Danielle Steel - The Apartment

“It’s a shame Valentina can’t find a decent guy. If you had a double wedding, maybe you could get a group rate,” Oliver teased her one night on the phone. She and Alex were going to meet with the wedding planner the next day. It was nice to be dealing with something pleasant for a change. All they talked about at the apartment now was George’s indictment, and Morgan being cleared. She had decided to keep helping Max with his books at the restaurant, and Max said she was a genius at it. From looking at the spreadsheets, she had spotted that the bartender was skimming money off the top. Max had confronted him with the evidence, the man had admitted it, and Max replaced him immediately. She was still planning to look for a job, but she wanted to regain her balance and composure before going to a headhunter and searching for something on Wall Street. She didn’t feel ready for that yet—what had happened was too shocking, and it was still in the media every day.

Valentina’s boyfriend’s murder, on the other hand, had disappeared without a trace. He was just another gangster who had been killed by his own kind. It had appeared in the paper the day after the murder, and not again. And the article had said that there had been a woman with him, but Valentina wasn’t mentioned by name, by police request, for the benefit of her safety. Sasha still had no idea where she was and hadn’t heard from her. There could be no communication between them, by police demand.

And she and Alex weren’t sure whether to laugh or cry when they met the wedding planner. She was British, her name was Prunella, and she looked more like an undertaker than a wedding planner, in a severe black suit, with her dyed jet-black hair pulled tightly back in a bun. Oliver had said she’d been a ballerina in her youth, but she looked like a prison guard to Alex, and he whispered to Sasha, when the woman left the room briefly, that she scared him to death.

“Maybe she runs a tight ship,” Sasha said hopefully, and she didn’t like her either. But they had no one else. The few they had heard about and checked out cost a fortune, and Prunella was only slightly cheaper. She asked them to describe their dream wedding, and they both agreed that small would be better, and said they wanted about a hundred guests.

“Are you sure?” she asked with a disapproving expression, and they nodded. Alex said that his parents had had a hundred people at theirs. And they had offered to hold the wedding in Chicago, with the reception at the house, but Alex and Sasha agreed that they wanted to be married in New York. “Do you have an idea of location?” she asked them. “You may already be too late for this June, and you may have to wait a year for a prime location.”

“We don’t want to wait a year,” Sasha said firmly, and Prunella raised an eyebrow with an unspoken question. “I’m not pregnant. But we’d like to get married this June,” Sasha said, looking the wedding planner in the eye.

“I’ve had quite a lot of pregnant brides recently,” Prunella said with a sniff. “Modern times. One of them went to the hospital from the reception. Do you want a garden setting? A restaurant? A hotel? Indoor, outdoor? Afternoon? Evening?” The options were dizzying, and they had come to no decisions when they left her home office on East Sixty-eighth Street.

“I can see why people go to Vegas,” Alex said, overwhelmed.

“Maybe we should do it in Chicago,” he said vaguely.

“Our friends are here,” Sasha reminded him. “I don’t want to get married in Atlanta either.”

When Oliver called Sasha to see how they’d liked her, she described the meeting and how unnerving it had been. Then she talked to him about what they should do.

“Nighttime weddings are more fun, and dressier,” he said. “What about someone’s home with a garden? Let me think about it. Do you want a church wedding?”

“Probably.” She liked the garden idea, particularly in June, but she couldn’t think of any, and then Oliver called her back the next day.

“I don’t know if it’s a crazy idea or not, but I know a woman with a beautiful roof garden on her penthouse on Fifth Avenue, overlooking Central Park. I’ve rented it from her before for clients, and she’s very particular about who she rents to. I’m not sure how she’d feel about a wedding. She owns the top two floors, so you wouldn’t have to worry about the neighbors complaining. She let us go pretty late for our event. It wasn’t cheap, but it wasn’t ridiculous either. If you want, I’ll call her, and it’s not like a hotel where it’s booked years in advance. Do you have a date?”

“June fourteenth?” Sasha said hesitantly. It seemed like a good date to her, in warm weather, and before the Fourth of July weekend and people’s summer plans.

“I’ll let you know.” He called back ten minutes later, when she was on her way to work. She and Alex were on different schedules that day. “You’re in,” Oliver told her. “June fourteenth. Evening wedding. She said you can have a hundred and twenty people. You provide all the catering, flowers, band, etc. She provides the hall.” He quoted a price that seemed reasonable to both of them.

“It sounds perfect.” She was delighted.

“My clients loved it for their events. One was corporate, one was private—it worked for both.”

“I wish you were our wedding planner,” she said wistfully. He made everything so easy and had such great resources.

“I don’t. Weddings are a nightmare. I don’t want one. If I ever get married, I’ll go to the Elvis Chapel in Las Vegas.”

“That’s what Alex said yesterday,” she said, sounding glum again.

“So should I book it?”

“Yes, I’ll tell Prunella.” She called her just before she got to the hospital, and told her they had a location.

“Then we need to send out save-the-dates immediately,” she said imperiously. “And you have to pick your invitations right away. They have to be printed now. Your wedding is only four months away. That’s practically tomorrow. We have work to do,” she said sternly.

“Could you send me a list of what we need to do?” Sasha asked, feeling as overwhelmed as Alex had the day before.

“I will as soon as you sign the contract.” She had given them a copy of it, and it required a large deposit, which Sasha wanted her father to approve, but hadn’t had time to send to him.

“I’ll take care of it,” she said meekly. Prunella scared her too.

“I could meet with you again today at four-thirty,” the planner said primly.

“I’ll be delivering babies until tomorrow. And I need to send the contract to my father for his approval.”

