The Wedding Dress Club

Chapter 1

Please shut up about your stupid wedding, begged Laura Tanner under her breath as her co-worker’s lilting voice carried over the cubicle wall.

"Darren found the cutest invitations, they really speak to who we are as a couple. Oh, and I found the greatest…"

Laura rolled her eyes hard, and tried not to listen.

"Ceremony location with the ocean as a backdrop."

It was seven fifty-five on Friday morning and Olivia Le Clair was updating everyone within earshot about her impending wedding for the twentieth consecutive workday.

I do not hate you yet, Olivia Le Clair, but shut up. Sighing, Laura glanced at her own cheap gold band and waited for Olivia to finish. Six months and counting until too-nice and too-perfect Olivia waltzed down the aisle with her equally flawless fiancé.

Laura wondered how she would make it without going crazy.

Or crazier, she conceded.

Laura had already done something nuts, and wanted to do it again.

Had to do it again.

The urge made her irritable. Anxious, Laura stretched her long legs out under the desk and tried to relax. She flicked lint off her black pants, which she wore with a gray shirt and black loafers.

A note scrawled on her wall calendar marked the next two days as another one of her husband Ron’s just the guys weekends. Pushing away the questions that simple note evoked, Laura considered her strategy. Did she really need to account for her Saturday activities if Ron was out of town? She inspected her neatly clipped fingernails. Laura usually only bothered with manicures and pedicures on special occasions, but lately found them a passable excuse for being out of the house alone on a Saturday, if he asked.

It wasn’t as if Ron would notice the difference. He wouldn’t notice a bikini wax unless it was a Brazilian, and maybe not even then.

Anyway, he would be gone, and tomorrow was wide open for a trip to Barnes & Noble. The new issues of her favorite magazines waited: Brides, Exquisite Weddings, Inside Weddings, Bridal Guide, Martha Stewart Weddings, The Knot, Grace Ormonde Wedding Style, Vogue Weddings, Town & Country Weddings.

Laura kept a clandestine stash in her car trunk, guilty pleasures splitting the sides of a brown paper Trader Joe’s bag. She loved their fat spines and glossy pages full of dreams. It was harmless, really. At least, it had started out that way.

Because now Laura had a bigger secret.

The secret was this: one Saturday a month ago, Laura drove to a David’s Bridal store three towns over. There, she slipped off her wedding ring and dropped it into her purse.

After carefully casing the store for acquaintances, Laura headed toward the racks of dresses. She knew what she wanted.

She was searching for a Vera.

Laura had seen this particular Vera in a magazine and could not stop thinking about it. Now that she was physically in the store, just being near the gowns was intoxicating; the sound and feel and smell of the soft but crisp new fabric, the fluid silks, the tulle and lace in all of their incarnations, the endless shapes of delicate, shimmering beads. Her dress was featured, and easy to find.

There it was, in front of her.

Laura glanced over her shoulder, then carefully lifted the gown and held it close to her body. The lights over the mirror made her giddy; the dress shimmered slyly at her reflection. It was not traditional white or ivory, it was a foreign tone here in a bridal gown store - a subtle pinkish tan, a color for desert sunsets or early morning flower fields. It was called blush ombré, a cascade of tulle, a bodice with sheer straps, the bottom a draped pick-up skirt.

Laura gaped, mesmerized.

Try it on? asked the salesgirl she hadn’t noticed approach. Laura nodded.

In the changing room, hands shaking, Laura slipped out of her clothes. She felt exposed, like being in a doctor’s examining room. She looked at the dress on its hanger, and paused a second before reaching up.

Laura slid into the gown.

The salesgirl popped in to fasten it, and discreetly left her alone again.

Her back to the mirror, Laura hesitated, terrified.

What would Ron think if he knew his wife was out trying on wedding dresses?

Let me know if you need more help, called the girl.

Laura closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She turned around to face the mirror and opened her eyes.

She exhaled. She was pretty. Not pretty, gorgeous.

She felt sick. Mentally ill.

Then she tried it on in white, and ivory, too.

Gary Jones and Nilda Amador clustered around Olivia, a rapt audience as usual. Besides being a close friend of Olivia’s, Gary, too, was obsessed with wedding gowns. And Nilda was planning her own important event, daughter Ana’s quinceañera, scheduled just a month before Olivia’s wedding.

Olivia sat staring at a page torn from a magazine. She wore a taupe linen sweater, brown lightweight wool pants, and an assortment of simple gold bracelets. She moved the shiny sheet of paper until it was visible to all three, her brightly painted nails clicking on the desktop.

Gary scrutinized the ragged page. At five-ten, he was tall enough to keep the front door in his line of sight merely by turning his head. He unconsciously stroked his salt-and-pepper goatee. He wore gray trousers and a blue short-sleeved polo shirt with a red knit v-neck vest over it.

