Fools Rush In

by Janice Thompson

  “Well, of course.” Now that I’d already made such a vivid first impression, why not wow him with my politeness?

  Dwayne ended the call and turned to us with a smile. “Looks like I’ll be having barbecue another night. So, what’s for dinner?”

  Sophia’s eyes lit up as she listed the items on tonight’s menu: “Eggplant parmesan—my personal favorite, rosemary chicken, and Tuscan meringue with fresh berries.”

  His eyes widened, and I could almost see his mouth watering. “Never heard of half that stuff,” he admitted, “but it sounds mighty good.”

  I tried to envision a meal with Dwayne seated next to me. Surely we’d both feel awkward if we didn’t clear the air first. I let out a lingering sigh, ready to face the music—pun intended. “Before we go over there, I think we should talk. We need to get to the bottom of this.”

  “Yes.” He nodded and let out an equally impressive sigh.

  “Bottom of what?” Sophia asked. Her gaze ping-ponged back and forth between us.

  I would fill her in later. Right now there were problems to solve. I did my best to avoid looking directly into Dwayne’s gorgeous blue eyes as I presented my case. “When I called and asked you to come work for me, I said I was looking for a deejay.”

  “And I am a D.J.”

  “Yes, but I specifically told you I needed to hire you for a gig at a wedding facility. What did you think I meant?”

  He shrugged, a look of confusion clouding those beautiful eyes. “You said that I came highly recommended. The only folks who know me—know my work—are my boss and a few of the other construction workers on the west end of the island, where we’ve been rebuilding homes damaged during Ike. So I figured . . .”

  I couldn’t help but slap myself in the head as the realization hit. “You thought I was hiring you to do construction work at the wedding facility?”

  “Well, yeah. That or repair work from the storm. And when you started showing me around the place—talking about the architectural design and all that—it just made sense. It wasn’t until Sharlene and Cody showed up—”

  “Wait. Who are Sharlene and Cody?” Sophia looked back and forth between the two of us, her brow wrinkled in apparent confusion. “I’m having trouble keeping up.”

  Dwayne and I spoke in unison. “They’re the bride and groom.”

  “So, let me get this straight.” Sophia turned to face me. “You’re coordinating a wedding and need someone to handle the music.” When I nodded, she asked, “Why can’t Armando do it, like always? He’ll drive down from Houston, I’m sure of it.”

  “He’s in love.” I groaned, then leaned against the wall in defeat. “But even if he falls out of love in the next two weeks—which is somewhat likely considering his history—he doesn’t know the first thing about country-western dancing, and neither do I. And I promised Sharlene and Cody a Boot-Scootin’ wedding.”

  “I see.” Sophia now added a deep sigh, and we all stared at one another in silence.

  “I’m going to be a failure before I even get started.” I slid down the wall and plopped onto the floor, fighting back tears. Then, with great vibrato in my voice, I choked out a lengthy sermon about how my life as I knew it was about to come to an end. How my parents would never get to take their European vacation. How my mistakes would drive our family to financial ruin.

  All the while Sophia stared at me like I’d lost my mind. Dwayne, however, gazed down at me with compassion in his eyes.

  “Well, shoot,” he responded after hearing my discourse, “I know just about everything there is to know about country music. Got the largest CD collection of anyone I know. Tim McGraw. Garth Brooks. Carrie Underwood. Tricia Yearwood. You name it, I’ve got it. And I’ve got even more on MP3.”

  He rambled on, and I looked up at him, feeling more hopeful than before. “Really?”

  “Sure. And I can Texas Two-Step with the best of ’em. Don’t have the foggiest idea about your brother’s equipment in there, and I sure don’t know nothin’ about speaking into a microphone, but I guess I could give it a try . . . if you think it’ll help.”

  My heart lurched, and I stared into his gorgeous blue eyes through my tears. Was he just saying that because a blubbering wedding coordinator sat on the floor at his feet, begging for mercy?

  Probably. But who cared? If D.J. wanted to become a deejay, who was I to stop him?

  We made our way across the lawn, though I moved slowly. The past hour had really done a number on me. But, oh, the number my family was about to do on Dwayne! He had no idea what he’d just stumbled into.

