Free for the Wedding

by Briggs, Laura

  In a side whisper, he told her, “I know you would rather strangle me right now, but I can’t thank you enough for playing along with this.”

  “There wasn’t much choice ,” she hissed, pretending to warm up for the shot. In reality, she wanted to clobber him–or at least knock some sense into him with her club. “Do you always make up outrageous stuff to impress people?”

  “Not always–just when I’m nervous. Or being super competitive.” He stole a furtive glance towards Hammond.

  On the green, the businessman was losing patience. “Are you going to hit that today, Miss McCray?” he called. His expression was easy to read, even with a pair of tinted shades to mask it.

  All afternoon, he’d been restless. Val noticed he checked an email account from his cell roughly every fifteen minutes; three times, he’d taken private calls. An anxious note in his voice as he addressed someone named “Louise” and apologized for missing a special event due to business duties.

  “I’ve got a meeting at four o’clock,” Hammond reminded them, though he didn’t sound very happy about it.

  Val’s only reply was to hit the ball with unnecessary force. It whipped through the atmosphere, bouncing off a tree. She watched it disappear into a side grove with a sense of mounting despair.

  “That was my fault,” Riley insisted, hands in the air with mock guilt. “I kept distracting her.”

  Hammond didn’t seem amused, though. He strode towards his own golf ball– perfectly placed for a straight up shot–when his cell’s jingle sprang back to life. “Excuse me,” he said.

  Whipping the phone from his pocket, he veered away from them towards the grove where Val’s golf ball had landed. They watched him out of sight, before resuming their conversation, this time in normal tones.

  “For what it’s worth, I think it's definitely working.” Riley shifted the golf bags to the ground, his hand drawing the mini computer from his pocket. “I just need a chance to show Hammond what the Comet II can do and sail home.” His use of metaphors was pathetic, she noticed. She wondered if this was something taught by his company, a field which Riley had failed to fully master. Much like the field of salesmanship, apparently.

  Did he even know what the Comet II could do? she wondered. She recalled his frustrated look when using it at the rental agency, his fingers paging through its commands with hesitance. Hesitating as if every beep signaled an imminent wipe of all hard drive data with one wrong move.

  With a sigh, she climbed out of the bunker, dusting the sand from her skirt. “Well, you’ve only got eight holes left to convince him.”

  A triumphant smile slid across his face. “Trust me, I’ve got more than that. Hammond agreed to have dinner with us at the inn tonight.”

  “He…what?” She stared blankly. “When did that happen?” Us? We? Her mind translated these words in a fervent hope that Riley had grabbed the wrong pronouns in his enthusiasm.

  “Hole eight, when you waded into that pond,” said Riley. “He got a text from his dinner partners saying they had to cancel. Is that karma or what?”

  Yes–bad karma. Very bad.

  Val groaned, thinking of squeezing herself into one of the formal dresses she’d packed for the rehearsal dinner and wedding. Fun, flirty designs meant to banish her image as the second-place school friend forever, but hardly ideal for a business dinner with a wealthy executive. Especially one who believed she was a high-end investor rolling in money.

  “Thanks for the warning,” she said. Her tone was snappish, a sign her patience was about to reach a dead end.

  Frustrated, she stalked towards the grove to retrieve her ball and possibly to hide until this was over. If only this was really the hills of untamed Ireland, instead of a half-hearted imitation. Getting lost would be a pleasure instead of a desperate maneuver.

  She paused as Riley touched her arm.

  “I did it again,” he said. “Dragged you into a blockheaded scheme without asking.”

  She watched as a flush crept slowly above his shirt collar. His features more boyish than ever as his plans deflated, the puppy-dog reproach in his brown eyes designed to melt her defenses.

  “Don’t worry about dinner," he said, "I’ll tell Hammond you’ve got other plans or–”

  “It’s okay,” she interrupted, swayed by the apology or maybe the flustered way it was delivered. “Event planners are used to damage control in sticky situations. But I like to be asked for help–not ambushed.”

