Cora Felton flailed her way through the profusion of material the seamstress had managed to drape about her body, and shot her niece a reproving look. "Of course I'm going to wear white. I always wear white when I get married. Except what's-his-name, who wanted me to wear the frou-frou thing." She grimaced at the memory. "That really should have given me the hint."

"It certainly should have," Sherry agreed, a little too quickly. In Sherry's opinion, all of Cora's husbands had been undesirable, and she marveled at the fact it had taken marrying them to get Cora to see that.

Cora Felton, though quite aware of her niece's views, was not at all sympathetic to them. After all, Sherry's marriage had been an absolute disaster.

"Is that right?" Cora said. "I bet you don't even know which one I'm talking about."

"Do you?" Sherry shot back.

Cora frowned: Which damn husband was it who had wanted the unorthodox ceremony? Unorthodox. Was it the Jewish one? No, he'd gone along with the church wedding.

"Could you keep your arms up?" the seamstress asked, a little too sweetly. Cora had been squirming like an octopus ever since the fitting began, and the woman's nerves were getting frayed.

"Not if you're gonna poke me," Cora said defensively. "If you're gonna poke me, I'm gonna move."

"I'm not going to poke you," the seamstress said, edgily. She was a lean woman in work shirt and jeans, with her hair cut in bangs, and a kerchief around her neck. To Cora, the scissors stuck in the woman's belt began to look like a weapon.

The bridal shop where Cora was being fitted for a wedding gown was in New York City. Had it been in her home town of Bakerhaven, Connecticut, Cora would undoubtedly have been recognized as the Puzzle Lady, famous for both her crossword puzzle column and her TV commercials, but the seamstress here didn't seem to have a clue. Not that Cora expected special treatment. Still, it would have been nice not to merit contempt.

"I didn't think you could remember," Sherry told her.

"A lot of them tend to blend together," Cora admitted. "You've only been married once. Any memories you have are apt to be right."

"You make that sound like a bad thing."

"Well, your marriage was."

"I was talking about quantity, not quality."

"Please," Cora protested. "No wordplay, or I'll go nuts."

The seamstress's mouth dropped open. "You're the Puzzle Lady! Here I am working on you, and you're the Puzzle Lady! Goodness, how extraordinary!"

Cora didn't feel obliged to point out just how ordinary it was for her to get married. Still, some self-deprecating gesture was indicated. Cora resented that. The woman abuses her for half an hour, then makes her apologize.

"It's really nothing," Cora said. "But this wedding is important to me. Even if it's not to my niece."

The seamstress, not five minutes from flinging Cora around like a rag doll, now sprang to her defense. "How can you say that?" she demanded of Sherry. "Of course the wedding must be just right."

Sherry groaned. Here she was, getting the worst of it on all fronts. And maddeningly so. The accusations were unfair, unjust, and dead wrong. In point of fact, Sherry Carter wrote the crossword puzzle column her aunt took credit for. If the truth be known, Cora Felton couldn't construct a puzzle if her life depended on it. Not that she wanted to. Cora Felton didn't like crossword puzzles. She liked solving crimes, and was unusually adept at it. Puzzles left her cold.

The seamstress, writhing in the death throes of the terminally star-struck, simpered, "You're going to need some more lace. The grander the wedding, the grander the lace. That's what I always say. You would not believe the way I can streamline a gown." She flushed. "Not that you need streamlining, mind. But the lines do make a difference, dear."

Cora was beginning to miss the acerbic seamstress who thought she was a pain. "Just don't squeeze me into it like a sausage. If I gotta wear the damn thing all day, I gotta be comfortable."

The seamstress raised her eyebrows at the word damn. Could this really be the same woman who sold breakfast cereal to children on TV? "I promise you it won't. Of course, many brides drop five to ten pounds just before walking down the aisle. We have to take that into consideration."

"If you do, you'll bleed from the nose," Cora informed her. "If I lose weight, you can take the dress in. If I gain weight, you can let it out. Make it fit me now."

"Yes, of course."

The seamstress, much chastened, looped some more fabric.

Cora felt the silk. "Oh, this is nice! You think he'll like it?"

"He hasn't even proposed yet," Sherry pointed out.

Cora waved it away. "That's a mere formality. Trust me, I've been married often enough to know. When it happens, you've gotta be ready. I mean, what if the guy proposed, and before you could get the dress made he changed his mind?"

"I would think you'd count yourself lucky you didn't marry such a fickle man."

"Oh, yeah? I'll have you know just such a fickle man paid for my apartment. They agree to anything when they want to be free."

The seamstress could not have looked more shocked had Cora just revealed herself to be a phone sex operator. Cora stuck one finger under her chin, closed the woman's mouth.

"I don't care what you say, this is tight. Let's go one size larger. If you need to, you can take it in."

"Yes, ma'am."

"You do have it in a larger size, don't you?"

"Yes, of course. Just let me go look."

"Good. When you find it, bring it to me. I'm getting out of this straitjacket."

Cora thrust the veil at Sherry, and stomped off in the direction of the changing rooms.

"Oh, dear," the seamstress said. "Is she...I mean...is she really going to buy it?"

Sherry smiled. "I don't think there's anything I could say that would stop her. Yes, she's worth waiting on. You can count on the sale."

The seamstress flushed again. She hurried off to the back of the store to look for the wedding gown.

Sherry sat, turning the veil over in her hands. She smiled wistfully. Her own wedding had been an elopement. No gown, no veil, no church service, no guests.

If only that had been the worst of it.

Sherry shrugged off the thought. This was about Cora, not her. This was Cora's chance for happiness. Just because she couldn't remember how many chances she'd had, shouldn't diminish its importance. And, assuming it took place, this would be the first of Cora's weddings Sherry had attended. Cora had asked her to be the maid of honor. Sherry couldn't disappoint her. She needed to get in the spirit.

Of late, Razor had been in a particularly foul mood due to the fact the Tune Freaks lead singer, Dennis Pride, had quit the band, leaving the singing chores up for grabs. Razor didn't want to sing, but he didn't want anyone else in the band to sing, and possibly rival him. So Razor was singing and playing lead guitar. His voice was adequate at best, his guitar playing suffered, and no one in the band was happy.

At the moment, however, Razor appeared to be having either an epiphany or an acid flashback. He stood mesmerized, gazing in the window at the beautiful young woman sitting alone in the Fifth Avenue bridal shop, a beautiful young woman who smiled wistfully and held a bridal veil.

Copyright © 2003 Parnell Hall All rights reserved