The Seven Month Itch Page 7

  I hand it down to her. ‘Sure. But it’s not there. Believe me, I’ve checked about three million times.’

  Just as Jacqui’s sticking me (well, okay, not me, but my dress) with her last pin, Alexa bursts into the shop with a grin on her face. ‘All sorted,’ she says.

  ‘What? You found it?’ I whip around in my gorgeous teal vintage Jean Patou rip-off. (My dad was hardly going to shell out thousands for a real one, was he? Plus, he had to pay for Alexa’s Louis Verdad rip-off. Good thing we can read InStyle as well as the next girl, huh?)

  Alexa shakes her head, but she’s still pleased with herself. ‘Nope. It’s definitely not there. But guess what? You don’t need the piece of paper there on the day. As long as the licence has been applied for, it’s okay.’

  ‘It’s okay?!’

  Alexa nods, still grinning. I jump down off the wooden platform I’m standing on and hug her – only to jump back equally quickly when I get stuck by a pin. ‘Ow!’

  ‘That’s it, Nessa. You can take your dress off now. Carefully. You’re ready, Alexa?’ Jacqui asks.

  My ordeal now over, I go and peel the dress off me, and put my own clothes back on. I return to watch my best friend take her turn at being Jacqui’s human pincushion.

  ‘I can’t believe that about Susannah,’ Alexa says, shaking her head as Jacqui works on the hem of her dress. ‘Do you really think she took it? That she has a thing for your dad or something?’

  I think about Susannah. About her cupcake-frosting-on-my-dad’s-beard giggles and her mole-sauce finger licking and her innocent-eyed wedding folder stuffing. But does she really have a thing for my dad? I simply don’t know. ‘I know she likes him …’ I begin. Hmmm. Just like The Girl had liked her older, married neighbour in The Seven Year Itch.

  ‘Maybe she wasn’t lying. Maybe it just slipped underneath something, like the sofa, or under the pantry door.’

  I shake my head. ‘I looked everywhere.’

  ‘It’ll turn up.’

  I wish I could be as positive as Alexa. ‘I hope so. Oh, sorry …’ I say, to both Jacqui and Alexa, as my cell phone starts ringing. ‘I’d better take it. Wedding stuff.’

  ‘Hey, Ness. I’ve got a question for you.’ It’s Marc.

  I frown. ‘What’s that?’

  ‘What did the blonde customer say to the busty waitress after she’d read her name tag?’

  I sigh. ‘What?’

  ‘“Debbie”, that’s cute. What did you name the other one?’

  I’m not amused. ‘Marc, I really don’t have time for this now.’ I turn away from Alexa and Jacqui. The last thing I feel like at the moment is having dumb-blonde jokes hurled at me.

  ‘I’ve got another question,’ he says.

  ‘Marc …’

  ‘No, really. Is everything okay over there? I haven’t heard from you in a bit.’

  I bite my lip and stare at the distressed wooden floorboards. ‘Um, everything’s fine,’ I lie. ‘I’m just busy. You know, with the wedding plans. Sorry I haven’t had time to IM you or anything.’

  ‘That’s okay. I just wanted to check in with you. Is there anything I can do?’

  Sure – come back and frisk Susannah for the marriage licence! That’d be a great start (and I’m sure he could use all his fabulous dumb-blonde jokes to impress her), but it’s not what I say, of course. ‘Thanks, Marc, but it’s all under control. I’m going to have to run now, though. I’m in the middle of my bridesmaid dress fitting.’

  On the other end of the line, Marc pauses. ‘Ness, is everything really okay?’ he asks again.

  ‘Yes, really!’ I try to lighten up my voice a bit. ‘Thanks heaps for asking if you can help. Try to keep Holly happy for me, will you? I think she’s a bit down.’

  ‘Yeah, I know. I’m trying. I’ll talk to you later, huh?’

  ‘That’d be great. Thanks again, Marc.’ I end the call and stick my cell back in my pocket, turning to face Alexa and Jacqui again at the same time.

  ‘More dumb-blonde jokes?’ Alexa asks, towering above me as Jacqui keeps pinning away.

  I nod and roll my eyes. ‘Sort-of-stepbrothers-to-be.’

  Alexa, the only child, nods back. ‘They’re the worst.’

  The three of us are silent as Jacqui finishes off Alexa’s hem. ‘Right, that’s it, girls. You’re free,’ our dressmaker says at last. ‘Now, don’t worry, Nessa, I’ll make a note to fix that itchy seam, and I’ll have the dresses sent over on Friday, as we arranged, will I?’

