The Convertible Matron Of Honor

This is the fifth Convertible story. The first two, “The Convertible” and its sequel “The Convertible – Another Road” are closely connected and should be read together, but from the third story onward, the Convertible stories are standalones, the charmed 1955 TR2 being the sole thread tying them together. (A couple of early characters put in a cameo appearance here.)

All characters doing adulty things in this story are over 18.

Once again, if you find the story enjoyable, input from my muse RiverMaya and my advisor/editor Verbalinians helped make it so. All errors are mine.

Fun fact: The haunted hotel room referred to in the story is based on a ghost story in a real hotel near SJC airport, in room 538. If you ever fly in to the Silicon Valley and stay near the airport, you've been warned.

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PRELUDE - 21 DAYS PRIOR TO THE WEDDING – I encounter 2 angels.

It was a sports car, a British racing green 1955 Triumph TR2 convertible. No muscle-car era behemoth, this car was a small sporty two-seater with just the basics; steering wheel, stick shift, hand brake, speedometer, tachometer, fuel gauge, oil pressure gauge, temperature gauge, battery gauge, choke, button for the wipers, that’s it. Zero comforts built in; you want air conditioning? Put the top down. Raining? Put the top up. Forget about rolling the windows up, it didn’t have any, just clear side curtains.

It wasn’t built to impress people with thundering horsepower, rather it was built for quickness and agility. I’d read where two TR2s competed at Le Mans in 1955, so that was kind of cool to brag about when people would make fun of it. It was a gift from my Uncle Shaun, who gave it to me when he was leaving on his honeymoon.

Growing up I didn’t see Uncle Shaun a whole lot, unless he and my Aunt Amanda came over. Later I found out he was always there when we needed him, even going so far as to save our house from foreclosure in 2008 but he never said anything about it. Only Mom and Dad knew, it was a big secret until Dad came clean to my sister and I and spilled the beans.

After Aunt Amanda died prematurely, Uncle Shaun literally disappeared. Like, now-you-see-him-now-you-don’t-magic-act disappeared. Quit his job, sold his house, all that. Mom told me Shaun was a great husband but a terrible bachelor; he’d basically given up on life and run away to hide.

A couple of months later, though, he showed up at the house with his much-younger 2nd wife, Cherry – that’s not a stripper name, don’t even go there, it’s a shortened Americanized version of her Chinese name, Chenguang, and she’s really sweet, and crazy in love with Uncle Shaun.

That’s when Uncle Shaun gave me his car as kind of good-bye gift. Following their honeymoon, he and Cherry moved to Seattle to be closer to her parents, and with Seattle experiencing an average of 152 rainy days a year it’s not a good town for convertibles. Plus, he and Cherry were trying to start a family, so a two-seater definitely wasn’t going to work.

Anyway, I loved the car, it was a ton of fun to drive, and although I used my 1998 Ford Taurus Wagon as my daily commuter car (come on, don’t laugh, it’s a SHO/Super High Output model), the TR2 was my weekend warrior. And this is where my story starts to get weird.

I'd stopped at the trendy new donut shop, ‘Glazed Over’ in the upscale Santana Row shopping district. My Mom being 8 ½ months pregnant with my baby brother (yeah, at 47 this baby was a REAL surprise), donuts were her regular cravings, so being the good son I stopped to get her a dozen every Saturday.

In college, I had a roommate who claimed angels are always near—sending wise guidance, offering healing energy, protecting us, or sometimes simply being present through life's ups and downs so we're never alone. I never bought into that stuff at all, not until today. When I came back to the car there were angels in the form of two beautiful women standing there looking at it.

One was tall and slim with a really nice chest, short raven-colored hair, a big honking diamond ring on her ring finger and a baby in a stroller. If she was a stunner, though, the other one was an absolute knockout. She looked a little older than the tall one but was petite, around 5’3”, slim and stunning. I think my heart stopped when I saw her pale skin and long jet-black hair.

My plan to instantly propose marriage was dashed, however, when I noticed another huge diamond wedding ring and one of those fore-and-aft tandem strollers with an infant in the back and a young toddler in the front. Daaaaaaamn! I wondered why I couldn’t ever meet women like that. Like the song says, “All of the good ones are taken.” As I stood there gobsmacked, I managed to overhear their conversation.

Tall/Gorgeous Woman said, “That’s it, right? I mean, how many TR2s can there be like that?”

