Bridesmaid for Hire Read online

  He blew out a breath. “They weren’t there. One thing led to another and we accidentally broke into their house."

  Her eyes opened so wide she felt her hairspray cracking. "You broke into someone's house? Are you out of your mind?"

  "Yes. That’s what I’m telling you. We were completely out of our minds. We were looking for more booze. Swear to God, that's all we wanted. Well, we got inside, and my buddy started looking for their booze cabinet. We figured it would be in the living room where they do all their entertaining. So they have these pictures on the walls. You know, Picasso type stuff.”

  She was getting a sick feeling. "You mean priceless works of art?"

  His gaze was bleak when he glanced up at her. "We never should have been there."

  She felt as though she were with them in that room; Eric, off-his-face drunk, a couple of other entitled rich boys, equally pissed. "So, you found the booze?"

  He stared at his shoes as though admiring the shine. "No. I found a Sharpie."

  She was getting a really bad feeling about a story that included Picasso type art, drunkenness and an indelible marker. She didn't want to hear what happened next, but she had to know. "Go on."

  "I grabbed the pen. I was doing an impression, like I was an art instructor. The guys were doubled over laughing. I was waving the pen around and then I added a pair of boobs to one of the paintings."

  She had a wild impulse to laugh. But that's what had got Eric into all this trouble. People laughed at his pranks too easily. "Tell me it wasn't a real Picasso."

  He shook his head. "But it was someone famous, and even worse, Judge Bailey’s wife knew the artist or something and she brought the painting over all the way from Paris. I think, if we’d only helped ourselves to the booze and peed in the pool, the judge would have let us go."

  She let her disgust show in her tone when she said, "You peed in their pool?"

  He didn’t raise his eyes from contemplation of his shoes. Merely nodded.

  She was still confused about the Ashley part. "So, was Ashley there?" Ashley might be a little unconventional herself, but Tasmine couldn't imagine her condoning this behavior.

  He shook his head impatiently. "No. The Baileys have a security company. I barely got the second nipple on the painting when the rent-a-cops showed up. There wasn't much we could say. They had security cameras everywhere. Next thing, my parents are there. It’s all kind of fuzzy, but the next day, I got to watch a video of me acting like a jackass on the footage from the security cameras. I had to watch it in front of my parents, the Baileys, the cops, and with a hangover you wouldn't believe."

  Now that he’d started, he seemed to want to finish his confession. "The judge was yelling, and Mrs. Bailey just cried, quietly, you know? Like when someone dies? My dad, of course, said they’d pay for everything. Get the pool drained, send the painting to the greatest art restorers in the world. But it wasn't enough. Judge Bailey said he was pressing charges. Breaking and entering, vandalism, he listed off a bunch of charges. And him being, you know, a judge, would not go well for me."

  She could picture the scene so clearly. Even though she didn't know the victims, she couldn't help but say, "Poor Mrs. Bailey."

  "Yeah. I think that's what made the judge so rabid. It was his wife's crying. But not even mad crying, more like her heart was broken."

  “I bet she has no kids. I bet those pictures are like her family.”

  He didn’t seem to hear her. “So, we went home, and my dad talked to our lawyers, and, I don't even know who came up with the idea. My mom, I think. But I’ve been hanging out with Ashley for, like, ten years. It was never super serious, but my dad and mom thought that since the judge and the Carnarvons are so tight and, you know,” he made air quotes here, "she's a good girl from a good family, that if I was getting married to Ashley Carnarvon, there was no way Judge Bailey would send me to jail.”

  He scuffed the floor of Ashley's bedroom like a little kid. "Well, it worked. I asked Ash to marry me, she said yes, and then my dad talked to the judge. He said that so long as I married Ash, got a real job, and the pool and the painting were restored, he’d drop the charges."

  "Did Ashley know about this?"

  "No. We didn’t want anyone to know."

  Were the Van Hoffendams for real? Were they seriously so entitled that they thought they could play with people like pawns? "I cannot tell you how much of a horrible idea this was on every level. How could you begin marriage with a woman based on self-preservation? A woman you don’t even love."

