K&T, LLC Ch. 05

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I said, "Thank you, Pedro. I am honored that you would take your time to meet with us." He was having none of that.

"No. No. Years ago, I meet Francita. She is very talented, yet she work much the harder than anyone on crew. I ask her why this is. She says that she know what real talent look like, but she will never have it. This is truth, but not a truth that one of twenty or twenty one is likely to find. So, we work together. Always Francita, she work very hard. Always there is a vision of what she may never have." My blood was running cold. I could see where he was headed, but I never wanted the responsibility.

He continued, "Ten years I work with her. Many things I teach her. She is best student, and I have many students. Mucho dinero, many businesses have follow. Always, there is the vision and the knowledge of the curse. So you see, I must come and for myself witness the diosa." What the hell? He was calling me a goddess. "I must say, in my life there have been many disappointments. Not esta noche. El gusto es mio." It was all I could do to keep my mouth shut.

There was so much to unpack, but three things jumped out. Francine had said, many times, that she had to work hard because she lacked talent. Pick an interview at random. It will be in there. One of the most influential men in theater was saying that I was the standard Francine aspired to, but could never reach. Second, Francine considered me cursed. That one I could accept.

What I could not accept is that Pedro Miguel Rodriguez Santos de la Garza—mentor of five time Tony and twice Oscar winning actress Edith Dryer, husband of Manhattan heiress, socialite and philanthropist Angela Molinari de la Garza, personal owner of fifteen Tonys and two Best Picture Oscars—not only came to meet me, but was not disappointed once he had. Lord YWHA, compare the results. Yet, here the man was, oozing sincerity. He was not only asking me to call him by his personal name, he was calling me a goddess. I felt like Dorothy in Oz. Shortly, I would wake up with a concussion.

Fortunately, I had shopping to do while the dream lasted. Pedro was showing me the servants costumes from Dorian Gray. Those would not do, because they were too British, but the adjustments were minor. I showed him the ribbon Julian had put in my hair. That gave us a benchmark color for the decorations. Soon we were talking like lifelong friends. Perhaps that was his secret—that Pedro de la Garza could make anyone feel comfortable.

Then I mentioned the party barge. Pedro was all over the idea of a floating stage. At least we thought that much alike.

Siobhan:

The ride to Brooklyn was memorable. Sheila had let Francine have the wheel and it showed. Russell was weaving through traffic like a madman. All the time he was muttering to himself. It sounded like a student reciting lessons. Then I realized that he was reciting lectures from a pursuit class. Russell is trained in surveillance. Following Francine was testing the limits of his driving skills. It was kind of a rush. While we drove, I text a message to Gerald, commending Russell on his skill.

We eventually pulled into a church parking lot. There were people waiting. I opened my door and CC was there to help me out of the car. I had almost forgotten the heels I was wearing. She helped me over to where Sheila was standing. She introduced me to a short Hispanic man in very good Spanish. His reply had distinct gutter accents, but there was no mistaking his authority—or his wife. My family, the Sparks, O'Briens and we Richards do fairly well in our part of New Jersey. We do not hobnob with the likes of Angela Molinari de la Garza. My God, what had I gotten into?

We got back in the cars and drove to what proved to be a costume warehouse. Mr. Pedro led us to a stall containing turn of the 20th century fashions. I could see that Sheila was enthralled. Mr. Pedro delegated an aid to take me to the Executive Suite, whatever that meant. CC tagged along, while Angela and Francine drifted in another direction. Richards may not hobnob with Mrs. de la Garza, but Martel certainly did.

The executive suite was full of power suits. Duh. My first inclination was to wonder why we were here, then I realized that this was supposed to be my look. Oh my freaking god. The aide asked for my jacket, which I gave him. Then he asked for the skirt and blouse—which froze me like a deer in the headlights. Actors are reputed to have little body modesty, so it may have been normal for him. Damned if I would let his eyes stop me from doing what needed doing.

Trying very hard to keep my hands from shaking, I unbuttoned my top. That came off and I handed it to CC. Then I unbuckled the belt, which meant that the skirt tried to fall to the floor. CC stepped close, so that I could lean on her while I stepped out of the skirt. When I stood upright again, I noticed that the aide was licking his lips and sweating at the neck. What was that about? I was still wearing my panties, bra and Julian's corset. It was not like I was uncovered.

