Chemistry

by Tess Oliver

  My thoughts had taken me back to my time with Jameson but it was the unexpected silence that snapped me back to the present. After "Here Comes the Sun", Gerald, the pianist, was supposed to break into a piano version of "November Rain". That was the song I chose for my walk down the aisle. But there was an unplanned lull between the songs. I could stand in the empty room and imagine all kinds of terrible scenarios taking place, which would surely push me into a panic attack, or I could head out and see what the hell was going on.

  The hallway leading from the dressing room was empty and the low vibration of our guests' voices rolled toward me. As I walked past a slightly ajar door that led to a patio outside the venue, I heard Kent's deep laugh. It was hushed and short, but I would know it anywhere. My first thought was to run back to the dressing room and hide so that he wouldn't see me before the wedding. I was certain that one was on the bad luck list, even if losing an earring wasn't. Then I realized I was being a bubble head, no brain matter just a head filled with iridescent soapy air and visions of my wedding day. It occurred to me Kent wouldn't be outside having a laugh all alone. I couldn't smell tobacco, but I was definitely getting a whiff of flowery perfume.

  My feet glued to the fuzzy white carpet runner beneath my shiny new shoes, the ones I had custom ordered to go with my designer dress, the ones that were designed to make me look more statuesque while still allowing me to dance the night away with my hot, new husband.

  I went through a five second debate. I could either find out why Kent was laughing outside while our guests waited for the ceremony, or I could race back to the room and wait patiently for him to come back inside, all the while chewing a hole in my lip with acute curiosity, never really knowing just what was happening during Kent's smoke break.

  I unstuck my custom shoes from the spot beneath my feet and willed myself toward the door. It was open a few inches, probably left that way to keep the people on the other side from being locked out. A mingling of voices twittering on the other side of the door assured me it was definitely people. Two people to be exact. I stood there for a moment, peering quietly around the edge of a gunmetal gray door, staring out at a patio bathed in warm sunlight and surrounded by jacaranda trees. Smack dab in the center of the picturesque scene was my future husband, looking glorious in his tux, just as Shelby had noted. He was pulling away from a passionate kiss with Patty Urban or Suburban or some fucking name like that. She'd played minor roles in several of his blockbuster movies. Her bright blue dress was so tight, it was a wonder she could breathe. Or maybe she wasn't breathing at all as she stared up into Kent's eyes.

  "I can't wait until we start filming," she said lightly. "Then I'll have you all to myself."

  Kent leaned down to kiss her again, but I didn't stick around for the finale. I shuffled back to the dressing room, feeling like a giant frosted top of a fancy cupcake in my crystal white flounces and pearled bodice. I tried to sort out my feelings but I couldn't. Rage, hurt, shame, and even quiet surrender were churning together in my head, while my body and limbs felt as if gravity was yanking at them trying to pull me, glittery dress and all, down into a deep, dark hole.

  I'd momentarily considered stepping out onto the patio to confront them but I was too frozen from shock. I circled the dressing room once, shaking my hands so hard to erase the tingling, my wrists ached. Somewhere in the background, somewhere in the midst of the nightmarish few moments when reality was not just sinking in but grabbing hold of my entire insides, somewhere in the dark storm that had entered my head, I heard the piano player start up the first chords of "November Rain". The moment I'd been waiting and planning for had come, and all I could think about was ripping off the ten thousand dollar dress, jumping out the window and fleeing off toward the beach or the mountains or anywhere that was far enough away that I could scream and cry and not be heard.

  The pianist was well into the song, which meant my bridesmaids were strolling in behind flurries of flower petals. The whole thing had been planned right down to the last pink peonies on the men's lapels. But this little hitch, this ugly hiccup in what was supposed to a wonderful, beautiful, memorable day hadn't been part of the plan.

  A knock on the door rattled me. Tina, the wedding planner's assistant, popped her head into the room. "It's the bride's time to shine," she said in a sing-song voice. She scurried into the room, a tiny little thing who probably didn't weigh a hundred pounds. "Can't forget this." She was still doing the singy voice, like an annoying little bird. The eucalyptus leaves of my bridal bouquet cascaded down from the mass of pink and white peonies as she skittered across the room with it.

  She smiled up at me. "You look like a painting. By the way, the photographer's assistant is standing right where you enter, like we discussed. He'll be taking pictures as you step into view." We'd had four hundred photographers competing to take wedding pictures and we'd ended up with Edgar Tor, a professional model photographer. He wasn't charging us, but with our approval, he would be able to sell three of today's photos to magazines and newspapers. He would make a killing, of course.

  The next few minutes were a blur. Fluttery little Tina tidied up my dress behind me as I strolled along the empty hallway, past the exit door that was no longer ajar, past the photographer's assistant whose camera clicked like an angry cricket as I stepped into the room. I was vaguely aware of all the faces, some familiar, some not, as the guests rose to watch the bride in all her splendid finery. My gaze shot ahead to Kent, tall and lean and stunning in his tux.