  Once in the house, I excused myself to check my appearance. After making sure the drool lines were gone, then touching up my lipstick, I entered the dining room to find everyone seated. Dwayne smiled at me as I took the empty seat next to him.

  “Let’s pray.” Pop extended his hands, and we all clasped hands while he prayed—in fluent Italian. When he finished, Dwayne looked at me and mouthed, “Wow.” I had the feeling it was the first of many “wows” to come.

  Within seconds the whole table came alive with conversation, some in English, some in Italian. The noise level grew to its usual ear-piercing level as Rosa dished up the food. Through the chaos of sounds, I managed to whisper a quick “You okay?” to Dwayne.

  He nodded, then leaned my way to whisper, “So, can I ask a question?”

  “Sure.”

  “Do all of you live here together? In one house?”

  “Well, not all.” I pointed to Nick and Marcella and their boys. “My oldest brother and his wife live a few blocks away with Frankie and Deany-boy.” I turned my gaze to Joey with a smile. “Joey’s my baby brother. He still lives at home. And so does Sophia, my baby sister. And Aunt Rosa and Uncle Laz and Mama and Pop and me. And sometimes my brother Armando, when he isn’t in love. He happens to be in love right now, so you won’t be meeting him tonight.”

  “I see.” Dwayne grinned as he stabbed his fork into the rosemary chicken and cut off a piece. “Must be a pretty big house. I’ve only got one brother, and we grew up in a double-wide.” He shoveled down a bite, and his eyes grew wide. “Man, this is great stuff.”

  I laughed as I took a bite, then whispered, “If you really want to win over the family, tell Rosa that.”

  “I will.” He took another big bite, then washed it down with a drink of tea. Turning to Rosa, he said, “Ma’am, I’ve gotta tell you, this here’s the best chicken I ever ate. You should open your own restaurant. I’d come for dinner every night.”

  The table grew silent, all parties gazing at him admiringly.

  “See, Bella,” Mama said with a wink, “I told you he was an angel. First he raises you from the dead, then he compliments Rosa’s cooking.”

  My aunt beamed from ear to ear, then rose from her seat and walked to our side of the table. She took Dwayne’s face in her hands, kissing him on the right cheek and then the left. The boy’s face turned as red as the Roma tomatoes in Laz’s garden. Not that I blamed him. I wanted to ask what he was thinking. Did he want to sneak out of the front door and head back to Splendora?

  No, from the looks of things, he just wanted seconds of the rosemary chicken. And Rosa, as always, was happy to oblige.

  6

  Simpatico

  The following afternoon I slipped into my SUV and headed over to Patti-Lou’s Petals, my florist shop of choice. As I backed out of the driveway, I telephoned Jenna, ready to tell her the whole sordid tale. If anyone would get a kick out of the deejay misunderstanding, she would. And I felt sure she’d have a fit when she heard I’d fainted in front of a real cowboy. If Laz and my brothers hadn’t already told her. A shiver ran down my spine as I contemplated their possible renditions of the story.

  Jenna answered on the fourth ring, breathless as always. “Welcome to Parma John’s. We deliver.” I tried to spit out a “hello,” but she forged ahead, as always. “Want to share a pizza with a friend but can’t settle on the topping? You’re keen on pepperoni,
he’s got his heart set on Canadian bacon? Why not try our Simpatico special—a large hand-tossed pizza, split down the middle with your choice of toppings on either side. Now you can both be happy for just $14.95.”

  “Well, if I had someone to share it with, I might be happier,” I said with a laugh. “In the meantime, how about sharing some tiramisu and a great chat with an old friend?”

  Jenna giggled. “Bella, we’ve got to figure out some kind of a signal or something, so I know it’s you.”

  “It’s called caller ID. Just look down at the phone in your hand.”

  She groaned. “Who has time for that?”

  A giggle escaped me as I pulled the car out onto Broadway. “I told you, I love the spiel. It always inspires me.”

  Infact, today’s message motivated me more than usual. Maybe I should get Uncle Laz to come up with a phone message for Club Wed, something equally as clever. I could just hear it now: “Thank you for calling Club Wed, Galveston Island’s premier wedding facility. Having trouble settling on a theme for your big day? You’re a little bit country, he’s a little bit rock and roll? No problem. Try our Simpatico special. We’ll split the chapel down the middle, filling each half with the appropriate decor. All for one low price.”

