He was sitting at his desk when he heard the tapping at the door. He turned to find Shelly standing in the entrance.
"Hey Shell," shit, he thought, I've gotta stop doing that. It had taken Shannon several months to get used to his shortening of her name. She still hated it, although, for him, she put up with it. He didn't want to start with Shelly too. "Hey, Shelly," he amended.
"Hey Boone," she seemed hesitant. "Can I talk to you for a sec? If it's not a good time, I can come back," she offered.
"Sure, it's fine. Who's watching the front?" he wondered.
"Shannon," she provided.
He winced a little at that, Shannon had gotten better with her customer service skills, but it wasn't above her to lose it on some poor guy, "By herself?"
"Yeah, don't worry though. She's not anywhere near as snarky as she was when she started. Right now, Mark Brown is trying to convince her to sell him a pack of cigarettes," she laughed.
"Why is he trying to convince her? He's old enough to buy cigarettes if he wants," Boone didn't understand what the issue could possibly be, but with Shannon involved, it could be anything.
"She's telling him how god awful it is to kiss a guy who smokes. You give her long enough and every guy here in town will give it up. All the guys, at least all the guys I know, are completely infatuated with her. I think if she told them to jump off a cliff, they all would. She's got them all wrapped around her finger. But I guess I shouldn't be telling you that, being her husband and all," she apologized.
"No, I know how they feel. I've been there, done that… guess I still am. She has the same effect on me. What did you want to talk to me about?" He saved the file he was working on and turned his chair to face her. "What's up?"
"Well, you know that Eric and I are getting married in the fall," she started. He had a bad feeling about what was going to come next. "And I just wondered if you'd give me a hand with the wedding. Maybe just some pointers?" she finished.
How could he not say yes, without seeming like a complete asshole? She'd worked at the store since junior high. "Of course, I'd be happy to."
"Thanks, Boone, you're the best," she was beaming back at him, seeming so very pleased. "Seven tonight, my house?"
When he told Shannon about it she shook her head. "You're such an easy mark."
"Well you'd know, you conned me enough times," he reminded her.
"Ohhhh, that's so low, even for you," she laughed. They'd worked out that issue on the trip to Mexico. "You've got to know that this is just going to escalate. You're going to end up doing every wedding that happens in this town." She seemed so satisfied by his stupidity.
"No way! I just told Shelly that I'd help her," he protested
"Yeah right, and she'll tell two friends, and they'll tell two friends, and so on, and so on. And before you know it you've got that stupid shampoo commercial and you're doing all the weddings!" She was laughing openly at him.
"Christ, what have I gotten myself into?" He realized that she just might be right.
After dinner, he put a few things into his green bag and slung it over his shoulder. Shelly didn't live far, so he grabbed his bike, and, turning his ball cap backwards on his head so the wind wouldn't catch the brim and pull it off, he headed towards her house.
He knocked on the front door, an older woman, undoubtedly Shelly's mother, answered. "Hi, I'm here to see Shelly. I'm…" he started to introduce himself.
She turned to call back into the house "Shelly, one of your school friends is here." She turned back to him, "She'll be right out."
"No, no," he attempted to correct her misunderstanding. "I'm not one of her friends, well at least not one of her school friends. I'm Boone…" she looked at him blankly. "Carlyle? From her work? She asked me to come over, give her some tips about her wedding." The understanding he was waiting for suddenly seemed to dawn on her.
"Sorry," she shook her head, laughing at her error. With Shelly working at the store, she'd never bothered to go down there to buy anything, Shelly always just picked up whatever they might need before coming home, so she had no reason to recognize him. "She told me you were coming. You just aren't what I was expecting,"
"Why?" he wondered.
"Well, I wasn't expecting the hot shot LA wedding planner she's been telling me about, to be some eighteen year-old kid with a ball cap and," she leaned to look around him, "a bicycle."
He reached up to yank the hat off his head. He'd forgotten he was even wearing it. He ruffled his fingers through his hair, getting rid of the impression the hat had left and returning it to its' usual state of disarray. "Well, I'm not really a wedding planner any more and um, I'm not eighteen, I'm twenty-three, and I apologize for the ball cap. My mother certainly taught me better than that. I should have taken it off before I even knocked; certainly before I introduced myself." He shook his head at his slip-up, "I totally gapped that one. As for the bicycle, we don't live far from here, it's a nice night, so I couldn't justify bringing the car." He shrugged at the last one.
