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The ring wasn’t as beautiful as Bridget’s first design in Edie’s opinion, but it was impressive, as was Lorenzo’s band. “The diamonds will be of the best quality,” Edie assured. “Set at Tiffany’s.”
Julia flashed a grin. “Great!”
“Oh,” cut in Emma. “Before I forget. Since you’re going on Rate the Dates after this meeting, Edie, I want Celebrity Wedding’s photographers to meet you at the studio. Okay?”
Edie wondered what to say. Just days after she’d been hired by the Dardens, Celebrity Weddings had phoned, asking for exclusive rights to cover the wedding. In turn, Edie had broached the subject with the Dardens, feeling sure they’d decline, only to find that Sparky was ecstatic. Despite Julia’s camera-shyness, he wanted her to have the documentation of her special day forever. Well and good. But one thing had led to another, and Celebrity Weddings—which had been a bit pushy—wanted Edie and Cash, a man she’d only casually dated, to appear on a nationally televised reality show called Rate the Dates.
“Just audition, Edie,” Emma had urged at the time. “It’s a promotional thing and you can always cancel. Since it’s a weekly show and airs live, they have alternates waiting in the wings.”
On the show, newly acquainted couples were videotaped during dream dates in Manhattan while a studio audience and two-person judging panel rated their likelihood of sharing a future. So the audience could see how well it had judged, each show included a segment called “Where Are They Today?” By generating interest in Edie’s love life, Celebrity Weddings hoped to boost circulation for the issues covering Julia and Lorenzo, and when the idea was initially broached, Edie decided to do it, since she might get new clients.
But then she’d come to her senses. After all, the Benning sisters were affected by a wedding curse, something proven by their lifelong histories of bad dates, which meant Edie’s appearance on Rate the Dates could backfire. If Julia’s wedding was somehow tainted, Edie would never forgive herself.
Feeling a rush of guilt, Edie told herself she was being ridiculous. Surely curses couldn’t rub off on third parties. Still, from a practical standpoint, it was better not to complicate matters by focusing on her own romantic life while planning this wedding. She didn’t need any distractions, which was another good reason to quit dating Cash Champagne.
Yes…she’d concentrate on only one wedding—Julia’s. When it came off perfectly, that would prove to Granny Ginny and Edie’s sisters that the Benning name was to be associated with marital bliss—not tales of spinsterhood.
“Emma,” Edie said with conviction. “I’ve thought about it, and I’m going to cancel. As you say, Rate the Dates always has alternates.” Deciding not to mention the unpromising, dry-as-dust kisses she’d shared with Cash, Edie added, “Cash and I only dated a month.”
“That’s the point,” argued Emma. “Contestants get to know their dates while America watches!”
Edie hardly wanted America to witness her and Cash’s lack of passion on TV. Besides, as far as her sisters went, any failure would be interpreted as proof that they were cursed and never likely to marry. “No, I really can’t appear.” Refusing to consider the show’s hefty grand prize, a sum that would help with the overhead at Big Apple Brides, Edie continued, “Marley’s going to let Cash know.”
She wished she’d been able to track him down herself, but the man was definitely elusive. And the way the day had progressed, ending in this impromptu meeting, finding him had been impossible. Frowning at her watch, she wondered if Marley had succeeded yet, and then why her twin had been so unusually helpful. Since her divorce, Marley had viewed men suspiciously, but today, she’d seemed almost eager to help Edie find Cash. Well, maybe it was because Edie had decided not to appear with him on Rate the Dates, despite the sizable grand prize….
AS SHE APPROACHED Rockefeller Center and NBC, Marley tried to ignore the fact that the hike uptown had made her thirsty, and she wished she had time to stop for water, but she didn’t. Catching a glimpse in Saks’ window, she barely recognized herself. Was she really wearing press-on nails, sheer pantyhose that couldn’t protect her legs from the biting wind, and black pointy-toed come-love-me heels that were cutting off circulation from her toes to her hips and probably damaging her sciatic nerve?
