Love on the Rocks (with Salt) by Charlene Ross Page A

ones who do figure it out
(it’s not hard) pretend not to know. Funny how people only see what
they want to see. It wouldn’t be difficult to pull the curtain and
see Kim and me toiling away behind it. But why spoil the fairy
tale?
    The craziest thing is that
we actually meet all our brides. Gabriella has an initial meeting
and will call Kim or me in to “take notes” while the bride
describes her perfect dress and maybe shows some pictures from a
bridal magazine (or more likely People ). Then we’ll take our pad
over to Gabriella, and she’ll mutter in French while making a few
pencil marks on the page and Voilà ! She’ll flip the sketch pad
around, and like magic, Kim or I have disappeared. All they see is
Gabriella and a rough design of the dress of their
dreams.
    “ Laney, dahling, we have a client
meeting in ten minutes.”
    “ Yes, Gabriella,” I say, perfectly
aware of the time.
    “ Don’t forget your sketch pad. And
remember, sit quietly and take notes. Let me do all the talking,”
she reminds me before disappearing into her office.
    “ Of course,” I sing-song, rolling
my eyes behind her back. “I’ve worked here over a year and have
never been late nor have I ever forgotten my sketch pad,” I
complain to Kim once our boss is out of earshot.
    “ It must be because she reminds us
every single time, not because we know what to do,” Kim
deadpans.
    I smile and think again how I would have never
lasted this long here without her.
    The new bride is ushered into
Gabriella’s plush office promptly at eleven. Gabriella gives the
client and her mother a minute to take in the splendor of her
shrine. Eleven-by-seventeen photographs of Gabriella on the catwalk
cover one wall. Another wall has professional photography of
Gabriella’s best designs. And by “Gabriella’s best designs,” I mean
mine and Kim’s.
    “ Bonjour ,” Gabriella greets the bride
and her mother to remind them of her Frenchness. Well,
French-Canadian-ness.
    “ Je suis
Gabriella . This is my assistant, Laney.
She’ll be taking notes during our meeting.”
    By taking notes of course she
means sketching the dress that my faux French boss will be taking
credit for, but why get bogged down in details?
    “ Nice to meet you,” I say through
smiling teeth as I extend my hand.
    “ Nice to meet you too. I’m Sarah,
and this is my mom, JoAnne.”
    We take our seats in the sitting
area. Sarah and JoAnne on the loveseat, Gabriella and I each on a
chair opposite them.
    “ Can I offer you ladies something
to drink? Coffee, champagne, water?” Gabriella asks motioning to
the bar cart beside her.
    I still haven’t gotten over the
absurdity of drinking champagne before noon on a weekday, but Sarah
and JoAnne take it in stride. Of course they do. They’re about to
spend twenty-five thousand dollars on a dress. They probably drink
champagne before noon on a weekday all the time.
    “ Just water for me please,” says
Sarah.
    “ Yes, water would be lovely,”
replies JoAnne.
    I place two waters on the coffee
table between our seats, pour Gabriella a cup of coffee without
asking, and take a water bottle for myself.
    “ Before I hear
about how you envision your dream dress or see any photographs you
might have, Sarah, I want to hear about you to get a sense of who you are.
Tell me about your love story with…”
    “ Sean.” Sarah beams, relaxing her
shoulders and setting the manila envelope she’s clutching down on
the table.
    “ Sarah and Sean, how sweet. Tell
me, how did you two meet?” Gabriella asks, sipping her
coffee.
    “ They met at a bar,” JoAnne says
with a pinched expression, folding her arms across her
chest.
    “ Mom!” Sarah screeches. “Please!”
    Oh, a Momzilla. Fantastic. With my
luck her vision of the dress will be the exact opposite of her
daughter’s. My job will be figuring out whose wedding this is—the
mom’s or the bride’s.
    “ It was at
karaoke night,” Sarah continues. “I got up to sing Spiderwebs