  ‘Yes. Thanks, Jacqui.’ I then spend the next few minutes paying the final instalment on the dresses while Alexa goes and wriggles out of her dress and into her normal clothes.

  ‘You know what?’ she says when we’re outside again.

  ‘What?’ I turn towards her.

  ‘I think what you need is a wedding-free day. Let’s go catch a movie or something.’

  After this morning’s events, a wedding-free day sounds perfect to me. ‘Okay,’ I say. ‘That sounds good.’

  ‘But nothing at Cinema Village, all right?’ Alexa glances up the road nervously, in the direction the independent cinema lies. ‘Something … mainstream.’ (I don’t think she’s ever forgiven me for the time I took her to see that weird Spanish film. Or was it Chinese? I can’t remember.) ‘Did you want to see if Toby can come?’ she adds.

  I forget about whether the movie was Spanish or Chinese, and, for the second time today, I want to burst out crying. I don’t think I can ignore the Toby thing much longer.

  ‘Nessa?’

  ‘Um, I don’t think he can. I think he said he was going to be busy today and tomorrow.’

  ‘Oh.’

  I don’t want to admit the truth. I don’t want Alexa feeling sorry for me. And, more than that, I don’t want me feeling sorry for me. I think I’ve felt enough for one day already. For one week, even. ‘I’ll, um, text him. Just to make sure,’ I tell her.

  I pull out my cell phone and soon my fingers are flying over the buttons. When I’m done, we start off down the street towards a theatre that, as Alexa says, ‘has never shown a movie that has subtitles’. Surprisingly, before we’re even halfway down the block, my cell beeps at me. I have a message!

  Sorry, busy.

  C u monday.

  ‘He’s coming?’ Alexa looks over at me.

  I glance away. ‘No, he is busy. I thought he was.’ I try to sound breezy. ‘His grandmother’s in town this weekend or something.’ Lying to your best friend. Nice one, Nessa.

  ‘Oh,’ Alexa says again. And I’m not sure if she really believes me, but she doesn’t question me about it.

  As we continue down the street, I decide that’s it. I’m going to lie low tomorrow. Maybe a long walk and a long bath. And then, on Monday I’m stepping up to the plate (book plate, that is). Come Monday, Toby and I are having a little chat whether I like it or not.

  ‘Toby?’ I say. Nothing. ‘Toby?’ The figure ahead of me keeps walking. ‘HEY, TOBY?!’ I yell.

  The figure turns. Well, there you go. It was him after all. I thought so. I run the few steps over to him, the Monday morning rush pushing past me as hundreds of people exit the subway.

  ‘Oh, er, hi Nessa.’

  Sure, because he should be surprised to see me here like he has so many times before. On the way to the same place we work at and all. I move to the side, away from the crowd. ‘Hi.’ Great start, Nessa.

  ‘Hi,’ Toby says again, looking kind of stunned.

  Best to get it over and done with, I suppose. ‘Toby, I have to ask. Is there, um, something wrong?’ I cross my arms.

  ‘Er …’

  I sigh and realise that one of us has to be a man about this. I brave up. Square my shoulders. Uncross those arms. ‘Look,’ I say. ‘You’ve been avoiding me for at least a week now. You’re always “busy”. You have to take “calls”. You can’t even meet up on the weekend to catch a movie. I’d like to know what’s going on.’

  Toby looks down the street as if he’s looking
for an exit sign. An exit sign that will lead him out of the burning building he’s in.

  ‘Hello?!’

  Finally, he looks back towards me. ‘I’m sorry, Nessa,’ he replies at last, with a shake of his head. ‘I’ve met someone else.’

  Seriously, I almost laugh. What does he think this is, a scene from a midday movie? But then my hearing kind of goes fuzzy and, as the world continues its busy day around us, I focus in on myself in the spotlight and realise what he’s saying. He’s saying he likes someone more than me. But how can he like someone more than me? I mean, we’ve got so much in common. Marilyn, Bette and, um … there must be something else. Mustn’t there?

  ‘What?’ I finally blurt out at him. It’s the only thing I can think of to say.

  ‘Her name’s Tori. She’s in one of my classes. She’s writing this brilliant paper on Doris Day.’