Her usually curly hair was blown out straight—her arms ached from an hour’s work with the hair dryer—and because she was wearing a fur coat, her twin’s pride and joy, she’d already been accosted by an animal rights activist who’d followed her from West Fourth to Thirty-Fourth Street station, educating Marley about the trials and tribulations of being a mink.
Marley had finally lost her temper and explained that she was only human, which meant she didn’t feel competent to speak for minks. However, she could definitely say it wasn’t easy being her. She’d proceeded to tell the activist about the wedding curse that had ruined her marriage, offering details about her divorce before bringing the man up to the present, explaining that she was impersonating someone else right now, so this wasn’t even her coat. Besides, the coat wasn’t mink, she’d informed him, but beaver, and it had been bought by her sister secondhand, so her sister wasn’t responsible for an animal death, at least not directly.
The coat was hanging over an itchy red-wool suit that reminded Marley of why she favored clothes made of cotton. As it turned out, that was something she and the man had in common, and on that basis, he’d asked for a date, but Marley had declined, quickly reminding him of the wedding curse. As much as she missed sex and romance, the curse was a reality—her divorce proved that—so she really did feel compelled to swear off men forever.
Now she just hoped she could help Edie. She definitely looked like her now; before she’d left the West Village where her parents and Edie lived, she’d passed the deli, the drop-off laundry and a restaurant where the Bennings often ordered takeout, and no one had seen through the disguise.
Still, she was second-guessing her plan to show up at NBC and fool Edie’s latest boyfriend into thinking she was Edie. “But you don’t have a choice,” Marley reminded herself, licking at lips that felt like cotton. She had to stop her sister from making a devastating mistake, such as the one Marley had made when she’d married Chris Lang. Edie was too much of a romantic to see through Cash Champagne’s surface charm….
And Cash definitely had some ulterior motive in dating Edie. Not only did Cash Champagne sound like a stage name worthy of a Broadway show, but he didn’t seem to have reliable employment, either, just like Marley’s ex-husband, Chris. And his looks were too good to be true, at least judging from the few times Marley had seen him. He did, however, seem to be from New Orleans—his accent indicated that was the truth—but the way he’d appeared in the Bennings’ lives was fishy, so Marley just wanted the chance to probe deeper into his background than Edie seemed willing to do….
Marley lowered her head as she crossed Fifth Avenue, holding her stiff hair-sprayed locks in place with both hands and keeping her eyes glued to the pavement, hoping one of Edie’s high heels wouldn’t catch in a subway grate and send her sprawling. No, poor Edie just didn’t get it. She was still such a romantic fool.
While Marley didn’t want to be condescending, she couldn’t help but feel her twin—who was older by two minutes—was really years younger. Despite the wedding curse that Granny Ginny had said ensured their failure in romance, everything remained hearts, flowers and happy endings for Edie. She still fantasized about the perfect wedding day—the sun shining, spring flowers blooming, a tall, dark, handsome man who looked like Cash Champagne waiting at the end of the aisle….
Oh, Marley and Edie might not hang around together as much as they used to, and they’d always had different friends, but Marley would hate to see her twin get hurt. She felt a pang in her chest as she visualized Big Apple Brides’ display windows and thought of the loving care that Edie, not to mention all the Bennings, had put into the business, despite the fact that none of the sisters were destined for success in love.
Only Marley had made the mistake of marrying. Refusing to give credence to old family stories, she’d seen her love for Chris Lang as proof the curse didn’t exist. Only a year ago, while signing divorce papers, had she smelled the coffee. Obviously, Granny hadn’t been spinning wild yarns as the sisters had sometimes hoped, and until this curse was resolved, Marley, Edie and Bridget were destined to be alone. For that reason, Marley was glad her elderly relative was coming in from Florida this week. Now that she took the curse more seriously, maybe Marley and her sisters could ask Granny Ginny how to rectify matters.
As things stood, Cash Champagne was just one more heartbreaker who’d wind up harming Edie. Not that Marley cared about her own love life any longer. What was the use? In fact, she wanted as little to do with weddings as possible, which was why she wished she had any other option besides working as Julia Darden’s fitness trainer.
