Chapter 62: Chapter 62
In a small salon a stone’s throw from the Pomona room, I nervously rubbed my sweaty hands and almost bit my fingernails, the tips of which were varnished with gold. The little special original Johnny touch who kept an eye on the process and didn’t hesitate to hit me on a place covered with fabric to remind me.
“You have a French manicure, damn it! At least try to keep it until you’re crowned!”
In the morning, I woke up thinking: D-Day, finally! Johnny had arrived at seven o’clock in the morning on the job! He was beginning to feel the very strong pressure on his shoulders as the official organiser. He’d only had three months to pull off a jaw-dropping marriage, because Carmichael didn’t want things to drag on. My best friend showed up in the room reserved for the preparation of the bride, followed by Estelle and two castes: a Japanese girl named Fumiko, and Shirley, an Englishwoman. Estelle helped me wash and saw that the scars on my arm had completely disappeared, so I was as fresh as a whistle on this wintry late December morning. Wearing a towel wrapped around my chest, Johnny ordered me to lie down on a massage table he had just set up. Shirley started her pedicure while Fukimo examined every inch of my skin to see if hairs were lying in the wrong places. If she wasn’t satisfied, she would pull out her tweezers or a waxing strip straight away and snatch them from me shamelessly. At the end of her inspection, she took a massage oil and coated my body with expert hands that managed to relax me at least until the hairdresser arrived.
Around eight o’clock, Daz, the black hairdresser from London, appeared. He slapped Johnny’s hand and came into the room with a huge black suitcase. Impressively muscular, Daz didn’t really have the look of a scissor pro. He wore wide, broad jeans over high-top Nikes. His oversized T-shirt reached to his thighs, and in his shaggy, structured hair was stuck a black comb.
“Okay, my beautiful,” he said in a serious voice to make you pale, “let’s go.”
“Well, Daz,” Johnny said. “I don’t want to put pressure on you, but there are nearly two thousand people not very comfortable at this ceremony. It must be sublime! Is that clear?!”
“Don’t worry!” Daz replied calmly.
An hour and a half later, Daz seemed satisfied and Shirley was done working on my face and adding the eternal finishing touches. I hadn’t had a chance to look in the mirror yet and Johnny was still refusing me. He left to dress himself and let me wait in white lace underwear for more than three quarters of an hour. I didn’t move for fear of ruining Daz’s work with a single swipe. When Johnny reappeared in full costume, he was carrying a huge bag containing the wedding dress. The first step was to put on the corset, which Johnny tightened to the point that my breathing, already difficult, became almost impossible. I hadn’t finished getting used to this straitjacket when Johnny asked me to put the crinoline over my head, a kind of half-spiral frame of hoops whose purpose was to inflate the back of my dress. The operation was meticulous so as not to move a lock of hair, and Johnny almost called for help to achieve his ends. Then came the first petticoat in the same shape as the crinoline, then a second to reinforce the thickness on the sides and back of the dress. I was finally able to put on the official outfit that I had already tried on six or seven times, but even at the time, it was difficult for me to get used to its originality. Short in front and long behind, the skirt showed my legs at mid-thigh while the lace petticoat above covered the hips. The back cascaded down to the floor in a cloud of organza. Immaculately white, the satin bustier lifted my chest with forms so generous that I found myself wanting to tuck the breasts inside. A smack from Johnny stopped me as he came back with another cover just as big as the other.
“Another dress?” I asked, taken aback.
“That’s the surprise of uncle Johnny, my chick!”
I blanched. Johnny, overjoyed, must have been waiting a long time for this moment, for he exulted as he pulled out the object of my terror. I thought I would suffocate when I saw what he was preparing, but he ignored my complaints.
“Trust me, darling, it’s Jean Paul Gaultier!”
I wasn’t surprised to recognize the work of the great couturier and found it extraordinarily magnificent. There was, in what he was showing me, a Madonna costume of mediaeval splendour. I couldn’t see any other possible comparison, if that were possible. But Johnny begged me to at least try and judge later, in front of the mirror. I abdicated for this time and let him attach the new special Johnny touch to me.
Long minutes later, my best friend in an ultra-classy black suit pulled back the sheet that covered the mirror. He led me in front, closing my eyes and smiling ear to ear, visibly satisfied with the result.
“You are… breathtaking, my beauty!”
