Bridesmaid for Hire Page 3

  She addressed the judge. She knew she couldn't make matters any worse, and she thought maybe there was a chance she could help a man who, even though she wanted to smack him upside the head, she was fond of.

  She said, "I'm not rich like all of you people, I grew up in a family where if you wanted something, you worked for it. And if you screwed up, you worked hard to fix it. My mom and dad always said that the punishment should fit the crime. What will Eric learn from prison? How will it make him grow up and be a better man? When we broke something or messed up, we always had to fix it."

  The judge stared at her for a moment. "Are you suggesting Eric take up art restoration?" He asked dryly. Okay, he was being sarcastic, but he was listening.

  She shook her head. "Of course not. But that's not all Eric did. I bet there's pool maintenance and garden chores you need doing."

  "My dear young lady, we have staff for that."

  She felt a little desperate, but she’d opened her mouth, she felt like she needed to finish. "Okay, but there must be other jobs, maybe something really gross and dirty, that even your hired help doesn't want to do. I mean, if this was a farm, you could make him shovel out the pigpen."

  She saw the gleam of something that might have been amusement cross the judge's face. They all waited for many seconds until he spoke again. "Well, now that the pool has been drained, it does need every inch of it scrubbed and repainted." He turned to his wife. "But, I'm not sure Martha would even allow him on the property."

  Tasmine began to feel hopeful. The judge was an old tyrant, but his wife had a gentle, soft look. If there was ever a woman who was given to second chances, she suspected it was Mrs. Bailey.

  After a moment, Mrs. Bailey said, "I'm never in favor of prison, if it can be avoided. I've always felt that many a criminal could be redeemed. I think this young lady has proposed a very sensible solution. We could look on this as community service hours in lieu of jail time. What do you think, Ernest?"

  "There'd be no slacking," the judge warned. "If I were presiding over this case, I would sentence a hooligan like this to six months behind bars. If I commute the sentence, it will be to six months of hard physical labor.” He held up a bony finger and pointed to Eric. “You will arrive at seven every morning, you will do every job you're given, and the gardeners, the cleaners, anyone on my staff has the right to give you work, the dirtier the better." He nodded. "It's not a bad idea." He glared at Eric, "Have you ever done any kind of physical labor?"

  Eric looked as though he thought prison might be a better option. He shook his head, "No, sir."

  "I think this young lady has a workable option. What do you think, Charles?"

  She could tell that Charles was torn between hope that his son wouldn't have to go to jail and horror that anyone would make a Van Hoffendam scrub out their pool. But he didn't have a lot of options. "It's very good of you to keep my son out of the penal system."

  The judge now shook his bony finger at Eric. "You will work long days, and they will be difficult. If I see any slacking, any tardiness, any sign whatsoever of alcohol, I will have my very good colleague the chief of police over here within minutes to put you in cuffs. Have I made myself clear?"

  Eric nodded again. "Yes, sir."

  The judge turned once more to his wife. "Martha? Are you sure about this?" She knew he was tough as an old boot, but it was sweet how much he cared for his wife. That had to count for something, had to mean there was softness somewhere in the old tyrant.

  "I agree."

  Eric’s father cleared his throat. "Well. I'm glad that’s settled."

  As they were walking out of that art gallery of a room, the judge suddenly said, "Young lady?"

  Tasmine was fairly certain he was referring to her. She turned. "Yes, Judge?"

  "Who are you?"

  "I'm Tasmine Ford, a distant cousin of the Van Hoffendams. And Eric's friend."

  The old man nodded. "He needs more friends like you." He looked at her for a moment and said, “And you’d vouch for him, would you? You believe he is capable of hard work and responsibility?”

  Did she? He’d shown no sign of responsibility and she’d never see him do a lick of work. But, some instinct within her believed there was more to Eric than he’d so far demonstrated. “Yes. I do.”

  “Good. Then, since this was your idea, I’m going to suggest you take the role of, let’s say, parole officer.”

  She glanced at the old man with horror. “Parole officer?”

  “I need someone I can call if he doesn’t show up on time, or does shoddy work.”

