Good Girls Part 20

230 "Don't get too excited yet. Make sure your friends don't try to squeeze into any size zeros. I don't want any ripped seams. No trains; nothing too long that could drag on the ground. And I don't want these gowns com- ing back streaked with Gatorade or Pepsi or whatever it is you girls drink." His lips twitch and he almost smiles.

"Actually, it's best if you don't eat or drink anything.

Most brides don't. I mean, anti-brides."

"We'll be careful, I promise!" I say. I lean down and kiss his cheek, something I haven't done in months.

"Thanks, Dad."

"Well?" the girls say, when I run back out of the office.

"He said yes!"

"Woo-hoo!" Joelle hoots, and dives for the gowns.

"Look at this," Pam says, pulling out a fluffy tulle ballerina-style dress.

"Well," says Joelle. "That could be . . . interesting."

"I want to do something totally traditional," says Ash, "and then I'll wear all this trashy makeup with it.

Maybe put my hair in little knots all over my head. And a big honking eyebrow ring."

Joelle scowls at her. "I think you're missing the point."

"There's a point?" Pam says.

"I like this one," Cindy says. "The satin is so s.h.i.+ny!"

"I'm looking for something with a corset," says 231 Joelle, whipping through the dresses on the rack.

"Preferably with a skirt cut on the bias so that it hugs the body."

Ash rolls her eyes.

"I really want to try this on," Pam says, holding up the nasty tulle dress.

"You can try it on," I tell Pam, "but why don't you try these, too?" I give her a halter dress with a thin line of rhinestones on the neckline, another with pink satin trim, and another plain one.

"Okay, she says. "But these are pretty boring."

I grab the s.h.i.+ny dress out of Cindy's hands and hang it back up on the rack. "What was wrong with that one?" she said.

"It had a rip in the back," I lie. "Here, try these. I pull some non-s.h.i.+ny gowns for her , some more body- hugging gowns for Joelle, and finally, some for myself.

"Okay. Follow me."

We march to the fitting rooms and start trying on the gowns. Pam's first, with the tulle disaster . She flounces out of her dressing room and steps up on the carpeted block in front of the three-way mirror. Ash eyes her crit- ically. "Cinderella on crack," she says.

Then Joelle, with one of the corset dresses she'd picked for herself.

"Mermaid on crack," says Ash.

I look at Ash, smoky-eyed and brooding in a pouffy, 232 lacy-sleeved number. "Black bile on crack."

We all switch gowns and try them on, then switch again. Cindy swims in the tulle dress, and I look like a dead fish in the mermaid dress. Then Pam comes out of her dressing room wearing one of the halter dresses.

Joelle says, "Oh!"

"What?" Pam says. She steps on the block. The dress is a rich, creamy white, with a plunging neckline and a full skirt.

"Wow," I say.

Pam blinks. "Wow?"

"Oh, yeah," Ash says. "That's it."

"But it's so . . ."

"Sophisticated?" I say.

"Cla.s.sy?" Ash says.

"Perfect," Joelle says.

Pam doesn't say anything, but she keeps the dress on while we work on something for Ash. I run out to the rack and find the sweetest dress-white lace, Empire waist with tiny pastel flowers on it. When Ash sees it, she sneers. "Forget it," she says.

"Just put it on."

Ash strips right there, without bothering to go back into her dressing room. "This is the ugliest dress," she says, hauling it over her head.

I zip it up for her, and Joelle says, "OmiG.o.d! As.h.!.+

You're pretty!"

233 "Shut up," says Ash. She turns to the mirror and frowns.

Pam laughs. "Admit it, Ash. You look great."

"It's like a sixties dress, but like, not," says Cindy. "I love it!"

"You do?" says Ash.

"You could wear your hair all curly, but up like this."

I stand behind her and scrunch her hair in my hand, let- ting some curls fall down into her face.

Ash inspects the little pastel flowers. "I hate flowers."

"But they love you," I say. We do Cindy next, find- ing her a scoop-necked, cap-sleeved gown with an A-line skirt. And then Joelle-tighter than skin, spaghetti- strapped, beaded and seed-pearled (and yeah, cut on the bias so that it skims the body). She tries on a tiara, but decides it's a little much.

"Now that we're all gorgeous," says Joelle, "it's your turn, Audrey. You wait here."

"Uh-oh," Pam says. She's still sneaking looks at her sophisticated self in the mirror .

Joelle comes back, carrying a white strapless dress with off-white embroidery on the bodice and on the nar- row skirt.

"Joelle, I don't want to do strapless. I don't have the b.o.o.bs for it. I don't have the body for it."

"Shut up and try it on," Joelle says.

"Do what she says or she won't leave you alone,"

234 Ash tells me, blowing a curl out of her eyes.

I disappear into my dressing room, pull off the dress I'm wearing, and pull on the strapless one. It's so tight that I can't zip it up by myself. I come out of the room.