  “Right,” he said. “Got it.”

  He glanced at the device in his hand, its screen displaying a menu option. “Can I ask one more favor, then? It’s harmless this time, I promise.”

  “Fine,” she said.

  The word barely left her mouth before he pressed a red button on the tablet. A tiny flash, a snapping sound, and Val’s image materialized on the screen. Complete with wide eyes and slightly open mouth.

  “No fair!” she squealed. “You were supposed to ask, remember?”

  “That was just a test shot,” Riley promised. “The Comet II has different photo capabilities than the first model. I need to make sure it’s working before Hammond sees it.”

  “Well, he’s not seeing that image.” She reached for the device, fingers latching onto it, even as he tried to pull it away.

  “Relax, I’ll delete it in a second,” he insisted. “As soon as I remember how.”

  “You really don’t know how? Let me try it–”

  He shook his head. Holding the gadget at arm’s length as he scrolled through what seemed an endless list of commands. “It’s somewhere under options. Or maybe the edit function.”

  “Some digital expert you are,” said Val, with a faint laugh. Her fingers brushed his as she made a sudden grab for the device.

  "No, wait–" he protested, trying to pull it back. "This is delicate hardware–"

  "Are you saying I'll break it?" she challenged.

  "What?" He scoffed, an attempt at a lighthearted laugh following this statement. "No, that's not it–"

  Both of them were gripping the device, the short struggle producing another click from the photograph function. Seconds later, an image of the two of them popped onto the screen. Their playful tussle evident despite the blur of movement. A smile on Riley's face, Val's eyes alight as she leaned towards him, their shoulders almost touching.

  Like a couple in a photo booth picture, if not for the backdrop of rugged green landscape.

  “Not bad.” Riley cleared his throat. “The pixel resolution, I mean. It’s good for an action shot.”

  “Yeah.” She stepped back, embarrassed by the moment caught on digital film. It seemed to transform them into something more tangible than two strangers, although that's what they were in every respect except for these strange circumstances.

  Riley began snapping more pictures, this time of sloping hills and surrounding woodland–no more people, though. As he zoomed in on an impressive boulder, she turned and quietly slipped into the grove.

  She glanced around in a half-hearted search for the missing golf ball. She needed a minute to collect herself and summon the upbeat attitude that made her top event planner for the agency.

  “Ooff.” She grunted as her foot made contact with a jutting rock. Leaning against a tree, she rubbed the injured spot and tried to clear her head. A process that proved difficult as a voice reached her ears, the words strained but audile.

  “…so call me when the big moment arrives. Even if its three a.m., I want to be part of it.”

  It was Hammond, talking on his cell phone somewhere among the foliage. His tone wry as he said, “Yeah, I wish I was too. I’ve been roped into having dinner with this rookie salesman. Some hotshot wannabe who thinks I’ll invest in his third-rate software company. Like I have time for that…like I have time for anything these days...”

  Val froze, as if afraid even her breathing might be detected. Her ears straining in vain for the rest, as the businessman’s conversation moved out of range.


  *****

  Those words continued to play through Val’s head later that evening, as she shared a table for three at the Old Shore Inn’s dining room. Her glance switching nervously between an exuberant Riley and the obviously bored and distracted business executive.

  She had chosen her least daring dress for this event–a spaghetti strap cherry red, with a spread skirt. Her legs demurely crossed, an attentive smile on her lips as she listened to the stream of shop talk.

  Rookie salesman…hotshot wannabe…

  Not completely inaccurate descriptions for the youthful salesman across from her. Who waved his hand as if conducting a power point display instead of a friendly conversation.

  “The Comet II is a tablet, cell phone, and music player rolled into one seven-inch device. It’s got all the basics of the competition, with a manufacturing cost that’s twenty dollars less than its rivals.”

  He glanced at Val, as if prompting a cue in a play. She immediately perked up and said, “Definitely. From everything I’ve seen, this computer is the perfect choice for the communications-based industry. Like mine.”

