2 Months 'Til Mrs. (2 'Til Series) Page 16

  Georgia gave Tara a look for the unsolicited and subpar anecdote, then turned to Catherine again. “Maybe we just need to tone down some of it a little. You know, do wedding-lite.”

  “Or we could use my cousin,” Tara offered.

  “What exactly is wedding-lite?” Catherine asked, ignoring Tara.

  “I just mean you don’t have to do everything. Fake flowers instead of real. Cupcake tower instead of wedding cake—”

  “Oh, and I can get my wedding dress at the dollar store!” Catherine exclaimed facetiously. It wasn’t so much the idea of cutting costs and finding ways to do things themselves rather than trying to book people who had already been booked for other weddings, long ago, by proper couples who planned their nuptials at proper lengths of time. It was the fact that Georgia was advising she do things that Georgia would never accept for herself.

  “Or we could go see my cousin,” Tara said again, for the umpteenth time. She’d brought up that brilliant idea every time they got squeezed out of another wedding planner’s office.

  But now Catherine was desperate.

  “What the hell does your cousin have to do with my wedding?” Catherine blurted.

  “He’s a planner.”

  “What kind of planner?” Georgia asked, eyes narrowed. “A city planner? A funeral planner?” Considering the questionable employment streak of the Delrio clan, it was a fair question.

  “I told you about him the other day. He’s a wedding planner.”

  “Who?” Catherine asked, having met some of her “cousins” and heard about plenty of the others. “Is this the one with the tailgate wedding?”

  “No, but he planned it,” Tara said proudly.

  “That’s not really what I’m looking for,” she shuddered.

  “My Cousin Vinnie does all kinds of weddings.”

  “Is this a joke?” Georgia asked, looking from Tara to Catherine, seeming as dubious as all the planners they’d come across during the day.

  “No joke.” Tara crossed her heart. “He’s really good. Totally legit.”

  “Incorporated legit?” Georgia challenged.

  “Storefront legit,” Tara assured her.

  “What’s his name?”

  “I told you. It’s Vinnie.”

  “His company name,” Georgia growled.

  “SG Weddings. He has a huge following in Philly.”

  Simple enough, right? Catherine looked to her most trusted advisor and matron of honor, but got a mere shrug back, a mealy assent that this might in fact be where they were right now. Their only bet left.

  “Does he do New York?” Catherine asked.

  “I don’t know,” Tara said, completely unhelpful. “But what about having it in Philly anyway? Or Chesterton? I’m sure he can do it there.” Her can-do tone was catching, kind of like the way you catch a cold—starting with a mild discomfort in the back of the throat.

  “It might be easier to get something done there,” Georgia admitted. “Plus, your family would be happy.”

  “Don’t overestimate them,” Catherine said quickly, still smarting from her last conversation with her mom. “But I do see some potential.”

  “I’m sure there are a bunch of planners we could try if we moved the location,” Georgia added. Buoyed by a new city full of options, she was quick to subtract the wild card that had led them there in the first place.

  “Like my Cousin Vinnie,” Tara said firmly.

  “Or someone else,” Georgia asserted.

  “Women flock to him. He gets the impossible done…. And I’d say getting you married is pretty much impossible!”

  “As if!” Catherine exclaimed, riding on tentative hope for the first time in hours.

  “You need a wedding done in two months; my Cousin Vinnie is the guy who can do it.”

  “Well, if Marisa Tomei loved him, he has to be something,” Catherine snorted.

  Tara ignored the reference—probably too young—but she gave a swift nod of smug approval that she was finally being heard.

  “I guess that’s where we start tomorrow then,” Georgia said begrudgingly.

  “What do you mean tomorrow?” Tara asked. “I thought the time was ticking away on this thing.”

  “I can’t drive all the way to Philly now. I have to get home to Nell. And even if I could, I’m sure his office would be closed. Besides, don’t we need an appointment?”

  “Vinnie does things differently.”

