Brown-Eyed Girl

by Lisa Kleypas

  All semblance of dignity vanished, however, as soon as my segment started. The music changed to a manic comic-opera piece. “Why are they playing that?” I asked in surprised distaste.

  At the same time, Tank exclaimed, “Hey, I like that song. It’s the one from the Bugs Bunny cartoon with the barber chairs.”

  “Otherwise known as Rossini’s overture to The Barber of Seville,” Steven said dryly.

  The reporter’s voice-over started. “In the elite world of Texas society weddings, Avery Crosslin has been aggressively building a client list with her take-no-prisoners style —”

  “Aggressive?” I protested.

  “That’s not a bad word,” Steven said.

  “Not for a man. But it’s bad when they say it about a woman.”

  “Come here, Avery,” Joe murmured. He was half sitting on an arm of the sofa, while Sofia and the rest of the studio team clustered in front of the television.

  I went to him, and he slid an arm around my hip. “Am I aggressive?” I asked with a frown.

  “’Course not,” he replied soothingly, at the same time that everyone else in the room said in unison, “Yes.”

  In the month since Joe and I had started sleeping together, we had grown closer at a rate that would have alarmed me if I’d allowed myself enough time to really think about it. Instead I stayed busy planning two small weddings as well as the Warner extravaganza. Every day was filled with work. My nights, however, belonged to Joe. Time moved at different pace when I was with him, the hours blazing by at light speed. I always dreaded the shock of the alarm clock in the morning, when we had to go our separate ways.

  Joe was a physical man, demanding in bed, endlessly patient and creative. I was never quite certain what to expect from him. Sometimes he was playful and spontaneous, ravishing me against the kitchen counter or on the stairs, doing exactly as he pleased despite my outraged modesty. Other times he would make me lie completely still while he caressed and teased endlessly, his hands so skilled and gentle that it drove me wild. Afterwards we had long, lazy conversations in the darkness, in which I confided things that I would probably regret later. But I couldn’t seem to hold anything back with Joe. His attention was like some damned addictive drug that was impossible to kick.

  Understanding me far too well, Joe gave my hip a comforting pat as I frowned at the TV. There I was on camera, stressing the importance of maintaining a strict timeline for the wedding day events.

  Sofia turned briefly from the television and grinned at me over her shoulder. “You look great on TV,” she said.

  “Your personality is larger than life,” Ree-Ann added.

  “So is my ass,” I muttered as the television-me walked away and the camera focused on my backside.

  Joe, who would tolerate no criticism of my posterior, discreetly pinched my rear. “Hush,” he whispered.

  For the next four minutes, I watched with growing dismay as my professional image was demolished by quick-cut editing and whimsical music. I looked like a screwball comedy actress as I repositioned microphones, adjusted flower arrangements, and went out to the street to direct traffic so the photographer could get a shot of the wedding party outside the church.

  The camera showed me talking to a groomsman who had insisted on wearing a cowboy hat with his tux. He was clutching his hat as if fearing I might rip it from him. As I argued and gestured, Coco stared up at the obstinate groomsman with a grumpy expression, her front paws flopping up and down in perfect timing to the opera music.

  Everyone in the room chuckled. “They weren’t supposed to film me with Coco,” I said with a scowl. “I made that clear. I only brought her because the pet hotel didn’t have room that day.”

  They cut back to the interview. “You’ve said that part of your job is to prepare for the unexpected,” the reporter said. “How exactly do you do that?”

  “I try to think in terms of worst-case scenarios,” I replied. “Unexpected weather, vendor mistakes, technical difficulties…”

  “Technical difficulties such as…”

  “Oh, it could be anything. Issues with the dance floor, problems with zippers or buttons… even an off-center ornament on the wedding cake.”

  I was shown walking into the reception site kitchen, which had been declared off-limits to the camera crew. But someone had followed me with a head-cam.

  “I didn’t say anyone could film me with a head-cam,” I protested. “They didn’t do that to Judith Lord!”

  Everyone shushed me again.

  On the TV screen, I approached two deliverymen who were settling a four-tiered wedding cake on the counter. I told them they had brought it inside too soon – the cake was supposed to stay in the refrigerated truck or the buttercream would melt.

  “No one told us,” one of them replied.

  “I’m telling you. Take it back to the truck and —” My eyes widened as the heavy wedding cake topper began to slide and tilt. I reached up and leaned forward to catch it before it could damage all four tiers on the way down.

  Someone in editing had bleeped out my swearing.

  Noticing the way the deliverymen were staring at me, I followed their avid gazes, discovering I had leaned so close to the cake that my breasts were covered with white buttercream swirls.

