The Wedding Season

by Kayley Loring

  I have created a monster. “Fine. But the second draft will have an Attack of the Cornish Game Hens scene, and it will scare the pants off of you. And not in a sexy way.”

  His eyes don’t even leave his laptop screen. “Open for discussion. Opening scene first. It needs to be killer. Let’s do this.”

  The next morning, I call my parents, to let them know I’ll be going to New York for a weekend. When I tell them that I will be going with Scott Braddock, and that I have written a script with him, I can hear my mother almost fainting.

  My Mom will never forgive my first love for dumping me, but she adores Scott Braddock. Ever since my first month at Emerson. He’d seen me walking around campus, giving my parents the tour, and he came over to introduce himself and said (drum roll plus eye roll please): “Erin, you didn’t tell me you had a sister.” Plus, he kept calling my Dad “sir.” My mom said, as soon as he left, that that was the kind of young man I should be dating. I didn’t tell her about the Brianna situation years later. I definitely haven’t told her that he and I have recently been sexually intercoursing. But she is actually starting to get emotional in fantasy anticipation of my upcoming nuptials—which is why I have avoided calling her and telling her about my professional involvement with Scott until now.

  “Oh sweetheart,” she’s making an effort to sound less than ecstatic. “You sound happy.”

  “What? No I don’t.”

  “You do. You sound happy and satisfied. I can picture you smiling.”

  “I’m not smiling right now.”

  “You’re smiling on the inside.”

  “He treats you right, this fella?” I had forgotten my dad was still on the phone. He’d gone quiet as soon as I mentioned I was going to New York with a boy.

  “Yes, Dad.”

  “Of course he does, he’s a gentleman, you remember.”

  “I mean, he’s using his frequent flyer miles for my ticket, and he booked a really nice hotel in Midtown.”

  “But he’s nice to you?”

  “Yeah. He is nice to me.” He’s very attentive as to whether or not I have an orgasm. I fully realize, as I’m thinking about it, that he really is nice to me, this Scott Braddock. He treats me well. He always has. I was just pissed off at him. I see the difference now. Maya, as always, was right. It seems like so long ago that we went to my agent’s wedding and I was dreading seeing him. If this was what I was so afraid of—creative productivity, hot sex and a free trip to the Big Apple—well I guess I’ve conquered my fears! That was easy!

  “Okay.”

  “It’s more than okay, sweetheart! You have a wonderful time! You deserve to have some fun!”

  As much as I love to make my Mom happy, I have to get off the phone fast, because I don’t want to get her hopes up and I can’t possibly explain to her that I’m just doing my former nemesis/temporary writing partner/fuck non-buddy/best friend’s boyfriend’s best friend a simple favor by joining him at a wedding in Manhattan, and that I have done crazy things to his magnificent penis, just to prove to myself and to him that I could.

  WEDDING THREE

  Chapter 15

  *Erin*

  I can’t believe I’m in New York with Scott Braddock.

  From the time we were in the backseat of a Lincoln Town Car driving from JFK to Midtown, I was already mainlining the city’s energy and I am now the best version of myself—the Me that feels like she can do anything. The Me that feels beautiful and witty and talented and a part of something infinitely bigger than myself. The Me that wants to fuck. Honestly. What is it about this city that makes me so horny? Everyone is just so sexy here, because they’re all walking around with intention and purpose. These are people who know who they are and what they’re doing and where they’re going. In L.A. everyone’s so concerned about how they look and who’s here that’s important and famous and who’s looking at them and what are people thinking about them. I’ve become one of those people, and it’s exhausting.

  It’s after ten on Saturday morning, the day of the wedding. I’m in bed, in the Parker Meridian hotel, on an upper floor with a view of Central Park. Scott went out a couple of hours ago and told me to stay in bed, to catch up on sleep, he’d be “back with breakfast and stuff.” I really needed to sleep. And this is the most comfortable bed I’ve been in, in a very long time.