  Now Toby’s words really sink in. Tori. Classes. Paper. But wait. Wait. Doris Day? How weird. I’d just been thinking about her over the weekend, hadn’t I? Yes, that’s right – Doris and Susannah. What a pair. But wait. Really wait … ‘DORIS DAY?!’ I take a step back now and yell at him. ‘DORIS DAY?’

  Toby shakes his head again. ‘Nessa, please …’ He glances around at the people still spilling out of the subway onto the grotty sidewalk. Their eyes all pause to stare at us.

  I shake my head back. Hard. ‘Are you kidding me? She likes Doris Day? What kind of a movie star is that to be into? Marilyn, Elvis, James Dean, Audrey Hepburn – fine. But Doris Day? That’s like … it’s like living on a diet of fairy floss. Doris Day has no substance, no style!’

  In front of me, Toby just shrugs.

  ‘Honestly.’ I keep right on shaking my head. ‘It’s just wrong.’

  Toby shrugs again and, as I look at him, I look back on our time together as well and realise that maybe the film-star thing was the problem after all. We never really had anything in common other than Marilyn and Bette, and they didn’t have much in common at all. I shake my head one final time. Good luck, Doris Day girl. You’re going to need a lot of that sickeningly overly cheerful attitude to get you by.

  ‘I’m going to work,’ I tell him. Then I turn and walk off, waving dismissively with one hand. Good riddance to bad boyfriend, I say. And the funny thing is, as I walk off, I start to laugh. All that worrying was for nothing. I’d liked Toby, at the start, but as I got to know him better, I liked him less and less. That fuss with the waiter at Yaffa’s was embarrassing. And we’d always somehow ended up seeing the movies he wanted to see and doing the things he wanted to do. He was always pulling this ‘I’m older and I know better’ thing on me. Boring.

  I walk a bit faster now, skirting around the slower, older, people around me. Ha. So, while it hurts to be dumped (yes, there’s no denying there’s a slight sting going on here), hopefully I’ll be able to forget the time we spent together as easily as it is to forget the plot of a Doris Day movie. And I hope he’s going to have to watch a lot of them. The ones with the most singing, too. It would serve him right.

  ‘DORIS DAY?’ Alexa’s mouth falls open. The queue in the cafeteria turn as one to look at her. ‘Ha ha. Um, sorry,’ she laughs, embarrassed, before turning back to me. ‘Seriously? No-one obsesses over Doris Day!’

  I knew she was my best friend for a reason. ‘That’s what I told him.’

  ‘Well, good for you.’

  ‘Thank you.’ I curtsy slightly and almost lose my chocolate milk off my tray in the process.

  ‘What a jerk,’ she says, referring to my ex-boyfriend, of course.

  ‘I’ll say. The thing is, I kind of knew he was avoiding me. I just didn’t want to know that I knew, if you know what I mean.’

  Alexa pauses, tray in hand. ‘I think I get it. Wait … Yep, I get it. You knew but you didn’t want to know. It’s very … you, Ness.’

  My eyebrows jump up at this last remark. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ I ask, defensively.

  Alexa laughs. ‘Oh, come on. You’re the queen of avoidance. You know you’re always ducking behind the scenes thinking there’s something going on that isn’t. Something bigger and better and more mysterious. Like with Holly and your dad on the cruise ship –’

  I cut in here. ‘Can we let the cruise-ship thing go, please?’

  She laughs again. ‘Okay. But what about the Susannah thing? Did you find the marriage licence over the weekend? I bet you did.’

  I shake my head. ‘Nope. It’s officially gone. Disappeared. Taken.’

  Alexa pushes her tray along the counter now and selects a bowl of fresh fruit salad. ‘Wow. So, you really believe Susannah took it?’

  ‘It’s the only explanation I can come up with,’ I reply. ‘I even called up Vera at home and asked her if she’d seen it.’

  ‘What about your dad?’

  ‘Oh yeah. Dad …’ I roll my eyes.

  Alexa gives me a knowing look. We both know our fathers would never bother to retain information in their brains that involved anything vaguely organisational, like wedding plans. ‘He might have mistaken it for a tissue or something, blown his nose on it and chucked it out,’ she suggests. ‘You never know.’

  Now I pause. It’s a possibility. ‘Well, it was a long shot, but I asked him anyway. I was desperate. He looked up from his laptop with this kind of “What’s a marriage licence? What licence? What wedding?” expression.’

  Alexa nods. ‘Yeah, I know that expression.’

