"So what about us wearing the same dress, huh? This is pretty embarrassing."
"Nina, don't change the subject!" Julia snapped.
The door opened and Julia heard Caroline say, "I thought I'd see what was taking you—oh my gosh!" She gasped as she turned the corner. "Oh my gosh. Oh my gosh." Caroline was rocking back and forth in a manner that suggested that as the bride, she should have seen this coming. "When I said you could wear the dresses again," she exclaimed, "I didn't mean at the same time!"
"Caroline," Julia said, "we have bigger problems. Jason is—" "Yoo-hoo!"
Georgia A. led the gang around the corner, then stopped, clasped her hands together in front of her elegantly age-appropriate gown, and said, "The gentlemen said that you ladies had locked yourselves up in here. I think we've figured out why."
Julia took one look at Miss Georgia in a royal-blue ribbon of a dress with a slit down the side revealing one stunning leg and she went to stand by Georgia B., who looked like she'd bought her dress from army surplus. Georgia B. put her arms around Julia and said, "Don't worry, sweetheart, we're going to work something out."
"I think I'll just go home," Julia found herself saying. "I should have just stayed home. I should have ..." Julia couldn't believe it; she was honestly starting to cry. Standing in the bathroom of Sycamore Hills, wearing a bridesmaid dress, surrounded by Georgias, she was crying. Julia James doesn't cry, she thought. Julia James is a bestselling author, one of the most bankable names in books! Julia's fans know her as someone who is calm and confident, ready for whatever curves life throws her!
She cursed Ro-Ro for making her come. She cursed Lance for making it so wonderful for a few minutes. She cursed the fact that once you get used to floating into rooms, it hurts a lot more to crawl out.
"Oh, honey," Miss Georgia was saying. "This simply will not do."
"I know that, Evelyn," Julia stammered. "That's why I'm crying."
Caroline massaged her sister's shoulders. "It's okay, honey. Shhhh." Then Caroline turned to the Georgias. "She's been under so much pressure lately, with the reporters and all the rumors. I'm surprised she's held up as well as she has."
"Honey." Julia heard Miss Georgia's sweet drawl. "You're doing terrible things to your makeup. There's no use making us fix what wasn't broken to begin with."
"Fix?" Julia brushed her hair out of her eyes.
"Of course," the Georgias sang in unison.
"Now, let's look at both of you," Georgia A. said, pushing Nina closer to Julia. "Ladies, what do you think?"
Miss Georgia planted her hands on her nearly nonexistent h*ps and said, "Julia has been here longer, so more people have seen her. She will be harder to change."
"But little Nina is so perfect in that gown. Oh, it would be a pity to touch it," Georgia B. said, and Julia no longer thought she was the nice one. But then Georgia B. redeemed herself by saying, "Plus, I don't think that neckline does Julia justice. It should accentuate her stately shoulders and show her wonderful skin."
"Agreed," Miss Georgia said.
"Wait!" Julia held out a hand. "Caroline, did you know Nina is here with Jason?"
"Yes. He's already at the table. You should have seen the tension between him and Lance when I left—very National Geographic."
Now this I've got to see, Julia thought, but then she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and immediately the dread came rushing back. "I can't walk out there in a different dress. That's going to be too weird."
"Has anyone seen you without the wrap, dear?" Georgia A. asked.
"Well, no," Julia had to concede.
The Georgias all seemed to exhale, and Miss Georgia started toward her. "It's settled then. A lot of women are wearing black dresses, darling. We'll simply reverse Nina's wrap and change your neckline," Miss Georgia said. Then she dumped her small bag onto the makeup vanity, and a whole beauty arsenal fell out.
Twenty minutes later, Julia emerged from the bathroom with a different neckline and an entirely new appreciation for what a former Miss Georgia could do with cuticle scissors and double-sided tape.
Lance watched the way the waiter cleared from the right and served from the left, the way he moved noiselessly, effortlessly between the seated couples, and he realized that this man was no actor-in-waiting; this man was a pro. Only decades of experience within the Sycamore Hills ballroom could give a man the fortitude he would need to keep an even expression on his face as Jason ordered.
"Bring me the pork with the steamed rice instead of the potatoes, and the vegetable medley instead of the salad, and coffee with skim milk, not cream. You getting this down?" Jason asked the man, who looked old enough to have been hired by Wally Willis himself.
Maybe it was Lance's imagination, but as the waiter turned, he thought the man might have given him a wink. Lance smiled, relieved to be among peers, glad for the chance to see things from that side of the table for a change, even if it did mean sitting across from Jason. At least he got to share the table with Julia.
One June, while working the wedding-reception circuit, Lance had developed a theory that there are two kinds of people in the world—the kind who say thank you when you refill their glass, and the kind who act as if the water has miraculously reappeared. Julia, Lance decided halfway through the meal, was a thanker. Each and every time someone refilled a glass or removed or placed a plate, Julia said "thank you" in the perfect volume, the perfect tone. He'd served a lot of people, but he'd never seen anyone hit a hundred percent—until Julia. When Julia said thank you for her salmon and Jason decided that his pork needed to go back to the kitchen, Lance realized that Julia James was his kind of woman.
"So, you're an actor, Lance," Jason said. "That's pretty unstable work."