It's been too long (1)

Reader, it has been far too long. I took Friday off, wrote yesterday, and up to final word count of 16,863. I have not yet written today, but I plan to I have a marathon session tonight. It has been too long since I had a great writing session.

So much has happened since I last posted that I decided to break this posting up into multiple sections. In section 1, Julie is planning on getting a great night's sleep, and is woken up at 5:15 AM by Enid (who always gets up with the sun in the summer to tend her gardens) with news that she has a meeting with the wedding coordinator at the Labatt mansion, where Enid has booked the wedding. I decided on the Labatt mansion (even though it doesn't exist in London) because I feel that Enid would have the societal connections. I also threw in the fact that Enid's garden club designed the landscaping.

I found a place to park and pulled in, seeing that Enid had already arrived. I silently cursed myself for not arriving 16 minutes early. Just as I was turning off the car and unbuckling my seatbelt, I heard a unicorn-like neigh. I turned around quickly to see where the sound had come from, and why such a sound had been unleashed on my ears. What I saw was a young, slim woman with impeccably styled, blonde curly hair and patrician features. Upon closer inspection, I saw that she was crying. And unfortunately for her, she was not one of those people who look good when they cry. Her face was bloated as if she had spent the previous night consuming only Bud (not light) and the morning consuming only various kinds of carbs. In addition to bloat-face, she was red. And strangely, and inexplicably, had started making animal sounds to let out her grief. Most recently she had squawked, then said, loudly “Polly want a cracker.”

I wondered briefly how anyone could experience an emotion that strongly before 8 on a Sunday as I walked quickly to the door.

I was greeted upon arrival by a short, stalky man with sharp, angular features sporting a fashionable suit that had not quite been tailored correctly. Even though he was already short, his pants had been shortened to a length that bordered on capri. A length that commonly invites the question, “Where’s the flood?” Despite the unfortunate cut of his suit, he reeked of money. He just had that swagger about him.

“Good morning, ma’am,” he said kindly.

“Julie York,” I said. “And you are?”

“Edward Orpik,” he offered in a heavy English accent, “A pleasure to meet you, Ms. York. What brings you here today?”

“I am meeting Enid Sawyer,” I said, with a slight question in my voice. I had been here for almost a minute and I had neither heard nor seen her. It was rare for her to go so long without speaking. Frankly, I was a little worried.

“Oh, yes. Right this way,” he said. And he continued to talk as we walked through the stunning mansion. “I would like to apologize for dear Polly. There was somewhat of a...a double booking for her event and she had to be bumped to a different day. She was very broken up. Apparently that was her parent’s anniversary. They had died last year, and she wanted to get married on their anniversary as a memorium of sorts. Unfortunately, it could not work out.” He said, rather coldly. But it all sounded better with the British accent. Somehow, the British can say anything and still sound composed and classy.

Once we arrived at his regally decorated office, he offered me a seat on one of the most comfortable chairs I had ever had the pleasure of putting my ass on. I looked around and noticed the beautiful arrangement of flowers, in a heavy crystal-cut vase. Enid had already arrived, and was sipping what I could only assume to be tea. And I assume that because she was drinking with her one pinky out, looking like a pretentious asshole.

Her outfit this morning was classic Enid. A dated, blue plaid Chanel suit topped with a hat I can not even begin to describe. Suffice to say it included tulle, feathers, and what appeared to be some largish twigs, which pulled the hat to a jaunty angle on her head. Although she was a slight woman, her suits were always a size to big, making her look smaller than she actually was. Overall, it was a ridiculous image.

“Care for anything? Tea or coffee? Water?” Edward inquired.

Having imbibed enough coffee to kill a cat before leaving the house, I politely declined.

“So, let’s get down to business. You have already booked our venue for August 27th, and paid the deposit for the wedding of yourself and Mr. Crispy...ah James Sawyer. Pardon me.” He turned an alarming shade of red, and I was more than slightly worried that he might keel over in front of me. Instead, he powered through, and continued. I admired this, yet I did not miss the fact that he had referred to my husband-to-be as ‘Mr. Crispy’. I just couldn’t let that go.