  Of course, all she’d really seen was one brief photo demonstration. She had absolutely no use for the device in her work and no power to persuade her firm– hardly the powerhouse painted by Riley– to purchase them in bulk, much less invest in the product.

  Guiltily, she pushed a piece of seafood around her plate, wishing this didn’t feel like they were staging a con. A few simple questions, a little search engine work, and Mr. Hammond would know that the name Valarie McCray meant absolutely nothing in the business world.

  She poked a bite of shrimp between her lips to avoid further explanation. Scampi was the main course; a salad and rice on the side. Riley’s plate was virtually untouched as he pushed the sales pitch with all the subtlety of a steam engine.

  She couldn't help but notice he ordered the cheapest thing on the menu, all the while pressuring his future client to order the sirloin.

  “Mm. I see what you mean...” Hammond’s eyes seemed to glaze as he studied the inept product demonstration. “So what else makes it different from the Genus tablet? Because my current provider is pretty much top drawer.”

  “Huge difference,” Riley responded, leaning forwards as if to close the distance between himself and his aloof customer. “Our screen is two inches smaller for compact mobility. But we’ve still got fantastic resolution and RAM. We’ve even got a front-facing camera with video recording capabilities.”

  Hammond turned the device over in his hand with a frown. “I think I read something about the first Comet tablet. Some press release about a hardware glitch that erased data whenever users hit the ‘save’ button?”

  Ouch. Val felt as if he’d reached across and struck Riley in the face. There was a moment of stunned silence in the wake of this remark.

  “Yeah, it was… recalled. Once.” With an embarrassed cough, Riley added, “That was kind of before my time. I understand it was an error due to the manufacturer, which we’ve since dropped–”

  “Totally understandable,” agreed Val. Her smile stretched like a rubber band as she chimed in. “These things happen, especially with new technology. I think that's what makes it so exciting for investors." This last part she tossed in as an innocent remark before busying herself with a bread roll.

  Mercifully, the waiter appeared just then to collect their main courses. “Will you be ordering desert?” he inquired. “Our specialty is chocolate soufflé with a nutmeg garnish–”

  “Sounds perfect,” said Riley, his voice a tad too bright. “We’ll take three orders. Who doesn’t love the house's premier chocolate dessert?”

  “Me, I’m afraid.” Hammond’s voice held a sardonic edge from across the table. “I’m allergic. It sends me into anaphylactic shock.”

  His warning came too late to change the order, the waiter already disappearing among the rows of tables. Val sank down in her chair, her hands twisting her napkin. She envisioned a sudden escape from this nightmare scenario: a fellow dinner shouting “FIRE!”, a sprinkler system raining down on their heads.

  Instead, the business tycoon checked his wrist watch. His mouth formed a wry smile, his hand shoving aside the half-finished glass of wine. “I have a social engagement at eight, so I’m afraid this will have to be goodbye. Nice to have met you Miss McCray.”

  To Riley, he said, “Good luck with your product, Mr. Cohen.”

  “Thank you, sir. Let me give you a card–” He patted over his jacket with a searching look.

  “Don’t trouble yourself.” With a flat smile, Hammond rose, dropping his crumpled napkin onto the table as he strode away.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Riley couldn’t have looked worse if the businessman had physically punched him. His shoulders slumped, his exuberance crumbling like a clay mask the instant Hammond was out of sight.

  “Your soufflés,” said the waiter, depositing two creamy chocolate desserts in front of them. A third was laid at Hammond’s place, a ghostly reminder of its former occupant.

  “Can we send this one back, please?” Val asked, inching the soufflé towards the server. “Our, um, friend had to leave for another appointment.” It was too late, no doubt; they would charge it to Riley's bill anyway. She wondered if he had enough cash to actually pay for it.

  The waiter nodded. “Of course.” He whisked the offending dessert back to the kitchen, leaving the two of them in defeated silence. A void filled only by the clink of silverware and conversational tones of their fellow diners.