  “Bella, are you there?”

  “Oh, yeah.” The strains of a Dean Martin tune playing in the background pulled me back to reality. I couldn’t help but giggle again. “Just got lost in my thoughts.”

  “Ah. So . . . I heard about last night, how you landed belly-up on the floor with the whole Rossi clan praying you back to life.”

  I didn’t even try to stop the groan. “Who told you?”

  “I heard it from your mama . . . the first time. She stopped by to pick up an espresso on her way to a meeting at the opera house. She only had time to give me the cut-and-dried version. I think Laz could’ve done the story justice. Unfortunately, he’s been up to his eyeballs in vendors today and hasn’t had time for a conversation.”

  “Please don’t ask for his version.” I groaned again. “He thinks I died and went to heaven.”

  “From what I hear, you did.” Jenna laughed. “Sophia said that deejay of yours is a little slice of heaven.”

  “You talked to Sophia too?” I squeezed my eyes shut in preparation for the inevitable.

  “She stopped by this morning to grab a cappuccino. Said she needed the caffeine before dealing with Nick’s boys. So, tell me about this guy.”

  “I’ll come by the restaurant in a couple of hours, and we can talk then.” I rounded the corner onto Main Street. “But don’t get any ideas about Dwayne. He’s just a cowboy from Splendora.”

  “Hey, I have cousins in Splendora. Maybe they know him.”

  “From what I can tell, everyone knows everyone up there. But let’s talk later. Right now, I’m headed to the florist’s shop to order twenty-two dozen yellow roses.”

  “Wow.”

  “Yeah. Don’t ask. But I’ll be there soon enough.”

  We ended the call, and I pulled into the parking lot of Patti-Lou’s Petals. Through the plate-glass window I could see Patti-Lou, a perpetually single fiftysomething who’d been planning her wedding since childhood. Unfortunately, the petite bleach blonde had yet to locate Mr. Right, but she kept her plans in a three-ring binder in the top drawer of her desk, just in case. She’d updated the particulars several times through the years—after all, weddings had changed a great deal since the ’70s. She would marry . . . one day.

  I contemplated our common fates. Patti and I were far too much alike. Two single business owners, never finding true love. One in her fifties, the other in her late twenties. Each working to make other people’s dreams come true, never giving a thought to her own happiness.

  I exhaled, letting go of the tension that had suddenly mounted. No time to think about my ailing love life right now—I had a wedding to plan.

  Entering the shop, I paused to draw in a whiff of the familiar intoxicating aroma. Flowers, glorious flowers!

  “Smells delicious in here. Better than Aunt Rosa’s garlic bread.” With my eyes closed, I stood in silence, just breathing in, out, in, out, with steady, successive breaths.

  Patti-Lou looked up from her work and laughed. “Bella, you’ve really got to get a life.”

  “Hey, I have a life!” I opened my eyes and gave her my best “cut it out” look. “That’s why I’m here, in fact.” Drawing near the counter, I looked around at some of the new arrangements. Pointing to a unique red, white, and blue arrangement, I nodded. “Very Fourth of Julyish.”

  “Yeah, I’ve got to stay on top of the holidays. You’d be surprised at how many people purchase flowers in the weeks leading up to Independence Day.” She stood and wrapped me in a warm embrace. “But you didn’t come in here to talk about that. What can I do you for?”

  “I know this is last minute, but I’m hoping you can forgive me for that.”

  Her eyebrows elevated as she said, “Spill it.”

  “I’m here to order roses for my first ever Boot-Scootin’ bridal event.” I beamed with pride, knowing that as a fellow business owner, she would understand my enthusiasm.

  “That’s awesome.” Patti-Lou reached for a pad and pen. “So your themed wedding ideas are grabbing some attention.”

  “Of course! Did you ever doubt it?”

  “Never.” She flashed an encouraging smile. “So, what’s it gonna be? And when? Early August, I hope. Or even late August. Not sure I can pull off something before that.”