  I startled slightly when my dad wrapped his arm around mine. He leaned closer. An unexpected sense of comfort and homesickness flushed through me at the scent of his aftershave, the same he had worn since I was a little girl. "Easy there, princess, no need to be nervous. I've got ya." His low soothing voice made my throat tighten. How badly I wanted to grab his hand and yell 'let's go get an ice cream and hang out at the park like we did when I was little'. But there were too many guests waiting, anticipating. Too much money had been spent, mostly mine but plenty from my parents. Dad had insisted. Too many hours had been spent picking flowers and fabrics, cakes and champagne.

  My large family stood on one side with their teary smiles and their new clothes, clothes most of them couldn't really afford and would probably not wear again until there was another wedding or funeral. Mom was already clutching her tissue as if it was the only thing keeping her from sinking into a wet puddle. God, she was happy. I had to go through with it. We could get counseling right from the start. That thought made my stomach turn in on itself. How many brides mentally lined up a marriage counselor on their walk down the aisle? I needed Kent. Marrying him would open doors for me that had shut after my last flop. My gaze flitted across the third row and landed smack dab on Marley Coco's fake blue contact lenses. Marley had been my agent from the start. She was counting on this. She'd called it a match made in Hollywood heaven.

  I strolled along, my dad supporting me, probably way more than he realized. There were soft gasps and awed whispers of how beautiful I looked. It was all going the way I'd imagined it, my wonderful, center of adulation walk down the aisle to my handsome groom. Only all those perfectly fantastical images were now shattered into shards of a dream destroyed. Patty Bitch Urban (I'd decided she needed a middle name) was standing in the third row of the groom's side with her tight dress and her even tighter fake grin. She had been on the guest list, but apparently Kent forgot to mention that she was invited so he could have a little side fuck while I floated around talking to guests. He really should have added that on his comments. After all, he took the time to explain why he had to invite his stepdad's brother, Chuck, because he was now dating his mother's sister or some fucking creepy, family mash-up kind of thing. Next to Patty Urban's name, he should have said something like 'Patty needs to come so I can fuck her behind the building while you cut cake' or some such notation.

  Kent's good friend, Everett, had been ordained a weekend minister through some online site so that he could hav
e the honor of marrying the happy couple. The bridesmaids, including my silly cousin, smiled down at me from the raised platform as Dad stopped for one last kiss on the cheek. The warm, spicy scent of his aftershave surrounded me as he rubbed his cheek against mine and whispered in my ear. "Go get 'em, princess."

  The vice around my throat tightened again as I whispered back. "I plan to." Then I threw my arms around him, surprising him, and from the noise in the room, everyone else. I hugged him for a long moment, clinging to him, silently again wishing I was a little girl and that we were just about to head out for a day at the park.

  "You'll be fine," he said quietly.

  I pried my arms off of him and turned to face my wedding party and our newly ordained minister, but I avoided eye contact with the one person who should have pulled me in with his magnetic blue gaze, like he'd done so many times before. And I had fallen for all of it, the azure blue eyes, the gleaming white smile and that slight cleft in his chin. Fuck that cleft in his chin.

  As I handed my bouquet off to Shelby, I caught a glimmer of something, the slightest, faintest movement in her expressive brows. She knew something was wrong. That was why I loved her. I was standing in a room packed with people who'd watched me grow up, including my parents, who were both awesome and occasionally clueless. I was standing next to the man I'd been intimate with hundreds of times, the man I was supposed to spend the rest of my life with, but the only person in the room who sensed that I had been hollowed out from the inside and that I was merely a shell of the original Kinsey Greene wrapped in frilly organza fabric, was Shelby.

  Everett's deep voice droned on with the occasional touch of humor that elicited soft chuckles from the massive crowd sitting behind me. I was thankful I no longer had to see their smiling faces. I kept my focus straight ahead, never once looking to my right at the man I was marrying. Occasionally, Kent moved so that the sleeve of his tux brushed my bare arm. I discretely moved my feet sideways to avoid contact again. Clips and short scenes of our relationship splashed around my befuddled head, but none of them came together cohesively. It had all been obliterated. I wondered just how long he'd been cheating on me. I'd been such a fool.

  "Kinsey?" Everett's voice poked me out of my trance. "Kinsey?"

  I peered up at him in question.

  "Would you like to read your vows?" Everett asked.

  "Are you all right, baby?" Kent asked from the side of his mouth. His expensive aftershave suddenly seemed obnoxious and overwhelming.

  "Yes, vows, right." I shot a look at Shelby, who looked more than a little freaked out.

  Kent and I turned to face each other. Had his nose always been so sharp and pointy? And it occurred to me that his ears were just a little too big, like a baby elephant's. A short giggle shot from my mouth, but I pulled my lips in to stop it.

  I scanned the faces in the crowd. My parents were sitting right up front, holding each other's hands. I wanted someone to hold my hand at weddings and emotional occasions, but not the man standing in front of me. He'd lost that privilege when he decided to fuck one of the bit part extras on the movie set.