  Grace spoke for the first time. “Surely, Judge, his parents are the people you should call.”

  “No. I like this young lady.” He glanced shrewdly at Eric. “And I suspect your son will take her more seriously than he does you.” Then, as though they were all in agreement, he said, “Leave your contact details with the maid.”

  If Tasmine had for one moment imagined she'd be receiving any thanks for saving Eric from jail, she was soon set right. No sooner were the four of them back in the car than Grace broke out into speech as though she could not contain her indignation one more second. "How could they do that to us?" she exclaimed. "That is such a humiliation. Making our son clean out their damn pool? Telling him he has to take orders from their hired help? Why, most of them probably don't even speak English!"

  "He's power-hungry," Eric's father continued the tirade. "That's the problem. He’s old and he’ll soon be off the bench. He had the chance to lord it over us and there was nothing we could do about it. Well, he may be a powerful man in his world, but I am a powerful man in mine. I'm going to have a word with my lawyers. We'll see what we can do to scotch this nonsense."

  They continued on in that vein for most of the drive home. Tasmine kept her mouth shut, and so did Eric. Charles Van Hoffendam was so busy thinking up all the ways he was going to humiliate Judge Bailey when he got the chance that they were nearly back at their mansion before she realized he had forgotten to drop her off at the Carnarvon estate where she’d left her car. She turned to Eric, sitting beside her in the backseat, "I need to get my car, it's at the Carnarvons."

  He glanced at his father and shook his head. "Sorry about that, I'll drive you."

  She imagined it would be kind of painful for him, driving back to the place where he was supposed to have married today, but on the other hand, she didn't have money for a cab and even if no one acknowledged the fact, she had saved him from prison. So she nodded. "Thanks."

  When they reached their home, and everyone piled out of the car, Charles looked surprised to see her emerge from his backseat. He peered at her for a moment. "You'll be wanting a cab. I’ll get the housekeeper to call one for you."

  Eric came around the car and stood beside her. "Don't worry about it, Dad. I can drive her home."

  And so, she soon found herself sitting beside Eric in his car, on his wedding day. He’d taken the time to run into the house and throw on some jeans and a sweatshirt, but he still had that just-barbered look.

  They drove in silence for a few minutes. He had music on, Ed Sheeran she thought, but the sound was too low to be certain.

  She was fantasizing about getting home, having a long, hot shower to wash away all the memories of this day.

  After a while, he said, "There's something I want to say to you."

  She rolled her eyes. "Don't tell me, you are so humiliated that you are actually going to have to do some hard, physical work for a change." She turned to him, suddenly furious about the way she’d been dragged into a mess not of her making, and the way she’d put yourself out for him and his family, and all they’d done was complain all the way home. She was angry that someone with so much potential, and so many advantages, was throwing them all away. She jabbed his arm with her fingernail, manicured just yesterday to match the color of her dress. "Well, let me tell you, I am sick of this whining. I am sick of you and your parents and your entitled attitudes about life. Who do you thin
k you are? You strut around, and everything is so easy for you. You’re gorgeous, entitled, rich and this is the best you can do with your life? I for one don't think you have been humiliated nearly enough. And I also think Judge Bailey did you a huge favor."

  She crossed her arms over her chest and turned to stare out the window. The motion of the car changed and before she realized what was happening he’d pulled over onto one of the many viewpoints along the highway. She had an Alfred Hitchcock moment where she wondered if he was going to yank her out of the car and toss her over the cliff. But, to her surprise, he said, "What I wanted to say, is thank you. You were a good friend to Ashley. And you’ve been a good friend to me. I don't know where you got that idea, but if it wasn't for you, I would be going to jail."

  She felt a little foolish now about her outburst. She said, "Okay. I'm glad somebody noticed that I saved your ass back there."

  "Oh, I noticed. And my parents know it too. They're just used to getting everything they want," he said with a trace of bitterness, and she wondered if he felt that he was disappointing them.

  He didn't pull the car back onto the highway right away. Instead, he said, "Was it the screenwriter?"