Petite Stunner replied, “No doubt in my mind. I had my first kiss with Joel in that car, I’d know it anywhere!”

Not wanting to be rude, I coughed to alert them to me approaching. I opened the door and got in, putting the donuts in the passenger seat. Petite Stunner approached, and I thought my head would explode when I saw her green eyes up close.

“Excuse me, I’m sorry to bother you, but where did you get this car? It used to belong to my husband,” she explained, “and he gave to my daughter’s husband, who sold it to someone in New Jersey. It’s good to see it again, that car has a lot of sentimental memories for our family.”

Through great effort I was able to make myself speak in full sentences, sort of, “My uncle said he got it at an online auction. He, uh, (come ON brain, don’t fail me now) he was leaving on his honeymoon when he gave it to me.”

Petite Stunner and Tall/Gorgeous exchanged knowing looks, as if they shared a big secret. Petite Stunner looked back at me, and said, “Did your uncle tell you this car is charmed?”

“What?” I shook my head, Petite Stunner was making no sense.

“Do you see these three little ones my daughter Arianna and I are pushing? I don’t mean to scare you but if not for that very car you’re sitting in, they wouldn’t be here. You said your uncle was leaving on his honeymoon. Did he buy the car before or after he met his new bride?”

“Before, I guess. Yes, now that I think about it, he was on a road trip in it when met her.”

Petite Stunner and Tall/Gorgeous Arianna shared another knowing look, then Stunner handed me a business card for a place called Silicon Valley Exotics in Sunnyvale, California, Joel Leopard, Proprietor. “Do call my husband if you need anything. Tell him Charlotte said your first service is free, whatever it is. I gave birth to these two babies for him, believe me, he won’t question it.”

I caught a scent of her perfume and thought to myself this must be what Icarus felt like when he flew too close to the sun. I managed to find my voice long enough to squeak out, “May I ask you a question?”

Charlotte turned to me and replied, “Why of course, we’re the ones who interrupted your morning. By all means, ask away!"

I had to take my shot, or I’d regret it forever, “Do either of you have any sisters?”

Charlotte threw back her head and laughed, and it sounded wonderful. She reached into the car and patted my cheek, “Oh, I DO like you, you’re a sweet flatterer just like my husband. Sadly, no, I have no sisters, and my daughter’s sisters are both here in this stroller, so I’m afraid you’re out luck.”

“Oh, OK,” I said, but I was lying – I wasn’t OK. Devastated was more like it.

Charlotte could see my disappointment was genuine. She leaned forward, closer so I could hear her, I guess. “Listen, Mr. Charmer, don’t despair. You’re extremely cute, and you’ve got the kind of personality women find absolutely irresistible. Don’t be anything but yourself, you’ll be fine, I promise.”

She patted the door of the TR2. “Plus, you’ve got this British-made good-luck charm on your side. You can’t lose!” She surprised me by leaning in and giving me a kiss on the cheek before leaving. It took me five minutes to get over the shock and start the car.

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THE WEDDING REHEARSAL – I meet a goddess.

The first time I saw Andrea was at the wedding rehearsal; I was the best man for my buddy Zach Hewlett (no relation to the computer guy) and his fiancée Terri. It was raining like hell, a lot of the Bay Area roads were flooded. The rehearsal was to start at 7:30pm, but several people were late. Finally, at 8:15 all participants had arrived except Andrea Bagdassari, the matron of honor; Zach and Terri decided to get started with the pastor’s daughter standing in for Andrea.

As we started the walk-through, the door opened and Andrea ran in, framed by a gust of wind and rain behind her. She was wearing a soaked raincoat and her long black hair was plastered flat to her head.

She started talking a mile a minute. “I’m sorry, so sorry I’m late! My dentist appointment ran late, then my car stalled out on a flooded street but some nice man in a tow truck pulled me out and after a few minutes it finally started again but then there were detours and...”

She suddenly looked at Terri and burst into happy tears. “Oh, Terri, you look so wonderful, and this is your Zack, oh my god he’s so handsome and tomorrow will be so great and I’m so happy for you - I’m so sorry I’m late!”

I was rather stunned at this soaking wet goddess of energy. She looked to be around 6’4” in heels. (When we were signing the official marriage certificate the next day, we were required to show ID, and I peeked – her driver’s license said she was 6’3”. I was also able to see her birthdate - she was 18 years older than me, no way I would have guessed.) Terri introduced her to everyone. Her beautiful face framed by her shoulder-length jet-black hair was rather exotic; when I saw pictures of her Iranian mother later, I could see where her looks came from. Stunning ran in the family.