The aide shook himself and turned to the racks of clothes. He pulled out a classic black tux, men's style, a padded shoulder pant suit, also black, and a long black jacket with no buttons. I put a hand on a nearby rack and lifted one foot. CC removed my sandal. On a whim, I blew Mr. Aide a kiss while I switched feet. Mr. Aide flushed rather thoroughly. Dear God, was it really this easy?

I took the tux and waived off the pant suit. I had enough shoulders without pads. The aide understood my meaning, and went in search of compliments for the jacket. CC brought me a chair, which let me sit to pull on the pants. They were long enough, but the waist was much too large. Fortunately the waist adjusted, some, and there were suspenders. I put on the ruffled shirt. At first, I thought the sleeves were too long. Then I realized the cuffs were French style. Surprisingly, there was room for my bust, though the waist was rather baggy. CC helped me get that tucked in, then we put on my sandals again. I was just standing to try on the jacket when Mr. Aide returned. His expression was worth all the trouble.

Putting down the clothes he carried, he rushed over. From his pocket, he drew a pair of cuff links. I allowed him to thread them through the French cuffs. While he was doing so, I told CC to go get the boxes of shoes. She left at a run. Meanwhile, Mr. Aide pulled a scarlet bow tie from somewhere and ran it around my neck. That took a minute. By the time he was finished, CC was back, holding the black pumps with four inch heels. While she was slipping those on, Mr. Aide was rearranging my hair. Then both he and CC helped me up.

I stood for a moment to get my balance and find the correct posture. CC nudged me a couple of times, but it was already becoming easy to do—when I concentrated. I had a long way to go for it to be effortless. Mr. Aide added a red tartan cummerbund. Then it was finally time to try on the jacket, which fit looser than I liked, but was nice across the shoulders and upper back. I wondered at the tailoring, til I remembered that I was wearing a corset.

Once everything was smoothed to his satisfaction, Mr. Aide stepped back and gave me an appraising look. I said, "Well?" He stroked his chin and said, "Works. The cut is wrong, but there are not many things I have tall enough in women's clothes. Let me try something." We removed the jacket and cummerbund, then he gave me the long jacket he had brought at first. That one was tight where the men's jacket was correct, but closer to correct elsewhere. Once he had everything smoothed, Mr. Aide nodded. "That is probably as good as we can manage, here and now. You are normal sized and actresses tend to be very petite. Let's go down and get a verdict."

I had almost gotten comfortable walking in the sandals. The pumps were at least an inch taller and not nearly as comfortable. CC lent me a shoulder and coached me as I went. Looking straight ahead seemed counter intuitive, but it helped. I could occasionally feel the step before I took it. Mr. Aide smiled and said, "Running shoes?" I replied, "Army boots." which made him laugh. I wonder how he would react if he understood it was the literal truth. Then he said, "Don't worry. Miss Francine is the best coach anywhere. God knows where Miss Sheila learned. I have never seen the like."

With that to chew on, we arrived at the first stall. Sheila and Mr. de la Garza were deep in conversation. He saw us first and rose to meet us. Sheila pulled the camera out of her pocket and shot several angles. She paid special attention to the leg, even asking CC to pull the pant leg up. She must have wanted to see my ankle.

Regardless, her only comment was, "Hillary Clinton eat your heart out." Mr. de la Garza agreed, saying "Si. She is power in motion, when she moves correctly. Francita will teach her. She is quite good at this. How long is she studying?"

I checked the time, which brought a laugh, until I said it had been five and half hours. Then Mr. de la Garza looked to Sheila for confirmation. She nodded and said, "Self discipline runs deep in the family." I had no idea what she meant, but Mr. de la Garza nodded and said, "Then you are afortunado. No wonder Francita is pleased.

"But, to business. Your choice is difficult. Siovan and Francita could not be more different. Your Christina is yet another form. She will stand next to you, yes?" Sheila nodded. "Then for her, decide."

I was having trouble following that, but Sheila nodded. She pointed at a dress and said, "Ivory, with green piping." The dress was full length. The front was a triangle, running from wide puffed shoulders to a narrow waist, before flaring into skirts. It would look good on CC, especially tightly fitted for her corset. Francine could wear anything, but I dreaded it. Desperately I said, "Could I wear a tux?"

