Bridesmaid For Hire. Marie Ferrarella

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СКАЧАТЬ carefully hung up the light blue bridesmaid dress in her guest bedroom closet. The dress joined the vast and growing collection of other bridesmaid dresses, both long and short, that she had worn as part of the various bridal parties she’d been in. Because she had come in and in effect—at least in the bride’s eyes—saved the wedding, she’d ultimately grown incredibly close to a number of the brides, not an easy feat in the space of two or three weeks.

      Some of the brides had actually stayed in touch with her, at least for a little while. The others, though, had faded into the calendar of her life.

      Even so, Gina had the satisfaction of knowing that because of her, more than a few women had experienced “the happiest day of their life” without having to endure the proverbial “glitch” that had a nasty habit of cropping up.

      And despite what her mother thought of her rather unusual vocation, it did provide her with a nice living. In exchange for her services, she received more than ample compensation as well as another dress to hang in her closet, thanks to the bride, and, after the ceremony had ended and the photographs were taken, there was always a wonderful array of catered food to sample.

      Not that she really ate all that much of it. Despite working almost nonstop in the weeks preceding the weddings, on the big day she never seemed to have that much of an appetite. It was almost as if she was channeling the bride’s prewedding jitters even though she always appeared utterly calm and in complete control of the situation.

      She supposed that was where her very brief flirtation with acting—or at least acting in her college plays—came in handy.

      Gina sighed. With the latest wedding now behind her, she was, once again, unemployed.

      She knew that she had word of mouth as well as a growing number of satisfied clients going for her, but even so she really needed to give some thought to building up her network, Gina decided. A network comprised of people who could call and alert her to brides in need of her very unique services.

      Gina sank down on the bed, willing herself to wind down.

      Each time she watched as the happy bride and groom finally drove off to begin their life together—starting with their honeymoon—amid the feeling of a job well done she also experienced just the faintest hint of feeling let down.

      This time was no different. She knew her feelings were silly and she tried not to pay any attention to them, but they were there nonetheless. That tiniest spark of wondering what it might have been like if she hadn’t gotten cold feet and had instead agreed to run off with Shane that one wild, crazy night when he had suddenly turned to her and said, out of the blue, “Let’s get married.”

      She supposed that her response—“Are you crazy?”—might have been a bit more diplomatic. But Shane had caught her off guard. They’d dated casually for two years but had only gotten serious in the last six months. When he’d asked her to marry him, the thought of doing something so permanent had scared her to death. She hadn’t been ready for that sort of a commitment.

      And he hadn’t been ready for that kind of a total, harsh rejection. She’d regretted it almost instantly, but by then it had been too late. And she might have even said yes, she thought now. Or at least talked to him and suggested that they take things a little more slowly. But she hadn’t been thinking clearly.

      They had both just graduated from college that month and life was beginning to unfold for them. There were careers to launch and so many things to do before their lives even began to take shape.

      In hindsight, all that uncertainty had frightened her, too. Loving Shane had been a comfortable thing, something for her to lean on. Loving Shane wasn’t supposed to contribute to her feelings of being pressured.

      Gina sighed. There was no point in going over all that now. By the time she’d worked up her nerve to apologize to Shane, to explain why she’d said what she had, it was too late. He’d taken off, vacating his apartment and leaving for parts unknown, just like that.

      Nobody knew where he was.

      Stop thinking about what you can’t undo, she silently ordered herself. It won’t change anything.

      Dressed in her favorite outfit—cut-off jeans and a T-shirt—Gina went into her kitchen. She took out her favorite ice cream—rum raisin—and carried it into the living room. She settled down on the sectional sofa in front of her giant screen TV to binge-watch her favorite comedy series. She really needed a good laugh tonight.

      Just as she turned on the set and pressed the necessary combination of buttons that got her to the first episode of the extensively long-running series—an episode she’d seen countless times before, whenever she was feeling down—her phone rang.

      Gina looked at the cell accusingly. It was either someone trying to sell her some insurance—it was that time of year again she’d noticed—or it was her mother to pointedly ask her how “someone else’s wedding” went and when did she think she would get around to planning one of her own.

      Telling her mother that it would happen when she found someone to stand at the altar, waiting for her, never did any good because that only had her mother remembering how much she and the rest of the family had liked Shane. Shane had managed to endear himself to them in a very short amount of time. That was ten years ago and her mother still nostalgically referred to him as “the one who got away.”

      No, she definitely wasn’t up to talking to her mother tonight.

      Gina glanced at the caller ID. It wasn’t her mother, or, from the looks of it, an insurance broker. The ID below the phone number proclaimed “Manetti’s Catering.”

      The name seemed vaguely familiar. And then she remembered hearing the name on the radio along with the slogan “Food like Mama used to make.”

      Curious, Gina set aside the half-pint of ice cream on top of a section of the newspaper on her coffee table and answered her phone.

      “Hello?”

      “Hello,” a cheerful woman’s voice on the other end of the call responded. “Is this Gina Bongino?”

      “Yes,” Gina answered guardedly. “This is Gina.”

      She was prepared to terminate the call at a second’s notice if this turned out to be some clever telemarketer who had matched her name to her cell number.

      “Forgive me for bothering you so late on a Sunday, but are you the same Gina Bongino who advertises herself as the Bridesmaid for Hire?” Theresa asked.

      Before placing the call, Theresa had everything written down on a yellow pad and it was in front of her now. She didn’t want to take a chance on forgetting something or making a mistake. She, Maizie and Celia had covered all the major points before she’d even placed the call to Gina.

      “I am,” Gina answered, still wondering if this was going to wind up being a crank call, or if this was actually on the level.

      “Oh, thank goodness,” Theresa declared. “You don’t know me, dear, but I’m Theresa Manetti. I run a catering service and I’ve done a good many wedding receptions. Especially lately.”

      “Yes?” Gina responded, waiting for the woman to get to the point. She was hoping it involved what she did, but you never knew. Maybe the woman was just looking for some advice. Or even a referral.

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