“Very well. You have no time to waste,” she reminded Sasha again as she arrived at work.

“I’ll get back to you soon,” Sasha promised, and then forgot about her as soon as she got to labor and delivery. They had four deliveries on hold, a midwife who was driving everyone crazy making demands for her patient, and a set of twins, preemies, coming in by ambulance. “Oh, happy days,” she said to Sally at the desk, as she ran to scrub up. “Do we have an anesthesiologist on the floor?”

“Not yet,” Sally answered as Sasha ran past her.

“Get two—it sounds like we’ll need them.” She could hear screaming coming from two of the rooms. Welcome to my world, she thought to herself. But this was so much easier than planning a wedding. She knew what to do here. Weddings were a mystery to her, and she had no mother to advise her. Muriel wouldn’t even discuss it with her. She walked into the first labor room two minutes later, and was just in time to tell the mother to push after she checked her.

“We’re at ten. Let’s go,” she said to the crying mother as she threw up, and then shouted at her husband and refused to push. “I want to see your little boy, don’t you?” Sasha said, smiling calmly at her, as the young woman nodded, and then grudgingly started to push as she screamed. She hadn’t wanted an epidural, determined to do it naturally, and now it was too late and she’d have to tough through it, and Sasha could tell it was a big baby. It wasn’t going to be easy. “We need another push here…again….” she told the struggling woman in labor. “One more…another one. You’re doing great.” She smiled at her as the woman continued to scream, and threw up again. It was a tough delivery that Sasha knew the woman would remember, and it would have been so much better with an epidural, but she had to work with what they had, a big baby, a crying mom, and no drugs. It took another hour of pushing, but the baby finally crowned, and then slid into her hands as she turned it, and then the mother was crying and laughing. The agony was over the minute the baby came out. “Good job, Mom!” Sasha praised her. Sasha was so good at what she did, and loved it so much. It was a great feeling knowing she made a difference to people. She walked out of the delivery room half an hour later, after stitching the woman up, and rushed past the nurses’ station, as Sally called out to her.

“You’ve had three calls from some woman named Prunella,” she told her, and Sasha stared at her in disbelief.

“Is she kidding?”

“She told me I had to get you right away, and I said you were in the middle of a delivery. Was it urgent?”

“No, it wasn’t. She’s my wedding planner. It can wait.”

Sally laughed as Sasha disappeared into the next room, just as the woman having twins at thirty-four weeks was brought in on a gurney by paramedics. They had to bring in one of the attendings for her, Sasha couldn’t be everywhere at once. The paramedics signed her over and wished her luck.

It was one of those insane days when they delivered babies nonstop all day. She was there till midnight, and Alex was at the apartment when she got home at almost one. He was asleep in her bed, and he rolled over groggily and looked at her when he heard her come in.

“Prunella is mad at you. You didn’t call her back,” he said sleepily.

“Really? Tough. I was busy.” The Elvis Chapel was sounding better every day. She pulled off her scrubs, kicked off her clogs, and climbed into bed with him, and five minutes later, they were both asleep. Prunella could wait.

Claire and her mother boarded the plane to Milan at JFK on Valentine’s Day. It seemed appropriate to Claire to spend it with her mother this year, and they were both excited about the trip. They were flying coach for the sake of their budget, but even that couldn’t spoil the fun for them. The plane was full of Italians anxious to get home, and as she listened to the conversations around her, with people next to her, or shouting over them to friends in other rows, Claire couldn’t help but remember the exquisite luxury of George’s plane and the trips they’d taken together, and the wonderful time they’d had. But now look where he was and who he had turned out to be. It was still hard to believe. First his shocking abandonment of her, and then the discovery of the crimes he had committed. He was clearly a man without a heart or a conscience, a perfect sociopath.

She forced him from her mind and concentrated on what they were doing and where they were going. Claire had brought her computer with her, to show her mother her latest designs. There was so much to do to get their fledgling business off the ground, and her roommates had been patient about deliveries of color swatches, leather and fabric samples, and all the tools and materials they would need to show customers eventually. And they found a lawyer who helped them set up the company. The first trade show they were going to would be in Las Vegas, which sounded like fun to both of them. But not nearly as much as a trip to Milan.

Parabiago was in what was known as the shoe district of Italy, where the finest factories were. They were staying in Milan, less than an hour away, and had located a small hotel near the Via Montenapoleone, where the best shopping was, and where they planned to go after they finished their meetings. Milan was mecca to the fashion world, and Sarah had never been there before. The city was known not only for the important brands located there, like Prada and Gucci, but also for fabulous furs. Claire was aching to shop while they were there, but was trying to save her money for their business. Her mother had been generous, but Claire wanted to make a contribution too. They agreed to one day of shopping in the city before they left.

Sarah loved the designs Claire showed her on her computer. They were sophisticated and sleek, in basic neutral colors that would be solid additions to any wardrobe, and then there were half a dozen more whimsical, frivolous shoes that Claire hoped no woman could resist. There were two basic, very elegant evening shoes, and three pairs of pretty flats. And eventually Claire wanted to add boots. If they produced all of the drawings they had brought with them, there would be twenty different styles in their first line. From the orders they got at the trade show, they would get a good sense of what stores wanted from them that would supplement the brands they already carried. And once they were at the factory, they would have to choose quality of leather and the colors of each style. There was a vast range of quality and possible price points, and they would have a lot to decide on their limited budget. But thanks to her mother, they had a fair amount of leeway to work with, far more than Claire had had when she was designing for Walter Adams, and she was finally getting to design shoes she loved. She was infinitely grateful to her mother for the opportunity she was giving her.