Fortunately, Marley had almost rebuilt the clientele she’d had when Chris depleted their joint bank account, and she’d had to close her spa center, Fancy Abs. As difficult as it was to listen to Julia’s deluded chatter about gowns and crystal, Marley always refrained from reciting divorce statistics since she desperately needed the job. She was working in clients’ apartments right now, and unless she could open a commercial space soon, people would switch to the new fitness franchises springing up all over Manhattan.
Bitter air hit the back of her throat, making her even thirstier as she wrapped Edie’s coat more tightly around herself and headed past the Sea Grill restaurant. Silently, she damned her throat for feeling so achy. She really didn’t have time to stop for something to drink, and if the truth be told, a martini was starting to sound better than a bottle of Evian. She heaved a sigh. Why did Edie always wear short skirts? And such sheer hose? Her sister was so impractical!
A month ago, when six feet of pure temptation had waltzed into Edie’s life calling himself Cash Champagne, Edie had taken that as a positive sign. At least at first. Admittedly, he was a dream to look at, his body big and hard with muscles, his dark eyes always squinting as if he were staring into sunlight, his lips curling into absent smiles as if to say he’d seen it all and nothing surprised him. Not exactly the kind of man who dated women slated to be old maids.
But what was wrong with being single, anyway? Marley suddenly fumed. Throughout history, countless women traversed the years when, as Florence Nightingale had put it, “forever turned into never.” The Bennings were hardly the first. Many “bachelor girls” wound up happier, able to concentrate on their own life goals. Which was what Marley intended to do….
When she, Edie and Bridget had met Cash last month in an East Village comedy club, Marley had reacted on a purely physical level, of course. In fact, when he’d sent a round of drinks, then headed toward their group, she’d been sure her smile had lured him. Just as she was kicking herself for flirting accidently, the low, sexy rumble of his voice had helped bring her to her senses, reminding her of her divorce, and everything that she’d gone through in the past year.
Luckily, the following morning, she’d scheduled a workout with a TV executive who could refer more clients, so she’d been unable to stay at the club and seduce Cash. She did remain long enough to realize he’d never even heard of the feminist stand-up act—a local talent. He’d seemed out of place, too, a lone man surrounded by a female audience enjoying jokes about hair loss, penis size and men’s bizarre relationships with their electronic equipment.
Because the dingy pub—an old speakeasy sandwiched between buildings on Avenue A—would have been impossible for a tourist to find, Marley couldn’t figure out how Cash had come to be there, especially since he’d had no interest in comedy or the performer, and he knew no one. He wasn’t drinking alcohol, either, only club soda, which seemed odd, since he’d said he’d gotten his start as a bartender, then worked his way up to owning his own clubs, and Marley had never met a teetotaling bartender.
He’d chuckled at appropriate places, but his eyes had remained veiled, maybe even calculating, and Marley had gotten the impression he was deciding which sister he’d like to know, rather than letting events take their natural course. For some reason, she’d found herself imagining a scenario in which he’d followed them to the club, intending to pick up one of them….
Surely, she was wrong. And yet she’d wound up concluding that something was up his sleeve. Edie would say that was only because Marley’s breakup with Chris had scarred her emotionally. Now she thought back, trying to remember if she’d seen Cash before their meeting in the pub. Had he been in a deli? A café? No matter how often she’d replayed that night, picturing herself and her sisters meeting at their parents’ apartment, walking to Seventh Avenue and catching a cab to the East Side, she couldn’t remember seeing him on the street….
Cash had quickly passed on Marley as a prospect, though. She did remember that clearly. When she’d said she was leaving, he’d turned his attention to Bridget, who was the most obvious of the sisters, the one men always looked at first. Her outfits were flashier and her voice louder, probably because she’d felt left out when they were kids, overshadowed by twin sisters who had—at least back then—been inseparable. But Bridget had been talking to a friend on her cell, which meant Cash’s attention had shifted once more, this time to Edie, who was clearly wowed by his looks.