  "I do love Ashley. Kind of. She’s a good friend, she’s been around forever."

  "No. That’s not love. Love is for grown-ups who know how to give without always taking." She was so mad she got up and started to pace. She didn't even understand the source of her anger. It wasn’t like this was even her business, except that somehow it was. The minute Ashley had passed her that wedding dress, she’d somehow taken responsibility for the runaway bride. And the fallout. An overdeveloped sense of responsibility, that was her problem.

  “Yeah, well, anyway, that’s the story. Without this marriage, I’m screwed.”

  There wasn’t much she could say, because it looked as though he was right.

  She stayed with Eric for the next hour. She went to the kitchen and brewed a pot of coffee for something to do. She had promised Grace Van Hoffendam that she would stay with her son until further notice, and that's what she did. She'd intended to earn her money by being part of a great wedding, now she seemed to be earning it by babysitting the jilted groom. A man she didn’t have a lot of respect for at the moment.

  There wasn't much food in the fridge but she made them sandwiches out of cheese, a loaf of organic bread she found in the freezer, and a slightly wrinkled tomato. Eric barely noticed; he ate the sandwich she put in front of him, he drank his coffee, and she did the same. They waited. On their second cup of coffee, the three bridal parents showed up. Ashley's mom had tear streaks down her pretty face. Grace had the blank look of a woman who’s just downed half a dozen tranquilizers, and Charles Van Hoffendam’s face could have been carved of granite. Gray, hard, implacable. He glared at Tasmine. "The wedding’s canceled and the other bridesmaids have gone home. I think you'd better leave, too."

  Eric stood up when his father came in the room. "Doesn't matter, Dad. I told her everything.”

  "Then you’d better tell her to keep her mouth shut. We're getting in the car and we’re driving straight to Judge Bailey's home. We have to get there before he hears the gossip. Half the people at this ceremony are friends of his. He'll know you've been jilted within the hour.” He banged one fist into his open palm. "How could she do this to us?”

  Ashley's mom wiped her wet cheeks. "I’m so sorry. It’s not like Ashley. I don't understand it.” Then she lifted her head. “Judge Bailey?" She sniffed. "He didn't even come to the wedding."

  Grace sent her cool look. "I'll explain everything later. For now, my husband is right, we have to go and see the judge."

  "Come along, son."

  She counted the seconds until they were all out of there so she could get back into her street clothes, head home, and wash this makeup off her face and the hairspray out of her hair. And seriously rethink her future as a bridesmaid for hire.

  "Wait," Eric said. "Tasmine has to come with us."

  "A bridesmaid who couldn’t manage the simple task of getting the bride to the wedding?” Charles snapped.

  “We need her,” Eric insisted.

  Oh, she did not want to go to Judge Bailey's house. No, no, no.

  His father looked at Eric as though he could not believe he’d sired such a cretin. “This is not the time to be dragging another girl to the judge. Do you think he’s going to let you switch brides?”

  “Oh, like that’s an option,” she snapped, seriously riled that this man thought she’d be available. Or interested.

  Eric said, "She's our witness. She's the only person who actually saw Ashley run away.
She can prove it wasn't my fault we didn’t get married."

  Charles stared through narrowed lids at his son, then slowly nodded. “I see what you’re getting at. You stuck to your end of the bargain. When the judge hears that you got ditched at the altar, he might go easier on you.” With a jerk of his chin to her, Charles said, "All right. You’d better come."

  She’d had about enough of these people and their high-handed ways. “No, really, I don't think that would be a good idea."

  Grace sent her a chilly look. "You were hired to be a bridesmaid and assist us in getting Ashley Carnarvon and my son married. You were the only one who could have stopped Ashley and you didn’t. Frankly, I think the least you can do is help salvage this disaster. As far as I'm concerned, you are still on the clock."