Olivia poked fun at the vest the first time he wore it, asking, Is that your Christmas sweater? Gary said, We can’t all be divas, knowing she despised the word. The vest was tight, like all his clothes in early spring. His height carried the extra weight, but he felt plump. Gary was unconcerned; he had years of practice dropping twenty pounds quickly for the annual cruise with his husband.

The clique never worried about getting caught socializing. Goody-two-shoes Nilda kept one eye on the clock. The other line of defense was the warning sent from reception the second their boss’s silver Jaguar rolled past the front windows.

Though on edge, Nilda appeared composed - long black hair primly arranged, conservative grey suit impeccably pressed and fitted. Her Cole-Haan heels were a sensible height.

The source of Nilda’s nervousness was the unprecedented lateness of their boss, Meredith Hardwick. This meant she was not firmly at her desk at 7:15 a.m., as she had been every day for the past five years. The official start time at Grady-Fisher was 8:00, but corporate culture dictated fifteen minutes early as de rigueur for sharp employees. Individual arrival time was determined by how early your boss started looking for you.

Gary leaned over Olivia as she studied a picture-perfect couple caught in a mid-air broom jump. Gary bent in closer to examine the bride’s dress. Today Olivia wore her long hair loose, held off her face by a headband. As Gary leaned in, the mass of dark, springy curls tickled the side of his neck. He blew it back into place.

Don’t breathe on my hair, Olivia said, half-joking.

Diva, diva, diva, he whispered. Olivia cringed. She gestured toward the picture.

Should Darren and I do this, or not?

A jumping the broom ceremony? How the heck would I know? I’m Italian.

Olivia turned to Nilda.

Don’t ask a Mexican, Nilda said, though she sympathized with Olivia’s social uncertainty. Nilda, too, was navigating the tricky waters of a milestone event. A quinceañera was as fraught with potential familial offenses as a wedding. What to include, what not to include, and who to include...or not?

Ask your family, suggested Nilda. She was instantly visited by a fleeting mental image of her maternal grandmother seated on an immense bronze throne, imperiously shaking her finger no at some imaginary request.

Or not, Nilda added, walking away. She was distracted.

Still no Meredith - her arrival time was on a downward trajectory – leading where? Worse, Meredith’s boss, Richard Trent, seldom put in an appearance before 8:00 a.m. but today was early. Trent kept to his office, though his door was never closed.

Grady-Fisher was an open-door culture.

They attributed Meredith’s change in habit to tension surrounding the impending selection of a new senior vice president for the purchasing department. Meredith appeared to be the sole viable candidate, having started here as a junior vice president five years ago. But if that were true, they wondered, why hadn’t the position been filled yet?

Their customary heads-up from Lupe Cruz, the receptionist, came at 7:59 when Meredith finally arrived.

Nilda’s phone buzzed. Lupe’s text read, "Bruja alert."

On cue, they settled at their desks. The lone exception was Laura - she did not report to Meredith’s purchasing group. She was a researcher at Grady-Fisher, constantly assessing data on the company’s iconic cosmetic and skin care products. Laura’s closest on-site supervisor was up one floor - her actual boss was miles away, at the Los Angeles office. With prime top-floor desk space at a premium when Laura started at Grady-Fisher three years ago, she had moved four times since and landed in her current cubicle last month. The moves were not symbolic; it was a question of proximity. Her research tasks could be accomplished alone; the other groups required in-person collaboration.

Laura sighed. Then she, too sat down. At least Olivia had stopped grilling her about wedding protocol and photography tips.

Because in another life, Laura had been a wedding photographer. She made the mistake of mentioning it to break the ice with Olivia on her first day at the new desk. Now, as a thirty-three year old bride planning her first wedding, Olivia believed it imbued Laura with special insider wedding knowledge.

In her mind, Laura saw a direct correlation between moving into this desk and her own subsequent screwy behavior. She mentally replayed that first day. Per office etiquette, Laura wandered over to formally introduce herself to Olivia, whom she previously knew only in passing. She immediately noticed the thick stack of bridal magazines packed into Olivia’s tote bag along with organized folders stuffed with photos, of dresses torn out of magazines, flowers, and reception ideas. I know it’s a lot of stuff, Olivia said, following Laura’s glance, now I’m keeping all my new ideas on Pinterest.

These are cute, said Laura, indicating a collage of Olivia’s marriage proposal snapshots. Her fiancé, Darren, was apparently a United Airlines pilot. Their engagement photos resembled an editorial layout featuring two impossibly healthy and insanely happy models. Laura wondered if Olivia and Darren would end up like her and Ron, then chided herself for being mean. Olivia would make a gorgeous bride, and the couple would have a normal life.