That was when Marley had left. Now, all she knew was what she’d gleaned from her tight-lipped sister who hadn’t divulged much except that Cash was a lousy kisser. Given his devil’s grin, dripping dark locks and swaggering walk, Marley had figured him for a ladies’ man, the kind of guy who’d know how to make a woman feel like a woman.
“TMI!” Marley had protested when Edie had divulged the gossip about the kisses. “Too much information!”
“I know I should quit seeing him. There’s just no chemistry. But he’s so good-looking that I keep hoping…” Edie had paused. “Is being a bad kisser really a fatal flaw?”
“Yes!” exclaimed both Bridget and Marley in unison, and then Bridget had added, “but guys who look like that always get plenty of practice, so I just don’t get it.”
Marley had hesitated, unwilling to state the obvious, since it might spoil their good moods, but she had felt compelled to say, “The wedding curse. That must be it. Maybe he’s a great kisser, just not when he kisses one of us. Uh, you know, a Benning.”
Edie had groaned. “Don’t start with that again.”
“Marley does have a point,” Bridget had said, her blue eyes growing distant as if she were staring at a far-off partner whom she’d never really meet, face-to-face.
Now Marley winced at Edie’s watch as she pushed through a revolving door at NBC. Fifteen minutes until six, she thought. It was later than she’d imagined, almost the time Edie had been told to arrive at the studio. At least the timing ensured Cash would be here already.
But where? In the lobby, a line of people was preparing to be led upstairs, and judging from the signs they carried, they were the studio audience for Rate the Dates. Slipping past them, Marley headed for an open elevator, following directions Edie had given. When she reached an attendant wearing green slacks and a matching blazer, she announced herself, saying, “Edie Benning,” and then she watched in relief as the woman crossed her off a guest list.
“I’ll phone upstairs and tell them you’re finally here,” the woman said.
Finally? Marley thought a moment later as the elevator car ascended. The woman had made it sound as if Marley were late, but hadn’t Edie said to be here by six, since the show started at seven? Suddenly, Marley wished she’d asked for more information. Had Cash possibly changed his mind, anyway? After all, Edie had said alternates were always ready to go on, which meant last-minute cancellation wasn’t supposed to be a problem. Besides, Cash had been reticent about going on the air, anyway.
But what if he tried to strong-arm her into appearing for some reason? In that case, should she tell him she wasn’t Edie? Marley felt a sudden stab of panic. Should she have come earlier? Had Edie gotten her facts wrong? Swallowing with difficulty, since her mouth was still bone dry, Marley felt a rush of pique at Cash Champagne. As far as she was concerned, all this aggravation was his fault. If he’d answered his cell phone, Edie could have canceled herself. Men were all alike, Marley thought. So many never grew up, living long into adulthood at the center of their own little worlds….
Edie had been trying to call Cash all day, but he’d hardly cared that his unavailability might affect her, much less Marley who was now tracking him down. As soon as she’d spoken with Edie, Marley had meant to head straight to Cash’s supposed work site—a new Upper West Side club called the Plantation House, a fancy restaurant-bar he’d said he was opening with an old friend—but then she’d decided to disguise herself as Edie. She just wanted the opportunity to size him up at length, to make sure Edie wasn’t making a mistake by dating him.
Dressing had taken longer than anticipated. She and Edie had been born identical, but they’d evolved different tastes and lifestyles that, today, made them look more like sisters than twins. Because Marley had a slightly heavier, more muscular body from working out, not all Edie’s clothes fit, and even after she’d dressed, shoes remained a problem since Edie’s closet was organized with boxes bearing coded labels only she could understand. As far as Marley was concerned, you’d need a cryptanalyst from the CIA to decipher Edie’s closet. Just as Marley had found shoes, she’d realized she needed to clip her bangs if she was going to look like Edie….
In the end, the disguise was perfect. Unfortunately, that meant Edie’s neighbors had stopped Marley, wanting to chat. By the time she reached the subway, the animal rights activist had accosted her, and when she got out at Times Square, the afternoon’s beautiful dusting of snow had turned to sleet in the twilight, and she hadn’t been able to get a cab the rest of the way to Fiftieth.