  “Oh boy, now it comes out,” Georgia said theatrically.

  “He’s more accommodating and more welcoming and not such a bitch like all those broads we saw today,” Tara added forcefully.

  “But I can’t—”

  Catherine cut her off. “We’ll go. Tara and I will handle this. Don’t worry. You get back to Nell with your….” She air-cupped her own breasts to show her sympathy and understanding for Georgia’s situation even though she had no earthly idea what her friend was going through.

  “But I—I thought we would do this together. And don’t you think it might be a little rash to move your wedding a hundred miles on a whim like this?”

  “This isn’t a whim. We were summarily dismissed from the New York wedding world. Without this we’ve got zip. And if it doesn’t pan out….” Catherine gave Georgia a knowing look that said that most of what Tara put out there was questionable and therefore not necessarily worth a lot of their time. “At least we’ll already know that we need to start fresh tomorrow with a new plan.

  “I guess,” Georgia pouted.

  -26-

  Catherine hadn’t planned on a road trip to cap off the day of hoofing it around NYC, and her body hadn’t been properly prepared for it. In fact her ass was asleep this very moment, following her around numbly.

  “You said it was close, Tara. We’ve walked three blocks.”

  “That is close.”

  Catherine started pointing. “I could have parked there, or there, or up there, or…” She watched a person pull out of a spot just feet from where she stood. “… right the fuck here,” she growled.

  “You need the exercise, don’t you?” Tara jabbed, pulling her along. “Walk off that burger—”

  “It was half a burger.”

  “And fries.”

  “A few,” she said through gritted teeth. What’s another murder on the streets of Philly? Catherine thought, her hands curling into weapons built to throttle.

  She was notably weak-willed on the road. Everyone knew that. Tara certainly knew that, but she insisted on stopping for “eats” anyway. It was entrapment pure and simple. You don’t lead a starving, dieting woman up to a fast food counter. You just don’t do it. Not if she is your friend…. And then to eat a triple-decker burger, tub of fries, and a gallon of soda in front of her? Of course she was going to crack. It wasn’t fair! Tara’s food choices never migrated to her hips like Catherine could feel her own doing right at this very moment—that’s probably why my ass is numb; it’s getting a nice fat injection.

  She took in the view, trying to take her mind off her ass. Not much had changed here since the days her parents used to pack them all in the car and head the short jaunt from Chesterton to tour the historic sites of Philadelphia—Independence Hall, the Liberty Bell, the Betsy Ross house, the Benjamin Franklin Underground Museum. Then they would head over to the zoo. Nowadays people talked about taking staycations, but her parents had invented the concept, and they were most certainly called vacations. Trips to Hershey Park and Dorney Park and Philly, plus day trips through Jersey to the shore. Like clockwork every summer. Until Josey died. After that it was like it was impossible to find the time anymore, just like it was impossible to have parties or events or fun. Eventually they started to heal, but things remained different after Josephine. Some memories were better left as just that, so they didn’t trod on certain hallowed ground, like taking family trips with one less member.

  The two cities in her life were so completely different, and being in both in the same day brought
those differences into harsh relief. It was so much smaller and more cramped and less worldly here than in New York. But that made it personal. It wasn’t just a catch-all for everyone far and wide who aspired to be part of it, but rather it was an intensely meaningful place to those who grew up within its reach. Anyone could own a piece of New York for the right gumption and price, but you had to earn your place in Philly. This wasn’t Wall Street and Broadway and the five boroughs. It wasn’t a place that was so big for its own britches that it had two sports teams for every one that other cities had. It wasn’t a city of divisions and rivalries—Yankees, New York vs. Mets, New York; Jets vs. Giants. No, here you were all Phillies. You were all Eagles. It was bad attitudes and cheesesteaks and pizza that blew New York and Chicago off the map… and soft pretzels in brown paper bags like the ones waiting up ahead at the next corner. Please tell me we reach Tara’s cousin before we reach those.

