Swinging On A Star

by Janice Thompson

  “Will do. But Bella, listen.” He gave me a round of kisses, then gazed into my eyes, causing my heart to do that crazy flip-flop thing. “I want you to promise me you’re going to relax. You will get through this. God’s got it under control, so just take a deep breath, okay? No worries.”

  “No worries.” I nodded, thanked him for his help, then sent him on his way. As I watched him amble across the yard in the direction of the wedding facility, I remembered the first time I’d laid eyes on him, just a few months ago. Then, I’d been attracted to his physical attributes, no doubt. He was easy on the eyes, after all. But now I saw so much more. D.J. Neeley’s handsomeness started on the inside and worked its way out.

  Just then I heard a whistle from above. I looked up and saw Brock leaning out of an upstairs window. Hmm.

  “Want to do the scene from Romeo and Juliet in reverse?” he asked. “I’m tired of being cooped up in my room.”

  “If you think I’m climbing up the trellis, you’ve got another think coming.” I laughed, then squinted up at him against the glare of the sun. Yep, Brock Benson was handsome for sure. But nothing could compare to the man in the cowboy boots who’d just disappeared into the castle next door. D.J. Neeley was the real deal.

  Determined to stay focused, I turned to Rosa and the rest of the family—at least for now. Soon enough I’d be trading places with D.J. for round two.

  We received another guest just before the cameramen started setting up for their first scene. Eugene, our UPS guy. He arrived with a package in his hand for Laz.

  “What’s going on around here?” he asked, trying to peer around my uncle into the house.

  “Pure chaos. Rosa’s going to be on television.”

  “No kidding! Rosa? On TV? I should go and congratulate her.” He took a few steps inside the house, smiling when Rosa greeted him.

  “Eugene, you’ve come for my big debut! Thank you!” She threw her arms around him in an overly dramatic fashion, and I chuckled.

  Laz didn’t find it particularly humorous, apparently. He took one look at Eugene wrapped in Rosa’s arms and rolled his eyes, muttering, “A ciascuno il suo” under his breath. I knew what it meant, of course—“To each his own.” But I had a feeling Laz didn’t really mean it that way. He was secretly saying that Rosa was his own. If he felt that way, why couldn’t he just come out and say so?

  Shawn watched this exchange, motioning the camera guy to capture it all. Likely he found it humorous that the UPS guy was so enthralled with Rosa’s cooking. I wasn’t sure if it was her cooking or Rosa herself. At any rate, Eugene turned as red as a beet as the camera panned in on him. He managed to get out a few flattering words about Rosa, then headed to the kitchen for his usual glass of iced tea before taking off.

  Just about the time they were ready to start shooting, I noticed Jenna sneaking in the back door.

  “How’s it going with the food for tomorrow night?” I asked.

  “We’ve got everything prepped and ready to be cooked. In fact, Laz is going to go ahead and grill some of the meat tonight, then rewarm it tomorrow. I’m taking care of all the side dishes and sweets. Things are under control, Bella. Don’t worry.”

  “Oh, I’m not worried.” I knew they could pull it off, no matter the obstacles.

  Jenna looked around at the mob of people. “Man, this is crazier than I thought it would be.”

  “It’s the Food Network.”

  “I know.” She giggled. “Why do you think I’m here? I wouldn’t miss this for the world!”

  At this point, D.J.—who’d been going back and forth between the wedding facility and the house—joined us in the kitchen. I thanked him profusely for his help, then slipped my arm around his waist as we took our places to watch the filming.

  Minutes later, Rosa sat behind the kitchen island with a mixing bowl in front of her. I could see the nerves written all over her face and ushered up a silent prayer that she would find peace in the middle of this storm.

  I glanced over at the spot where Guido’s cage usually sat. Mama had moved it into the living room. We’d had an ongoing debate about what to do with the ornery parrot when the Food Network people were in the house. Rosa had insisted the prayer cloth would do the trick, but Brock had spent the morning testing her theory. He just couldn’t seem to grasp the idea that Guido was one bird underneath the cloth and another when it was lifted. Maybe God was trying to tell him something. Regardless, the bird had been spirited away to the other side of the house, so we were good to go without any interruptions.

