THE JUNIOR BRIDESMAID (2 page)

Even I knew what
that meant.

The other which
didn’t take much longer to get around was that they were a bunch of bitches.

That I knew first
hand.

So being in her
bridal party was something I could definitely do without. But her mother and my
mother had been friends since they were kids. I even called her mother Aunt
Dody even though she was not related by blood. So when news came that Darcy was
getting married, my mother was Aunt Dody’s first phone call. I remember the
squeals like they were still ringing in my ears. Darcy’s would be the first
wedding between our families. It would probably be the only wedding for Aunt
Dody. Aunt Dody had one other child, a son named Derwood, but he moved out to
California as soon as he graduated high school and had officially declared that
he was asexual.

That one I had to
look up.

So Darcy’s wedding
was a big deal between the Strong and Welling households. If I never grew
breasts Darcy’s might be the last.

My mother had
picked me up straight from school and dropped me off at Angela’s Bridal
Emporium. That was over two very long hours ago. After taking a few moments
trying to figure out what made a little shop into an emporium, I was bored and
starving. The flower girl had been fitted. She went first because she was young
and impatient. I was young and impatient but since I didn’t start playing hide
and seek under all of the expensive wedding dresses upon entering the boutique,
they didn’t care. The bridesmaids went next. There were four of them. Only one
took up a lot of time. Apparently she had insisted on them ordering a size four
dress because that would give her incentive to lose the weight that she had put
on her first year at college. Something about a freshman fifteen. All I know is
that she didn’t look any thinner than the last time I saw her and the
seamstresses were in a full-blown sweat by the time they were done with her. I
heard the silver haired seamstress, who I was guessing was Angela’s sister, say
‘Madonna me’ about a thousand times. By the time they got to me they looked
downright haggard. At the sight of me they both threw their arms out to the
sides as if someone had delivered a fresh tuna to their door and they had the
impossible task of fitting it for a beauty pageant. The older one actually
rolled up her sleeves with agitated jerky movements. That was when my lip
retreated inside my mouth for the first time. It had made many trips since
then.

They had me try on
several dresses after the purple episode. Luckily Angela had come to her senses
soon after the ridiculous pill-cap was placed on my head. But it didn’t get
much better. Next came a larger version of the flower girl’s dress but
thankfully it was quickly dismissed. The older seamstress told me to take it
off that all I needed was the pinwheel lollipop, pigtails and white ruffled
socks. Then they brought out a dark blue gown with a bronze sequined bodice.
Those were the bridesmaids’ dresses. The older seamstress and Angela crossed
their arms simultaneously shaking their heads. A huge sigh escaped me as they
studied me trying to figure out what the heck to do with me.

“What if we just
shorten the bridesmaid’s dress? Really short,” the older of the two
seamstresses suggested.

“Nah,” Angela said
shaking her head. She was perfectly round and had a very thick Italian-American
accent. “She’s-a got those-a tooth-a picks for legs. She-a look-a like she try
to wear her mama’s clothes. No good.”

I looked into the
mirror and tried to mimic the scowl on Angela’s face not because I wanted to
make fun of her but because I wasn’t sure if the muscles in my face could
contort my mouth the way that her muscles were able to contort hers. No matter
how hard I tried I just couldn’t do it. Apparently she wasn’t just a talented
seamstress she was also a very good facial contortionist as well.

“Take it off-a,”
she bellowed. “We try anodda one.” She teetered around until she was facing the
other direction. She reminded me of one of the toys I used to play with as a
kid that refused to tip over no matter how many times you flicked it. She
swayed from side to side gaining an inch at a time with every quarter step she
took. She finally disappeared behind the green and white, checkered curtain
about fifteen minutes later.

Another huge sigh
expelled from my lungs and my shoulders got in on the action drooping so low I
was almost in the shape of a ‘c.’

“Maybe if she
stood up straight.” The older one didn’t even attempt to muffle her sarcastic
response to the dilemma.