  “Guess I blew that pretty effectively.” Riley ran a hand over his face, the youthful features taking on a haggard appearance in the low lighting.

  “I’m sorry.” Val’s tone was gentle, the same one she reserved for clients whenever an event took a disastrous turn. Which wasn’t often, thanks to her meticulous planning–something this arrangement had sorely lacked.

  “You’re the one who deserves the apology,” he said. “If wasn’t for me, you’d be with your friends right now. Instead of watching the death of a short and unprosperous career.”

  “It’s fine,” she lied. Picking up her spoon, she dipped it in the dessert. “Maybe he’ll change his mind,” she suggested. Although the odds of this were practically nonexistent, as she knew from overhearing his phone conversation.

  Riley gave a bitter laugh. “I think Hammond knows a hack salesman when he sees one. Maybe I’m just not cut out for this line of work.”

  “But I thought you…” Val bit her lip, trying to phrase it in a way that didn’t sound accusing. “Isn’t this your passion? You sounded so dedicated to it on the car ride. Psyched even,” she said, using his own description.

  “It wasn’t my first career choice actually.” His spoon blended the contents of his bowl, slowly mashing it into a pile of glop. “My dad snagged me an intern position with Solar Systems when I was a college senior. My own ambition was something way, way less practical.”

  She detected a hint of a smile with this confession. Something between affection and hesitance that stirred her curiosity.

  “What was your dream job?” she asked. Forgetting she wasn’t obligated to get involved in any of this, her chin propped on her hands as she awaited the answer.

  “You’ll laugh,” he warned. “It’s kind of stupid.”

  She quirked her brows. “As stupid as slaving away for a job you don’t even care about? I doubt that.”

  “Nice point. You've convinced me.” Riley’s fingers played nervously with his tie, unfurling the perfect knot as he spoke. “So my whole life, since I was like ten, I’ve been obsessed with music–especially rock music. I was even the guitar player for this garage band in high school. We called ourselves Intensity.”

  Val suppressed a snort with this bit of information. Inside thinking it was the perfect match for his manic personality, especially when it was about ten years younger.

  “So I’m guessing you wanted to be a rock star?” Val said. �
�And spent all your spare time learning riffs from Springsteen and Lynryd Skynyrd songs.”

  “I can play all those…on Guitar Hero.” He was grinning with this modest confession. “Seriously, though, I loved the music and wanted to be part of it. Which is probably why it seemed like a great idea to become a professional disc jockey.”

  She was surprised by this turn in the story. “That’s not stupid–it’s perfect. I mean, you’ve got the passion, you’re energetic, you’re funny...” She trailed off, flustered by how rapidly this list of compliments was growing for someone she barely knew. This was the price of being nice to strangers–one cobbled together an image of them from a few short marks.

  “You really think so? The only experience I had was a part time gig at the college radio station. But my boss thought I had a ‘smooth groove’ persona.”

  “Did you?” she teased. Fully expecting him to shrug it off with a reticent chuckle and change the subject.

  Instead, he cleared his throat, a serious gleam appearing in his expression. Speaking into his dessert spoon as if it were an announcer’s mic, he assumed a low, velvety voice. “Greetings night owls, music lovers, and insomniacs. This is Captain Midnight bringing you the cool and cruel sounds of rock n’ roll–”

  Unable to stop herself, Val exploded into laughter. Her unladylike squeals attracted the stares of fellow dinners, as she attempted to muffle it with her napkin.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, controlling herself. “You sounded very professional and everything ... it’s just, well…Captain Midnight?”

  He blushed, his fingers continuing to toy with the spoon. “I picked it because I worked the midnight shift. And I was kind of lame and thought it would impress this girl from my media class.” He shrugged.

  “I’m guessing it didn’t?” She wiped the traces of mirth from around her eyes. Her dessert forgotten as she tried to picture the earnest young Riley pursuing a beautiful classmate.