colored pencils from the house and began to sketch out some ideas. Catherine exclaimed, “You’re a designer!” She turned to Traci, beaming. “Can you believe it, darling? A designer right here on the premises!”
Lindsay protested, pretending modesty, “I’m not really...”
“But these sketches are marvelous! Wait.” Catherine caught her breath and lifted a finger, her expression a model of suspended hope. “I don’t suppose—oh, please say you will!—you’d be willing to be in charge of the flowers and decorations, would you?”
“Actually” Lindsay admitted, smiling, “that’s what I had in mind. Now, let’s talk about budget.”
Ida Mae, as grumpily stoic as ever, served coffee in rose-patterned cups, and Cici and Catherine negotiated a price—with the help of Paul, who kept kicking her ankle every time he sensed she was about to offer a bid that was too low. And when Catherine had happily agreed on an amount that was twice what Cici had originally thought would be fair, Paul added, “And just so we’re clear, that price is just to reserve the property. You’ll be responsible for all the supplies and the setup and teardown, and the catering and decor, including flowers, are separate.”
“Darling, you should be in business,” Catherine laughed. She slipped a card from her purse and passed it to Cici. “You draw up the contract, dear, and fax it to me in the morning.” She turned to Bridget. “I’ll call you next week about the menu, and we’ll make an appointment for a tasting.”
“And if you’ll have the wedding planner give me a call, I can start putting together some sketches for you,” Lindsay said.
“First thing in the morning, dear,” Catherine assured her. She placed her hands down flat and cast a thousand-watt smile around the table. “Well, my dears, this has been just delightful. I know this is going to work out beautifully. We couldn’t have asked for more, could we, Traci darling?”
The women stood as she did, and offered their hands all around. “We don’t have any cards,” Bridget apologized.
Catherine laughed. “Don’t worry. I’ll get all the information I need from the man of the hour, here. Traci, darling, let’s walk down to the garden one more time. Good-bye, ladies. Thank you again for everything.”
She gazed meaningfully at her daughter, who repeated, “Yes. Thank you for everything.”
Catherine looped her arm through her daughter’s, then hesitated before descending the steps. “The dog?” she ventured.
“Don’t worry” Lindsay assured her. “He’s with the sheep. We won’t see him again till sundown.”
“Perhaps,” Catherine suggested, “on the day of the wedding, you might consider a boarding kennel?”
Cici said, “Actually we don’t—”
“We’ll take care of it,” Bridget assured Catherine brightly, and both mother and daughter looked relieved.
Paul said, “I’ll meet you at the car.” And when the two of them reached the path that led to the rose garden and the pools, he turned back to Cici, Bridget, and Lindsay, grinning. “Well, then. Eight thousand dollars for one day’s work?”
“Not to mention the catering,” Bridget said, barely able to contain her excitement.
“And the flowers are separate!” added Lindsay.
Cici shook her head in disbelief. “And to think of all those years I wasted having an actual job.”
Lindsay added uncertainly, “Of course I’ve never really designed a wedding before. I don’t know how to begin to charge her.”
“You begin at a hundred dollars an hour plus fifty percent over the cost of the supplies and flowers,” Paul told her, and when she stared at him, he assured her blithely, “It’s standard.”
“Boy, am I in the wrong business,” Lindsay murmured.
Paul agreed. “Aren’t we all?”
Bridget’s eyes were shining. “Do you know how long I’ve dreamed about doing this? Planning menus, creating dishes, being paid for my food?” She threw her
Lindsay protested, pretending modesty, “I’m not really...”
“But these sketches are marvelous! Wait.” Catherine caught her breath and lifted a finger, her expression a model of suspended hope. “I don’t suppose—oh, please say you will!—you’d be willing to be in charge of the flowers and decorations, would you?”
“Actually” Lindsay admitted, smiling, “that’s what I had in mind. Now, let’s talk about budget.”
Ida Mae, as grumpily stoic as ever, served coffee in rose-patterned cups, and Cici and Catherine negotiated a price—with the help of Paul, who kept kicking her ankle every time he sensed she was about to offer a bid that was too low. And when Catherine had happily agreed on an amount that was twice what Cici had originally thought would be fair, Paul added, “And just so we’re clear, that price is just to reserve the property. You’ll be responsible for all the supplies and the setup and teardown, and the catering and decor, including flowers, are separate.”
“Darling, you should be in business,” Catherine laughed. She slipped a card from her purse and passed it to Cici. “You draw up the contract, dear, and fax it to me in the morning.” She turned to Bridget. “I’ll call you next week about the menu, and we’ll make an appointment for a tasting.”
“And if you’ll have the wedding planner give me a call, I can start putting together some sketches for you,” Lindsay said.
“First thing in the morning, dear,” Catherine assured her. She placed her hands down flat and cast a thousand-watt smile around the table. “Well, my dears, this has been just delightful. I know this is going to work out beautifully. We couldn’t have asked for more, could we, Traci darling?”
The women stood as she did, and offered their hands all around. “We don’t have any cards,” Bridget apologized.
Catherine laughed. “Don’t worry. I’ll get all the information I need from the man of the hour, here. Traci, darling, let’s walk down to the garden one more time. Good-bye, ladies. Thank you again for everything.”
She gazed meaningfully at her daughter, who repeated, “Yes. Thank you for everything.”
Catherine looped her arm through her daughter’s, then hesitated before descending the steps. “The dog?” she ventured.
“Don’t worry” Lindsay assured her. “He’s with the sheep. We won’t see him again till sundown.”
“Perhaps,” Catherine suggested, “on the day of the wedding, you might consider a boarding kennel?”
Cici said, “Actually we don’t—”
“We’ll take care of it,” Bridget assured Catherine brightly, and both mother and daughter looked relieved.
Paul said, “I’ll meet you at the car.” And when the two of them reached the path that led to the rose garden and the pools, he turned back to Cici, Bridget, and Lindsay, grinning. “Well, then. Eight thousand dollars for one day’s work?”
“Not to mention the catering,” Bridget said, barely able to contain her excitement.
“And the flowers are separate!” added Lindsay.
Cici shook her head in disbelief. “And to think of all those years I wasted having an actual job.”
Lindsay added uncertainly, “Of course I’ve never really designed a wedding before. I don’t know how to begin to charge her.”
“You begin at a hundred dollars an hour plus fifty percent over the cost of the supplies and flowers,” Paul told her, and when she stared at him, he assured her blithely, “It’s standard.”
“Boy, am I in the wrong business,” Lindsay murmured.
Paul agreed. “Aren’t we all?”
Bridget’s eyes were shining. “Do you know how long I’ve dreamed about doing this? Planning menus, creating dishes, being paid for my food?” She threw her
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