  We took an early morning flight so we could arrive here Friday afternoon, I had had about three hours sleep in the past 24 hours. Scott was so excited to take me out, to a show and dinner and drinks. He is determined to show me a good time this weekend. We’ve earned it.

  We actually finished polishing up “Untitled Duffy-Braddock Horror Script” on the flight, and emailed it to our agents from JFK. Now it is in their hands, literally and figuratively. I am grateful that I will be kept busy all weekend, because normally when I’ve turned in a script I just stay home and stress out and wait for my agent to call to tell me what she thinks.

  But I am determined not think at all this weekend.

  I will feel and I will do.

  And I have. Last night, I felt and I did.

  After we checked into our room and freshened up, Scott took me to an early performance of Sleep No More. It’s a long-running show that I’d wanted to go to for years, and it was his idea to take me. It’s a performance piece that’s staged in an old hotel (actually remodeled adjoining warehouses) in Chelsea and mostly based on Shakespeare’s Macbeth, but also inspired by gothic romance and noir films like Rebecca. The guests stay on their feet the whole time and wander through the many rooms of the five floor building at their own pace, where they can spy on the simultaneous ongoing action, and the audience wears creepy white masks so we can remain anonymous and also to distinguish us from the performers. The performers are dancers. There’s hardly any dialogue. Everything has a sexy glamorous 1930’s vibe. It’s visceral and there’s nudity and fog and recorded music and lighting effects, and I got separated from Scott pretty early on, but let me just say that it was the most stimulating and arousing theatrical experience I’ve ever had, and when I met up with him outside the venue, I grabbed him and kissed him and would have dragged him back to our hotel to fuck him if he didn’t have reservations at Balthazar in SoHo.

  We made out in the cab all the way to the restaurant. He massaged my tired feet while we ate steak and perfect fries and drank delicious red wine while talking about our separate experiences at Sleep No More and how it had inspired us to write another sexier scarier movie. I had completely forgotten that I’d vowed to only write that one script with him and then get back to my own thing. I so deeply wanted to go back to our hotel and fuck him, but he’d made plans to meet up with his friends at the bar at the Public Theater.

  His friend Alex is directing a play at the Public, so we had drinks with him and his cast and crew after their rehearsal. I mostly watched Scott interacting with everyone, and marveled at how cool and talented his friends are. I mean—other people really like this guy. What was my problem? I like him now. I really like him. I was so determined to fuck him when we got back to the hotel.

  When we finally made it back to the room, I was so tired, I think I’d fallen asleep before my head even hit the pillow. Scott must have undressed me and pulled the sheets over me. It was the first time we’d spent the night together in the same bed, and we just slept. Which is a shame, because I really really really wanted to have hot hotel bed sex with him. But it’s also not a shame, because—sleep.

  I guess I fell asleep again, because I wake up to the sounds of Scott unpacking a big bag of takeout from Zabar’s.

  “Wake up,” he grumbles. “I spent forty minutes in cabs to bring this back to you, don’t ask me why.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s a great breakfast that you can’t get anywhere else and I didn’t want to make you get up to have it.” He is grumpy and it’s adorable and the coffee smells incredible.

  He places a to go coffee cup on the bedside table next to me, withou
t looking at me. I sit up and notice a brand new yellow notebook on the bedspread on top of me. I gasp. “For me?!”

  “For you.”

  It’s better than a dozen roses. I open it up. Squared pages. He remembered. “Thank you.”

  “I went to my favorite stationary store in Midtown.”

  “Scott, that’s so sweet of you.”

  “I’m just glad they haven’t closed down. I bought myself some notebooks too.”

  Inside the notebook is a small envelope. Written on the envelope, in excellent penmanship, are the words: Thank you for being here.

  Scott continues to unpack bagels and lox and cream cheese and potato pancakes and coffee cakes. I have already gained five pounds just from looking at all that food.

  “Open the envelope,” he says, still not looking at me.