  She was so surprised that he'd actually said thank you, that for a second she wasn't sure what he was talking about. "I beg your pardon?"

  "When Ashley ran off. Was she with the screenwriter?"

  She could lie, or she could refuse to answer, but he was going to find out the truth sooner or later. "Yes. She was."

  He nodded. "I should have taught her to drive."

  "What?"

  "Ashley. The screenwriter was teaching her how to drive. That's how they started spending all their time together. I'm just saying, I should have taught her to drive."

  Of course, on top of that horrible interview with the judge and his wife, he had been jilted at the altar today. "I'm really sorry she ran out on you like that. Are you going to be okay?"

  "Sure. It's been a lousy day." Then he grinned at her for a heart-stopping moment. "But on the upside, you think I'm gorgeous."

  She was still spluttering and he was still laughing when they pulled back onto the highway.

  Chapter 4

  After Eric dropped her off at her car, Tasmine longed to jump behind the wheel and drive back to her comfy apartment, enjoy that long, hot shower, throw on her pajamas, and find something to read or watch. Preferably a story that had nothing at all to do with weddings.

  She had parked, when she'd arrived this morning, at the back of the cottage. She saw the lights on inside and imagined that Melody Carnarvon was inside alone. This was nothing to do with her, but again with the overdeveloped sense of responsibility. She’d check on Ashley's mom and make sure she was okay. That was the decent thing to do.

  She knocked on the front door. Inside, she could hear music. John Mayer. Excellent music for crying to. She knocked again. She got the feeling that Melody was peeking out a window somewhere, checking out who was on the front porch. She waited and the door opened a minute later. With an internal sigh she realized she had guessed correctly. Melody's eyes were red-rimmed, and her face had the chapped look that suggested tears had fallen faster than she could wipe them away. She said, "I am so sorry."

  Melody nodded and motioned her to come inside. "You want some hot chocolate? I was about to make some."

  No one had offered her anything to eat or drink since she had made that pot of coffee and the sandwiches what seemed like hours ago. If she'd been offered alcohol she would've refused knowing if she drank anything stronger than tea she'd probably start crying. But there was something so comforting about hot chocolate that she said, "Thank you. I would."

  Like her, Melody still sported salon-styled hair, and even after the crying jag her makeup still looked professionally done. However, she'd replaced the apricot colored strapless cocktail dress that was her mother-of-the-bride outfit with black stretchy yoga pants and an oversized cotton T-shirt. Big fuzzy slippers covered her feet and made a shushing sound as she walked. Tasmine followed her into the kitchen.

  "I guess, if you went with them to see the judge, that you know everything."

  "Yes. I was so shocked . . ."

  "Can you even imagine how I feel?" Melody had taken a copper-bottomed saucepan out of the cupboard and now she banged it onto the stovetop. "I went over to my brother and sister-in-law's, because I felt so awful about Ashley running away like that. And Duncan ended up telling me about that sick and terrible plan to marry Ashley to Eric in order to protect him from jail. How could he even think of such a thing? And without asking me, or Ashley?" She shook her head. Poured milk into the saucepan and turned on the heat. "I yelled at my brother like I have never yelled at anyone before. He claimed that marrying Eric Van Hoffendam was a good way for Ashley to make something of herself. How is marrying some lowlife, vandalizing, criminal getting ahead in life?"

  She dug a can of hot chocolate mix from inside a cupboard.

  “Besides, he obviously has a drinking problem.”

  Tasmine had plenty of opportunity to study Eric over the past few weeks and she’d seen him drink too much, but only when his loser friends were around. She didn’t believe he had a drinking problem. She thought his problem was boredom. "Have you talked to Ashley?"

  "Of course I have. I phoned her and told her to come right home. But she says that she and Bennett Saegar are going to drive down to Mexico for a couple of weeks. He needs to do some more research on his screenplay." She shook her head once more. "She sounds so happy. How did I not see that she was falling in love with another man right under my nose? I mean, we've known Ben’s family for years. He was working in the pool house and he was kind enough to teach Ashley to drive. She says they really got to know each other with the driving and, apparently, she was helping him with his screenplay. My Ashley, who works in a coffee shop, helping a Hollywood screenwriter. I guess you just can't tell with love."