It may have been overdone, but I sensed emotion in his voice when he said those words. I opened my eyes at his request and took a step back, admiring the result. Breathtaking, said Johnny! And it was because my breathing stopped when I saw the beautiful young woman in front of me. In this outfit, I was a queen. A sovereign with a contemporary look, whose unstructured bun was totally whimsical and precise, raising her wavy black hair in multiple curves. My make-up restored my skin to its natural grace, while my painted eyes were underlined by an eyeliner whose lines stretched almost to my temples. My green eyes fascinated me by their strength and also by the kind of dangerousness that emanated from them. As for the outfit, it was unreal, sublime and comparable to no other. My white Louis XIV shoes with twelve-centimetre gold heels brought out the line of my legs, and the front of the dress left a good glimpse of the curves. The petticoat gave the impression that I was going to fly away in a gust of wind, but gave all the dimensions to this dress whose originality and creativity were visible to any trained eye. As I expected, my chest stood out in two compressed mounds, but made every movement of the arms sensual. Johnny’s surprise was probably the most remarkable touch, and against all odds, I adored it and decided to wear it as I contemplated its sublimating effect on the dress. The fabric covering the metal frames was made of white silk and gold thread, Johnny had attached it to my waist and the heaviness had made me panic as I already had petticoats to wear. The vertical frames came to rest on my hips, from the waist down to my chest and, wrapping my rib cage, it further accentuated the voluptuous effect caused by each breath. At the back, the assembly married the shape of the petticoat and went up in this huge collar which made my bare shoulders even more majestic and let fall ten metres of silk train, set with gold. I looked like a stunning Elizabeth 1st of England, the modern day version but much sexier. My natural lips revealed a smile of delight, and it was time to join the waiting room.
“It’s time,” said Johnny, looking at me, fascinated by his creation and holding my hands. “You’re going to tear everything up!”
He left me to go and take his seat in the front row in the Pomona room, the considerable space of which made it possible to satisfy the occasion.
I gasped in panic and started breathing exercises, which proved difficult because of the too tight corset. There, behind the door leading to the room, my confidence melted like snow in the sun. Terrifyingly scared, I liquefied, and for a minute I had a sudden urge to run away.
“I’m a queen, I’m a queen, I’m a queen.”
Trying to take a last breath of fresh air despite my cursed corset, I couldn’t prevent the doors from opening in front of me. The hubbub contained in the huge room immediately ceased and gave way to exclamations of surprise and disconcerting silence. Everyone stood up. I don’t know if this spontaneity meant some form of delight, and when I thought I was fainting, I found myself taking a step forward. With a firm face, and determined, I resolved to move into the nave that drew the multitude of benches swarming with people. The Pomona room had been carefully draped in white and gold curtains. The whole covered the stone walls and concealed the chambers. Two huge chairs mixed with dark velvet fabrics and carved wood had been placed at the back of the room, waiting to welcome the seat of its sovereigns. Roses painted in gold and lilies in a virginal tone adorned the corners of the pews and provided a magnificent aisle. The long carpet in burgundy shades further enhanced the immaculate whiteness of my outfit. I didn’t dare take a look at the crowd, it was so big, but I saw Sam at the far end, along with Papa Forbe, his two sons and their friends from the estate; behind them stood Estelle and her husband, Caleb, Alysson, Salomon, and I thought I could make out Thomas and Eric. It was impossible for me to catch the expression on their faces from this distance. On the other side sat Connor and Prisca Burton Race, the Stanton sisters and the Hanlons, but I had to stop my inspection of the premises and failed to find my brother with my eyes, as my progress was laborious. I hadn’t been two metres when I felt the effusion win over the male sex. My cheeks blushed badly, and I prayed that Shirley had chosen the right foundation that would prevent the phenomenon from being seen. My chest heaved wildly as my legs wobbled. The excitement affected me a little more with each advance and I thought I would faint before arriving at the altar, erected for the occasion. Then at last I felt him, Carmichael. He revealed himself behind Sam, advancing with his enchanting gait. I could see his emerald eyes staring at me with fascination and feel the fervour of his emotions that were difficult to control this time. I couldn’t help but smirk as I joined him. Full of admiration, I observed him in his pure white suit which elegantly enhanced his bronze complexion. I couldn’t take my eyes off him, he bewitched me, my cheeks blushed a little more and I was now looking forward to being alone with him. His dreadlocks cascaded over his huge shoulders as his hand finally approached mine. It was a long time before the old oracle, chosen to crown us, succeeded in tearing me away from the gaze of the one whose wife and queen I was to become.
After the union was sealed by our alliances and our two fevered mouths which didn’t care about the reactions of the crowd of guests, Carmichael and I were now walking hand in hand, with a solemn step in the direction of our thrones. The temperature had risen a notch when Carmichael undid my bun, which didn’t fail to snatch a cry from a frightened Johnny. My wavy hair cascaded over my shoulders and my husband kissed the base of my hot neck. Each of us sat down in front of the guests. All those wide eyes and enchanted smiles reassured me about the success of this ceremony, so important for the future of the castes. The old oracle gave her speech and placed the fine golden crown on my silky hair.
The exclamations of joy and the applause resounded inside the Pomona room. I found myself smiling happily as I exchanged a look with my king. Rocked by the joy that my sweet bliss gave me, I was far from suspecting that, at the same time, Althea, mad with fury, was annihilating an entire city.