Both Sheila and Mr. de la Garza started to refuse, then stopped and looked at each other. Mr. de la Garza raised an eyebrow. Sheila bit her lip. Then she pulled the ribbon from her hair and looked over at CC, who left at a run. Was I the only one who did not understand? Sheila came over and removed my bow tie. Then she replaced it with the green ribbon, tied in a larger bow. CC had returned with the cummerbund and tux jacket. We put those on again.

When everything was arranged to Sheila's liking, Francine's voice said, "You need emeralds." I looked up and saw that CC had donned the dress Sheila had selected. It was loose at the point of the V. Clearly, It could be fit very well to a corset. Sheila positioned CC next to herself, with Jerome (Mr. Aide) in Sean's place, and myself next to him. We all looked at Mr. and Mrs. de la Garza.

Naturally, it was Francine who spoke. "Good. That's decided. Let's eat."

Sheila:

Pedro and I discussed my idea of using the party barge as a floating altar. He loved the idea. Sound carries well over water, simplifying that issue. Seating space would almost triple. The physical separation from the guests was good for security and would hide small defects in the decorations. The gazebo would give Justin an ideal place to set up his cameras. Best of all, no one had done it before. Purely as theater, it was a no brainer.

When we turned to the bridesmaid's dresses, things became muddier. Christine would stand beside me, so her dress was the most important. When Siobhan arrived—looking brutally handsome in men's slacks, ruffled shirt and a long black jacket—my problem came into fine focus. It was simply impossible to dress Siobhan, Christine and Francine alike and make it work.

Pedro reminded me that Christine's dress was the most important. That was easy enough, so I pointed it out. Siobhan was stricken. It was exactly the type of dress that would accent her harsher features. Pleadingly, she asked if she could wear a tux.

My first reaction was to say no, because it was unheard of in the period. But, I stopped. Pedro seemed to have the same reaction, but he also paused. Siobhan would look damn good in a dinner jacket. In fact, her slacks and shirt were already from a formal. Also, she was Sean's family. There was good reason to put her on the groom's side, particularly if his brother could not make the trip. Pedro raised a questioning eyebrow. What did we have to lose? I glanced at Christine, who darted off.

This set off a flurry of activity while we did a quick change. I pulled the ribbon from my hair to use as a tie, rather than the red one Siobhan had come in with. Christine returned with a jacket and cummerbund. Then she pulled off her sundress and pulled on the dress I had chosen. That decision was one I would not be second guessing. Pedro's aide, Jerome, was handy, so he would stand for Sean. I pulled us into a semblance of the wedding order, then looked to get Pedro's reaction. Instead, Francine called for dinner.

It was not that easy, of course, but the principal decision had been made. Siobhan left, leaning on Christine, to change back to street clothes. Seeing them go, Siobhan in a men's suit and Christine in a floor length dress, the pairing was obvious. I even felt a twinge of jealousy. But, it was only a twinge. I had a man at home, so Siobhan could be my friend, not my lover. That was more than simply right—it was the way I wanted it. For the first time all week, a sense of peace settled over me. It was good to have friends.

Once everyone was reassembled, we said our goodbyes. I could see that Pedro wished to come to dinner with us, but Angela was showing some strain. Instead, Pedro promised a rough set by Thursday morning. Evidently, someone had been to the Residence on Monday to shoot pictures and take measurements. Jerome promised to have all the clothes ready for a final fitting on Friday. By this time, Francine was practically bouncing on her toes, so we went to eat.

The restaurant was closer to the warehouse than the church had been. Francine walked past a line of people waiting for tables and addressed the maitre 'd by name. He snapped his fingers and we were led to a large table looking out over the bay. Before we were settled in our seats, three servers were delivering water, menus and a huge shrimp cocktail for Francine. The menus had no prices.

Siobhan and I exchanged glances. Francine caught the glance. She said, "I own the place. Shut up. I'm starving." Siobhan and I cracked up. It had been a successful day and this was the perfect ending. It was too bad I still needed to drive home.

Francine said, " After we eat is the bachelorette party."

Chapter 12 -- With Girlfriends like These...

Interlude: 25th Anniversary

Cindy:

Weddings are supposed to have bridal showers. That was not going to happen, given the time available. However, Aunt Frannie knows a lot of people, so a bridal bash was fairly easy. It was at a club called Le Chat Noir, which means the black cat. Aunt Frannie claims it was named after Mom. People have called Mom "the Cat"--who wouldn't—but the idea is still silly. Isn't it?