“Just tell Cash I can’t be on the show,” Edie had said, making it sound so easy. “He won’t mind,” she’d assured. “To tell you the truth, I had to talk him into it. I was excited about it at the time. He didn’t even seem interested in the prize money.”
“Aren’t you?” Marley had asked, thinking about how she, herself, could use the money to start her fitness center.
Edie had hesitated. “Yeah,” she’d finally admitted. “But I don’t think I should go on the show. I mean, like I said, Cash and I don’t really seem to be clicking….”
Marley could see why Edie kept hanging on. The guy was gorgeous. But why was Cash still interested if there wasn’t any chemistry? When the elevator doors opened onto a hallway packed with people, there was no more time to ponder the question. Another woman in a green blazer and slacks, positioned at the elevator, said, “You are?”
“Mar—uh, Edie Benning.”
Just as she glanced around, looking for Cash, she felt a surprisingly strong hand close around her upper arm and when she glanced up, she was staring into the face of a tall man with short dark hair named Trevor Milane, whom she recognized as the host for the reality show. Not that Marley had actually seen a full episode of Rate the Dates, only ads for it, many of which were on public buses. Before she could introduce herself, the man, who looked astonishingly like Pierce Brosnan said, “Where have you been? Don’t you know our show is nationally televised? Oh, it doesn’t matter, just get back to costume.”
The hallway was so crowded, Marley could barely move, much less find a costume department. “I came to cancel,” she managed to say. “I need to find Cash Champagne.”
“Cancel?” Trevor growled, thrusting harried fingers through his dark hair as he spun abruptly and half dragged her down the hallway, wending around studio workers, his grip firm even when she tried to shake it off. “Keep dreaming, sweetheart,” he said gruffly, still pulling her along. “We air live, and there’s no time left.” He raised his voice. “Contestant six finally made it,” he called, his gravelly voice now turning magically soft in a heartbeat, the deep baritone almost as sexy as Cash Champagne’s. It was as if he’d said, “Open sesame.”
Double doors opened on the studio, and Marley’s jaw slackened as she stared into the insanity beyond. People were ducking and circling each other, carrying everything from legal pads to technical equipment; the same line of people she’d seen in the lobby were now being marshaled into studio seats by more women in green slacks and blazers.
Nearer, someone gasped and said, “Thank God she’s dressed.”
Someone else groaned. “Red will blend with the backdrop.”
Just as Marley realized they were talking about her suit, another disembodied voice hit her ears, saying, “Less than six minutes until airtime!” Her mouth still feeling like cotton, she started to ask for water, but her attention was diverted by still another voice, adding, “Trevor says to change the swivel chairs on stage to blue, not red. Otherwise, she’ll blend.”
Blend? God forbid. Reaching, Marley grabbed the first arm she could, the crowded space near the doors so thick with people that she wasn’t sure if the eyes into which she stared imploringly were really connected to the arm she held. “Look,” she managed to say. “It’s sounds as if you’re close to airtime, but I need to cancel. Uh…you said you had alternates. I was told to be here at six—”
“Exactly. Why weren’t you?”
She stared at Edie’s watch. “I was. I am. I mean—”
“Five until airtime!” said the voice.
“It’s seven o’clock, Ms. Benning. You’re an hour late,” someone else said.
Marley was pulling the watch to her ear. Sure enough, it had stopped. Her heart thudded in panic. She couldn’t appear on Rate the Dates, no way. “I need to find my…uh…date. His name’s Cash Champagne. There’s been a mistake.”
“Four minutes!”
How could time be flying so fast? Surely a minute hadn’t passed! As Marley drew a sharp breath, Edie’s coat was whisked from her shoulders. “Please,” she managed to say, fighting rising panic. “I need that coat.” Edie would kill her if she lost it.