"It's too tight."

Joelle moves behind me. "It has to be tight so that it won't fall down. Hold your breath." I suck myself in and feel the zipper go up. "There." She takes me by my shoulders and pushes me toward the mirror . "Look at that!"

I look. I've never had anything on that fit me like this, that hugged me like this. I look like a different person: Audrey Hepburn in an old black-and-white movie.

"You know," says Ash. "That's pretty awesome."

Pam nods. "Yup. That's it."

Joelle gathers my dark hair, twists it gently in her hands, and pulls it up. "You wear it smooth, like this.

See?"

Cindy lifts her A-line skirt and dances a little jig. "We are so hot!"

In the mirror, I see the tag on the dress hanging down. "Joelle, this dress is a thousand dollars. It's too expensive. I can't rent this one, my dad won't let me."

"Of course he'll let you," says Joelle. She snaps an elastic around my bun to keep it in place. "You're his daughter . You have to get some perks for that." She 235 drops the tiara on my head and then helps me stuff my hands into long white gloves.

"I'll have to find something else," I say, touching the tiara.

"Just go ask him, dummy," Ash says. "You look great."

"I'll ask him," I say, "but he'll just say no. He didn't want me to do this in the first place."

Joelle waves her hands in a Ms. G.o.dwin, you're- boring-me, off-with-your-head way, and I get the hint. I walk out of the dressing room and across the store to the office, where my dad sits at his desk, hunched over his paperwork. "Dad?" I say.

"Yeah?" He turns. And stares.

"I know you said that I could only rent a dress that costs under $750, but Joelle picked this one out for me and it really fits me the best. I swear I'll be careful if you let me wear it. I won't eat or drink anything. Not even water ." He's still staring, and I think he's going to yell at me for messing with the designer gowns. "Dad? Can I wear it? Dad? What's wrong?"

He puts his pencil down. "Nothing," he says. He clears his throat. "You're beautiful."

"Oh." I smooth the front of my dress. "You think so?"

"Yes," he says. He stands up and leans against his desk. "Very."

I see his eyes well up and s.h.i.+ne, and I don't know 236 what to do with myself.

"It's so strange to see you grown-up," he says. "I remember when you used to build forts out of the couch cus.h.i.+ons. Do you remember that? You always got so mad when we wanted you to clean them up. You could never understand why we couldn't all sit in the forts with you. You couldn't understand why we needed a ceiling. You wanted to build those forts right into the sky."

I haven't cried once-not when the picture was mailed around everywhere, not at the doctor's office, not when I fought with Luke and realized how badly I'd messed up. But with my dad's eyes s.h.i.+ning like that, my dad crying like that, something inside me cracks.

"Daddy," I say.

"I hope," he says. "I hope I haven't made things harder for you lately, but I think that I did. I know that I did. I was so worried for you. I didn't know how to protect you. It made me crazy."

I can't stand it. I can't stand to imagine what he thinks of me. Tears gush, streaming down my cheeks and dripping off my nose. "I screwed up, Daddy. I tried so hard to be smart, to be good, but I screwed up every- thing anyway."

"That's not true, Audrey."

I put my hands over my face, then pull them away because I don't want to mess up the gloves. "I'm so 237 sorry," I say. "Please don't be mad at me. Please don't hate me."

He walks over to me and cups my chin, not seeming to care that I'm all s...o...b..ry. "No, Audrey, I'm sorry," he says. "Don't you know how much I love you?"

I shake my head, I don't know, I don't know, I don't know.

He pulls me into his arms. "You're my baby. No mat- ter what you do, you will always be my baby."

Wearing a thousand-dollar wedding gown, opera gloves, and a rhinestone tiara, I sob myself to hiccups against my father's chest.

238 Here Comes the Bride(s) My dad insists on the full photo shoot-individual pictures of each of us, plus several thousand group shots. Even the other parents are getting impatient.

"A little camera-happy, isn't he?" Pam's mother says. She's on her second gla.s.s of wine.

My mother sighs. "I've learned not to fight it."

239 "Come on, Dad," I say. "We're sick of smiling. Our cheeks hurt."

"Just one more," he says. "All of you line up against the wall. Huddle together. That's it, very nice. Say 'Muenster!'"

We grin, he takes the picture, and finally we're done.

Limo's already at the house, waiting to whisk us off to the prom. Five brides, no grooms. Who needs grooms?

Our parents bought our corsages, roses for each of us.

We hang around my house a few minutes, getting more compliments and kisses from our parents (even though you can tell they think the wedding dress idea is less than brilliant, and quite possibly something we'll regret for- ever). My mom pulls me aside. "I hope maybe one day you'll want to wear this kind of thing for real." She hugs me tightly. "And I hope you have a wonderful time."

We totter from the house to the limo in our heels, whooping like loons when we catch my neighbors star- ing. We haven't had a thing to drink, but it's like we're all drunk.