Chapter 2
Tonya stared at her reflection in the mirror and smiled. It had been a long time since she’d had her face made up by a professional. The esthetician did an incredible job of accentuating her eyes with smoky shadows and several coats of mascara. The orange lipstick matched her gown and complemented the orange undertones in her brown complexion.
Hannah had secretly made appointments for her cousins, LeAnn and Paige DuPont, and her bridal attendants to undergo a complete beauty makeover. Teams of hairstylists, makeup artists, and masseurs had descended on DuPont at exactly ten o’clock that morning and supplied their services in second story bedroom suites.
When Hannah made plans for her wedding, she insisted it would be small and intimate, declaring she wanted none of the pomp and pageantry of her first wedding, to the son of an influential Baton Rouge family. She and St. John agreed to limit the number of guests to fewer than fifty, which included family, close friends, and his colleagues. Hannah joked that if she had not chosen her former coworkers to stand in as her attendants, the Toussaints and Baptistes would’ve outnumbered the DuPonts ten to one. The afternoon ceremony was scheduled to take place at four o’clock in the estate’s garden, followed with a cocktail hour, and then a sit-down dinner promptly at six in the mansion’s ballroom.
Tonya’s beauty regimen began with the expert ministrations of the masseur lulling her into a state of utter and complete relaxation. After a light lunch of a green salad, sliced melon, and fruit-flavored sparkling water, the stylist had cut her hair in a becoming style before directing her to the adjoining bathroom to shower and wash her hair with a thick avocado-based shampoo, followed by a Moroccan argan oil leave-in conditioner.
The esthetician completed her makeup by midafternoon, and once the stylist brushed her hair into a sophisticated style, Tonya could not stop staring at her image in the mirror. The talented woman had tapered the sides and back, and brushed lightly graying curls off her face. All of her life Tonya had attempted to tame her curly hair with chemical relaxers, flatirons, and large rollers, followed by sitting under a hair dryer, but the strands seemed to have a mind of their own, and they either curled tightly in the rain or frizzed in high humidity. Exasperated, she decided not to cut her hair; instead she wore twists, which she washed and re-twisted every weekend. Once they were shoulder-length, she fashioned them into a bun at the nape of her neck.
The stylist brushed a few wayward strands into place. “Do you like it?”
Tonya turned and smiled at the stylist, who had spiky black hair and light-blue eyes and a pale complexion that indicated she was not a sun worshipper. “I love it.”
Callie smiled. “You have wonderful wash-and-wear hair. If you keep it this length, then you shouldn’t have a problem managing it.” She reached into the pocket of her smock and handed Tonya a business card. “Try to come by the salon every four to six weeks for a trim.”
Tonya stared at the card and noted the address. The salon was located in the Lower Garden District. “Do I have to call to make an appointment?”
“Our shop is always crazy busy, so call me on my cell. The number is on the back of the card. Let me know when you want to come in, and I’ll program you into the computer.”
“I will. And thank you.”
Waiting until Callie walked out, Tonya slipped the orange silk duchesse satin gown off the padded hanger and stepped into it. She eased it up over her hips and adjusted the spaghetti straps over her shoulders. When Hannah mentioned she was having a fall wedding and wanted orange as a dominant color, Tonya, Nydia, and Jasmine met at a Madison Avenue bridal boutique and after several hours selected dresses in the same color, which flattered their complexions. They had chosen slip-style gowns with narrow straps crisscrossing bared backs.
Tonya selected a high-waisted A-line design with a low neckline, Nydia a wrap style with a bow accentuating her narrow waist, and Jasmine had chosen a gown with a squared neckline, drop waist, and fitted bodice with a French lace overlay and beading. After adjusting her gown, Tonya slipped her bare feet into a pair of silk-covered, four-inch pumps in variegated shades of yellows, reds, oranges, and browns.
Peering closely into the mirror, Tonya studied her face. She had been blessed with skin that was as close to perfect as any woman would want. It was neither too dry nor too oily, and it lacked discolorations. The makeup artist had blended foundations and powder until they were an exact match for a complexion she likened to henna. It was not often she wore makeup, given her profession, but there was something about the eyeshadow, russet-hued blush on her cheekbones, and the terra cotta color on her lips that made her feel ultra-feminine. And it had been much too long since she had felt that way. The last time was when she spent the year in Europe. Men, regardless of their ages, shamelessly flirted with her. Some were bold enough to approach her, saying they liked her face or hair, and others her voluptuous body. Even with the weight loss she still thought of her figure as curvaceous.
Three taps on the bedroom door garnered her attention. Turning on her heel, she walked over and opened it. Coiffed and resplendent in her gown, Jasmine flashed a Cheshire cat grin. “Wow! You look stunning.”
“It’s the makeup.”
Jasmine swept into the suite with the aplomb of a runway model. Her black, silky hair was brushed off her face and secured with crystal hairpins behind her right ear. Charcoal-gray shadow on her lids accentuated her almond-shaped eyes, while the gown’s burnt-orange color complemented the tawny undertones in her khaki-brown complexion.
“It’s more than makeup, Tonya. I don’t know why you downplay your looks, but you’re definitely the total package. No one would ever believe you’re fifty.”
She wanted to tell Jasmine that she had worked hard to get into shape, and worked even harder to stay in shape. Tonya knew one of the first things she needed to do after moving to New Orleans was find a health club where she could work out. Although she and Jasmine were the same height and weight—five-five, one hundred thirty pounds—the younger woman had retained the slimness of someone half her age.
She opened her mouth to inform Jasmine that fifty was nothing more than a number, when Nydia and Hannah entered the suite. Smiling, Hannah held her arms out at her sides. The tall, green-eyed, natural blonde was stunning in a platinum gown with a flowing skirt and empire-waist of beaded silk crepe and georgette. Orange blossoms were pinned into the elegant chignon on the nape of her long neck.
“How do I look?”
“Beautiful,” Nydia crooned. “St. John is a lucky man.”
Resting her right hand over her throat, Hannah closed her eyes for several seconds. “I’m a lucky woman,” she countered. “I still can’t believe that I’m going to marry a man I’ve loved from afar all my life. And it never would’ve happened if it hadn’t been for you guys. You’re the sisters I’ve always wanted.”
Nydia blinked back tears. “Stop it, Hannah, before I start crying and can’t stop. And let me warn you that I don’t cry pretty.”
Tonya approached Hannah and grasped her hands, her gaze fixed on the dazzling cushion-cut emerald surrounded with brilliant blue-white diamonds on her right hand. “Please don’t get teary, Hannah. Not today. I’ve always said I didn’t want to marry again, but if I found someone like your St. John, I’d marry him faster than a cat could flick its tail.”
Jasmine moved closer. “I thought you said you’d never marry again.”
Tonya gave her a long, penetrating stare. “I said Ididn’t want to marry again, not that I’d never. You’re the one who said you never wanted to get married again.”
Lowering her eyes, Jasmine stared at the toes of her pumps, which matched those of the other attendants. “You’re right.”
Nydia joined the others, reaching for Jasmine’s and Hannah’s hands. The others followed suit as they formed a circle. “I want to give thanks for my friends who always keep it real.”