  “Yes sir,” I say. I carefully open the envelope and find a gift card to Henri Bendel department store.

  “Don’t be mad, okay.”

  Oh I’m furious. You got me a gift card to the coolest fancy department store in Manhattan—how dare you. “What’s this for?”

  “I knew you wouldn’t want me to take you shopping and pay for things because that would be gross.”

  “Correct.”

  “But…I don’t want this to sound asshole-ish.”

  “You want me to buy a new dress for the wedding.”

  “Is that bad? I love that dress that you wore to Jeff and Laurie’s wedding, but I remember you wearing that back in Boston. I just want you to have a nice new dress and I don’t want you to spend any money.”

  “Okay. I’ll get something decent.”

  “The balance on the gift card is seven-fifty.”

  I blurt out “Seven hundred and fifty dollars?!” I wonder if I can trade it for cash.

  “American dollars, yes.”

  I start coughing. “I thought the wedding venue was a zoo.”

  “Yeah, but it’s not the San Diego Zoo, this is midtown Manhattan, it’s still gonna be pretty formal. Black tie optional, it said. And no black tie is not an option for most of the men in my family.”

  “Got it.”

  “Also, you should probably get a larger dress size than usual, because when we’re done eating this deli food I want to take you to Mary’s Fish Camp. Their fish sandwich and fries are amazing. And there’s a place on Bleecker that has the greatest ice cream you will ever have.”

  “Sounds like I should get a fancy pair of black stretch pants.”

  “I wish we were staying here longer. I want to take you to Babbo too.”

  “I’ve actually been to Babbo! The Tuscan white bean spread!”

  “Oh my God. The risotto I had there was the best I’ve ever eaten. I’d be so fat if I still lived here.”

  And I would still probably want to have sex with you all the time.

  I crawl across the bed towards him. As relaxed and happy as I am here, he is equally as tense. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen him so tense and grouchy before. Why does it make me want to fellate him? I reach over to unzip his jeans.

  “Hey, what are you doing?”

  “Um. I’m about to put my mouth on your sexual organ.”

  “Hold that thought until we’re back from the wedding. We gotta eat this and then you gotta get to Bendels and then we gotta go downtown for a late lunch and then come back here to get ready and walk to the park and be there before five.”

  I unhand his zipper. “Yes sir.”

  “Sorry. My parents called this morning and I guess I’m just anxious about seeing everyone.”

  “Okay. I understand. I mean—obviously I’m deeply disappointed that I don’t get to give you a blowjob until the end of the day, but I’ll get over it eventually.” I take a big bite of bagel.

  He laughs. He comes over and kisses me on the cheek. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

  Chapter 16

  *Erin*

  I stand at the large window, admiring the expansive view of Central Park while I nurse my mini bar beer. I am dressed and ready for the wedding event, my hair is fashioned into a classy updo that I can just barely pull off, and now I only need help zipping up the back of this seven hundred dollar royal blue cocktail dress.

  While I was in the dressing room at Bendel’s today, I received a text from Maya that said: Don’t forget to TREAT YO’ SELF!

  I wrote back: Girl, you have no idea.

  This dress hugs my curves, creates curves that I didn’t know I had (actually it’s probably all the New York food Scott’s been feeding me), and it forces me to watch my posture. I sort of like that it feels like a costume, because this whole trip only makes sense if I tell myself that it isn’t really me here experiencing all of this. It’s New York Me. Here with New York Scott. Despite the fantastic day we’ve had, I still need to dull my nerves a bit before facing Braddock’s entire extended family. I hear him come out of the bathroom and pour himself a drink. I don’t turn around.

  “I wish I could stop thinking about you,” he says, so quietly it’s as though he’s talking to himself.

  “What?” I tilt my head in his direction a tiny bit, still not facing him.

  He takes a sip of his drink, then says clearly but quickly: “I think about you all the time.”

  Gulp.

  I press the fingers of my free hand against the window, to steady myself. Where is this coming from?

