to AFTER THE SHOWER phase of my life.

“Do you have an idea of why she needs more grapes?”

He shook his head.  “I have to go down to the City. Can you stop by tomorrow before the shower?”

“But Emily needs me here.”

“
J
ust first thing in the morning
,
”
h
e begged. “
Emily
won’t even notice you
’re missing
.”

“Oh
,
thanks.”

But he knew I’d do it. 

The early morning sun shadowed the valley and illuminated the tops of the surrounding hills.  The grape leaves had turned into fields of gold or red.
The drive down the road to the winery was lovely – but as soon as I pulled into the parking lot,
I was assaulted
by rattles, bangs and general commotion
all
from the rear of the winery
.

An
8 ½ by 11 piece of paper
tapped to the window of the tasting room
announced the winery was temporarily closed for crush.  I rattled the doors
anyway.  Locked.  I
quickly scooted around to the back.

I didn’t see Cassandra, but I did see Beth.  Dressed in jeans and bright white running shoes, Beth seemed more
interested in the working
s of a winery than
the papers strewn around the office desk.
I watched her from the shadows.  She
squinted at the three by five cards taped to the barrel ends.
She shook her head, made a note. 

One more big truck filled with grapes rumbled up to the crush pad.  The stemmer crusher ground to life.  There was a shout and I saw
a flash
of
Cassandra
’s
lithe figure
as she climbed up the catwalk.  Okay. Everything was fine.

Five motorcycles passed me as I headed back up the hill to Emily’s house.  Morning ride. Usually they waited for the wineries to be open
, but they could be driving up to the top of the valley, then drink their way down. I’ve done that myself. 

The set up for the shower of the century
was i
n full swing
by the time
I returned
from my jaunt
as a secret agent. 
I had read nothing in the paper about Trisha Gault, either her recovery or what really happened.  Patricia was no help, I thought she’d at least follow Fred’s story, but Patricia liked murder, not accidents.

Carrie was already
on site, floating from one table to the next but not really doing much.  The
Furies
had yet to arrive.
  One small tiny ray of sunshine in
what I knew would be a
difficult day.
  Seven hours to go, maybe eight.

I immediately applied myself to the work of appearing busy.  Carrie trailed behind me
as
I randomly adjusted a flower arrangement here, and aligned
a
silver
place setting
over there.
Carrie
was at loose ends herself but
we both knew
that hanging
around at Emily’s house
was better than sitting around
the grand living room of Patrick’s house
staring at her sister
s
-
in
-
law
to be.