  "Kent," I said softly. I added in a simpering grin. "Kent, Kent, Kent." I shook my head as I repeated his name. He shifted from foot to foot, with an uneasy smile plastered across his face. Had he gotten one of those stupid spray tans? He looked sort of orange.

  I took a deep breath. "Kent, it took me a long time to write my vows. I mean a really long time. I must have gone through an entire one of those free real estate notepads working out what I wanted to say to you on this day, our day." I pushed up a pretend smile, the kind of smile you use when someone is giving you a backhanded compliment like 'your new haircut makes you look so different'. I felt as if I'd just experienced one of those awkward moments only multiplied by a million. I want to marry you, Kinsey. I just want to be able to sleep with other women. "At first, I thought, well, it's taking so long to write my vows because there just aren't enough words to describe my love and admiration for you. There just aren't enough entries in the thesaurus to help me list all the wonderful, amazing attributes that make Kent Blackmoor, my future husband, the man I'm going to spend the rest of my life with, the man who I would soon promise my loyalty, fidelity and love to, so special. Although, not necessarily in that order," I added.

  A stiff chuckle rolled forward from the guests, mostly on my side. I'd made sure to hit the word fidelity with an extra twist of lime, just like a good Mexican beer. I wanted him to get a good taste of the word.

  I didn't dare look toward Shelby. After sitting through my grueling, tedious rehearsal of them, she knew my vows verbatim and she knew I was way off script. Now those original words meant less to me than the words I'd say to the clerk at the grocery store or local coffee shop.

  Kent's plastered on expression of admiration for his bride was starting to crack but I forged ahead. I clumsily brushed the gossamer tulle thin veil from my face as if I was just brushing back a stray strand of hair in the middle of a spin class.

  "I needed that one defining moment so I could encapsulate my feelings for you in a few succinct sentences," I continued. "I guess I blew past that when I started this rambling speech." A laugh, my laugh, twittered around the otherwise silent room. It occurred to me it sounded lightly laced with hysteria, as if one wrong shift in the air could send me into a million pieces. Our guests, the cameraman, our pretend minister seemed to be holding a collective breath.

  I held up my finger with its two hundred dollar manicure, and, oddly enough, took a second to admire the pearl pink polish I'd chosen. It was the perfect complement to the periwinkle blue bikini I'd bought for our Tahitian honeymoon. I focused back on my stunning, not a hair out of place groom. (Although, the veneer was really starting to crumble and beads of sweat had started to pop up on his forehead.) "After agonizing for hours, sifting through memories, looking for that defining moment, the moment that said to me, boy oh boy, that's the man I want to spend the rest of my life with, I landed on a shallow, dull incident." I waved my pink tipped fingers. "Some shitty Hallmark kind of moment with a card and a red rose on my computer desk, yada yada yada, very vapid and mostly forgettable, which was why I had such a hard time remembering it. But on my way up the aisle, the one memory I had that truly showed just what kind of man was waiting for me up on this peony covered altar, popped into my head. Ironically, it was one of those memories I had to mentally tell myself over and over again—don't let this be the defining moment. Don't base all your feelings about the man on this one incident. But as hard as I tried, that darn memory always crept back. It was always sitting there in the back of my head, scratching at my conscience, trying to wake my voice of reason. But, for lack of a better term, I kept it sequestered. I had plenty of mind debates with it, but the shallow side always won out. Guess that's the side you always brought out in me, the shallow one. I'd say to myself, are you crazy Kiki? This is Kent Blackmoor, the hottest leading man in town, Hollywood's new crowned prince. You have to overlook and accept some things about his character if you want to have this hunk on your arm." I turned to the guests, avoiding eye contact with my parents, and waved my hand toward Kent. "I mean, he's stunning right?" More awkward silence and a lot of bug-eyed, open mouthed expressions followed.

  Kent reached for my outstretched hand. "Kiki, I think you've had too much Valium," he muttered, but loud enough for all to hear.

  I pulled my hand free. A shocked gasp made its way around the room. "I haven't had any Valium. In fact, I'm thinking more clearly than I have in a long time, and I've finally perfected my vows so I'm going to finish them." The last part was said through gritted teeth. My throat tightened and my limbs felt heavy with disappointment but not with Kent. I was sorely disappointed with myself.

  "It was that night when it rained hard," I continued after a deep breath. "Easy enough to remember because it hardly rains in L.A.. We were coming back from a party and sitting on the sidewalk, in front of closed up shops, was a little dog, alone, wet, desp
erate for some human compassion. I grabbed your arm and pleaded with you to stop." Kent flinched but stood there, still as a statue, possibly wondering if this was some sort of elaborate prank or just a bad dream. It was hard to know what was going on in his self-centered brain, but I no longer cared. "You said there was no way a wet mutt was going to ruin the leather upholstery inside your Porsche. You yelled at me and told me to stop being such a child. I didn't realize having empathy meant I was acting like a child."