  “Ever since I met you back in Boston,” he continues. “Why is that?”

  “Um. Obsessive-compulsive disorder?”

  He doesn’t laugh.

  “What exactly are you drinking over there?”

  “I know you think about me too.”

  I say nothing. I close my eyes and rest my forehead against the window. I hear him put his drink down on the counter. He walks over and stands behind me. I feel his hands on my hips, his breath on my neck.

  “It’s not just the sex. It’s not just that you’re beautiful.” He zips up the back of my dress, even though his voice feels like it’s undressing me. “It’s not just that you’re smart and talented and funny. He stays behind me and places his hands on my hips, gently kisses the sensitive spot where my neck meets my shoulders. I get that feeling in my pelvic area, like I’m on a roller coaster, about to take a plunge at full speed. “It’s not just this body, the way it fits with my body.” His hands move up to cup my breasts, and although it is so unfair of him to do this to me minutes before we have to leave for his family wedding, I lean back into him. He caresses me. “Thinking about you makes me feel good,” he whispers into my ear. I want so badly to kiss him, but I spent five minutes applying bright red MAC lipstick, and I am not going to mess it up and do it again. “Thank you for coming with me,” he says. “It means a lot.”

  “I’m glad I did,” I say. He seems so vulnerable right now.

  “Just know that if anyone tonight seems rude, it’s not you, that’s just what they’re like.”

  “Okay.” I take another careful sip of beer.

  He removes his hands from my body. “You ready to go?”

  I finally turn to face him. He is wearing a fucking tuxedo, and it literally takes my breath away. Thank God I didn’t see him when he was touching me, because I would have flooded my panties and climbed him like a tree. He looks like he was born in a tux. He should never wear anything else. I accidentally make some weird groaning sound, because holy hunkballs, I would do anything and go anywhere with him right now and it truly sucks that we have to go to a formal event surrounded by people who would probably not appreciate it if I gave him a hand job under the table.

  “You look stunning,” he says, taking the bottle of beer from me.

  I decide to say something genuine to his face, for a change. “So do you.”

  He blushes, just the tiniest bit. “Thank you.” His reaction is so sweet, I make a mental note to try saying something nice to him again sometime.

  I catch sight of our reflection in the mirror as we’re leaving and my brain thinks: “w
hat a beautiful couple,” before realizing that it’s Scott Braddock and me.

  It’s not a very long walk from our hotel to the zoo in Central Park, but it feels longer because I’m wearing four inch spiky heels. He holds my hand, and doesn’t rush me. There are still some cherry blossoms left on the trees, and the early evening temperature is perfect for a sleeveless dress and Pashmina shawl. My armpits aren’t even sweating! New York Me doesn’t get anxious. Scott informs me that the ceremony will be non-denominational. His cousin Natalie is his father’s sister’s daughter. Her family is Upper West Side, his is Upper East Side, and he babysat her a few times when he was about fifteen and going through an awkward growth spurt. She moved to London to be with William over a year ago, and she hadn’t even met him in person before that.

  “Seriously?”

  “They just FaceTimed and talked on the phone and texted. But it worked out. That’s what I love about Nat, she’s the most grounded spontaneous person I know.”

  It seems like everyone besides me is just going off and falling in love without restraint. What is up with that?

  “It’s so perfect that she chose the zoo for the wedding, because it’s uptown so our family can’t complain about the location, and it’s offbeat while still being a formal venue.”

  “And there are penguins!”

  “Yes, but the weddings are set around the sea lion pool.”

  There was a time, not long ago, when I would have fantasized about pushing Scott into a pool of sea lions. But tonight I think I’ll keep him by my side.

  “Anyway, a lot of my dad’s side of the family will be here. I wish you could meet my mom’s side. They’re nicer, but you know. It would be at a Catholic church.”

  “They’re European?”

  “Very.”

  “But your relatives in Cornwall are on your dad’s side, right?”