Elly In Bloom

  “I need to pin you.”

  The boys snickered. Elly suddenly felt small.

  “Please put on your jacket and come over here.”

  The groom sauntered over, sizing up Elly with red bloodshot eyes. She grabbed his tea rose bout and held it up against the jacket.

  “Don’t stick me” he joked, leaning backwards.

  Elly looked up at him with wide eyes. “You know, that is the first time I have EVER heard that. You’re so hilarious!” She tilted her head sideways. Elly hated guys like these, the same type of guys who had picked on her for her weight in high school, the kind of guys who didn’t take their wedding day seriously, the kind of guys who thought affairs were a given. She arched her eyebrow. “Also, you shouldn’t drink before your wedding. Your bride has spent a year planning for this day and you shouldn’t be drunk for it. The ceremony is sacred.”

  The groom’s smile faded. His groomsmen stared at her, open-mouthed.

  “Okay then!” she said nervously and bounced back to the car. Sometimes her mouth was a problem.

  Elly took a second to drink some water, and then started loading her centerpieces onto a small cart. The large glass trumpet vases went first, followed by small fishbowls, filled with delicately wrapped lily grass and pink lotus flowers. This was the first trip. Twenty sweaty minutes later, she returned – after fighting her way, cart and all, across the Japanese and Victorian gardens with glassware bouncing on gravel paths – to get the second part of the centerpieces. The back of the van held clear glass dishes dripping with amaranthus, fuchsia tea roses, Green Goddess callas, yellow dahlias and pink gerbera daisies. Flowers covering the cart, carrying two arrangements against her hip, Elly proceeded out to the garden. In the middle of the African garden, a gorgeous white tent billowed in the wind. Elly set down the centerpieces and took a moment to catch her breath. Then she started setting up. Fishbowls and lotus flowers were set lining the bar, the buffet and the head table. She then interspersed delicate white votives between them. The trumpet vases went up after that, set onto the bright fuchsia tablecloths, and surrounded by loose green orchids.

  Elly was finally starting to relax, to enjoy decorating for this beautiful event, when she heard a familiar shrill voice echo across the garden: “Why are mah strawberries dipped in pink sprinkles? We wanted yellow! We sent that over in a contract YESTERDAY!”

  Oh God, thought Elly. The wedding coordinator is here. Striding across the lawn in neon pink leopard heels was Lizette Kobul, the owner of Kobul Creations, one of the larger wedding coordinating companies in St. Louis. Lizette was beloved by brides for her eye for details, her elite connections, and her military-esque approach to planning. She was universally hated by most vendors for the way she treated them: barking orders, belittling and muttering comments dripping with classism. She relentlessly pursued Elly to recommend her to Posies’ brides, but Elly had a deep desire NOT to network with a crazy lady.

  Give me strength Lord, Elly thought, please give me the strength to not murder this woman.

  “Ellllleeee Jordan, is that you??” she shrieked, shielding her eyes, “I should have known by that beautiful round behind!”

  The hint of a Southern twang got her every time. She had heard from her wedding cake friend that Lizette was actually from Rhode Island. No one really knew where the accent had come from. Elly turned around and dusted her hands off.

  “Hello Lizette. How are you?”

  “Oh, I’m fine, I’m fine. These people are all idiots and my bride is freaking out, but I’m fine. How are you? The flowers are beautiful, as always.” She fingered one of the green orchids. “I had told Leslie that she should have a clover green, but she insisted on lime…after meeting with you. Oh well, I guess it looks pretty. Clover would have been really nice though, don’t you think?”

  She smirked at Elly. “These centerpieces are marvelous. We had some from Clayton Flowers at the wedding last week. They were incredible. Just incredible.”

  Elly felt anger rising up inside of her, but she forced it down, a ball of boiling wax, and told herself that she would ignore the backhanded insults.

  “I’m sure they were lovely. They do a nice job.”

  Lizette nodded and eyed her suspiciously. “You know, hun, I always wonder how you got your business started up so fast. It was just like one day, everyone was fussing about Posies. And then all of a sudden, here you are at a ton of weddings with your,” she made quotes with her fingers, “‘garden style’ and your Tuscan urns, and I get to see you all the time. Yaaaay.”