Siobhan:

After the fashion show at the costume warehouse, I changed back to my skirt suit, but managed to get stuck with the tall black pumps. The sandals had been surprisingly comfortable. These shoes were not. Jerome quipped, "If they ain't hurtin', they ain't helpin.'" Live and learn.

Francine took us to a nearby surf and turf restaurant. We waltzed by a line at the door and were seated immediately. Our table had an excellent view of Gravesend Bay. The last light of the day turned the western sky to indigo and violet. The bay water reflected royal blue. It was gorgeous.

Servers brought water and menus before I had was even seated. As usual, CC was at my elbow, helping my balance. Francine was seated so that she could see the room. There had been a shrimp cocktail already at the table. I assumed it was for everyone, but watched as Francine went through it, two prawns at a time. Before she was finished, coffee arrived and they left the carafe. When she realized everyone at the table was staring, Francine said that she owned the restaurant, which did explain a few things.

It was one of those places where the menu has no prices, except for the person getting the bill. That would not be me. Francine had also tried to pick up the $3000 at the warehouse store. Since she was a well known performer, I expected her to be well off, but this was beginning to feel like serious money. It was something to consider. From her story earlier, Francine felt she owed Sheila a great deal. Debts and money go together, unless money cannot be used to pay the debt. With Sheila, that was entirely possible.

Dinner was not uneventful. I ordered steak and lobster—an 8 oz. steak and a one pound lobster tail. CC picked up the menu and pointed to a line. It turned out to be lobster scampi on linguine. Sheila ordered a dozen oysters and a grilled chicken on arugula salad. Francine ordered a 16 oz porterhouse and two whole lobsters, with a side of linguine alfredo.

The oysters arrived first. Sheila indicated that we were invited to share. Francine circled her finger twice. Another two dozen oysters were brought to the table, along with six varieties of hot sauce and a bowl of cut lemons. I had fun feeding some to CC, who was a shell fish virgin. She looked at the first one dubiously, but ate without verbal protest. The second one I doused with lemon. CC enjoyed that combination. For the third, I used Texas Pete, which is a moderately spicy pepper sauce. CC smiled at that one, so I upped it to Tabasco, then Melinda's, which was the hottest sauce at the table. CC was still looking for more.

For you non-pepperheads, Melinda's is a venerable habanero sauce. It packs nice heat, but also excellent flavor. It is generally the line between pretenders, like myself, and serious capsicum hounds. I looked at Francine, whose face drew a feral grin. She held up a hand and a waiter appeared. The waiter returned with three bottles: Melinda's Naga, Dave's Ghost and Mad Dog's 44 Magnum. The last one made my eye's widen. I looked at Francine again. She shrugged and ordered something else, probably ice cream.

Our table was drawing attention, which meant a server was at my elbow. I asked for gloves, which he had in his apron. Thus protected, I opened the bottle of Melinda's Red. This was above my comfort level, but at least I had tried this one. I put one drop on an oyster and offered it to CC. She ate it as if it were nothing, but then her eyes got wide and sweat popped out on her forehead. Like a true addict, she nodded. Blessed Jesus, forgive our sins. I opened the Dave's Insanity Ghost Pepper sauce. Just a whiff made me sneeze. CC did not nonchalant this bite, but it went down.

Francine jumped up on her chair. To the room, she asked who had a stop watch. Many people had a stopwatch function on their wristwatch or phone, but someone had an actual dial stopwatch. Holding it high, she nodded to me. I carefully cracked the seal on the Mad Dog's 44 Magnum and opened the bottle. This stuff was supposed to be close to police grade pepper spray. I took a toothpick and stuck it in the bottle, smeared the sauce on an oyster, then very carefully closed the jar.

The entire restaurant watched CC's face as she tasted the oyster. Her eyes got very wide as the heat hit. Sweat popped out all over her face and neck. She chewed a couple of times, then swallowed the bite. Her face took on the euphoric expression that means endorphin rush. Several people around the room did variations on, "Oh my God." After about a minute she looked around, as if to ask what the fuss was about.

Francine announced, "That was impressive. I am Francine Martel, one of the owners. For the next month, anyone that can do that, for one full minute, will win steak and lobster for four. You will have to buy the bottle and there will be a medical waiver. Ice cream will be included at no charge, win or lose. However, the steak and lobster, or equivalent, has to be ordered and paid before the attempt. I may be short, but I'm not stupid." That brought laughter and applause.