Chapter Seventeen #2
“I assume so. Elton said it was a big party. And Fred might be his brother-in-law soon, if Cilla has anything to do with it, so he’s bound to be there.”
Marly scowled.
“Hey, can you chase up Virgil for me? Uncle Don told us not to be late.”
Marly took the hint. She headed downstairs to rustle up Virge, wondering if she might bump into Freddie de Marche. She was wearing her new pencil skirt and her most fitted blouse, just in case.
Virgil was still at the desk, leaning on his elbow, smooth-talking the girl behind it. There was a tall vase of white lilies bursting over their heads, filling the foyer with perfume. Virge had a buzz cut and looked like a typical football-playing meathead. Which he was.
“Hey Virge, you’ll miss your bachelor party,” Marly called as she crossed the black and white tiles.
Virge winced. “It’s not my bachelor party,” he assured the pretty girl. “It’s for my cousin’s fiancé.”
“They say they’re going fishing, but I don’t believe them,” Marly told the girl cheerfully, also leaning against the counter. Virge glared at her, and she gave him an innocent look.
“You little squirt!” Virge griped when the girl had excused herself to serve another customer.
“You’ll be late for your boat,” Marly told him, sticking her tongue out and backing out of his reach.
She loitered around the foyer, waiting for her first sight of Freddie de Marche for the summer.
The last time she’d seen him had been at the engagement party at Aunt Betty and Uncle Don’s place.
Priscilla had been in a sour mood, probably because, as the eldest, she’d always assumed she’d get engaged first. Cilla had been sour with Freddie too, because it was his fault she had to stand there, faking a smile, as her peppy little sister received all the congratulations.
“I don’t see how getting married is an achievement,” Marly had said to Freddie, as they watched the families posing for photographs. “When I grow up, I might not even tell anyone when I get married.”
“I could almost believe it,” Freddie had said with a grin, “except you’ve got such a big mouth.”
He’d been wearing a blue plaid sports coat that made his eyes look a darker blue.
They were still clear as water, though, with a sparkle.
That sparkle did distracting things to Marly’s pulse.
Freddie had hung back with her most of the evening, avoiding Cilla’s bad mood and the endless ribbing from her family about popping the question.
Thinking of the sparkle in his eye that night had sustained Marly these past months, but now she was hungry for more.
“Well, hey, short stuff.”
Marly’s heart leapt to her throat as she turned to find Freddie jogging down the Gone with the Wind stairs of Saint-Cyr’s foyer.
He was in navy shorts, with a sweater tied around his shoulders and a pair of sunglasses tucked into the neck of his shirt.
His dark hair was longer than she’d seen it before, at least on top, and it bounced as he jogged.
Freddie whistled as he took her in. “Look at you. Bet you’re breaking the boys’ hearts at school.”
Marly hated that she blushed. She wanted to seem cool and poised and, well, grown up, and here she was turning red as a strawberry.
“And look at you,” she responded, “all dressed up just to hook some fish. What are you planning to do, wink at them and hope they’ll jump in the boat?”
He laughed. “My plan is to drink beer and watch other people hook the fish. How about you? Ready to shower the bride?”
Marly didn’t tell him she wasn’t invited—it would only remind him that she was too young. For parties, and for him. “What time does your boat come back?” she asked.
“I assume before dark—then there’s a fish fry.” He turned at the sound of hooting and grinned. “Here comes the lamb to the slaughter.”
Elton was playfully being heckled as he came down the stairs with his phalanx of friends. He was a gentle guy, with floppy blond hair and big brown eyes. He took the teasing in stride.
“Have fun at your shower,” Freddie told Marly, and then he was off, slipping into the tide of men, all headed down to the shore.
Marly’s dad broke away from the tide and came over to kiss her on the forehead. “Marly, you can charge your meals to the room. Don’t stay out after dark, you hear? You go straight back to your room.”
“Sure. Have fun,” she said lamely as she watched them go.
When she was fourteen, she would have been in seventh heaven to be let loose at Saint-Cyr, but it really wasn’t much fun when you were seventeen-almost-eighteen and all alone.
She drifted out to the patio and watched the bachelor party pour down to the pier and out onto a waiting vessel.
She leaned against the railing and wondered what kinds of things were happening up at the house on Tinker Street.
Were they really sitting around eating deviled eggs and playing silly parlor games?
Or were there more adult things that Marly couldn’t know about yet?
She thought there must be, or she would have been invited.
She passed a lazy day at Saint-Cyr by herself, eating an early dinner alone, the highlight of which was the dessert cart. She had lemon chiffon pie. But it wasn’t satisfying.
The thing was, Marly realized as she looked around the dining room at the other diners, life was no fun alone.
She thought of Sylvie and Elton with their arms around each other at the engagement party, both shining with happiness and giving each other secret looks.
And she thought of Freddie de Marche and his fake laziness, which hid a repressed and restless energy.
If Freddie had been here eating dessert with her, the night would be entirely different.
The dining room might have some charm. When he was here, Saint-Cyr’s old-fashioned fustiness became timeless charm, the little covered candles on the table seemed magical, the square music romantic.
Freddie de Marche had that power. He made everything seem alive.
On the wedding day, Marly took as much care with her appearance as the bride did.
Thank goodness she’d talked her mom into letting her wear the same dress as the other bridesmaids, even though she was only seventeen.
As she turned in the mirror, admiring the way the ice blue silk taffeta tea dress clung to her, she imagined Freddie’s face when he saw her.
No one would dare call her a kid when she was wearing this.
The dress had a high neck and no sleeves and was inspired by something Sylvie had seen Grace Kelly wear in a movie.
Sylvie’s own dress was designed almost exactly after Debbie Reynolds’s dress from when she’d married Eddie Fisher the year before.
She and Mom had decided Sylvie was far more the Debbie Reynolds type, and the lacy organza with its sweetheart neckline and cap sleeves suited her sweetness and pep perfectly.
Marly, meanwhile, didn’t feel at all sweet in her dress, thank goodness.
Her hair was pinned up, just like the other bridesmaids’, with a spray of daisies just behind her left ear. The only difference between her and the others was that they wore heels, while Mom had made Marly wear flats, and they had pearl chokers, while Marly only had a pearl bracelet.
“It doesn’t matter if you look different,” Cilla had said, cutting off her protest as they got ready together in the main bedroom. “You’re the junior bridesmaid, you don’t have to look the same.”
Cilla was depressingly lovely in her tea dress. Her hair was cut in the Italian style and it framed her face beautifully. The color of the dress made her blue eyes shine.