"My lady!" The voice was Ulrike's.
I slipped my sleep mask off and looked up at my personal stylist. "Did I oversleep?" I asked, muzzily.
"Yes. It's five of seven. The wedding' s at ten. I thought for sure you'd be up and showered by now. We have to hurry, my lady. Go take a shower -- if it pleases you, that is. Did you shampoo your hair yesterday?"
"Yes." I rubbed my eyes.
"Then don't shampoo it today -- or condition it. Just rinse it out well, and towel--dry it. Don't touch the hair dryer. I'll have your undergarments laid out for you. Do you know what perfume you want to wear?"
"Yes --. Fracas." I got up and got to it.
When I got out of the shower and went into my dressing room, wrapped in my bathrobe, Ulrike was waiting in there with two young women, strangers to me.
"My lady, these are my daughters. This is Elizavetta --" she indicated the one on the right, who had lighter brown hair -- "and this is Anca.", she said, referring to the other, whose hair was a richer shade of brown. Both girls curtsied. "They're going to assist me today -- if it's all right with you, my lady."
"I -- sure, it's fine with me, if you think you need them." I said, slightly confused.
"Oh, yes. They're going to work on your hands and your feet."
"My hands and feet?" I asked, looking at my short, neatly kept nails. "Do I need that?"
"Definitely. Your cuticles are a mess, and your feet are so calloused they're yellow -- and so rough they rip your nylons to shreds. You need a manicure and a pedicure." Ulrike said, in a voice almost as authoritative as Victor's.
I wondered when I had become high maintenance. Probably at the moment I went from accepting Ulrike's help to employing her. "Well – Okay. I guess." I never knew when I was going to have to walk or run for some distance, so I kept in training, and as a consequence there was some truth about my feet being rough. Still… My reluctance must have showed.
"My lady -- it is your wedding day. Surely you want to look your best." She went from commanding to pleading. Well, she was a mother.
The Bride Machine had got hold of me, and the gears were in motion.
My mother arrived around the time of my fingernails were getting a coat of one-coat quick-dry polish in a shade called Cameo Pearl, my feet were being energetically pumiced, and my head was bent over almost between my knees, so Ulrike could brush out my hair. I was very uncomfortable. If this was pampering, I preferred neglect.
"Good morning, my darling!" she sang out as she came in.
"I'm sorry, I can't hug you right now. I'm kind of pinned down. Good morning all the same, Mother." I replied.
"The best morning!", she said. "That can't be comfortable, dear."
"It isn't, but I hope it won't last much longer."
"Not too much longer, my lady." Ulrike soothed me. "After all, once we're done with you, your mother's next."
"Well, I'll just have to snatch a hug then." my mother said.
My rooms began to fill up with people as the morning progressed. The head housekeeper came in to supervise the maids as they stripped the bed and changed the linens, while another team tackled the bathroom. Somehow, none of them left after they were done. I didn't say anything about it -- there was an air of happy excitement in the room, and it was contagious. Besides, they weren't doing any harm, and they weren't bothering me.
We were down to one hour and counting, and Ulrike had started in on my makeup, when I got a call from Sue, who said that she, Jen, and Janet were downstairs, and could they come up and join the fun?
Of course, I said yes, and soon they were looking around my suite. "Make yourselves at home.", I said.
"So this is where you live," said Sue. "Hello, Mrs. Florescu. This is Jennifer Walters, and this is Janet Van Dyne."
"Hello," said Jen.
"I'm very pleased to meet you both." my mother replied.
"Likewise.", said Janet. "I'd know you anywhere. You look just like Joviana."
That helped me to relax. If there was anyone who could -- or would -- make the connection between me and Rhonda McKenna, it would be Janet. And she hadn't.
Besides, it was true. Part of it must have been our genetic connection -- Galina Florescu was my great-aunt, after all -- but some of it was just that she and I both stood up straight, with good posture and dignity.
"Are you the same Janet Van Dyne who's the clothing designer?", my mother asked.
"Guilty as charged.", Janet said, a smile in her voice.
"Oh, then come with me. You've got to see the dresses." Galina told her.
"I'm dying to see how they turned out." added Sue.
"Don't leave me behind!" the She-Hulk put in, and I heard them go to the end of the room, where the dresses hung, waiting. I heard noises of appreciation -- as Ulrike was working on my eyes, I couldn't turn my head.
" I'm a little surprised at how modest the ceremony gown is -- considering your taste in lingerie." teased Jen when they returned.
"Well, this is my wedding day -- not my wedding night." I returned, humorously.
"It's lovely." said Sue. "I'm almost jealous."
"Very Camelot meets Camelot -- King Arthur and Jackie Kennedy, that is. I mean, the whole wedding." Janet said. "Mrs. Florescu, wherever did you find that piece of lace?"
"About seventeen years ago, in this little hole-the-wall shop in Bucharest. I got it for almost nothing -- it was black with dirt, and torn in a couple of places. I brought it home and washed it in rainwater, and then I mended it. You can tell where I had to take needle and thread to it, if you look closely." my mother replied, modestly.
"Maybe if I had a magnifying glass, I could." Janet commented. "I love how your dressmaker used it."
Bisitra had taken several meters of cream-white silk crêpe, overnighted from a mill in France, and turned it into the simplest possible sleeveless dress. It had subtle princess seams, and a neckline that was high and round, almost like a T-shirt's. Below the waist, the dress widened, so it fell in soft folds around my feet. It was cut in the bias, to get the most beautiful drape from the material, and although it was slim fitting, it was neither tight nor clingy.