No response came, but a bottled water was thrust into her hand. That she could use. Gulping, she felt the cool water slide down her throat as a sheet on a clipboard was put in front of her, and someone said, “Here, Edie. If you’ll just sign…”
Even though she thought it was rude to make contestants sign for drinks, especially water, she scribbled her sister’s name, took a deep breath, and said, “Thanks. I was thirsty.”
“Take these, too,” someone said, handing her a health bar just as a hand came over her shoulder.
“Two-sided tape,” another voice said behind her. “I’m attaching it to your blouse. It’ll hold the microphone.”
“Microphone?”
“At least she blow-dried her own hair,” someone said.
“According to the initial interview, she has natural curls.”
“That skirt’s too short, though. She can’t go on in that.”
“I’m not going on,” Marley said, beginning to realize that it was pointless to protest.
“Three minutes,” someone shouted.
“Your skirt’s really short, so make sure your knees are pressed together, Ms. Benning.”
The idea of exposing her panties to America sent another wave of panic through her system. Marley craned her neck toward the elevators, wondering if she should run. “Where’s Cash? I’ve got to talk to him.”
“All couples want to talk before the show,” another woman soothed. “But in just a minute, you’ll see him onstage—”
“No! I just came to—”
A woman moved quickly in front of her, unwrapped the health bar, tore off a piece and pushed it into Marley’s mouth, leaving Marley only one option—to chew and swallow, at least if she wanted to talk again. “Atta, girl,” said the woman. “For most contestants, eating right before you go on the air helps. Now smile. Let me check your teeth.”
This was becoming more surreal by the moment. “Please,” Marley managed to say. “I’m not going to be on your show. Now, if you don’t mind, I really have to talk to someone in charge.”
The only response was a comb. Someone behind her dragged it through her hair, then re-shellacked the locks with another wave of thick hair spray. Even worse, she felt someone grasp her hand and start to apply nail polish to Edie’s press-on nails, saying, “It won’t dry this close to airtime, but you can just rest your hands on your thighs.”
Was the woman out of her mind? Marley never painted her nails, so she was hardly practiced about how to let them dry while she was on TV. “What was wrong with them?” she asked.
“The color’s wrong for your suit. And this will make them look less like press-ons.”
“Please,” Marley said. “Just don’t put on the polish.” She’d never worn red polish in her life.
“All the other women are polished.”
But she wasn’t going onstage with the other women! The show was televised for a week! If she went on tonight, she imagined she’d be locked into the other shows, also. And she wasn’t even Edie. As Marley parted her lips to speak, an attendant started glossing them with something that smelled like strawberries. “You don’t seem to understand!” Marley managed to say futilely, frustration lifting her voice an octave.
“Two minutes!”
The words echoed in her mind. She had to get out of here. Straining her eyes past whoever was fiddling with the collar of her silk blouse, she glimpsed Edie’s watch again. How could this be? How could her efficient sister not have realized her watch had stopped? The hands hadn’t budged. As Marley lifted the watch to her ear, her wrists were spritzed with a scent that reminded her of spring rain. She simply couldn’t believe this. Marley’s hyper-organized sister actually took her watches to the jeweler biannually, just for a battery checkups.
Truly, she felt like Alice after she’d stepped through the looking glass. The hallway was still packed with people, too, and the scents of bodies, not to mention the cloying mix of perfumes and colognes, was making Marley’s stomach start to churn. Sheer hysteria was making her feel woozy, and her chest had constricted as if a vise had tightened around her rib cage.
The voice came again. “One minute!”
“Get her into the green room!”
“Please,” Marley said as someone pushed her from behind. “Just let me talk to Cash. I’m sure he doesn’t really want to be on the show, either.”
“Are you kidding?” the woman with the health bar soothed. “He’s waiting in the blue room where we put the men. He keeps asking if you’ve arrived.”
Marley considered fighting her way out, simply storming through the hallway, knocking aside whoever was in her path. She could, of course. She worked out all day. She was thoroughly hydrated, her muscles toned. She had stamina. But whatever she did would reflect badly on her sister, including announcing to the NBC staff that she wasn’t really Edie. Her own business had already folded, so she’d hate to see her sister’s meet the same fate.
