Here comes the bride... there goes the groom.
Penny Bracket waited two years to marry dream man Bram Shiraz. Then on the morning of the Big Day, while she's trying on her veil, Penny receives the worst two-line letter of her life: "Penny, I can't go through with it. Sorry, Bram."
Penny's hurt and upset. But Esther, Penny's divorced mom, wants Bram's head on a platter. So Mom ambushes the cold-footed coward before he hot-foots it out of town, bonks him on the head with a champagne bottle, and spirits him away to a hidden room in her gargantuan mansion in Short Hares, New Jersey. Esther doesn't want much. All Bram has to do is write personal, heartfelt apologies to each of the two hundred disappointed wedding guests... and eat every mouthful of the very expensive gourmet wedding feast that has gone to waste. Then he'll be free to leave.
Penny doesn't want Bram tortured. She just wants answers to "why"... and maybe a little revenge. Will she discover her runaway groom is locked away in the attic? Will Bram's widowed father—handsome tough-guy Keith Shiraz—be able to locate his missing son... and maybe seduce Esther Bracket in the bargain? Will Bram be able to maintain his athletic figure after consuming two hundred entrées and thousands of baby quiches? Read on!
Penny Bracket, twenty-three, looked ghostly in white. She might as well have cut eyeholes in a sheet and thrown that over her head instead of wearing the gown.
"I'm the corpse bride," she said, staring at her ashen pallor in the vanity's mirror. "As soon as the ceremony's over, I'm stripping."
"You could take it off now," suggested Esther Bracket, forty-five, Penny's mother. "Skip the ceremony entirely."
Penny frowned at her mom's face in the mirror. Esther was seated across the jewel box bridal prep room on a damask-covered settee, wearing a smart pearl-gray suit with three-inch heels that disappeared in the carpeting. Around her wrists, neck, and fingers, Esther sparkled in diamonds, expensive and plentiful, five pieces more than she needed. But in New Jersey, excessiveness was the rule, be it big hair, loud clothes, garish decorating, large personality, violent crime, government corruption, or political scandal.
Penny was a Jersey girl. She was born a few exits up the Garden State Parkway. Sinatra was also a native. Like Frank, residents did things Their Way. The state song: "Born to Run" (which, ironically, was about escaping NJ). The state's motto: "Come see for yourself," since no one who lived here could be trusted to speak the truth. The state's role model: Tony Soprano. One of the nation's smallest states, geographically, it had the densest population. In more ways than one.
Some Jerseyites set themselves apart with decorum, dignity, and discretion. Penny just didn't happen to know any. Despite Penny's stated preference for a modest wedding, Esther insisted on a lavish Short Hares Plaza affair. Although she'd never admit it, Esther had shelled out $75,000 for her daughter to marry a man she despised just to impress the neighbors.
"Full house?" asked Penny, sweeping her cheeks with blush, doing what she could to look like a living person.
"Packed," said Vita Trivoli, twenty-three, the third person in the tight room, Penny's best friend and maiden of honor. "Two hundred of the fanciest white people I've ever seen. Why don't you go check it out, Mrs. Bracket? You probably need to talk to the wedding planner. Or greet guests. Or do something that takes you out of this room." The maiden of honor, a redhead, was not subtle. Today, she wore a magenta skintight backless, strapless gown along with every piece of jewelry she owned.
"Your makeup becomes you, Vita," returned Esther, of the razor-plucked Garbo brows and flawless nude foundation. "I've never had the courage to go garish."
"But your base coat of bitterness gives you a perfect je ne sais quoi," said Vita faux-admiringly.
"It's a very thin layer," said Esther, patting her chiseled cheekbone.
"By thin," asked Vita, "do you mean brittle?"
"I'm so glad you two have finally found something to talk about," said Penny, trying to defuse the tension between her mom and best friend.
"You realize you're the first person from college to get married," Vita said to her. "That means you win."
When Vita said the word "married," Esther flinched.
"I win?" asked Penny. "Getting married is like a game show to you?"
"You get fabulous prizes," said Vita, gesturing toward the heavily laden gift table, its carved legs trembling under the tonnage of wrapped boxes from Tiffany's. "You get a dream vacationi>to Hawaii. You stand in the winner's circle and kiss your dreamy husband while everyone applauds. It's just like Wheel of Fortune."
"The wheel of fortune turns," said Esther grimly.
"You really have to shut up, Mom," said Penny.
"If you hate the gown so much, why did you buy it?" asked Esther.
"Bram wanted traditional," said Penny.
"For Bram's sake, you spend $15,000 on a dress...