Through years of photography, Laura developed a habit of mentally photographing exceptionally attractive people. Now she pictured Olivia, stunning in a wedding gown. Olivia was tall and thin, but not skinny. Her brown eyes were almond-shaped and her face an oval, with perfectly set cheekbones. In Laura’s vision Olivia wore white, not ivory; white would really pop with Olivia’s deep-caramel skin. Laura thought Olivia’s engagement ring extravagant, though Olivia did not flaunt it. Afraid the pause in conversation was becoming uncomfortable, Laura had said, You’ll make a stunning bride. I know, I used to be a wedding photographer.

Olivia’s face lit up.

Oh shit, thought Laura.

Really? gushed Olivia, "I have a million questions for you!"

Olivia’s breezy joy unsettled Laura.

Finding herself so close to someone in the throes of planning a wedding triggered thoughts Laura had fled from for years. She went home after that first day and took out her old sample wedding albums. Ron had been away that evening, another midweek overnight business trip. Laura spread the albums out on her bed. Wistful, she paged through them. Each had Laura Alexander Photography embossed inside its front cover. That was her maiden name, and it still irked Ron’s mother that she had continued to use it as her professional name after marriage.

Laura was an excellent photographer. She studied her own work and saw lovely, imaginative photographs full of life: a bride alone on a gusty day, flower girls leaping to control a wind-blown cathedral-length veil, dreamy black and white photos of a couple in candlelight, sweeping landscapes of a bride and groom strategically placed in natural settings. Laura acknowledged and accepted her own squandered potential.

She chose to end her photography business, didn’t she?

But Ron never supported her. Over the years, he subtly made his displeasure known whenever she spent time and effort on her own pursuits.

When she was done, Laura carefully returned the albums to their protective boxes and put them away. Then she went online, quickly finding Olivia’s Pinterest board.

Olivia had compiled three thousand wedding-related Pins, nine hundred of dresses alone.

Laura paged through every single one.

After her second glass of wine, she succumbed to another dysfunctional urge and tried on her wedding gown again. Ten years had not aged it; it was an original lovingly made by a close friend, a clothing designer. This garment was the one thing she loved most about her wedding.

The dress looked better than ever, as did Laura. She had become leaner, and her dark brown hair had finally grown out, it was almost to the middle of her back. Though approaching forty, the skin around her hazel eyes remained unlined. Ron had more lines than she did, she realized, and he was three years younger.

Too bad the wedding dress had been wasted on Ron, she thought, and maybe the whole rest of it.

With no mother and few close female friends, Laura’s wedding planning had been a solitary, self-conscious undertaking. She never ventured to a salon to try on wedding dresses, not even once. Laura pondered this, examining possible reasons. Jaded by attending so many weddings as a photographer, she strove to appear above all that typical bride stuff. She relied solely on her designer friend to create the perfect wedding dress, discarding the try-on tour of bridal shops.

His creation was everything she imagined, but had she had foolishly foregone an essential part of the wedding experience?

Was that why her wedding had felt so lacking, so incomplete?

More important, thought Laura, how pathetic am I?

Laura snapped out of her reverie. Life with co-workers was an endless parade of family occasions and milestone events. But weddings and quinceañeras aside, Laura liked this group. Smart and professional, they easily handled the mundane, repetitive, and highly stressful tasks of purchasing. They worked as a team, polar opposites of the bitchy, competitive group upstairs.

Laura, antsy, stood up to stretch again. She witnessed Nilda, in spite of Lupe’s warning, wait a moment too long to return to her own desk and be caught hovering beside Olivia when Meredith swept in. Meredith looked straight ahead as she walked past. She said, Nilda, you’re a supervisor, in her clipped British accent.

Scolded, Nilda cast her eyes downward and returned to her own desk.

The others seemed fearful of Meredith; Laura was not sure why. She was always been cordial to Laura. Mystery and rumor surrounded Meredith; she was not social with anyone at Grady-Fisher and always attended company events alone. When Laura was assigned to an upstairs cubicle, she overheard gossip about Meredith having once been a model, or having worked at Vogue. She certainly could have, observed Laura, Meredith was undoubtedly over sixty, and looked damn good.

Meredith marched straight to her office. Before her door was completely open they heard Richard Trent’s administrative assistant Kimmy Chu paging Meredith on the desk intercom. Mr. Trent would like to see you soon as you’re settled, she said cheerily. Meredith made an instant about-face, passing them again on her way down the hall to Trent’s corner office.

Richard Trent was the president of the purchasing department, ultimately responsible for all the thousands of details - in this case tubes, jars, and caps - that went into the making of cosmetics and skin care products for a billion-dollar company.