  Elly rolled her eyes when Lizette turned around. She steeled herself.

  “Yes. We’ve been very blessed and we love our brides. I should really get back to decorating. I’m sure you have people to…get in order.”

  Lizette peered at the centerpiece. “Yes. I think I will ask Leslie if she does indeed want the orchids up on every side, or just in the middle. It looks a little…off.”

  Lizette smirked and snapped at her assistant, a nervous looking doe-eyed brunette who quickly ran up behind her. “ASHLEE!! Why are you just standing there like some ignorant stick? Go ask Leslie about these orchids. I want you back in five minutes. Also, please bring those strawberries back to the kitchen and tell them that if they can’t get sprinkle colors right, they deserve to be flipping burgers, not catering my events. Mmm… kay?”

  Elly briefly imagined the glory of punching the wedding coordinator in the face. Instead, she turned around and continued moving the flowers around the votives.

  Lizette chirped in her ear, “Okay. So….great talking to you, Elly. Keep up the good work. Oh, those candles are a little too close, don’t you think?” She spun on her tall heels and stalked out of the tent, but not before snapping at a waiter for chewing gum on the way out. Elly took a deep breath, congratulated herself for not slapping Lizette, and proceeded to drape the tent with flowers.

  Thirty minutes later, she stood back and admired her handiwork. The white tent, previously a blank canvas, was now a lush garden. Pinks, greens and yellows were everywhere, a bright feast of color. The flowers had transformed the site from a stuffy wedding to a garden paradise. Elly loved this moment, the moment when she had taken something from bland to beautiful, when boring life bloomed before her eyes. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a floral swag blowing a little too loosely in the wind. One more and I’m done. The floral swag was on the top corner of the tent, behind a magnificent food spread. Food. Mmmm…food. Elly glanced around. There were waiters and caterers putting out stemware, and Lizette the wedding Nazi was nowhere to be seen. She reached over to the candles and orchids and pretended to move things around. With her other hand, she swiped some cheese from the tray and quickly shoved it into her mouth. Manchego. It was delicious, salty and tangy. Elly took a minute to savor it melting on to her tongue before climbing up the ladder to fix the swag.

  She made quick work of it and leaned back on the ladder. It slipped to the right. Elly over-compensated with her behind and jumped off the side of the ladder, hitting the food table on the way down with her rear. She ended up on her knees, eye level with the table, the platter of cheese inches from her head. Panic swarmed through her until she realized that the table and all the food were still intact. Her face burned with embarrassment. How did this happen? Oh no, oh no, oh no…Through her tears she saw a couple of caterers speed-walking toward her. She jumped up.

  “I’m okay, everyone. Totally okay. That ladder is…weird. Yeah. But I’m good, thanks for worrying.” They stared at her. That was when she felt an odd warmth on the back of her pants.

  No, no, no…did I poop?? DID I POOP??? Elly spun around. She couldn’t see the back of her pants. She swiped the area with her hands. It came away brown.

  Kill me now. Please. Kill me now. Oh God, just reach down with your mighty hand…

  She brought it to her nose. Chocolate. That was chocolate she smelled. She brought it to her mouth. Yes. It was chocolate. It was then that she looked up to see a small
group of horrified waiters looking at her, mouths agape. She realized instantly what that looked like. She held up her hand in an awkward wave.

  “It’s just chocolate. Not poop. Didn’t poop my pants! Just chocolate…I must have encountered the chocolate fountain…no biggie…”

  She saw two cute caterer girls widen their eyes at each other and start to whisper. The DJ shook his head in annoyance. Elly’s face burned, and she felt shame and total embarrassment. Suddenly she was back in Georgia, sitting in her car, her head against the steering wheel. A hole in her stomach opened up, and she let the negative feelings rush at her. Elly felt her apron tight around her waist, her wide legs in her Capri pants, her hair plastered against her forehead.

  What am I doing? Why did I think I could do this? Gone was the beautiful sassy florist, and the woman rejected by so many – rejected by the man who was supposed to love her – rose up unwelcomed inside of her. And she had chocolate on her pants, which were also ripped up the leg. The room swam before her, a bright river of pinks and greens. Here I go, Elly thought, and pressed her palms against her eyes. She felt a light hand on her shoulder. She looked up. There was an elderly man smiling down at her, his wispy white hair sticking in all directions. His kind brown eyes looked past his Willy Wonka glasses straight into her embarrassment.