  By this point, everyone in the room was cracking up. Even Joe was trying manfully to choke back his amusement.

  On the TV screen, the reporter asked me a question about the challenges of my job. I paraphrased General Patton, saying you had to accept the challenges so you could experience the exhilaration of victory.

  “But what about the romance of the wedding day?” the reporter asked. “Doesn’t that get lost when you treat it like a military campaign?”

  “The bride and groom supply the romance,” I replied confidently. “I worry about every detail, so they don’t have to. A wedding is a celebration of love, and that’s what they should be free to focus on.”

  “And while everyone else is celebrating,” the reported said in a voice-over, “Avery Crosslin is taking care of business.”

  I was shown making a beeline to the back of the church, where the chain-smoking father of the bride was lurking with a lit cigarette in his mouth. Without a word, I took the can of Evian from my bag and extinguished the cigarette while he stood there blinking. Next I was kneeling on the floor, duct-taping the torn hem of one of the bridesmaid’s dresses. Finally the camera panned to the groomsman’s cowboy hat shoved under a chair, where I’d secretly stashed it.

  Someone had turned the hat upside down, and Coco was sitting in it. She stared directly into the camera, her eyes bright, her tongue hanging out, while the piece concluded with a grand orchestral finale.

  I picked up the remote controller and turned off the TV. “Who put Coco in that hat?” I demanded. “She couldn’t have gotten in there by herself. Sofia, did you do it?”

  She shook her head, snickering.

  “Then who?”

  No one would admit to it. I looked around the room at the entire lot of them. I had never seen them so collectively entertained. “I’m glad you all find this so amusing, since we’ll probably be out of business in a matter of days.”

  “Are you kidding?” Steven asked. “We’re going to get more business from this than we can handle.”

  “They made me look incompetent.”

  “No, they didn’t.”

  “What about the frosting?” I demanded.

  “You saved the cake,” Steven pointed out. “While at the same time boosting the testosterone level of every guy in the audience.”

  “It was a wedding show,” I said. “You, Tank, and Joe are the only three straight men in Houston who watched it.”

  “Give me the remote,” Ree-Ann said. “I want to see it again.”

  I shook my head emphatically. “I’m going to delete it.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Tank told Ree-Ann. “The station will put it on their website.”

  Joe closed his hand
over the remote and removed it carefully from my grip. His gaze was lit with amused sympathy.

  “I want to be elegant like Judith Lord,” I told him plaintively.

  “Avery, there are a million Judith Lords out there, and only one you. You were beautiful and funny on that program, and you gave off the energy of someone who was having a hell of a good time. You accomplished everything Judith Lord did, except that you were a lot more entertaining.” Joe handed the remote to Steven and took my hand. “Come on, I’m taking you out for dinner.”

  By the time he and I had reached the front door, they had rewound the interview and were watching it again.

  Returning to the studio a couple of hours later, Joe and I encountered Sofia and Steven, who were on their way out to eat.

  Sofia was happy and animated, almost illuminated from within. That undoubtedly had something to do with the fact that she and Steven had recently started sleeping together. Sofia had divulged to me that, unlike Luis, Steven knew about foreplay. I could tell from seeing them together that everything was going very, very well. In fact, Sofia and Steven treated each other with a kindness that I wouldn’t have expected, given their past animosity. They had once looked for thousands of small ways to hurt each other, searching for each other’s weaknesses. Now they seemed to share an uncomplicated joy in being unguarded with each other.

  “Do you feel better?” Sofia asked, hugging me as I walked in.

  “Actually, yes,” I said. “I’ve decided to put that stupid television show behind me and pretend it never happened.”

  “I’m afraid you can’t do that,” Sofia said, delight glimmering in her hazel eyes. “The producer called this morning and said you’re all over their Twitter feed, and everyone loves you. And a half-dozen people have asked about adopting Coco.”

  I picked up the Chihuahua protectively. Her dry little tongue swiped at my chin.

  “I told them we’d think about it,” Sofia continued, her gaze teasing.

  Within a week, the segment had been picked up by the station’s national affiliate. The schedule at the studio was crammed with appointments, and both Steven and Sofia were insisting that we needed to hire more people.

  On Friday afternoon, I received a text from my friend Jasmine, a command to call her instantly.

  Although I always loved talking with Jasmine and hearing about her life in Manhattan, I was reluctant to dial her. If she’d seen the interview, I was certain she disapproved. Jazz had always said it was imperative that a woman maintain a professional façade no matter what. No crying, no displays of anger, no loss of composure. A television appearance in which I had cursed, carried around a Chihuahua, and ended up with buttercream on my boobs was not what Jazz would consider an appropriate work persona.

  “Did you see it?” I asked as soon as Jasmine said hello.