"Hey, Boone," Shelly greeted him, arriving at the door. "Thanks for coming. Where's my friend from school?" she asked her mom.
"It was a misunderstanding, I thought Boone was one of your school friend." Her mother explained.
Shelly looked at her, shocked, "You though my boss was someone from school?"
Boone waved it off, "Like your mom said, it was a misunderstanding." He gestured at the jeans and sleeveless t-shirt he was wearing. "I don't exactly look like boss material."
Shelly turned to her mom, "Are you going to let him in the house, or are we going to do this on the front step?"
She shook her head at her lack of manners, "Of course, come in, thank you for coming."
They moved to the kitchen, Boone pulling out what he'd brought with him and spreading the stuff out on the table. "I had Irene, one of the girls who used to work for me, e-mail me a check list I used to use. I thought it might come in handy," he started the conversation.
They moved quickly through the preliminaries. When the question of the dress came up, Shelly opened four magazines in front of him. "I was looking at these, what do you think?"
"Stand up, let me take a look at you," he asked, appraising her shape once she'd risen.
When he looked at the photographs, he realized that three were acceptable, but the fourth would have looked just hideous on her. Predictably her mother leaned in and pointed to the one he hated, "I think she should get that one."
"Yes, yes, that would look very nice," he lied smoothly, drawing on his years of practice as Sabrina's business manager. He was fully back in wedding planner mode, all oily and slick. It frightened him a bit, how easily he slipped that persona back on. "But," he paused, pulling one of the unopened magazines towards him. He opened it and looked for the advertisers' index, finding it, he then flipped to the page he wanted, "take a look at this, I think this would be perfect for you." It was an ad for a designer he'd always favoured, and, given Shelly's other three choices, he knew not only would she look stunning in the one he pointed out, it would be one that she would have chosen for herself.
Her mother sat back, watching the two of them, listening. He was so at home talking about the dress details, the menu plan, even the place settings, that she had a hard time believing that he wasn't gay. She knew it was stereotyping, but he just sounded so effeminate with his intimate knowledge about things that were usually the domain of women. His slight frame and fine features simply added to the overall impression. She knew, from Shelly, that he was married, with a son, and that under the silver bracelet he wore on his left wrist, was a tattoo of his wife's name. And Shelly had recounted enough details about how he acted with his wife to know what his sexual orientation seemed to be. She wondered, in a catty fashion, if she offered him a drink, would he ask for a wine spritzer? She suddenly realized he'd been there for almost an hour and she'd completely neglected to offer him anything.
"Excuse me," she interrupted them, "I've forgotten my manners again. Boone, would you like something to drink?" She waited to see what he'd ask for.
"Yeah, that'd be great, I love a beer, thanks," he responded with a smile.
Well, so much for my idle speculation, she thought, moving to get one for him from the fridge.
He took the opportunity of the break to say something to Shelly he'd rarely been able to say to Sabrina's clients. So often, with them, it was more about pleasing the parents, than the bride or groom, always being all about who was higher on the social ladder; who would benefit the business more. He remembered, with more than a bit of shame, the number of times he'd had to wheedle a bride into having her wedding at a location that she didn't really want, or settling for a menu that wasn't to her liking. He ran his hand through his hair, "Shelly," she didn't look up from the magazine. He needed her to comprehend the importance he attached to what he was about to say; he wanted her undivided attention. "Shelly," he tried again, more forcefully. She immediately raised her head at the determination in his tone, meeting his eyes. "You really need to remember that this is your day, yours' and Eric's. Don't let anyone talk you into something you don't want. Don't second guess yourself, make sure you're happy about all your choices." She could see the sincerity he was conveying, he seemed so earnest.
"Okay, Boone," she reached out to pat his arm. It seemed as if he needed some reassurance that she understood.
"And you also need to keep this to yourself, I mean, the fact that I'm helping you." He waited a little nervously for her to agree.
"Oh, no, I'm sorry." She grimaced a bit. "Well, I've only told two friends, but I'm sure if I call them and tell them to keep it to themselves they will." She couldn't take back what she'd already done.
He closed his eyes, thinking, I am sooooo screwed.
He was telling Shannon about it, that night in bed.
"I told you so!" she said triumphantly.
"She swore them to secrecy. There's no way this will get out."
He firmly believed it, that is, until he got the first call.