  “What the hell are ya’ll looking at?” he snapped at the gawking crowd. “This woman could use a paper towel! You, with the earrings,” he gestured at the punk deejay, “can you get some paper towels and stop standing there with your mouth open?”

  The deejay grunted and sulked off. The rest of the crowd dissimilated, murmuring to themselves. Elly turned around to the man who had saved her from a very public breakdown.

  “Thank you, thank you.”

  She paused.

  “How bad is it?”

  Elly slowly turned around, showing her chocolate covered rear to the stranger. A smile spread on his face from ear to ear.

  “Well, you do look like you have had an unfortunate accident with, well..with, a port-a-potty.”

  Elly smiled. Then she giggled. And with that, a huge laugh burst forth from her belly. The laugh opened up, and before she knew it, Elly had tears running down her face. She put her hand on the old man’s shoulder and leaned against him, this stranger, and laughed. The old man was chuckling as well.

  “Here sweetheart, look in the mirror.” He grabbed a gilded mirror from one of the tables. Elly cringed. Across the back of her khaki pants spread a dark chocolate stain the size of a dinner plate. It shimmered in the sunlight.

  “That is really bad. Yikes.”

  The man gestured at her, “Could you tie your apron around backwards?”

  Elly’s face lit up. Thank God. She spun her apron around, covering the stain. She pushed her bangs out of her face.

  “I think I’m good. You saved my life today!!”

  The old man smiled and nodded. “No problem darling. I’m here for the wedding. I work with the groom’s Dad.” He patted her head in a grandfatherly way. “This was the highlight of my day. I hate these people and their ridiculous parties.” And with that, her angel in a suit sauntered off into the sunset, his walker propelling him slowly forward.

  Elly committed herself to the task at hand, and ignored the thick brown liquid dripping off her behind. She quickly gathered up her trash and loaded it on to the cart. One last check of each centerpiece, pulling off a petal here, moving a hydrangea here and she was finished. There was one last thing to do: she had to see the bride. Pushing her cart through the gravel gardens, she allowed herself one quick glance back at the tent. It was marvelous. A paradise made of the work of hundreds of people…and lots of daddy’s money.

  Arriving at the garden house, Elly checked her apron, making sure it was covering the cow pie on her pants, and ducked into the bride’s dressing room. It looked like a bridal store had exploded. Pink high heels littered the floor. Bras were strewn about. Numerous bridesmaids, all wearing pale green dresses, were gossiping excitedly and filling the air with aerosol hair-spray. Elly doubted any of it was getting on their actual up-dos, which were pulling back their eyes to give them a wild-eyed, mad bridesmaid look.

  The mother of the bride was fussing over her daughter at the mirror. “I told her that we didn’t want the cake with butter pecan on all the sections, but just the top. And I look at our contract and it says, ‘butter pecan on the second half’. Can you believe it? I just hope that today it’s not on the first layer…”

  The timid bride, Leslie, was looking more and more terrified as her mom yanked on her hair. Elly felt for her.

  “Hi Leslie! I was just stopping in to say congratulations and wish you luck.”

  Leslie jumped up from her chair and threw her arms around Elly.

  “Thank you SO much. They are so beautiful. I love them!”

  Elly unwrapped Leslie from herself and eyed Lizette over her shoulder, scowling. Elly looked at Leslie and grabbed her hands. “I wish you the many blessings on your marriage. The day goes so fast, make sure you take the time to step back and treasure what is…”

  “Okay, okay, this bride needs to get married.” Lizette swept in, pushing Elly towards the door. “Thank you Elly. Great job with the flowers! They look lovely.”

  Elly raised an eyebrow at Lizette.

  “Really? Didn’t you want to ask Leslie about her choice of greens?”

  Lizette scowled at Elly.

  Leslie looked confused. “You didn’t like my green?” she asked Lizette.

  “No, it was fine love, I just thought clover would have been pretty, but it looks amazing now. I was wrong. Here, why don’t we put in your tiara?”