  Shawn gave her an affirming nod. “Okay, Rosa, take us through the process of making your garlic twists.”

  “O-oh, okay.” Her hand trembled as she reached for the bag of flour. “I … I’ll do that.” She started mixing up the ingredients, not saying a word.

  “Cut!” Shawn called out. He turned to my aunt with a concerned look on his face. “You’ve seen the Food Network, right?”

  “Of course! I record nearly every episode of Iron Chef. And Everyday Italian. And Ultimate Recipe Showdown. And Diners, Drive-ins and Dives.” She went off on a tangent, listing her many favorites.

  “You left out Paula Deen,” D.J. said.

  “Well, that’s a given,” Rosa said with a nod. “Anyone who’s anyone watches Paula. She’s the queen of the Food Network.” Rosa dove into a speech about all of the many people she admired, her face awash with joy.

  Shawn finally stopped her, albeit with a smile. “Great! Well then, you know that our chefs have to be animated. They have to talk as they cook. They fill us in on what’s going in the mixing bowl as it’s going in. That sort of thing.”

  “Right, right.” She looked at him with a nervous smile. “Let’s do it again.”

  They did another run-through, but she sounded stiff. Off in the distance Laz watched her. I knew he had his hands full today, cooking for the wedding. What was he doing here, anyway? Wasn’t he supposed to be grilling turkey legs or something?

  On the other hand … it suddenly occurred to me that he was the missing ingredient in Aunt Rosa’s garlic twists. She never made them without arguing with him all the way through it.

  Shawn cut the cameras once again, and I walked his way. “I, um, think I have your answer.”

  “Oh?”

  “You want this to be real, right? As in really real?”

  “Sure.” He shrugged. “As real as we can make it.”

  “Okay, here’s the deal.” I explained—in front of Rosa, Laz, and all of the other tech people—that Rosa and Laz usually argued while she cooked. At first Rosa denied it, her cheeks as red as the Roma tomatoes on the countertop. Then she finally looked at Laz with a desperate look in her eyes.

  “Help me out?” she whispered. “I need you to be mean to me.”

  “My pleasure.”

  The makeup lady moved to Laz’s side and tried to dab some powder onto his cheeks before he stepped into the limelight. He almost knocked her down as he moved Rosa’s way.

  The cameras rolled once again, and Laz joined her in the clip, poking fun at her as she got the dough ready. Their bantering went back and forth as she put the garlic twists together. Laz—to his credit—got in lots of great jabs. Rosa struck back, at one point flinging bread dough onto his shirt.

  At the end of the clip, Shawn hollered, “Cut!” then walked toward my aunt and uncle with a broad smile on his face.

  “I don’t believe it.” He stared at the two of them. “You two are a match made in heaven. How long have you been married?”

  “Oh, we’re not married.” Laz took a giant step backwards, his hands now trembling.

  “You’re not?” Shawn shook his head and then looked at me. “Thought you said she’s your aunt.”

  “She is.” I nodded.

  “And he’s your uncle?”

  “He is.” Another nod.

  “Mm-hmm.” Shawn shrugged as he turned back to Rosa and Laz. “Well, whatever. I just know the chemistry between the two of you is pr
iceless. The fans are going to love this episode.” He looked at the bread dough, then asked, “How long before you put that batch in the oven so we can continue filming?”

  “I have a batch ready to go,” she said. “I’m prepared.”

  “I’ll say.” He gestured to the cameraman once again, and they filmed Rosa and Laz as she twisted the risen dough into knotted rolls. Then Rosa dipped them in melted butter, informing the audience that it had been prepared with fresh garlic and oregano. Those beautiful twists went into the oven, and Laz looked at her with a grunt.

  “What, old man?” she asked.

  “You’re making me hungry.”

  Rosa snapped him with a dish towel, and a boyish grin lit his face. He reached over and grabbed her by the shoulders and did the most unthinkable thing I’d ever seen the man do. He planted a kiss squarely on her lips. Then he turned around and walked out of the scene.