With everyone there, the rehearsal went off smoothly. At the rehearsal dinner I was assigned the chair next to her, so we had an opportunity to talk a bit. That is, at least when she was seated, which wasn’t often. She kept popping up to talk to Terri, or some of the other bridesmaids, or to get a drink, or to go to the ladies’ room.

It was only during dessert when coffee was served that she sat down and absolutely tore into the wonderful key lime pie. Even then, she kept talking in between bites. “This pie is SO good! I can’t believe it! I have to ask them for the recipe!”

She eyed my half-finished piece and pointed. “Ooooh, are you going to finish that?” I’m a slow eater by nature and wasn’t finished, but I shook my head and slid the plate towards her. At that moment she consumed my pie and, unknowingly, consumed my heart.

A little background: My name’s Daniel Parrish. I’m 26, same as Zach. Kind of an average guy, 5’10”, brown hair, brown eyes, but not as slim as Zach; I weigh in at 210 pounds. Most of my bulk is in my back and shoulders, built up from 100-meter butterfly competition on my college swim team. I’m not as handsome as Zach; the few times Zach and I have gone out to the bars he was always the looker; I was the wingman by default.

I met Zach when we started working together in the video department of ‘TV Or Not TV’, a Northern California regional chain big-box electronics store. (‘Always a Tempest of Savings!’ was the Shakespearean-themed slogan.) I’d graduated college with a Bachelor’s degree in business but was rudderless from a career standpoint, so I took this job. What the hell. It paid my bills, and it was fun. Because I was educated and not pushy, I was pretty good at it.

Zach had a similar background; college degree but no direction; he’d taken the job but unlike me, he had an eye on getting promoted into upper management. I had no doubt he’d get there; where I was good, I couldn’t complete with Zach; he was always the top seller every month because frankly, older women were drawn to him.

Where men customers were good for all of us, when women walked into the department the other male reps (as well as the one lesbian rep) usually tried to sell to the younger ones. This was a strategic mistake for two reasons:

1.) They’d spent most of their money on clothes and clubbing and,

2.) Hotness aside, they usually had dads or boyfriends with them looking for the cheapest deal so there was little chance of upselling them. The result, of course, was when it came to statistics like sales volume, average sale per customer and average margin per sale, Zach blew them all away. These were the kind of stats that got you promoted.

With good looks, an easy-going nature and a soft voice my boy Zach was savvy enough to realize women in their 40s and older were much better prospects. They may have come in for a basic model television, but after Zach walked them through his product demonstrations, they typically walked out with a 4K UHD TV, a Bluetooth 5.1 home theater speaker system and wireless headphones to boot. He was that good.

Older women typically had disposable income to buy the better products, and thus were inclined to hearing about features; if there was a husband with them he most likely knew better than to tell his wife what to buy, unless she asked him. Most didn’t.

Zach’s sales technique was not the only reason he did so well; my co-worker also had a thing for older women. Don’t get me wrong, he would never ever hit on a customer (unlike some of our fellow reps), but he really loved mature women and took genuine pleasure in interacting with them. It was almost magnetic, and they could somehow sense it. His sales pitch was a de facto prelude to a seduction; he never took it that far, but for most of these women it would have been a truly short trip.

I overheard one customer describe Zach to her friend as ‘one tall drink of hot water’. I swear, if I had a dime for every time I’d answer the department phone and a woman’s sultry voice asked me if Zach was working today, I’d be driving a Lamborghini Huracan instead of my 1998 Taurus wagon.

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WEDDING DAY – Wherein my heart is stolen.

At 6’ 2” and 190 pounds, with his slim build, blue eyes and light red hair my buddy Zach looked really sharp; his jet-black suit with silver-gray shirt and white tie were the perfect combination. His bride Terri Harrison was 15 years older, but even at 41 she was striking, a slim 6’ tall blonde with blue eyes that matched his and a hot tennis-pro figure. That’s how they met in fact, when he won tennis lessons at a charity auction and she was the instructor. It was, literally and figuratively, love at first lesson.

It mattered not a bit to Zach that she was twice-divorced when he proposed; her first marriage was to a high-school loser boyfriend that barely lasted a year, and her second was for seven years to a philandering stockbroker. All that mattered to Zach was this beautiful creature clad in white was about to become his wife.

