Devonne Brown

“Susan, hey, over here,” said Alice, she tried to turn Susan around a bit so she could button the rest of the ten thousand buttons on the back of her wedding dress. Susan couldn’t move her eyes away from the mirror, and except for playing with the fan, stood still.

 Instead of a veil, she held a huge white sparkling fan edged in a floating feather boa. The fan was the last article of clothing a stripper tossed aside, or like a Vegas showgirl, used to give the illusion of being naked.  Susan held the feathered fan just below her eyes. She batted them seductively and moved the fan behind her, revealing a bouquet of pink roses and white baby’s breath, as well as her heaving breasts. 

Her gown was simple, a tight and low strapless bodice with a push up bra sewn in. A narrow A line skirt sparkling with crystals completed the ensemble. The fan was exquisite with the dress. No one at the boutique had thought a fan could double as a veil, but it did. They weren’t able to take their eyes off of her either.

It was evident that Susan practiced with the fan. She didn’t snap it open like some innocent bride, and move it to the front. She held it sideways where it covered half of her body, and waved it back and forth as if she were sitting in a hot church funeral. Susan would have been hot anywhere, anytime, wearing anything, with or without the fan. Alice couldn’t help but wonder, “Where did you learn to move that fan like that?” 

Susan gave her a withering look from the mirror, but kept her eyes locked on her own. Alice was still buttoning. Susan shifted her weight from one hip to the other to aggravate Alice’s nosiness, several times. “My mom taught me, she was a Rockette. That’s who I got my long legs from,” Susan said. She lied. She never knew her mom, she died during childbirth and Susan had been raised by her grandmother. Susan’s mother got pregnant when she was fifteen, dropped out of school, and died. 

All Alice needed to know was that Susan was spending a great deal of money on a dress with a gargantuan fan instead of a veil. Her job was to button the dress and hem it in the front, and leave it long in the back. Susan couldn’t wait to tell her she wanted pink patent leather platform shoes to match her bouquet. Alice would choke to death.

“So, are you getting a limo to take you to the hotel after your wedding?” Alice was so impressed that Susan’s mother had been a Rockette; she forgot to be aggravated with her. “Is that why you wanted a fan instead of a veil?”

“A what? Oh, yeah.” Susan had lost her train of thought and came close to telling the truth. She watched the dress fit better and better as the buttons closed higher and higher on the dress. 

“Are you taking a limo after the wedding?” Alice asked. 

Susan watched the dress become more flattering with each tiny closed buttonhole. Her reflection became more and more beautiful. Both Susan and Alice were becoming exasperated, Alice from Susan’s short answers and wiggling, Susan from Alice’s nosiness.

“No, John rented a Lambo convertible for the weekend. We’re going to Emerald Isle. He has a house there. We’re staying at an Air B&B here tonight and driving down to the Isle tomorrow. Any more questions?” Susan spoke harsher than she needed to,still her eyes never left the mirror. 

She fluttered the fan in front of her face again, showing off her eyes. “Should I wear false eyelashes?” Alice was thrilled to be asked a question. Susan didn’t ask her. She was merely speaking aloud. 

Alice answered anyway. “If you’re going to do that with the fan, put it in front of your face and bat your eyes, I’d concentrate more on makeup and less on eyelashes. You have the reception to think about. I don’t know anybody who can do decent eyelashes anyway.”

Susan was still playing with the fan. She could trim the lashes down a bit. She hated seeing women with one or two inch lashes. Even if she could dye them pink to match the shoes and bouquet, trimming them was the only option. Besides, Alice had on blue inch and a half  fake eyelashes. Jeeeeezus. 

“Alice, this is perfect,” Susan said when she finished the buttons. Eyelashes forgotten. “Now, I need shoes. I want them to match my bouquet.”

“Please don’t tell me everyone is wearing pink Converse tennis shoes. I hate that look.”  

“Heaven’s no. I want  you to order these for me.” She pulled a picture of nine inch heels with a six inch platform, patent leather pink from her purse.

The look on Alice’s face told a story that Susan had only seen in movies, disgust, awe, and disbelief. “No one’s going to be looking at my feet, and I want to be tall and sexy for my wedding. How could I do that if I’m five feet two inches tall?” asked Susan. She was serious. 

“I won’t, I mean I can’t get those for you. Our company has discontinued that line. Have you tried Goodwill?”