  "No. You can't." Melody dumped generous amounts of chocolate powder into two big, green pottery mugs and poured in the hot milk. She stirred vigorously. "Do you want whipped cream?" She opened the fridge and pulled out one of those cans of ready-made whipped cream. "I hardly ever indulge in high fat stuff, but this is an emergency."

  Tasmine said, "Sure, why not?" She’d put in an extra long session at the gym tomorrow.

  Melody sprayed so much whip cream over the top of the hot chocolate that it resembled an ice cream cone. Then she sprinkled chocolate powder over the top of that. She handed Tasmime one of the mugs and held hers up in a toast. "Well, cheers."

  "Cheers," Tasmine said, and they clinked pottery mugs. There was no possible way to drink hot chocolate like this without getting whipped cream all over her nose and mouth, so she didn't worry about it. Neither did Melody, and they ended up giggling when they saw each other’s faces. Melody fetched a couple of paper towels so they could wipe themselves off.

  "Well, a good laugh feels as good as a good cry, and today I've had both."

  "I know. And, while I know today was really hard, I have a feeling that Ashley is going to end up much happier with her screenwriter than she would have been with Eric."

  "Oh, don't even get me started. That Eric Van Hoffendam is nowhere near good enough for my daughter. He's not good enough for any decent girl."

  "I know." But she wondered if one day he might be.

  They chatted for a while, about yoga and, strangely, about hair products since they both had long blonde hair in a climate that could be hard on long blonde hair. When her chocolate was all drunk and she was certain that Melody was going to be okay, she said, "Well, I'd better get going. I want to shower all this gunk off my hair and face before I go to bed."

  "It was so nice of you to come and check on me. Thank you."

  "You're welcome." And she grinned. "Since I was hired to help coordinate this wedding, I feel a certain responsibility that the whole thing didn't happen."

  "So completely not your fault." And then Melody jum
ped up. "Oh, could you do one more incredibly huge favor?"

  Oh, please let them not put her in charge of returning all the thousands of gifts that had been arriving for the last few weeks. Surely Grace or Millicent had some kind of assistant or secretary who could take care of it. But it wasn't gifts on Melody's mind. She said, "Could you take the wedding dress? Millicent says she won't have it on the property. It was designed especially for the girl who was supposed to marry my nephew, Ted. They didn't end up getting married, so they passed the dress on to Ashley. And, well, you saw how that ended."

  Melody got up and walked into Ashley's bedroom and flipped on the light. Tasmine followed. The wedding gown hung where she had left it earlier, billowing from its silk padded hanger on the open closet door. "But it's a beautiful dress. It's not the dress’s fault that Ashley and Eric didn't end up getting married." She felt sorry for that gown, designed with a perfect wedding in mind. Just looking at it filled her with visions of twirling on a ballroom floor, of two gold rings, and a lifetime of happiness stretching ahead. "Besides, it's worth a lot of money."

  "Not to me, it's not. But you could probably sell it online, or at a high-end resale place. I think you deserve a little extra for how hard you worked to make this wedding a success."

  "Are you sure?" As someone who knew a lot about weddings, she knew how expensive an Evangeline original gown was and how difficult they were to come by.

  "Yes, of course I'm sure." Then Melody sent her a quizzical look. "Might there be a wedding in your future? Is there a special man in your life?"

  She shook her head. "Only Henry. He's usually the delivery guy when I order my sushi."

  "Well, a wedding dress is a good place to start."

  "Yes. I guess so."

  Melody helped her pack the wedding gown back into its silk garment bag with the logo that brides worldwide drooled over. "Here, take the shoes as well. I don't want any memories of this wedding."

  She doubted that she and Ashley were the same shoe size, but she understood how Melody felt. How many times had she thrown away every item in her apartment that reminded her of the boyfriend she was no longer seeing? Even down to tossing a dress of hers that he’d said was his favorite.