Hitched

17

Regan and Kit hailed a taxi and gave the address of Victoria Beardsley, who lived on the Upper West Side. They headed across Central Park South, the sight of the towering Time Warner Center in front of them, home of exorbitantly priced condos, upscale shops, and hip restaurants, including the highly praised Per Se, which wasn’t a place to go “grab a bite.” Reservations could only be made two months in advance for that sumptuous multihour dining experience.

The cab rounded Columbus Circle and made a right on Broadway. It was late Saturday afternoon in early April, and the streets were busy. Shoppers were out in full force. The rain had driven people inside, but the minute the sky cleared, they were back out again. Springtime was in the air.

As they were passing Lincoln Center, Regan received a call on her cell phone from Jack, who told her about the bank robbery. “Any time it rains, this guy strikes. One of the detectives nicknamed him ‘The Drip.’ I think it’s going to stick.”

“I like that,” Regan commented. “I’ll have to figure out nicknames for the guys we’re looking for.” She filled him in on Tracy ’s plight and gave him Jeffrey Woodall’s name and address. Jack said he’d run the name and they agreed to meet at his apartment in a couple of hours. They’d take a ride down to Atlantic City to the casino where Alfred had been gambling the week before, and then come back to New York to survey the area outside Charisse and Alfred’s loft in the hours after midnight.

“It’s going to be a long night,” Kit commented when Regan hung up the phone.

“Do you want to go back to my parents’ apartment and take it easy?”

“Are you kidding? No way. I might meet somebody in Atlantic City.”

Regan smiled. She knew Kit was joking but she also knew that Kit wished she had a special guy she could bring to the wedding. “Don’t worry. There will be single guys at the reception. Jack has a cousin around our age and a couple of his friends from college will be there.”

“What’s wrong with them?”

Regan laughed. “Nothing!”

Traveling up Broadway they passed a multiplex where all the latest movies were playing, bagel shops, restaurants, mobile phone stores, and nail salons, and then Regan spotted Zabar’s, the famous gourmet marketplace, on the other side of the street. “I’d love to go in there right now. It always smells great.”

“Work calls!” Kit declared.

A couple blocks farther north, the cab turned right. The driver slowed the car and moved haltingly until he found the right address. There were handsome brownstones on the small block, but the old and tired brick building they were now staring at wasn’t one of them. Regan paid the fare, and they got out. They approached the front steps and opened the outer door. Regan pushed the buzzer for apartment 4B, the one labeled Beardsley.

They waited, and then she pushed it again.

“Who’s there?” a breathless sleepy voice answered.

“Victoria Beardsley?”

“Yes.”

“My name is Regan Reilly. I’m here on behalf of Alfred and Charisse, who made your wedding gown…”

“Ohhhhh. Yes. Alfred and Charisse.” Victoria said, dragging out the words.

Regan looked at Kit quizzically. “May I come up for a moment? I have a letter for you from them.”

“Is everything all right?”

“They’re all right. There’s a problem with their gowns. I’ll explain it to you if-”

“I’m in 4B.”

The buzzer sounded to release the lock on the inner door.

They walked up the four floors, hearing the everyday sounds of living coming from inside apartments along the way. Rock music, a baby crying, the blare of a television. They passed one apartment where a woman, obviously a professional singer, or at least a fledgling one, was doing her vocal exercises with great gusto.

“Me me me me me me me me me. Me me me me ME ME ME ME ME. Me Me ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME.”

“It’s always about you,” Kit muttered.

Regan grinned and rolled her eyes. “4B must be right here to the left.” They stopped in front of a door which had several locks and more than a few scratches. “Here goes nothing,” Regan whispered as she rang the bell.

Immediately they could hear the snapping sounds of locks being unbolted. The door opened a crack and a set of snapping brown eyes peered out.

“Hi there,” Regan said. “I’m Regan Reilly. This is my friend Kit.”

“Just a moment.” The door shut and the woman released the chain that would have prevented Regan and Kit from storming her apartment. She opened the door again. Barefoot and dressed in a colorful caftan, she waved them in as though she were having a party.