Although it was utterly plain in front -- no ruffles, no corsetry, no beads, or embroidery, it was the back that changed this dress, simple out of necessity, into a sophisticated creation.
Galina Florescu had bought seventeen years ago, and kept, a panel of exquisite handmade Belgian lace that was over a century old. It was about forty five centimeters wide and a little more than two meters long. It would have been criminal to cut it, but it was a little too solid to wear as a veil -- so Bisitra had come up with the idea of attaching it to the dress at my shoulders and letting it flow loose in a Watteau train down my back, to trail on the ground behind me. The train was only a couple of feet long -- unlikely to get tangled. The crêpe had been chosen to match the lace, so it was all the same cream-white. The result was stunning.
The nicest thing about it was that it was a style I might have worn on any day, if it were shorter, perhaps with a jacket or cardigan. I didn't feel or look like I was wearing a costume. I just looked like a more elegant version of myself, and as a consequence I felt very comfortable in it.
There came a scratching at the door -- one of the castle staff wanting a word. Knocking was for equals -- servants scratched. One of Ulrike's daughters went to answer it, and a male voice said something so discreetly I couldn't make it out. The girl replied. "I don't think her ladyship can see you at this moment --. I'll get her mother."
This was true. I was still in my dressing gown, over my slip. My mother went to the door and a moment later I heard her voice say, in a despairing cry, "Both of them? The back-up, too?"
"What's wrong?" I called.
"This man -- this man says both the wedding cake and the back-up have been completely destroyed." she said, sounding dejected.
Curiously enough, I felt relaxed, rather than panicked. The Laws of Heroics state there must be at least one disaster at any wedding. It can be serious -- an ex-husband or ex- lover showing up with murderous intent, or humorous, such as all the live lobsters getting loose in the house -- but there has to be one.
"What happened?" I asked.
The man -- I recognized his voice as one of the stewards -- said, more loudly, "Sonia -- the assistant pastry chef -- is a rather attractive young woman --."
"Yes?" I prompted him, when he paused.
"She attracted the attention of the Human Torch, who followed her back to the kitchen --." He went on.
"Oh, no." said Sue, trying to sound horrified.
"I'm afraid so. The Thing followed him for some reason. The Torch told him to go away, as he was butting in." continued the steward. "The Thing refused. It was then that the Torch threw the first pie. "
"Pie?" I asked. "Oh, of course. The desserts for the ox-roast tonight. Don't tell me -- there was a pie fight, wasn't there?"
"Yes, my Lady. More pies soon followed. Several of the other guests became involved somehow -- including at least two of the young ladies who are part of the X-Men's party. In the fracas, both cakes were knocked over and trampled underfoot."
"I am revenged." giggled Sue. "I am revenged for my wedding! Oh, I didn't plan it or anything like that. I wish I had!"
"What's going on now?" I asked. "What can be done?"
"I'm afraid that Fritz, the head pastry chef, quit on the spot. Sonia was fired by Mr. Schuller," -- he was the Castle's majordomo -- "for encouraging the Human Torch's attentions. Then Mr. Schuller had to be given a sedative and taken to his quarters to lie down." the steward reported.
"You're his chief assistant, Egon, aren't you?" I asked.
"Yes, my Lady. Something is being done, however. The chef from our New York embassy, Gustav, who flew back home after your ladyship commended him so highly during your visit there, has stepped in. He's directing half the staff in cleaning the kitchen, while the other half has gone down to Doomstadt to buy every available strawberry and every drop of cream. I believe he has started making sponge cakes."
"Then he has a plan." I said. "Well, as long as there's something like a wedding cake to serve guests, it will be all right. This was always going to be a dancing-bear kind of wedding. Thank you, Egon. Please send Gustav my thanks for his handling of the situation."
"Very good, my Lady." He left.
"Dancing-bear?" asked Jen.
"I believe it was Dr. Samuel Johnson, who said, 'The amazing thing was not how well the bear danced, but that the bear danced at all.' It is amazing that this wedding is coming off at all, let alone well."
"Now that, I agree with." stated Janet. "Sue -- Jen -- we have to be going downstairs to take our places."
"She's right." said Sue. "Joviana --" she leaned over to hug me -- "still want to go through with it?" she whispered.
"Oh, yes." I said.
"Then I wish you all the best." she said.
I stood up, and Ulrike and her daughters brought over The Dress, and lowered it over my head, being careful not touch my hair or face. My stylist zipped it up, and hooked the lace train into place. I stepped carefully into my shoes.
"Now for her jewelry." said my mother. She was already dressed and ready. Her dress was in a style similar to mine, but with short sleeves, and without a lace train, in a soft old-rose shade that was very flattering to her. She wore a big, wide-brimmed hat with a whole garden of roses on it, and a little corsage of white rosebuds with jasmine.
"Speaking of jewelry, I don't seem to remember that necklace." I commented. It was a long rope of pearls -- real pearls, long enough to knot in the front.
"It was a gift from my about-to-be son-in-law. I'm still trying to get used to thinking of him as that --!" she replied.
That was nice of him, to think of her. "I've only gotten used to thinking of him as my husband, myself." I confided.
"I can imagine." She smiled. "Here, my darling." She fastened the Art Deco emerald drop around my neck, while I slipped the earrings into my ears. The smooth green drop rested on the silk over my breastbone, looking like the essence of summer.
"It's time. Where are the flowers?" Ulrike handed me the compact bouquet of jasmine. Stars of fragrant yellow and white stood out against the deep green leaves, and three long vines trailed down from it.
"But you should look at yourself first!" my mother exclaimed.
"Nope!" I refused, "I'll look at the pictures afterward." It was showtime.