  I looked at Mama, wanting to shout but not wanting to interrupt the sacredness of the moment—if one could call a scene on the Food Network sacred. Laz had kissed Rosa … in front of his entire family and, well, the nation. I gripped D.J.’s hand and watched my aunt to see how she would respond.

  “I … I …” Her cheeks looked like they might catch fire any second. “I think I’m going to have to murder that man in his sleep!” She reached for one of the twists and took off running. The cameras followed her as she let the dough fly. It hit Laz in the back of the head. He turned with a crooked grin.

  “You won this battle, Rosa.” He nodded, peeling the dough out of his hair. “But I’m pretty sure I won the war.”

  She stood there with a look of awe on her face. Finally, Shawn yelled, “Cut!” He looked at Rosa, completely mesmerized. “That’s the best television I’ve seen in years. Did you plan all of that ahead of time?”

  “Um, no.” She shook her head, then reached for a dishcloth and went to work scrubbing bits of dough from the countertop. “We did not.”

  “Then I’ve stumbled into the love scene of the century!” Shawn laughed. “You two are priceless. I can’t believe my luck!”

  He instructed the cameraman to keep filming and gave Rosa a few instructions about closing out the scene, which she did. But I could see the look in her eyes. Half terror, half joy. All laced with the glistening of tears.

  Well, who could blame her? When you’d waited over fifty years for your first kiss, you had a right to get a little misty.

  24

  Goin’ Out of My Head

  After the incident with Laz and Rosa, I decided anything was possible. Not only would we pull off this wedding on the heels of a tropical storm, it would be the best wedding anyone on Galveston Island had ever seen.

  If we could just avoid the paparazzi. We had two more visits that afternoon from reporters. One of them posed as a Food Network employee, but we saw through his bag of tricks. The other one hid in our bushes, scaring the daylights out of me as I came up the front stairs.

  Brock kept his distance upstairs, but I felt bad for him. Was this how he lived, hidden away from people? Sure didn’t seem like much fun.

  Thankfully, Twila, Jolene, and Bonnie Sue managed to sleep through all of the chaos. Who could blame them? They’d had a rough voyage. And D.J.—sweet D.J.—went back and forth from our house to the wedding facility, doing anything and everything I asked him to do. At 4:30 I snuck up on him helping Laz and Jenna with the turkey legs.

  “Hey, you.” I wrapped my arms around him and planted a kiss on him that he wouldn’t soon forget. “Thank you so much for all your help.”

  “Anything for my girl.” He returned my kiss, this time more passionately than before. He stared into my eyes, his baby blues making my heart flutter. “What’s the plan for tonight? You’ve got the rehearsal, right?”

  “Yeah.” I sighed. “I was hoping to catch a few minutes with the family for dinner first, but I don’t think that’s going to happen. The Food Network is counting on a huge crowd gathered around the dining room table.” I paused, then looked at him. “What about you? Do you want to stay for dinner with the family or hang out over here with us during the rehearsal?”

  “Hmm.” He shrugged. “Do you need my help with anything during the rehearsal?”

  “Not that I can think of.”

  “Then I guess I’ll have dinner with your family, if that’s okay with you.”

  I gave him another hug. “I’ll try to sneak over for a few minutes between the rehearsal and the rehearsal dinner to get in on the action. I don’t think the bride and groom will miss me very much if I do.”

  “It’s a date.” He kissed the tip of my nose, then dove back into his work.

  At 5:00 I made my way next door to check on the castle. I found Larry and his workers hanging the gas lamps and putting in the tables and chairs. I could hardly believe their progress.

  When I arrived back at the house, I found Twila, Jolene, and Bonnie Sue snacking on Rosa’s garlic twists and gabbing with the men from the Food Network. Well, if one could call flirting gabbing. Thankfully, they’d changed into regular clothes. No sequins here. No sir. They still looked a little groggy but appeared to be in good spirits.

  Twila took to pouting when the oldest camera guy said they needed to go out back to get some footage of Uncle Laz’s garden while there was still sunlight. For a minute there I thought she might follow him, but she restrained herself. Brock chose that moment to walk into the room.

  “Is the coast clear?” He looked around to make sure the television cameras had moved elsewhere.

  “They’re out back,” I assured him.