“I’m sorry to disturb you. Did we wake you?” Regan asked.

“I was taking a nap,” she said cheerfully. “But I’m up now. I have coffee brewing.”

Regan and Kit stepped inside the tiny, dark apartment. A kitchenette on the right opened onto a small room with old wooden floors. Regan had the immediate impression that Victoria was not someone who sweated the small stuff when it came to decorating. Bookshelves crammed willy-nilly with books, CDs, tapes, and knickknacks covered one wall. Two different-sized framed posters hung on the opposite wall. The seating area consisted of a beige couch dotted with assorted pillows, one overstuffed chair, and a coffee table weighted down by a small television, more books and tapes, and numerous candles. Two stools were pushed up against the kitchenette counter. A door to what Regan guessed was the bedroom was closed. It was clear that not much light could find its way through the one small window on the far wall, as it faced the brick wall of the next building. In real estate terms, the apartment would be termed “private.”

“Please come in and sit down,” Victoria said as she hurriedly yanked a blanket off the couch.

Regan guessed Victoria to be in her early thirties. She had flowing dark curly hair, wide brown eyes, and flawless skin with a perfect flush to her cheeks. Regan was sure she’d look beautiful in one of Alfred’s wedding gowns.

As Regan and Kit sat on the couch, Regan noticed that the book at the top of the stack on the coffee table was about visualization. CREATE WHAT YOU WANT IN LIFE, it said on the cover. The sleeve of one of the tapes on the table urged the viewer to access their inner peace and power. That’s good, Regan thought. If she values inner peace, let’s hope she takes the news better than Brianne and Tracy.

Regan explained who she was and what had happened.

“That’s so sad,” Victoria said. She started to giggle and shake her head. “That’s really terrible.”

Those tapes must work, Regan thought.

“I know you must think I’m a little crazy,” Victoria continued as she tried to stop laughing, “but I can just picture how hysterical Alfred must have been.” She cupped her hand to her mouth.

Regan couldn’t help but laugh herself. “He is a little bent out of shape.”

Victoria pointed to her tape on inner peace. “I wanted to lend this to him, but he wasn’t interested. He said he enjoys frenzy.”

“He thrives on it,” Regan agreed. “But I think this is a bit too much frenzy, even for Alfred. He told me you’re getting married in three weeks.”

“Huh?”

“Your wedding date?”

“Oh, yes. That’s right. Three weeks.”

“Alfred and Charisse are planning to work night and day to replace our dresses.”

“That’s great.” Victoria shook her head from side to side. “But I don’t want Alfred to have a nervous breakdown. I have a girlfriend’s dress I can wear. It’s beautiful.”

“Forget it,” Kit cracked. “What will give Alfred a nervous breakdown is if he has to write another refund check.”

Victoria grabbed Kit’s arm and laughed. “Kit, you’re dead on!”

This girl loves inner peace and sharing laughs, Regan thought as she laughed, too. “Where are you getting married, Victoria?”

“Out in the country.”

“How nice. Where in the country?”

“ Pennsylvania.” Victoria jumped up and sauntered toward the kitchenette, humming loudly as she crossed the room. “Coffee?” she asked.

Regan and Kit both declined. She doesn’t have to answer my questions, Regan realized. But I sure am curious about her. She’s taking this almost too well. “I can’t imagine your fiancé will be too happy that you have to go through all this worry about your dress.”

“Oh, my fiancé’s so wonderful. Wonderful. He’s just perfect. He won’t care.” She waved her hand, poured herself a cup of coffee, and floated back to the overstuffed chair. She pulled her feet up under her as she sat back down.

“Where is he now?” Regan asked.

“He lives in Pennsylvania. I met him online. It’s so hard to meet men in this city!”

“It’s so hard to meet men anywhere,” Kit said excitedly. “Which dating service did you use?”

Victoria took a sip of her coffee. “Cupid’s Bow.”