  She had a sour look splayed across her heavily made-up face. Triumph, thought Elly. She had never liked Lizette, but today she had been especially rude. Ah, sweet victory. She savored the feeling. It was just then that some chocolate dripped off her pants, under the apron, onto the floor.

  “What was that?” Lizette gasped. Her voice got very shrill. The accent disappeared. “Was that poop? What IS that??”

  “Okay. Thanks! Congrats Leslie!” Elly darted out of the room, holding her apron tight around her behind. It wasn’t until she was in her sweltering van that she let herself truly relax. Her shoulders sank into cushion as the air conditioning blasted on her face. She leaned her head back on the seat. It was over.

  “Thank you God,” she breathed, sending up a silent prayer of thanks. Then she picked up her cell phone and dialed Snarky Teenager, who was minding the shop.

  “Hi, it’s me. Get ready to load up the next wedding. I need you to run up to my apartment and grab some pants.” Elly paused. “No, I definitely don’t want to talk about it.”

  CHAPTER

  THREE

  There had never been anything as beautiful as Elly’s couch. Never before, in the history of mankind, had there been anything as glorious or comforting as the soft tan leather couch that Elly lay face-down upon. The day was done, the wedding deliveries were over. Elly had almost cried with relief when she walked in the door. She had dropped her purse, stripped to her underwear and collapsed onto the couch. There she had stayed, dozing off and on, as the sun slowly dipped behind her curtains.

  Two hours later, Elly awoke, ravenous. Before she even dressed, she was dialing the Chinese restaurant down the street, the Pearl Wok. Not totally sanitary – Elly had spied a cockroach on the floor once, but had forgiven them on account of their orange chicken and wontons. Plus, they delivered.

  “June…hi, it’s Elly. Yes, hi! Again, yes. The norm. Mmmhmm. And a side of wontons. Yes I know. Twice this week. Okay. Thanks!”

  She hung up the phone, determined not to think about what the implications might be of the Chinese food girl knowing her name and order by heart. It was best not to think about it. She opened the door to her bedroom and looked at her bed, which was covered with a white fur blanket. The white fur blanket lazily lifted its eyes and gazed at Elly, confused.

  “Cadb
ury, get up! Off the bed! C’mon!”

  The dog looked pissed off, but reluctantly jumped off the bed and followed her into the kitchen. Elly frowned at him. Kim had talked her into getting a dog. After many nights alone in her new apartment with a bottle of cheap wine, which usually resulted in Elly pacing around crying, Kim had informed her that she needed something to care for, something that wasn’t about her. Something to make her move on. Elly had pushed for something low maintenance, like a beta fish, but Kim wasn’t having it. She dragged Elly to the pound, where they looked at hundreds of sad faces behind bars before Elly had a nervous breakdown and demanded that Kim take her home. That night, as Elly sipped raspberry tea and looked out her window, she had remembered that her mother had an English sheepdog growing up in Georgia. And that was what she decided she wanted - a dog her mother would have loved.

  The next morning Elly drove to a pretty blue farm house and sat down among a squeal worthy litter of Old English Sheepdog puppies. As the puppies climbed and licked every inch of Elly’s bare knees, the crowd parted and she saw another puppy lying in the corner, watching his brothers and sisters as if he thought they were the most ridiculous bunch of dogs he’d ever seen. His puppy face was still adorable, even though he carried what looked a lot like skepticism. She knew right then he was the dog for her. She carried Cadbury (named for the Easter candy; once a year was never enough for those little heavenly eggs) out of the farm and placed him in the front seat of the car. On the trip home, she talked to him. She cried about Aaron. She talked about starting the business and how no brides were calling her. She whispered her true feelings to this benign dog, and he gazed at her with something not like love, but more like the look a person reserves for crazy aunts.

  It had taken months before Cadbury became the kind of dog she wanted to have. He was horrible at toilet training, peeing all over her Persian rug, until she had to throw it angrily into a dumpster. He hated his food, he hated being alone, and he yanked on the leash so hard that most walks resulted in bloodied knees. Cadbury rebelled in every way possible, but he did love her eventually. That he did.