Celebrations and Confetti At Cedarwood Lodge. Rebecca Raisin
and got to keep him safe at home with me.”
They recollected the war, and how they missed each other fiercely for the two and a bit years he was away. The talked about the letters they wrote and all the promises they vowed to keep as soon as he returned home.
“Did you keep those promises?” I asked.
“We did,” he said. “You just don’t have an inkling when you’re young how fast those years flick by. Though I’m sure there’s been plenty of days Imelda has wanted to walk off into the sunset with someone else,” he laughed.
Imelda considered it. “Once or twice I wanted to put your head in the oven, I can’t lie.”
He nodded. “See? Luckily our oven is electric. And we made it through fifty years with lots of talking, lots of communicating as you young folks call it.” He chortled. “When we heard this place had itself a new owner, we knew it was a chance to throw one hell of a party. We like the idea of coming back to where we began.”
They exchanged a glance, a private message in their rheumy eyes. Whatever happened in my life I vowed right then to wait for the perfect man, I wouldn’t compromise. I wanted the fairy tale that I saw before me. Even if I ran into my old gang of friends in Evergreen and I was the only one still single. Still utterly without The One at thirty-three. Now was not the time to dwell on it. It didn’t matter. Love couldn’t be rushed. Focus, Clio, this isn’t about you.
“I promise if you have the party at Cedarwood there’ll be lots of celebrations, and confetti. It will be an ode to your life together, the love you share. I’ll make it as special as it so deserves to be.”
Imelda gestured for me to lean close and gave me a tight hug. “What do you mean if…We came here to tell you to get the ball rolling… We aren’t spring chickens any more. The only problem I envisage is time. You see, we want to celebrate on our wedding day, makes sense of course, but that’s only six weeks away… you think you can do it?” She gazed around the lodge, like she was imagining the place as it once was.
Could we get the ballroom and entrance done in six short weeks? There was the garden to consider, guest bathrooms, safety measures… But their faces… they looked so awed by the lodge, how could I say no? “Sure,” I said, voice brimming with confidence for the first time since I’d arrived. “We can do it.”
She gave me a grateful smile. “I better find those high heels then. Maybe I’ll get the leopard print and the red, you just never know when a gal might need a pair of fancy shoes.”
“It pays to be organized.” I winked. “And I’m truly honored you’re going to have the party here.” My mind spun with ideas, questions, solutions, and we hadn’t even started yet.
“It’s like the circle of life, we started here, and it will end here…” Imelda was a romantic, I sensed a likeminded soul.
I said, “Would you like to continue to the ballroom?”
Edgar pushed the wheelchair slowly forward. “Sure, let’s see it.”
Imelda smiled, and fussed with a rug on her lap. “If I close my eyes I can still recall the excitement in that young girl’s heart, feel the butterflies floating in her belly at the thought that handsome young man was going to be her husband. I really didn’t believe you’d show up, Edgar. Isn’t that the silliest thing?”
Edgar went to reply but stopped as Imelda’s hand went to her throat, and her face paled. She let out a small groan, and scrunched her eyes closed.
I dropped to my knees and gazed into her face, but her eyes stayed tightly shut, screwed up in pain. “Imelda? Are you OK?” Panic seized me, but Edgar appeared resigned but calm.
Edgar rubbed her shoulder, “She’s OK. She’ll be right in a moment.” His voice was soft with acceptance at whatever it was causing her pain. He opened a bag hanging on the back of the wheelchair and rummaged around, taking out a pillbox and a bottle of water. “We could fight a war, financial troubles, and everything in between, but we can’t fight time,” he said, sadly.
It was a full minute before Imelda returned to us, “Sorry,” she said, giving my hand a pat. “Another spell I take it?”
Edgar stooped forward and handed her two pills and the bottle of water. She took them with trembling hands and drank, before saying, “The mind is willing, but the body just won’t listen sometimes. Don’t you worry, pet. It’s OK. Nothing is going to stop me from having a party at Cedarwood Lodge. Nothing.” She stuck her chin forward, resolute.
Once Imelda’s color returned to normal they peeked into the ballroom with cries of delight. “I’m so glad you’re not fussing with it,” she said. “It’s like something out of an F. Scott Fitzgerald novel.”
“I know,” I said, her description apt. “Have you thought about themes, colors? Cuisines? I can show…”
She cut me off. “You’re the expert,” Imelda said. “All I ask is that the room is bright and cheerful, think colorful bunting, and streamers cascading down. I know it doesn’t sound like much, but I’d love for it to look just like we had it all those years ago.”
An hour later, after firming up more details, we said our goodbyes and I told them to visit any time so they could see the lodge being shaped back into the beauty of its halcyon days.
Hopefully it would return them to their wedding night and their hearts and souls would be young again, with their whole life ahead of them.
I couldn’t wait to call Amory and tell her every little thing. And to see if my name was still making the gossip page…
“Clio, they sound amazing! So they’ve booked the party?” Amory shrieked as I sat down with a laugh at my desk, ignoring piles of invoices that needed to be paid.
“They did! And get this: they didn’t want to see color swatches and menus, or a song list. They said I was the expert and just make it bright and colorful. Only kicker is I have to get everything finished and organized in six weeks.”
“You can do it, that’s what you’re good at. Deadlines.” She let out a laugh. “You lucky thing not having to consult with them every five minutes – why can’t they all be like that?”
Our clients in New York were pernickety to say the least. Bridezillas were plentiful, and the women weren’t opposed to throwing tantrums a five-year-old would be proud of, but I always rolled with it. It came with the territory to receive phone calls at two a.m. from a blushing bride-to-be, sobbing about centerpieces or tiaras. That’s what separated the good party planners from the bad. My job was to say yes, always.
I could fix anything, especially under pressure.
But then I had opened my big mouth.
Shaking myself out of reverie I said, “I’m sure the next clients won’t be so easy.” In the background phones buzzed and drawers banged. Office life. I felt a pang for it. We lapsed into silence as I debated whether to ask.
“Darling about…” she hesitated and I steeled myself. Amory always knew what I was thinking without me having to say a word.
“Don’t tell me. They’re still talking about it? Still?” It had been months. Months since I’d packed up my desk and hidden in my shoebox sized apartment until the sale of Cedarwood had settled. Surely they’d moved on to newer scandals by now? I’d been avoiding the online gossip sites for months in case I saw my own name trapped in a headline once more.
The previous headlines were still burned into my retinas Party planner to the A-listers tells reality star bride to run from celebrity groom!
Amory let out a nervous laugh. “Well…”
I groaned and cupped my face. “Tell me.