  Yet for all she loved about Philly, the first city in her life, she’d never dreamed of living here. Weird considering she’d had her first real taste of independence within its bounds (rather fitting). She used to come as a teenager with her friends on the weekends and on summer days to shop and hang out. South Street still held a special place in her heart, as did the concert venues—Tower Theater, The Spectrum (gone now), and The Mann. She’d released a lot of her teenage angst into this place, but when she left her teen years behind and moved into adulthood, her heart had been set on NYC, thinking for some reason that it held the answer to all of life’s biggest questions. People wrote books about it. They made movies about it. It had to be the most exciting place to be. Perhaps naïve, but it had helped her carve out her own identity away from her family and the people who knew her as awkward young Catherine Marie Hemmings. She was still awkward in New York, but no one there knew just how long she’d been afflicted—

  “Stop, Cat,” Tara commanded.

  “What? Where?” Catherine asked, looking down dumbly for a cat, like she was about to step on one. Probably a black one crossing my path and signifying the end for me.

  “We’re here,” she said, pointing triumphantly toward a glass door wedged between a pizza place and a cigar store.

  “Are you sure?” Catherine asked, blinking in the waning light, trying to focus on what she was seeing. You can’t always choose your neighbors… but this? Not exactly prime real estate for a wedding planner, seeing as how they were smack-dab in the middle of a city block that was smack-dab in the middle of boring, droning, everyday life, with all the dry cleaners and Laundromats and markets; as opposed to being above all that, in the echelon of fairytale life that exuded from the pores of the brick that built the high-end brownstones that housed the wedding planning establishments of New York—or at least the part that Georgia had led them to.

  “Of course I’m sure,” Tara said smartly. “Come on, you big baby—big snobby baby at that.” She pulled her by the arm right up to the door, where Catherine noticed that “SG Weddings” was laser-inscribed on the glass along with little bells and doves resting on some kind of mod looking sticks or twigs. Tara had embellished a door-front into a storefront, but the name was permanent, not pieced out in duct tape or scrawled in crayon, so there was that much.

  Catherine heaved a deep sigh and reached for the handle, settling her friend with a look communicating her intent to maim her if this turned out to be a wild-goose chase that ended in a very tacky wedding—pornographic ice sculptures and theme weddings and gimmicks came to mind. This was the guy made “famous” by the tailgate wedding—Eagles v. Cowboys. Tara had expounded on the event during their ride here; it seems the “aisle” was lined with Cowboys tackling dummies that the groom laid out one-by-one before the bridal march. And there was a hotdog tower—gen-u-ine dogs from the stadium. Plus the Eagle himself made an appearance in the pictures. And it wasn’t even a cheap wedding!

  “Give him a chance. Seriously. He’s really good at this. He did all five of my uncle’s weddings and they were timeless.”

  “Well, obviously not timeless considering four marriages are over.”

  “They were timeless. And all five marriages are over,” Tara pointed out plainly. “My second Aunt Irene dumped him again.”

  She started to ask what exactly that meant—multiple Irene’s, multiple marriages to the same Irene? —but decided it was irrelevant. “So long as the weddings were perfect,” she said facetiously.

  “That’s the only job of a wedding planner—get them hitched without a hitch. He can’t make them stay hitched, now can he?”

  The girl had a point. Plus Catherine was desperate—that went a long way toward battling her misgivings.

  As they climbed the stairs on the other side of the door, the smell of pizza greeted, followed, and then completely enveloped them, making Catherine’s mouth water—and she’d thought the pretzel guy at the next corner would be dangerous.

  The stairs were sturdy but cramped; the lighting sparse and low wattage. She feared it wasn’t so much for ambiance as it was probably to hide some level of ick factor from the casual eye—blood residue from a murder? Come to think of it, the space provided a perfect setting for a horror flick. Neither thought calmed her nerves, and if not for Tara she would most certainly have stopped right there, turned around, and run screaming out of the building and down the street.