“I never heard of that one,” Kit said. “And I’ve tried a few. My friend here worries about me when I go on these dates. But I’m careful. Although I haven’t met anyone who’s good for the long term.”

Victoria leaned over and grabbed Kit’s hand. “I know how hard it is! But you’ll find the right one. I promise. You’ve got to belieeevvve.”

Regan glanced at the cover of the visualization book. You’ve Got to Believe was the subtitle. She got her money’s worth out of that, too, Regan thought.

“I belieeevvve,” Kit said jokingly. “It’s okay. Before Regan met Jack she didn’t have it easy, either. And now you both have found the right person.”

“I certainly have,” Victoria said. Her beautiful face was glowing.

“The romance with my fiancé was long distance, too,” Regan said. “It’s not easy. I’m glad it’s finally over. Are you moving to Pennsylvania or is your fiancé coming here?”

Victoria made a sweeping motion with her left arm. “We’re still going to live separately. You know, we’ll visit each other on weekends and holidays.”

Regan blinked with surprise.

“Keeps the relationship fresh,” Kit volunteered. “You won’t have the chance to get on each other’s nerves.”

Victoria waved her coffee cup and leaned forward. “That’s how we feel. We’ll see how this arrangement works and then take it from there. I’ve lived alone for this long, I don’t even know how good I’d be at a relationship twenty-four-seven.” She rolled her eyes self deprecatingly. “I enjoy my job and I love New York.” She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I don’t want to leave just yet.”

“I love New York, too,” Regan said “My fiancé lives in Tribeca. That’s where we’ll live for now.”

“Tribeca is wonderful!” Victoria sighed. “They have such great restaurants and art galleries. It’s so hip down there!”

Regan smiled. “Jack has a loft apartment that he was lucky enough to get before the prices went too crazy. We both love it.” Regan paused. “Do you work in the city?”

“In Midtown at the Queen’s Court Hotel.”

“One of the best hotels in Manhattan,” Regan commented.

“It is. I check people in on the overnight shift. That’s why I was sleeping. I’ve been doing it for a year now but my body still hasn’t gotten used to the schedule. I don’t mind though. I’m not a nine-to-five person. I love having my days free and I get a few hours sleep here and there.” She paused. “Are you sure I can’t get you two anything to drink?”

“No thanks,” Kit said. “We’ve been drinking Charisse’s lavender tea all day.”

Victoria smiled. “Charisse is such a darling!”

“Charisse is the one who assured me that our gowns would be ready,” Regan said. “ Victoria, we’re trying to figure out if whoever stole the gowns might have had a grudge against Alfred and Charisse or one of the April Brides. Can you think of anyone who knew you were buying your gown from Alfred and Charisse and wanted to screw up your wedding by stealing your dress?”

“No. Not at all,” Victoria answered quickly, then smiled. “I did tease my fiancé that he must have broken a lot of hearts along the way.”

“What’s your fiancé’s name?” Kit asked.

Victoria leaned her head to one side. “ Frederick.”

“ Frederick what?” Kit asked innocently.

“Dortmunder. Frederick is so proud of his heritage. He talks about it all the time. His family goes wayyyy back.”

Most families go way back somewhere, Regan thought. “What does he do in Pennsylvania?”

“He’s a painter. Incredibly talented. At Frederick ’s house in the country he has a little studio where he spends most of his time. He can’t paint in this apartment because there’s no light. That’s why we spend most of our time together out there. He says that I’m his muse-that he gets inspired when I watch him paint. So I sit there for hours just watching him create these beautiful images.”

I’d go nuts, Regan thought, but smiled and said, “Sounds great. Now, Victoria, no matter what you say, if we don’t find the dresses very soon, Alfred and Charisse will make you a new one in time for your wedding. I’m just glad that you’re not upset. Because let me tell you something-two of the other brides today did not take this as calmly as you have.”