Kimmy was the only one that always called him Mr. Trent; the others simply called him Trent. The office to his right sat vacant - the last senior vice president had unexpectedly moved out of state three months ago, creating a vacancy.

Pretending she had business at the copier, Laura surreptitiously watched as Meredith tapped on Trent’s open door frame, and then entered his office. Meredith, it appeared, was afraid of Trent. Now that was a mystery, thought Laura.

In college, Laura aspired to be a fashion photographer. She knew clothes. At Grady-Fisher, Laura had immediately noticed Meredith’s seemingly endless vintage wardrobe. What was today’s outfit, she wondered, appraising the trim black pantsuit, was it Chanel? Laura instinctively admired her. Meredith’s hair was shamelessly silver and glossy, cut to perfection in a sleek chin-length bob. She was in great shape, and her clothing and accessories conveyed an effortless sense of style.

It was a given around the office that Meredith would advance to the vacated senior vice president position. Other than that, she was an enigma. After five years, the purchasing team members knew as much about her personal life now as the day she arrived at Grady-Fisher.

Meredith emerged from Trent’s office, agitation evident on her immaculately made-up face. Retreating to her own office, she ignored Carlisle as she passed him in the corridor. She also ignored Nilda, again standing at Olivia’s cubicle on the pretext of reviewing Friday’s purchase order errors.

Carlisle was company founder Ben Fisher’s personal assistant. Mmm HMM! he said aloud to himself as Meredith’s door closed.

Olivia and Nilda exchanged looks, concerned.

Meredith’s door safely shut, Nilda showed Olivia what she concealed in her folder. It was a newspaper clipping, a torn-out ad she passed to Olivia. It read: Wedding Dress Designer Sample Sale! Saturday only in Irvine - Hundreds of samples and discontinued styles - Badgley Mischka, Jim Hjelm, Temperley, Vera Wang, Jenny Packham, Monique Lhuillier, Kenneth Pool, Pnina Tornai and more!

Gary scurried over and snatching the clipping from Olivia, eyes widening.

We HAVE to! he exclaimed in a dramatic stage whisper, I’ll drive! It’s too far, answered Olivia, weighing the pros and cons as she did before any decision. "Plus, every bride-to-be within a hundred miles will be there. They all watch that show. Oh, come on, scolded Gary. Let’s go. You said that man of yours was working this weekend, didn’t you?"

Olivia considered, and then grudgingly agreed. Darren was a last-minute replacement on the United Airlines Los Angeles to Rio run this weekend, and his fifteen-year-old daughter Tasha was with her mom. Satisfied, Gary went back to his desk.

Nilda glanced over to make sure Meredith’s office door was still shut, and then hurried to the restroom. Like the other women on her team, she hated being caught in the bathroom with Meredith.

Hey, crackled Lupe over the intercom on Gary’s desk phone, The tamale lady is here.

Be right out, answered Gary. He patted his protruding belly and looked over at Olivia.

I know I shouldn’t! he said, in mock shame.

Get me one, too, she responded.

Chapter 2

The Grady-Fisher building occupied the large interior corner of a bustling business complex, which the company discreetly owned. It was a sleek, modern two-story structure as functional as it was elegant. This Inland Empire location housed half of the corporate offices; the others were in downtown Los Angeles. They had custom-built this building; it exemplified their values of innovation, style, and efficiency. The L.A. offices were leased.

Grady-Fisher had created the wildly popular worldwide line of ‘About Face’ cosmetics and skin care products. Grady-Fisher was in a class by itself as a company; founders and co-CEOs Bob Grady and Ben Fisher had revolutionized the way cosmetics were sold. Though born into wealth and privilege, Ben Fisher’s success was the direct result of sheer hard work. Bob Grady came from the Midwest, his family of modest means. He and Ben Fisher had met at UCLA, and built the company from nothing but a marketing idea.

They invented the modern infomercial; the quality of the product was almost secondary to the brilliant marketing.

Almost, but not quite. The About Face line of cosmetics, anchored by five phenomenally successful high-end skin care products, generated a billion dollars a year in sales. They consisted of a night cream, a daily moisturizer, a cleansing cream, a spot fader, and the superstar of the line, Youthful Wonder Eye Cream. This product was so popular it accounted for half of all the About Face worldwide revenue by itself. In total, five tiny jars had built the entire company.

And Trent’s team was in charge of their continued successful production.

Lupe Cruz ran the front desk at Grady-Fisher. Many people on the outside had good reasons for trying to reach those ensconced inside of these glass walls. Bob Grady and Ben Fisher built an empire through ideas, and were subsequently inundated with the ideas of others, solicitations, pitches for new infomercials, you name it.

The switchboard fielded hundreds of calls every week from individuals begging to audition for user groups testing the innovative cosmetic products the