  Hmmm. I’m starting to think it’s a universal father expression. With our dads, you have to mention either the word ‘sociology’ or ‘archaeology’ in a sentence to get much of a response. I guess with other people’s dads, it’s ‘NASCAR’, ‘football’ or ‘hardware store’, or something similar. I let out a sudden laugh at this realisation.

  ‘What’s so funny?’ she asks.

  ‘Well, imagine Toby’s kids. They’re going to have to drop the words “Bette Davis” into every important sentence!’ Suddenly I can’t stop laughing. In fact, I start laughing so hard that even an heroic effort from Alexa can’t save my chocolate milk from falling off my tray and hitting the floor.

  Meet me in quad. Now.

  Urgent.

  It’s from Alexa. And only an hour and a half after lunch. Something must really be wrong.

  I re-shelve the book I’m holding in my hand, move my trolley to one side and duck into the next aisle, where Toby’s working. I’ll have to talk to him, and that’s something I’ve been avoiding doing quite well all day. Great. ‘Cover for me,’ I say quickly, then start off for the exit.

  ‘No way …’ His whiny voice follows me. ‘You know how Timmons is,’ he says, referring to our boss, the meanest librarian on earth.

  I stop and turn around. Was he always this annoying? Was I really so desperate to have a boyfriend that I put up with this stuff? (Um, maybe. Dumb of me, I know.) Now, I roll my eyes at him. ‘Don’t be such a baby, Doris,’ I tell him. ‘If you have to tell her something, tell her I’ve got “girl troubles”. Then sing her a song to keep her occupied. Maybe tap-dance a little.’ I turn around again and keep walking, trying not to laugh. Toby singing a ‘Let’s all look on the bright side of things and be cheerful little blonde bunnies’ song to Mrs Timmons – now, there’s something I’d like to see.

  When I’m safely out of the library (and Mrs Timmons’s line of sight), I run the rest of the way to the quad. Alexa’s there waiting for me.

  ‘Are you okay?’ she asks, running up to meet me.

  I frown. Does she think I’m going to get delayed breaking-up-with-Toby shock, or something? I mean, I was okay at lunchtime, wasn’t I?

  ‘Oh. You don’t know, do you? You don’t have a TV in the library.’

  A TV in the library? I almost laugh. Mrs Timmons would rather die first. ‘What are you talking about, Alexa? What’s been on TV?’

  Alexa shakes her head. ‘It’s about Holly. There’s –’ But just then she’s interrupted by the sound of my cell phone ringing. ‘I bet
that’s her now. Or your dad.’

  I fish my cell out of my back pocket. Alexa’s right – it is Holly. ‘Hey, Holly,’ I say.

  ‘Hi, sweetie,’ her voice chimes down the phone. ‘I just wanted to let you know that there’s a whole lot of silliness going on. I realise you know better than to listen to it, but I thought it’d be best to give you a call anyway. You’re okay?’

  With what? Why am I always the last person on the face of the earth to know what’s going on in my own life? I glance over at Alexa. ‘Um, sure, Holly. Of course I’m okay with it.’

  ‘How’s everything going for next weekend?’

  ‘Everything’s fine,’ I reply. Other than the fact that Dad’s research assistant stole the marriage licence, that is, and could make a move on him at any moment.

  ‘Great. Yes, yes, I’m coming …’ Holly says to someone. ‘Sorry, Nessa, I’ve got to go. You know how things are.’

  Do I? Well, no, I don’t, but I don’t want to freak Holly out, so I give her the answer she wants to hear. ‘I’m fine. Don’t worry. You’d better go.’

  ‘Love you. Kisses!’ And she hangs up.

  I hang up as well and turn to face Alexa. ‘What is going on, Alexa?’

  ‘There’re all these pictures of Holly and Kent kissing, and her flashing this huge diamond ring,’ she begins. ‘They must be pictures from the set. Isn’t the film about an engaged couple or something?’

  I think for a second. ‘It’s about a couple who get re-engaged after they’ve called their wedding off and gone their separate ways,’ I say. And then I freeze. For the first time, it really hits home what this movie’s about. Holly and Kent had been engaged once. The movie is practically about them. I hadn’t thought about it too much before. Before, when everything had been PPP.

  Alexa shrugs. ‘Someone must’ve got lucky with the camera angle and then leaked the pictures. You know how it is – they don’t kiss for real. If the pictures had been taken from the other direction, we probably would’ve seen Kent picking wax out of Holly’s ear or something.’