  Tasmine had put up with a lot. She’d hung around with Eric while he'd come to terms with the fact that he'd been ditched, she’d listened to a confession that made her furious that anyone with so many natural talents as Eric Van Hoffendam would waste his time on booze and pranks. It was time for him to grow up. And it was time for his parents to stop treating him like a baby. She was about to tell Grace and Charles exactly what she thought, when Eric touched her shoulder. "Of course you don't have to come. You've done a lot for us today and I really appreciate it. But if you could come with us and explain to the judge and his wife what you saw, it might help me stay out of jail."

  His eyes were so sad, so sincere, so damn blue, like the Delft pottery from Holland where his ancestors had left to make their fortune in America. She did not want to be pulled into spending one more second with the Van Hoffendams, but she couldn't resist the naked appeal in his eyes. She nodded briskly. "I’ll go change into my own clothes."

  "But—"

  Whatever Grace wanted to say, she wasn't listening. She said, "Give me ten minutes." And if they chose not to wait, that was absolutely fine with her.

  For some reason, everyone was still in Ashley's bedroom. She said, "Why don’t you wait for me out in the main room?"

  It was Ashley’s mom who shooed everybody out front. As she closed the bedroom door, Tasmine heard Melody Carnarvon ask once more, "I don't understand what Judge Bailey has to do with this. What is going on?"

  As she swiftly changed from her bridesmaid dress back into her street clothes, Tasmine wondered whether Ashley had really been as clueless as Eric believed. Ashley might pretend to be a careless wild child, but she had discovered, from working with her as a bridesmaid, that there was a lot more to Ashley then she advertised.

  She hoped the runaway bride would be happy. When she pulled up the last memory she had of her, throwing herself into Ben Saegar's arms and then laughing as she drove away, Tasmine had a pretty good feeling that Ashley was going to be just fine.

  Eric, on the other hand, she wasn't so sure about.

  Chapter 3

  She took the full ten minutes to get herself changed and to check messages on her phone. There was a one-word text message from Ashley that simply said, Sorry!!! Shaking her head, she dropped her phone back into her bag.

  She glanced at that gorgeous dress all ready for a wedding that wouldn’t happen.

  Then, with about as much enthusiasm as she'd have if she was about to face final exams she hadn't studied for, she walked out into the other room.

  The Van Hoffendams hadn’t left. They were waiting in the main room of the cottage, all of them stiff in their formal wear. The four of them piled into Charles Van Hoffendam’s Lincoln. Eric's father said, "Let me do the talking." Other than that, they listened to some god-awful classical music and were mostly quiet on the way to the judge's house. The air-conditioning was too chilly and Tasmine felt goosebumps rise on her arms, but she didn't feel like asking them to turn it down. They drove to Manhattan Beach and pulled into an absolutely stunning Spanish-style estate with a red tile roof.

  She wondered if the Baileys would even be home. It was a beautiful, sunny Saturday afternoon; they could be out golfing, visiting friends, maybe they'd taken a picnic to the beach, were at a concert, a wedding, a funeral. Some servant would answer the door and send them away, and she could go home and forget all about the Van Hoffendams. But, after Eric's father rang the bell, a young woman in a navy skirt and white blouse answered the door. It was a kind of maid’s uniform without the frilly apron. "Yes, sir?" she asked as she glanced at the four of them.

  "We're here to see Judge Bailey. I phoned ahead. It's Charles Van Hoffendam and his family."

  "Yes, sir, you’re expected."

  Tasmine couldn't identify the young woman's accent, but she thought it was Eastern European. Polish maybe.

  The interior of the house was cool and hushed as though not a lot of action went on inside. The maid said, "Please come this way." She then led them forward down the quiet corridor and towards the back of the house. Eric grew increasingly uncomfortable as they went deeper inside, and she really couldn't blame him. He’d broken into this couple's home and vandalized their property. She was glad he at least had this much conscience.

  When they entered the big room where the judge and his wife waited for them, she understood exactly why he was so flustered. This was clearly the main living room. It was a lovely room, formal yet comfortable, with the kind of chairs that a person could actually relax in. But the most amazing thing about the room was the art on the walls. Tasmine was no art expert, but she felt as though she were walking into a private art gallery. On the main wall were two Cubist paintings. It was obvious that a third painting that should sit between them was missing. The blank space in this wall of art looked like a beautiful smile missing a front tooth.

