Chapter 14
14
Cara climbed uneasily to the top of the scaffolding, eight feet off the ground. She aimed the can of black spray paint at the age-blackened brick wall and began writing, in big, looping letters.
LUV WILL KEEP US 2-GETHER.
She looked down at Bert, who was holding the piece of paper that acted as their script. Bert, it turned out, was afraid of heights. The next time she hired an assistant, she vowed, she would have to ask prospects about their phobias. But for now, it was what it was. “What next?”
“Mmm. Says here ‘Laurie-Beth (heart) Payton.’”
Cara walked a few paces down the catwalk, and clambered up to the next level, the paint can tucked into the waistband of her jeans. She painted the next phrase, walked four feet to the left, and looked down. “Next?”
Bert had to crane his neck to see her. He cupped his hands to form a makeshift megaphone. “‘You are the sunshine of my life.’”
She remembered that one. It was the title of Laurie-Beth’s parents’ favorite song from their own courtship. She sprayed the phrase on the wall, using the last little bit of the spray paint. She tossed the can to the ground and began the slow climb down.
Bert still had his eyes tightly closed when she reached the concrete floor. “You can look now,” she said, touching his arm.
He did. The two of them walked around the cavernous warehouse, surveying their handiwork.
“Fanfuckintastic,” Bert said.
And Cara, despite all her initial misgivings, had to agree.
Laurie-Beth Winship had read one too many wedding magazines, stayed too long on Pinterest. Despite her mother’s tearful pleas for a nice, traditional reception at the Oglethorpe Club, or the Chatham City Club, Laura-Beth had proclaimed she wanted a “real” venue for her wedding.
Unable to find a wedding planner willing to execute her vision, Laurie-Beth had appointed Cara her de facto “imagineer.”
This cotton warehouse belonged to one of Elizabeth Winship’s great-uncles, but it hadn’t been used in at least thirty years. They’d had to hire a commercial cleaning crew to come in and steam-clean the brick walls and pressure-wash the grease-soaked floors. After that, the one existing bathroom, which consisted of nothing more than a urinal and a sink, had to be gutted and rebuilt into a proper unisex facility—while still keeping to Laurie-Beth’s “industrial” look.
It would have been cheaper, Cara thought, to just build a new warehouse. But she kept that thought to herself, and gamely soldiered on, buoyed by the thought of the handsome fee the Winships were paying her.
So here they were, on the Friday night before the Winship-Jelks wedding. It was nearly midnight, and she and Bert had been working all evening. They’d hung miles of safety lights, spray-painted graffiti on everything that didn’t move, and strung canvas painters’ dropcloths from those rusty steel girders to form a backdrop for the newly built bandstand constructed of old wooden pallets Cara had liberated from the back of a nearby building supply.
The oversized wooden cable spools that would act as cocktail tables had been wheeled into place, and tables, improvised from corrugated metal spread over sawhorses, were arrayed around the dance floor.
“You really think the flowers are okay?” Cara asked Bert.
He shrugged. They’d cleaned out two local feed and seed stores of every galvanized bucket, tub, and horse trough in stock. These were now filled with leafless branches that had been spray-painted black, and strung with white lights and chains made of beer-can pop-tops. On every tree, Cara had wired bunches of carnations, dip-dyed in bloodred and black.
More dyed black flowers filled recycled aluminum cans on the tabletops, which were interspersed with Cara’s carefully curated assortment of animal skulls.
“It’s sure as hell original,” Bert said. “And that’s what she wanted, right?”
“If Tim Burton married Alice Cooper, I think this is what their wedding would look like,” Cara muttered. She yawned. “Let’s go. I’m dead on my feet, and we’ve got another loooong day tomorrow.”
She pulled the van to the curb in front of Bert’s apartment on St. Julian Street. “See you in the morning.”
“Hey. You never told me how your meeting with the Trapnells went,” Bert said, his hand on the passenger door.
“It went. The plantation? Cabin Creek—it’s unbelievable. If it weren’t for the bride’s father and stepmother, I’d love to design a wedding in that house. But those two? Gordon and Patricia?” She made a face. “It’s the first time I’ve ever hoped not to get hired.”
“Then why bother to talk to them?” Bert asked. “We’re not exactly hurting for work, Cara.”
“I know, I know. I keep telling myself that. But I really liked Marie, the mom.”
“That’s your problem, Cara,” Bert said, interrupting. “You like everybody. You get sucked into their dramas, become a part of their family, and then get stuck in the middle of their shit. You’re a florist, honey, not a family therapist!”
“You’re wrong. I absolutely don’t like Gordon, and it took me about five seconds to decide I detest Patricia. But Marie—she’s a different story. She’s sort of a lost soul, and I just get the feeling Patricia will totally mow her and Brooke down, if I don’t get the job. But don’t worry. They are so not going to hire me. I told them about everything we had planned for Laurie-Beth’s wedding and they were really and truly appalled. Anyway, Patricia is totally gaga over this Cullen Kane guy from Charleston.”
“Oh yeah, him,” Bert said, with a sneer. “Just what Savannah needs. Another flower fairy.”
Cara laughed and gave his shoulder a gentle shove. “Go on, get out. We’ve both got to get our beauty rest. See you in the morning.”