As we stood waiting for the bridal procession, almost all eyes were on Terri. She did look amazing, but my eyes were on Andrea. I was blown away. Yes, as the bride Terri looked incredible in her wedding dress, a low-backed beaded corset-style dress with sequins, beads, and crystals that formed vines starting at the corset and winding down into the skirt; the effect was a dress that resembled a sparkling vineyard with a long lace train.

What captured my eyes, though, was Andrea. Terri’s two bridesmaids wore simpler off-the-shoulder light green dresses, as Matron of Honor, Andrea wore a form-fitting dark green off-the-shoulder dress, with a thigh-high slit. The top part accented her breasts nicely. I just could not look away; as the ceremony went on, I was mesmerized up until I felt an elbow jab me in the ribs, and Zach’s voice whispering, “Dude! Focus! I need the ring!”

Snapping back into reality, I produced the ring and the ceremony continued. I snuck one more peek at Andrea and saw her giggle. Once the ceremony ended and the recession followed the new Mr. and Mrs. Hewlett down the aisle; it was at that moment Andrea whispered, “Groomsmen typically don’t hit on the bridesmaids until after the ceremony, but thanks for the compliment.”

I was a little embarrassed, but then Charlotte Leopard’s words came back to me about being myself and I’d be fine. OK, Charlotte, I guess I got nothing to lose. This one’s for you.

I replied back, “I don’t mean to be rude, I just wanted to get a head start on being the first man to dance with you.”

She seemed slightly amused; this was a good sign! “Is that a fact? Are you anticipating a long line of dancing partners for me?”

“Long line, are you kidding me? I’m picturing a surge, like when they open store doors on Black Friday.”

“Oh, my, whatever shall I do?” Her amusement level with me seemed to have taken a step up! Progress! Time to turn on the sales rep charm.

“Luckily for you, Andrea, I have the perfect solution, won’t cost you a thing. If you make me your designated dance partner for the entire evening, your problem will be solved! This will keep all the unworthy men at bay!”

A whimsical smile crossed that beautiful face. “Oh, so you’re the only worthy one? I see. When you put it that way, how can I resist?”

We reached the end of the aisle where the photographer was taking pictures of the participants as we exited. The absolute bliss in my smile for that photograph was genuine, I assure you.

Since Andrea and I needed to arrive at the wedding reception before Zach and Terri to deal with any last-minute issues, I suggested we go together in my car. I’d made sure the little Triumph was freshly waxed and shiny for the wedding; Andrea was notably impressed. The deep green of her dress matched the British racing green perfectly, and I took that as a particularly good omen.

I lowered the top; with the sun shining and Andrea’s long hair blowing free, on any other day I would have been tempted to head down the highway and just keep going.

The wedding was held at the St. Tomas Aquino Church in San Jose; the reception was a few miles away at at the historic L'évêque Hotel on First Street near the airport. Rooms were provided to the bridal party and any guests requesting them, to make sure no one would have to risk driving home drunk afterwards.

When Andrea and I arrived, we doubled checked with the staff; all the rooms were waiting, everything was in order, the ballroom was in top shape. There was nothing left to do but sit back until it was time for the toasts!

And then time stood still. It was agonizing, like being 11 years old waiting for the end of day bell on the last day of 6th grade before the start of summer vacation. Cocktail hour began, there were bridal party photos to be taken, and the required mingling with the other guests, none of whom I gave a rat’s ass about and would most likely never see them again.

Finally, it was time to be seated for the meal to be served. Terri sat to Zach’s right, Andrea to his left, while I sat on Terri’s right, which was traditional but also bullshit, because the only place I wanted to be was next to Andrea.

Terri’s father welcomed everyone. He was an incredibly cheerful old guy who must have seen Zach as an upgrade to Terri’s first two loser husbands.

Dinner was served; Zach and Terri decided to wander around and mingle with the guests they haven't gotten a chance to greet yet. I wanted to go sit next to Andrea, but there was a bridesmaid next to her and I couldn’t very well sit in Zach’s seat, now could I?

Finally, it was time for the toasts. I was under extra pressure, because not only did I need to say something bright and witty, I also needed to avoid sounding like an asshole to Andrea. When I wrote my toast, I hadn’t met Andrea; I decided to heed Charlotte’s advice again and just be myself.