  “Yes, you hot shit. I saw it.”

  That surprised a laugh out of me. “You didn’t hate it?”

  “It was fabulous. Like a perfectly timed sitcom. You owned the screen. You and that little dog – what’s her name?”

  “Coco.”

  “I never knew you were a dog person.”

  “I didn’t either.”

  “The part with the cake – did you plan that?”

  “Good Lord, no. I’ll never live it down.”

  “You don’t want to live it down. You want to do more of that.”

  I frowned, puzzled. “What?”

  “Remember that opportunity I told you about a while back, the one for Rock the Wedding?”

  “The Trevor Stearns show.”

  “Yes. I sent them your résumé and portfolio, and the video, and never heard back from them. They’ve interviewed dozens of candidates, and as far as I know, they’ve auditioned three. But they’re not one hundred percent happy with any of them, and Trevor is going to freak out if they don’t find someone soon. The host not only has to be capable of the job, she also has to have the thing. That quality that makes it impossible to take your eyes off her. So a couple days ago, one of the producers, Lois, saw the YouTube video, with you and – sorry, what’s the dog’s name again?”

  “Coco,” I said breathlessly.

  “Right. Lois saw that and sent the link to Trevor and the others, and they died. They took another look at your résumé, and now they think you’re exactly what they’ve been looking for. They want to meet you. They’re going to bring you up here for an interview.” Jasmine paused. “You’re quiet,” she said impatiently. “What are you thinking?”

  “I can’t believe it,” I managed to say. My heart was pounding.

  “Believe it!” Jasmine cried triumphantly. “Now that I’ve told you, I’ll give your contact info to Lois, and she’ll arrange a flight. Trevor’s in L.A., but the Rock the Wedding producers are in Manhattan, and they’re the ones you’ll talk to initially. We’ll have to get you an agent – we won’t be able to find anyone in time for the first meeting, but that’s okay at this stage. Don’t make any commitments or promises. Just let them get to know you, and listen to what they have to say.”

  “They don’t need to fly me to New York, if they can wait a few days,” I said. “I’m coming up next Wednesday for a dress fitting with one of my brides.”

  “You were coming here and you didn’t mention it?”

  “I’ve been busy,” I protested.

  “I’m sure you have. How are things with Joe Travis, by the way?”

  I had told her recently about my relationship with Joe, but I hadn’t explained how I really felt about him… the deep tenderness and happiness and fear, and the painful ambivalence I felt about becoming ever more dependent on him. Jasmine wouldn’t have understood. When it came to her own love life, she chose relationships that were convenient and ultimately disposable. Falling in love was something she didn’t allow herself. “Love doesn’t care if you get your work done,” she had once told me.

  In response to her question, I said, “He’s divine in bed.”

  I heard her familiar husky laugh. “Enjoy that hot Texas stud while you can. You’ll be moving back to New York soon.”

  “I wouldn’t count on that just yet,” I said. “Trevor and his people will probably end up deciding not to cast me. Also… there’s a lot for me to think about.”

  “Avery, if this works out, you’ll be a celebrity. Everyone will know you. You can get the best table at any restaurant, the best tickets, a penthouse apartment… what is there to think about?”

  “My sister is here.”

  “She can move up here too. They’ll find something for her to do.”

  “I don’t know if that’s what she would want. Sofia and I have worked hard to build this business. It wouldn’t be easy for either of us to abandon it.”

  “All right. Do your thinking. In the meantime, I’m giving Lois your info. And I’ll see you next week.”

  “I can’t wait,” I said. “Jazz… I don’t know how to thank you for this.”

  “Don’t be afraid of this chance. It’s the right thing for you. New York is where you belong, and you know it. Things are happening up here. Bye, sweetie.” She ended the call.

  Sighing, I plugged my phone back into its charger. “Things are happening here too,” I said.

  Twenty

  “I

  ’ve always known you were meant for something like this,” Sofia said after I’d told her about Jazz’s call. Her reaction to the news had been similar to mine: She seemed a little shaken but excited. She understood the potential of such an opportunity, what it could mean. Shaking her head slowly, she looked at me with wide eyes. “You’re going to be working with Trevor Stearns.”

  “It’s just a possibility.”

  “It will happen. I can feel it.”

  “I would have to move back to New York,” I said.

  Her smile dimmed a little. “If you do, we’ll make it work.”

  “Would you want to come with me?”

  “You mean… move to New York with you?”
/>   “I don’t think I could ever be happy living away from you,” I said.

  Sofia reached out and took my hand. “We’re sisters,” she said simply. “We’re together even when we’re not, do you understand, mi corazón? But New York is not the place for me.”