Wedding Belles Read Online Free Page B

asking them questions.”
    “What sort of questions?”
    She smiles gently. “Grown-ups are just people, Beanie. Wrinkly humans wearing yawnsville clothes, admittedly, but people all the same. I ask them about their job, their kids, where they bought their wrap dress — anything, really. And here’s the important bit: I listen to them — that’s the trick.” She shakes herself, like a dog throwing off water after a swim. “Wowsers, that’s all far too serious for this hour of the morning. All set to watch some skinny models in some blissfully bad wedding frocks frolic down that catwalk?”
    “Abso-doodle-lutely!”
    “Fabulous. Now we’re sucking wedding diesel.”
    Brains and I trail behind Clover as she checks out the wedding fair. The wedding-theme fashion show is due to kick off shortly on the large catwalk that divides the huge hall. On either side of it are dozens and dozens of stalls, all pushing different wedding wares, from dresses to exotic honeymoon destinations.
    Clover comes to a halt in front of a large stall with a sign saying GOOD GROOMING hanging above the unmanned table. Three male mannequins stand behind the table in different groom outfits, their waxy faces staring out at us.
    “Ooh, I like that one,” Clover says, pointing at the middle mannequin, which is dressed in a dark-red velvet suit.
    “I can’t picture Dave in velvet.” I squeeze my eyes shut and try to imagine Dave in velvet. “Nope, not happening.”
    “Not for Dave, for Brains,” Clover says.
    “Is there something you’re not telling me, Clover?”
    “Not to get married in, you crash-test dummy, for band photographs. It’s a very striking suit. Marriage is so not on the cards for a long time to come,” she says. “But don’t stop proposing from the stage, sweetness. It’s darling,” she adds quickly, winking at Brains, who is taking a closer look at the suit. “Makes a gal feel special.”
    Since January, Brains has been shouting out marriage proposals to Clover from the stage at Golden Lions gigs. Most people think it’s all part of the show. Clover always says, “No way, José,” and the women in the audience cheer — they all have big crushes on Brains.
    “What do you think?” Clover asks him.
    “Not really my color,” he says. “But I dig the velvet.”
    “What about the cream-linen suit for Dave?” She points at the left-hand mannequin.
    “Yuck!” I say.
    Clover laughs. “Don’t hold back, Bean Machine.”
    “Dave would hate it,” I say. “It’s too ‘Look at me, I’m so handsome.’”
    “Amy’s right,” says Brains. “That one would be more Dave’s style.” He nods at the third mannequin. “Dark-gray morning suit, nice and traditional.”
    “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here to welcome you,” says a voice behind us. “One of our male models hasn’t turned up for the fashion show and I’m all in a tizzy.” We turn to find a tanned man smiling at us. He’s wearing a plain dark suit, and a tape measure hangs around his neck like a thin scarf.
    “Not a problem,” Clover tells him. “Can my boyfriend try on the gray suit, please, with a yellow vest if you have one and a sky-blue cravat? It’s for my sister’s wedding. We’re just the organizers and Brains is our model for the day.”
    The man looks Brains up and down. “Model, did you say . . . ? Ladies, would you mind if I borrowed this young man for a moment. He’ll meet you at the fashion show later. Here.” He presses a couple of fancy white-and-gold invitations into Clover’s palm. “With my compliments. And after the show we can talk about your wedding plans. I’m sure we can work out a special deal.”
    “Thanks,” Clover says. “That’s really kind of you, Mr. . . . um? But what do you need Brains for?”
    “You’ll see. And the name is Stanley. Noel Stanley, but please call me Stan. Everyone does.” He drags a bemused-looking Brains through the curtain at the back of the stall.
    “Where do you think