Angela came back
with another dress. It was also dark blue with a cap sleeve and a square
neckline. It had pleats at the waist with an excessive amount of tulle under
the flared skirt. My face brightened because it had potential. It was the best
I had seen even though it had so much tulle I probably would look like
Thumbelina. I stepped into the dress and the older seamstress zipped me up. I
turned to look in the mirror with hope in my expression. I could see Angela’s
face reflected in the mirror. She was still wearing the scowl.

Then my body
jumped at her outburst, which, by the way, was said with perfect fluency.

“We need the lamb
chops!” she exclaimed throwing one pointed finger in the air.

“Lamb Chops?” I
couldn’t control the quiver that accompanied my words.

“Si,” she
answered. “We balance, we balance,” she tried to explain. Her hand went up to
my head and down to my toes.

Balance.

Needless to say, I
was a little nervous about wearing lamb chops. The only lamb chops I had ever
heard of, other than the delicacy my Aunt Isabeau tried to impress us with one
Christmas without success, were side burns. Grandma Bertha loved Elvis, the
King of Rock and Roll. She used to stare at the cover of his Greatest Hits
Album saying how she would have loved the opportunity to run her fingers up and
down his lamb chops. I wasn’t quite sure what the attraction was but to Grandma
they were something else. And I had to admit, those hairy suckers would
definitely distract from my Thumbelina dress but it wasn’t what I had in mind
when I visualized bridal accessories. Pearls maybe. Lamb chops no.

The older
seamstress continued to stare clearly unconvinced that even facial hair could
do the trick. She stuck her arm straight out in front of her as if she was
about to make another suggestion but then dropped her arm and her suggestion.
She shook her head again already concluding in her own mind that whatever she
was thinking wasn’t going to work.

Angela came back
into the room still gaining more ground from side to side than she did in
forward momentum.

“Eh! Here we go.”
Her fingers held a beige jelly form in each hand. They looked like chicken
cutlets that had been cooked in the microwave. “Lamb chops,” she reiterated.

Fearing the worst,
I verbalized the question that burned in my throat. “Oh Dear Lord, you don’t
expect me to wear those on my face, do you?” I asked faintly.

The silver haired
Angela shook her head. Then she manhandled her own well-endowed breasts lifting
them up and down to illustrate where she thought the rubber form replicas of
protein should go. Distracted by the size of her generous endowments, it
occurred to me that if Angela could only share an eighth from each of her
breasts I would be in good shape. That woman was well endowed.

I came back to the
moment as Angela snapped her fingers in my face. “Eh!” she scolded. “Ha
capito?”

My eyes focused
once again and went straight to the hands that she outstretched in front of me.
She cupped the lamb chops in her partially open palms gesturing for me to take
them. I took a moment to stare at them curiously. Amidst my daydream of breast
envy I had apparently missed her demonstration on the proper application of
lamb chops. Then the light bulb went on above my head and then it all became
crystal clear. The excitement that was erupting inside of me was formidable. I
don’t think I have ever been that enthusiastic about anything in my entire
life. I grabbed the two patties and shoved them down my dress. The only problem
was I wasn’t wearing a bra. I had on a cami with a built in elastic shelf but
it was basically just an extra piece of material. So the falsies were holding
true to their name. They looked false. Angela’s nose crinkled at the sight and
then she was on the move. She invaded my personal space sticking her fingers in
the top of my dress and jerking it away from my body.

“You-a no have a
bra in there?” she peered in on her tippy toes.

I looked down with
her as if one may have miraculously appeared at some juncture in the day when I
wasn’t looking. I confirmed what she and I both didn’t see by pressing my lips
into a straight line and shaking my head.

“No good,” she
mumbled another ‘Madonna me’ clearly unhappy with my choice of undergarments.
“I be back!” She waved her hand in the air as she teeter-tottered back and
forth once again disappearing behind the curtain.

Angela’s cohort
came closer to the pedestal where I was standing and maneuvered the three-way
mirror so she could go behind it. Apparently she had an idea. As the reflective
image of the mirror shifted I heard her saying something about getting me some
high heels. I guess she thought my already skinny ‘toothpick’ legs needed
lengthening.