  "Come in and sit down," commanded an older man, sitting in a high backed chair. He did not rise to greet them. Beside him, sat an elegant woman with a soft face. Even with her wrinkles and white hair, it was obvious that she had once been a very beautiful woman. There was a moment of uncertainty, and then Charles Van Hoffendam chose a seat near the judge. His wife sat beside him. She and Eric ended up sharing a loveseat across from his parents. She wondered if the judge had chosen the seating arrangement deliberately, and suspected he had. They looked up towards the top of the room where he and his wife sat side-by-side, very much where a judge would sit in a courtroom.

  Judge Bailey did not have the softness of his wife. His face was calm but implacable, his jaw set. When she looked into his cool gray eyes, she imagined that he had seen and heard more of the ugly side of human nature than she could ever imagine. He did not look as though he would be easily moved to sympathy.

  "We've got some bad news," Eric's father began.

  The judge nodded. "Does this news have anything to do with the fact that your son, who is supposed to be getting married today, is sitting in our house instead of dancing with his new bride?"

  Oh boy, he was not going to make this easy. Even though Charles Van Hoffendam must be used to dealing with tough customers all day long in his business, she could see him fidget. "The wedding did not go forward. We wanted to tell you in person, you and your wife, that my son stood up to his promises. He waited at the altar with every intention of marrying Ashley Carnarvon. But, she abandoned him there."

  A clock ticked somewhere. It was a big tick. She imagined a grandfather clock, but she didn't turn her head to look. Her stomach was churning with anxiety. She couldn't even imagine what Eric was going through.

  "Smart girl," the judge said.

  There was utter silence in the room for a moment. She could see that Eric’s father had no idea what to say. He couldn't agree with the judge without admitting that his son was a terrible bet for bridegroom, and he couldn't argue with the judge given the reason they were here.

  Judge Bailey spoke again. "It went against my better judgment to allow your son to get off scot-free in the first place." His voice toughened. "He and his hooligan friends fouled our pool, they broke into our home, and then your son vandalized an irreplaceable painting." He turned his fierce and terrifying gaze on Eric. "Worse, t
he worst crime of all, you made my wife unhappy."

  She waited for Eric to say something, but he sat there mute. It was his father who spoke once again. "And we are very, very sorry." He opened his mouth to go on but the judge spoke again.

  "You told me that your son was preparing to marry a nice young woman from a good family. Only under those circumstances did I agree not to press charges."

  She jabbed Eric sharply with her elbow. "Say something," she whispered urgently.

  She saw him nod and then swallow. "Judge, Mrs. Bailey, I am so sorry for what I did. I know I can't fix the painting, but I wish I could go back and act differently."

  The judge leaned forward, his penetrating gaze fixed once more on Eric. "No. You can't fix the painting. In fact, you can't fix any of this. You left it all to your father and mother and to me and I think it's time you were taught a lesson young man. I will be calling the police, and I will be pressing charges." He gave each of them in turn a piercing look, pausing on her for a moment as though puzzled as to why she was there. "Good day to you, the maid will see you out."

  All three of the Van Hoffendams rose stiffly.

  She couldn’t believe this was it. Eric was spoiled, entitled and rich, but he wasn’t a criminal. Before she was aware she was going to speak, her mouth opened and words came out. "Wait," she said.

  She could not believe she was interfering. But how could they not see, all of these intelligent people, what was so obvious to her. Eric acted like an overgrown kid because that's how everyone treated him. Maybe she didn't know him all that well, but she thought that he was capable of a lot more than what he was offering the world. And she did not think that spending time behind bars was going to help him grow up.

  Besides, Judge Bailey might be a judge but Charles Van Hoffendam wasn't a nobody. She imagined there would be lawyers and court dates and extensions and whatever legal maneuvers very rich, connected people could pull. None of which was going to help Eric. Now that she’d burst into speech, everyone turned to look at her.