Becky dear, I do hope this all works out.
With very best wishes, and with all our love to Luke—
Annabel
SECOND UNION BANK
53 Wall Street
New York, NY 10005
June 10, 2002
Miss Rebecca Bloomwood
Apt. B251 W. 11th Street
New York, NY 10014
Dear Miss Bloomwood:
Thank you very much for your wedding invitation addressed to Walt Pitman.
After some discussion we have decided to take you into our confidence. Walt Pitman does not in fact exist. It is a generic name, used to represent all our customer care operatives.
The name “Walt Pitman” was chosen after extensive focus group research to suggest an approachable yet competent figure. Customer feedback has shown that the continual presence of Walt in our customers’ lives has increased confidence and loyalty by over 50 percent.
We would be grateful if you would keep this fact to yourself. If you would still like a representative from Second Union Bank at your wedding, I would be glad to attend. My birthday is March 5th and my favorite color is blue.
Yours sincerely,
Bernard Lieberman
Senior Vice-President
Twenty
OK. DON’T PANIC. This is going to work. If I just keep my head and remain calm, it’ll work.
“It’ll never work,” says Suze’s voice in my ear.
“Shut up!” I say crossly.
“It’ll never work in a million years. I’m just warning you.”
“You’re not supposed to be warning me! You’re supposed to be encouraging me!” I lower my voice. “And as long as everyone does what they’re supposed to, it will work. It has to.”
I’m standing at the window of a twelfth-floor suite at the Plaza, staring at Plaza Square below. Outside, it’s a hot sunny day. People are milling around in Tshirts and shorts, doing normal things like hiring horse carriages to go round the park and tossing coins into the fountain.
And here am I, dressed in a towel, with my hair teased beyond recognition into a Sleeping Beauty style, and makeup an inch thick, walking around in the highest white satin shoes I’ve ever come across in my life. (Christian Louboutin, from Barneys. I get a discount.)
“What are you doing now?” comes Suze’s voice again.
“I’m looking out the window.”
“What are you doing that for?”
“I don’t know.” I watch a woman with denim shorts sit down on a bench and snap open a can of Coke, completely unaware she’s being watched. “To try to get a grip on normality, I suppose.”
“Normality?” I hear Suze splutter down the phone. “Bex, it’s a bit late for normality!”
“That’s not fair!”
“If normality is planet earth, do you know where you are right now?”
“Er… the moon?” I hazard.
“You’re fifty million light-years away. You’re… in another galaxy. A long long time ago.”
“I do feel a bit like I’m in a different world,” I admit, and turn to survey the palatial suite behind me.
The atmosphere is hushed and heavy with scent and hairspray and expectation. Everywhere I look there are lavish flower arrangements, baskets of fruit and chocolates, and bottles of champagne on ice. Over by the dressing table the hairdresser and makeup girl are chatting to one another while they work on Erin. Meanwhile the reportage photographer is changing his film, his assistant is watching Madonna on MTV, and a room-service waiter is clearing away yet another round of cups and glasses.
It’s all so glamorous, so expensive. But at the same time, what I’m reminded of most of all is getting ready for the summer school play. The windows would be covered in black material, and we’d all crowd round a mirror getting all overexcited, and out the front we’d hear the parents filing in, but we wouldn’t be allowed to peek out and see them…
“What are you doing now?” comes Suze’s voice again.
“Still looking out the window.”
“Well, stop looking out the window! You’ve got less than an hour to go!”
“Suze, relax.”
“How can I relax?”
“It’s all fine. It’s under control.”
“And you haven’t told anyone,” she says for the millionth time. “You haven’t told Danny.”
“Of course not! I’m not that stupid!” I edge casually into a corner where no one can hear me. “Only Michael knows. And Laurel. That’s it.”
“And no one suspects anything?”
“Not a thing,” I say, just as Robyn comes into the room. “Hi, Robyn! Suze, I’ll talk to you later, OK—”
I put the phone down and smile at Robyn, who’s wearing a bright pink suit and a headset and carrying a walkie-talkie.
“OK, Becky,” she says in a serious, businesslike way. “Stage one is complete. Stage two is under way. But we have a problem.”
“Really?” I swallow. “What’s that?”
“None of Luke’s family have arrived yet. His father, his stepmother, some cousins who are on the list… You told me they’d spoken to you?”
“Yes, they did.” I clear my throat. “Actually… they just called again. I’m afraid there’s a problem with their plane. They said to seat other people in their places.”
“Really?” Robyn’s face falls. “This is too bad! I’ve never known a wedding to have so many last-minute alterations! A new maid of honor… a new best man… a new officiant… it seems like everything’s changed!”