“Of course I’m upset. But I’ve learned that it’s best to concentrate on the things in life that really matter.” She pointed to her books and tapes. “For the last year I’ve been studying visualization, learning to listen to the quiet music inside of me. I came to this city from Iowa to try my hand at the whole show-biz thing. I sang and danced in all the plays back home. But in New York the competition is fierce. After several years, it dawned on me that I didn’t believe in myself enough! I was introduced to visualization and it changed my life! I wrote my affirmations over and over of what I wanted and at this point in time I wanted to focus on finding love. And I found it! That’s what really matters. I’m having fun! The stolen dress doesn’t matter in the long run.”

“You’re absolutely right,” Regan said with a nod. “This robbery has gotten a lot of attention from the press. A couple of reporters want to do stories on the five April Brides, as Alfred has dubbed us. One of the other brides is happy to be interviewed. Another, for her own reasons, says absolutely not. Do you have any interest in talking to the press about your reaction to this? They’d love you. You have such a great attitude, and if you want to be in show business, it could give you some good exposure.”

“No, Regan,” Victoria said without hesitation. “ Frederick would disapprove. He believes in the quiet life. He wouldn’t want me to get involved in a media circus. I just know he’d find it undignified. He’s rather proper.”

“So you’re not going to pursue show biz anymore?” Regan asked.

“We’ll see,” Victoria said airily. “But right now I just want to enjoy being in love!” she exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air.

“I understand,” Regan said as she stood.

“Of course you do! You’re in love, too!” Victoria stood. She was a little taller than Regan. “It was so lovely meeting you both,” she said as she walked them to the door, once again humming a little tune. “Good luck with your wedding, Regan.”

“You, too. You’ll be hearing from Alfred about your dress.”

“I’m sure it will all work out.” Victoria turned to Kit and looked at her with intensity. Her brown eyes were popping. “Remember, you’ve got to belieeevvve. Draw a treasure map of where you want to go in life and hang it on your wall. Write out your affirmations. To create the life of your dreams, you have to make it happen!”

“I’ll check out that dating service when I get home,” Kit muttered.

“You do that!”

When Kit and Regan were back out on the street, they both looked at each other. “I liked her,” Kit said. “She’s a little strange but she has charm.”

Regan shrugged as they walked toward the corner.

“What?” Kit asked.

“She’s very likable but she doesn’t at all seem like someone who’s getting married in three weeks. She didn’t seem to care about the dress. And there was nothing in that apartment to indicate that she’d sent out invitations or that presents were coming in or anything like that. There are no magazines or books about wedding planning-just visualization and inner peace. If you pay that much money for one of Alfred’s dresses, you must be having some sort of special ceremony.”

“Maybe it’s all out at Frederick ’s studio,” Kit quipped. “Next to his paintbrushes.”

“Could be,” Regan said, then frowned. “If he’s such an incredibly talented artist, then how come the only thing she has on her wall are a couple of framed prints? Wouldn’t she have at least one of his paintings on display?”

“You’d think.”

“I’ve got to tell you something, Kit. They don’t sound like the greatest pair. She doesn’t want to leave the city. He doesn’t want to leave the country. She’s gregarious and likes to have fun. He’s worried about getting his name in the paper. Let me tell you, if he wants to sell his paintings, it would help if people knew about them. It could help her, too. But she obviously doesn’t want to upset him.”

“ Frederick must be some hunk.”

“I don’t know what he is.”

Kit shrugged. “Have you ever heard that opposites attract?”

“Sure I have. But something doesn’t seem right.” Regan hailed a cab. They got in, and she gave the address of the last April Bride. “We’re going across Central Park to Fifth Avenue,” she told the driver. “ Fifth Avenue and Seventy-fifth Street.”

“You got it lady,” he said and took off like a shot. “You live there? That’s a nice address.”

“No, I don’t.”

“That’s okay. As long as you’re happy. You know what I mean? To me the important thing is to be happy. I’m okay. My wife’s okay. We’re happy.”

Regan leaned back and smiled at Kit as the driver continued his monologue about the meaning of life. She was sure it wouldn’t end until they arrived at the home of the fifth April Bride.

Whoever she turned out to be.