  At the top, the first door on the left had a plaque with “SG Weddings” lettered on it in the same style as on the door below. Catherine took a deep breath and closed her eyes, preparing herself for a truly terrible surprise. But Tara wasn’t into waiting or preparing; she burst right through the door and stumbled inside with gusto.

  Catherine’s startled eyes opened onto an apartment that was tasteful and elegant, with a living room that was perfectly appointed for living or waiting. At the far end there was even a desk with an honest-to-goodness receptionist at its helm. It actually looked a lot like several of the other planners’ offices they had been in throughout the day. She veiled her pleasant surprise as much as possible and refused to look at Tara, who she knew was staring back at her—gloating.

  “Can I help you’s?” the receptionist asked, popping her gum. An unfortunate accent, and the gum was a bit over the top, but she looked the part in her “wedding coordinator” ivory blouse.

  “We’re here to see Vinnie Delrio,” Tara said authoritatively, walking around and touching everything like a three-year-old was wont to do.

  “Oh, Vinnie, yeah… he’s in with someone. Should be done in a sec.” She smacked her gum messily as she stood up to reveal an extremely tight skirt, garish as humanly possible—Fran Drescher as The Nanny came to mind. The red and purple was broken up by an occasional leopard print, and it was all crowned off with a wide patent leather belt, complete with a bejeweled rhinestone buckle. The ensemble clashed with itself, let alone the entire room, which was done in steely pale blue, and whites and creams, with a touch of silver here or there in perfect measure. Catherine thought maybe it would serve Vinnie better if Miss Receptionist didn’t speak at all and remained seated always.

  But instead she teetered her way over to an antique dresser against the wall, walking on glossy red pumps a mile high. “You’s need anything? Coffee? Wooder?” the woman asked, as she sifted through one of the drawers full of hanging files.

  Catherine rolled her eyes. She hadn’t heard that in a long time. For some reason people here could not hear the difference between what they said and water. “Nothing, thank you,” she blurted quickly, before Tara ordered a drink and a meal. She wanted to be able to get out of here quickly and easily if need be.

  Suddenly a young and elegantly dressed woman came out of the far reaches of the apartment, softly weeping, with a man more mob than fab comforting her, his arm wrapped around her stooped shoulders. “Don’t worry about a thing,” he assured her, his voice thick Philly-Italian-brand mafioso. “Better to find out now than later. I’ll handle everything.”

  “What’s he going to do? Whack her groom-t
o-be?” Catherine whispered to Tara, giggling nervously because it didn’t seem so farfetched.

  Tara pinched her; her mouth a thin line of respect for the moment that was happening outside of them.

  “Like you weren’t thinking it,” Catherine spat, rubbing the reddening spot on her arm.

  They watched the man give the sad bride a quick bear hug. With his massive proportions any hug would be a bear hug to the receiver. Then he turned from the door after ushering her out and focused on the two of them.

  The receptionist piped up, “Vinnie, these two are your next—”

  “Tara!” he boomed. “Whatta-you’s doin’ in Philly? Slummin’ with the other half-a-the family?” he chuckled, giving her a hug.

  “I brought you a client.”

  Vinnie looked down upon Catherine—way down. He was borderline ginormous up close.

  “Welcome to SG Weddings, where we make it happen,” he said with a smile.

  It was definitely in a whole different vein from the “where we make your dreams come true” motto that had popped up in a variety of formulations throughout the day. At this point, though, she was easy pickings for the making-it-happen play.

  -27-

  “What kinda timeline you’s workin’ with?” Vinnie Delrio asked, after seating himself behind a desk that made him look even bigger still, like he was sitting in a dollhouse set.

  “About two months,” Catherine said through gritted teeth, squinching her face in preparation for the laughter or disbelief that had followed that answer all day so far. The blowback on those words had given her a haggard appearance that she could see reflected in the mirror behind his desk. I look like hell and this is only the first day.