  Hmm. I’d better handle this carefully. “This bride and groom just signed on a couple of weeks ago, and I didn’t get the paperwork on their flowers till last night.”

  “What’s the date?”

  I hesitated to tell her, knowing she’d likely panic. “The last Saturday in June.”

  She shook her head. “Nope. No can do.”

  Time for a little enticement. “Before you say no, this is going to be a huge moneymaker for you. Twenty-two dozen premium yellow roses for the reception and chapel, to start with. And we’ll need more than that for the bouquets and corsages, so prepare yourself.”

  She stared up at me in disbelief. “Twenty-two dozen?”

  “Yep. And spare no expense. Get the very best. We’re talking about a bride and groom with cash to spare, and they want the prettiest yellow roses we can find. Oh, and bluebonnets.”

  “Can’t get real ones.”

  “I know, I know. Silks will do. But now let’s talk cowboy boots.”

  “Cowboy boots?”

  “Yes, there are going to be twenty tables of eight—not counting the head table and parents’ tables—and she wants boots for centerpieces at each, loaded with the roses and bluebonnets, with red, white, and blue bandanas tied around them.”

  Patti rolled her eyes. “Please.”

  “Hey, the bride always gets what she wants.”

  “At least she found a man.” A lingering sigh from Patti-Lou left us both speechless for a moment as we contemplated our common fates. Would either of us ever get to pick out flowers for our big day? Would we design centerpieces and quibble over the details?

  To break the somber mood, I spoke the magic words: “Finché c’è vita c’è speranza.”

  “As long as there is life, there is hope,” she echoed. “I remember.” After a brief pause, she reached for a slender, cylinder-shaped glass vase. Holding it up for closer examination, she asked, “Think this’ll fit inside a cowboy boot?”

  “I think so.”

  “Okay, well I’ve got plenty of these in the back room. Want me to provide the boots, or will you take care of that? I don’t exactly have a country-western store on speed dial.”

  “Hmm.” Hadn’t thought about that. Maybe Dwayne could point me in the right direction. Or maybe . . . A fabulous idea struck. I could get them off eBay. That certainly made more sense than buying them new, after all. And that way we’d end up with a variety of boots in all shapes and colors.

  After I
settled the issue, Patti-Lou agreed to provide the flowers for the event. I breathed a huge sigh of relief, and we dove into a long chat about Sharlene’s floral needs. By the end of it all, I could tell that dollar signs had replaced Patti’s eyeballs. I could almost hear the “cha-ching” as she blinked, and I sensed her gratitude for the order.

  She looked up with contentment written all over her face. “This is going to cost a pretty penny, ya know.”

  “Yep. Call this number.” I slipped her Sharlene’s daddy’s business card. “He’ll give you a credit card number. And don’t be afraid to shoot high. This is a Texas oil man.”

  “Is he single?” She looked up with hope in her eyes.

  “Focus, Patti-Lou.”

  She sighed, then reached for a notepad to write everything down. “You know, if you keep bringing me business—and I know you will—I’m going to have to hire someone to help out around here. Be thinking on that, will you?”

  “I will.”

  We wrapped up our conversation, and I left the shop in a happy frame of mind, ready to visit with Jenna. As I reached the car, my cell phone rang. I looked down at the number, and my heart skipped a beat. Dwayne.

  “Hello?”

  “Bella, is that you? Dwayne Neeley here.”

  “Yes, it’s me.” The same one who groveled at your feet just last night. “What can I do for you?”

  “I just wanted to let you know that Bubba’s in. He’ll help with the barbecue.”

  Bubba? Who’s Bubba? Oh yes, the brother. I did my best not to let my voice give me away as I repeated, “Bubba’s in. Got it. Tell him we’re expecting 160 guests, and give him this number.” I reeled off the phone number for Parma John’s. “Have him ask for Lazarro Rossi or Jenna Miller. They’re the official caterers. They’ll be the ones providing the meat and so forth.”

  “Will do.” Dwayne chuckled. “Oh, and I talked to my mama. She’s happy to play the piano. Thrilled, in fact. She’s been aching to get back to Galveston ever since the storm hit. Says this’ll give her a chance to clamp eyes on the place—and the people—she’s been praying for.”