Whatever.

I stopped
listening to her blabbering when my eyes focused on the image that the adjusted
mirror had settled on. It was Darcy across the street standing outside of the
Soup’s On Diner. She was squared off with a guy who looked really angry. She
didn’t look too happy either. Her arms were crossed over her chest and one of
her denim-clad hips was thrown to the side. I turned my head to look out the
window to get a better look but I couldn’t see her from that vantage point. The
only way I could see her was to look at the reflection in the mirror. I tipped
forward and squinted my eyes hoping to recognize the guy she was with but I
could only see his profile. He looked sort of familiar but I just wasn’t sure.
It definitely wasn’t the love of my life, Hugh Rowen. Just as I was about to
step off of the pedestal to walk to the window Angela came back. She was
carrying a little box.

“Eh, here we go,”
she licked her lips awkwardly as she opened the box and pulled out a bra.

“Um, Ms. Angela, I
doubt that would fit me,” I informed her. I had tried on many a bra in the past
year looking forward to the day that I was able to fill one out.

“No, no, no. You
try. It’s good.” She seemed confident. So I took it from her hand repeating the
word ‘pliable’ in my head and let out an enormous sigh.

“Okay,” I stepped
off the pedestal deliberately peeking out the window where Darcy had just been
standing but she was gone. I inhaled deeply and made my way to the dressing
room to put the bra under my dress. All the time I couldn’t get the image of
the guy that Darcy was with out of my mind. Why did I know him?

I slid the bra
straps up my arms hooking it in the back and pushed my arms back through the
sleeves of the dress. It wasn’t too loose so I figured it might all work out. I
made my way back to the pedestal just as Angela handed me the lamb chops.

She demonstrated
on herself how I should slide the chops into my bra. Fear gripped my chest that
she was going to start feeling me up if I placed them in wrong. My eyes studied
her hands as I mimicked her movements inserting the chops in the cups. Either I
was doing it right or Angela had boundaries.

“Meravigliosa!”
she exclaimed. I wasn’t sure what that word meant but I could tell by the
celebratory way she pumped her hands that she was happy. “Lovely,” she said
gripping me with both hands by the biceps and turning me toward the mirror.
“Balance,” she whispered as her eyes followed mine up and down my body.

The air left my
lungs in surprise. I had boobs. And the best part was they didn’t look like
lamb chops.

“Woohoo!” I
celebrated turning to throw my arms around a surprised Angela. “Thank you,”
I whispered in her ear.

“Prego,” Angela
answered. I was assuming that meant ‘
you’re
welcome
.’

I was in my
bedroom when I heard the phone ring. Our home wasn’t enormous so we could
pretty much hear everything that was going on from one room to the next. That
included my bedroom. I heard my mother answer the phone and quickly dive into a
desperate conversation. I heard her breathe a ‘what’ and a ‘how and an ‘oh my
Lordy be.’ Those words were never a good sign in the Welling household. So I
suddenly feigned thirst and made my way to the kitchen for a glass of water. As
I entered the room I saw my mother lean forward with deepened concern pressing
her elbows onto the kitchen table.

“What are you
going to do?” my mother asked with a hint of panic. Of course I couldn’t hear
the other side of the conversation but I was hoping I could Sherlock Holmes my
way through the jibber jabber to figure out what was going on.

“How far along?”
my mother inquired. “Oh,” she breathed with a hint of drama. I saw my mother
start to count on her fingers. “That’s cutting it close, Dody. Maybe you should
call the catering hall and move up the date.” Then I saw my mother reach for
her datebook which sat on the opposite counter and start paging ahead.

“Okay. Well let me
know. Poor thing. She must be so upset, bless her heart.”

I sucked in breath
at hearing those three words. ‘Bless her heart’ meant things were worse than I
even surmised. That meant a rumor was spreading and it was spreading faster
than wildfire. It also meant that the rumor was probably not a rumor at all. My
mother was so engrossed in her conversation that she didn’t hear me inhale all
of the available oxygen in the room.

Darcy was
pregnant.

Pregnant.