  Brock had donned a pair of black slacks and a fabulous dress shirt in an amazing shade of blue. He’d also spent a little extra time on his hair, from the looks of things. And his skin glistened from the tan he’d acquired while out to sea. Gone were the taped-up glasses. The man who stood before us was pure Adonis, no doubt about that.

  Twila, Jolene, and Bonnie Sue took one look at Brock and turned to me, squealing with delight.

  “Bella! You did it!” Twila said. “We weren’t even gone a full week, and you’ve turned the ugly duckling into a swan.”

  “More than a swan.” Jolene let out a whistle. “I don’t know how you did it, Bella, but you’ve almost made him look like … ” She paused, then shook her head. “Like a movie star.”

  “I’ve been reading People magazine,” Brock whispered as he settled onto the sofa between the ladies. “Don’t tell anyone, okay?”

  “I read People magazine too,” Bonnie Sue said. “But only for the news stories.”

  “Of course.” Brock nodded, then leaned back against the seat, allowing the women to talk about him at length.

  Thankfully, this Brock-a-thon didn’t last long. Marian arrived at the front door with tears in her eyes. The bridesmaids fussed over her as I ushered them inside. She tossed her cell phone into her purse and turned my way.

  “What is it, honey?” I asked the question with fear and trembling, unable to take much more.

  “I’ve got some terrible news.” Her voice trembled, and she paused to draw a deep breath before continuing. “The madrigal group that was supposed to sing at the wedding tomorrow night …”

  “What about them?”

  “They can’t come. Their lead singer had to have her gallbladder removed. She’s in the hospital in Houston.”

  “Can’t they sing without her?”

  “Apparently not. And I’ve been counting on them. It was going to be one of my favorite parts! What are we going to do?” I noted a hint of desperation in her voice.

  Twila sat straight up on the sofa. “Honey, leave it to me.”

  “Leave it to you?” Marian turned her way with a confused look on her face.

  Twila grinned. “You probably don’t know this, but Jolene and Bonnie Sue and I used to sing together at county fairs and such. You should’ve seen us at the last one. We were quite the rage. Drew in a real crowd.”

  “Ah.” A look of sheer ter
ror came over Marian as she took in this information. The bridesmaids, to their credit, didn’t say a word, though their eyes spoke volumes.

  Twila nodded. “And we had quite a repertoire back in the day.”

  “Oh heavens, yes.” Jolene giggled. “We did everything from Elvis songs to Sinatra. And a few Gershwin tunes, for the older folks.”

  “In three-part harmony,” Bonnie Sue threw in.

  Mama happened to walk in at this very moment. She looked at the women and nodded. “Earline told me all about your singing abilities. She said you were once offered a contract.”

  “Yes.” Bonnie Sue sighed. “But Twila made us turn it down.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “Because the company wouldn’t let us sing Christian songs. And I told the girls, if we can’t sing about the Lord, they can just forget it!”

  “Amen!” the other two women chimed in.

  “We do occasionally sing secular music,” Twila said. “Remember, I told you we sang karaoke on the cruise ship.” She giggled. “And I hate to brag, but we brought the house down. That’s why the captain was so taken with us. We got to sit at his table.”

  “I’m sure you were wonderful,” I said, trying to keep this conversation on the positive side. “But this wedding is medieval. We’re talking music from the 1500s and 1600s. And it’s a cappella, which would be tricky under the best of circumstances.” “Don’t underestimate the power of God working through us!” Twila said. “Do you have any samples?”

  “I have a CD in my car,” Marian said with a hopeful look on her face. “Would you like to hear it?”

  “Sure.”

  Minutes later, I listened in a state of disbelief as the trio of sisters joined voices to duplicate one of the songs they’d been listening to on the CD. It was remarkable, really. They sounded just like the real deal. Better, even. Why had I doubted them? The bridesmaids went crazy—in a good way—and I could read the relief on Marian’s face.

  “You’re hired.” She extended her hand in Twila’s direction, beaming from ear to ear.

  “But … what will we wear?” Jolene asked, tugging at a loose hair. “The things we packed for the cruise won’t work for a madrigal presentation.”