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Post by Hollywood Heidi on Sept 11, 2017 21:03:10 GMT -8
Gwen Havers' HouseLocated at 823 Vaughnview Avenue, Hermosa Beach, California and taking place in July 2004.
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Post by Kristi Lynne on Dec 7, 2017 0:41:16 GMT -8
Gwen held her breath and concentrated as she completed the last letter of the name “Bristow” in black ink on the crème-colored envelope. Across her dining room table and on the other side of an intimidatingly high stack of invitations, her mother and sister were arguing about some or other aspect of the upcoming wedding. She did her best to tune out the chatter as she finished writing out the address.
“Right, good, that’s decided,” Carolyn stated, pushing aside one stack of catalogs and placing a fresh stack in front of Helena. “Which brings us to centerpieces.”
“I thought we’d agreed on the top hats,” Helena said uncertainly, flipping through glossy pages. “You know, the 1920s Gatsby theme: top hats filled with champagne glasses, pearls, women's white gloves....”
“Ah, yes, the flapper/gangster theme,” Carolyn remembered. “Be serious, Helena. The Sun’s already speculating wildly about your father having mob ties; they’d have a field day with some Al Capone reception.”
Helena pondered for a moment. “We did discuss the Oriental theme. Bonsai trees and jade dragons on the table centers, origami swans for name holders, paper lanterns, and orchids,” she mused.
“With Neal’s father being investigated for using illegal Chinese immigrants in his orchards? Yes, that would go very well,” Carolyn rejected. “Anyway, the orchids would clash with the lilies in the bouquets.”
Helena pondered again. “Well, what about the beach theme? Or something tropical? Those little glass bowls with some sand or glass beads and floating candles?”
Carolyn considered her daughter’s suggestion. “Yes…possibly. Or even put those lovely little fish in the bowls. The red and blue ones—what are they called?”
“Bettas,” Gwen interjected, without looking up. “Otherwise known as Siamese fighting fish. If you put two male ones in the same bowl, it’ll be like dinner and a show.”
“Don’t be crude, Gwen,” her mother scolded.
Helena sighed. "My sister wishes to weigh in now, does she? I already gave up on the butterfly thing because you were so concerned about a bunch of winged insects. Are you going to champion fish rights now?”
“On the contrary, I think it’s a great idea,” Gwen said. “Maybe you can rent them from a local pet shop in exchange for putting their ad in the program.”
“Honestly, Gwen,” her sister huffed. “You don’t understand anything about wedding preparation.”
“Do stop sulking and being contrary,” her mother insisted. “We came all the way to Los Angeles to visit you.”
She gave her a disbelieving look. “Really? I've heard nothing from either of you since Julian's funeral, and then you come all the way to Los Angeles to put me to work!” she cried, sweeping her hand over the stack of invitations waiting to be addressed.
“Well, you have good penmanship. At least those posh private schools were good for something.”
“Oh, so you’re perfectly fine with taking advantage of my calligraphy skills and yet somehow I’m deemed incapable of handling bridesmaid duties?”
Helena rolled her eyes. “Gwen, we’ve talked about this. There just wasn’t room.”
“Eight bridesmaids, Helena. Eight sodding bridesmaids. And no room for your only sister?”
“I assumed you didn’t want to be a part of the bridal party.”
“You could have had the decency to ask.”
“You hate weddings,” Helena proclaimed. “Everyone knows that. I thought I was doing you a favor, so what’s your problem?”
Gwen laid down her ink pen and pushed herself away from the table. “I don’t have one. Go back to discussing your fish bowls filled with champagne or whatever…”
She headed outside to the back deck, grabbing a packet of cigarettes and a lighter from the patio table. Fumbling with the lighter, she finally managed to ignite the cigarette. She breathed in deeply, the smoke filling her nose and throat, and then slowly exhaled, leaning on the patio railing.
“You’re smoking again?” her father’s voice came from behind her.
She swirled round to see him sitting in one of the patio chairs, so focused on her nicotine fix that she hadn’t even noticed his presence. “You’re drinking my scotch at 2 in the afternoon?” she countered, gesturing to the glass of dark brown liquid in his hand.
“Touche,” he replied, standing and walking over to join her. “Funny how you always pick up the habit when you have to be in close proximity to your mother.”
“Well, it’s more legal than homicide and cheaper than heroin, Dad.”
“Look, I know you’re upset with your sister for deciding to go ahead with the wedding—“
“That’s putting it mildly.”
“But she and Neal, and your mother, and a lot of other people have put so much time and effort into this—“
She narrowed her eyes at him, unwilling to hear anymore justifications and rationalizations. “Julian isn’t even cold in the ground, and they’re discussing bouquets and centerpieces. It isn’t right, Dad. You know that.”
Edward adopted his most empathetic look. “Yes, I do,” he agreed. “But I also know that this family needs some happiness, something to look forward to after all we’ve been through. Your mother is dealing with his death the only way she knows how, Gwen. I know it’s not the way that you would prefer. And as much as we wish it would, the world doesn’t stop and take a timeout just because we lost someone. I know how devastated you were when you lost Tim—“
She felt a tightness in her chest just at the mention of his name. “Please don't go there, Dad,” she cautioned.
He nodded slowly. “I’m just saying that we have to find a way to go on; that’s what Julian would have wanted.”
“You think he would have wanted fish bowl centerpieces?”
Her father laughed slightly. “Is that the newest item on the agenda? God save us all from wedding planners and their catalogs,” he groaned, shaking his head. He clasped his hands together around the glass and rested his elbows on the railing beside her. “She wasn’t always like this, y’know? Your mother.”
He glanced over to make sure his daughter was actually paying attention. “When I met her, she was this wide-eyed girl from Portsmouth. Back then, all it took to impress her was a postal code in north London and luckily I had that. She was witty and caring and driven. So confident in her ability to take the city by the storm.
“Then one night, after I’d joined the firm, we had to go to this dinner at an associate’s house. The wives of the other estate agents were there, and they were…so cruel. They took one look at her hair, her shoes, her dress from Marks & Spencer, and they dismissed her. She wasn’t up to their level. And from that point, she swore that she’d never be ignored again. She’d seen what was expected of an estate agent’s wife, and that’s what she became. So that she could be the one passing judgment…”
Gwen just stayed silent, exhaling another lungful of smoke.
“She lives her life according to what other people expect of her. She’s done it for so long, that’s who she is now. I don’t want to see the same thing happen to you,” he said with concern.
“I don’t know what you mean, Dad.”
“Gwen, your brother is gone. You can’t use him as an excuse anymore; you have to stop living for everyone else and do some things for yourself.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. Go to the movies, go to the beach, go on a date. I mean, do you do anything besides work these days?”
“Yes, of course I do,” she protested weakly. “I go out all the time. I am just fine with the state of my life. Maybe I’m not about to marry a wine baron, but I’m fine. I’m happy. You don’t have to worry about me.”
“No matter how many times you say that, I still do.”
“I know, and I’m glad,” she relented. She turned back toward the interior of the house. “Ready to face them again?” she inquired, with a certain note of dread.
“I think I might need one more of these,” he said, raising his glass.
“Oi, that’s not the cheap stuff,” she chided.
“I know. Which means I did raise you right.”
She smiled at him and stubbed out her cigarette before heading back inside the house.
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