“I believe in you.”
Armed with coffee and a bagel, I settle in to observe the happy couple whose wedding dreams I might just be able to make come true. Call me a hopeless romantic, but after just one episode I get why Marcie is chomping at the bit for a mega-wedding. The Princess and The Rock Star follows Pixie and Clyde’s relationship from a meeting backstage at one of his shows—Pixie tripped over a cable and swooned right into his arms—all the way to Clyde’s proposal, riding in on an actual white horse. They’re cute together, and clearly crazy in love, even if the whole thing is scripted for the cameras. I watch another episode where Pixie moves into Kastle Kincaid, Clyde’s mansion in upstate New York. She wants to re-decorate, but Clyde loves his hard rock themes. Pixie, in the end, wins, and Clyde trades in skulls for pink upholstery and velvet loveseats. It’s a very over-the-top show, but there’s a real sweetness to it. If some of the moments feel forced, I’m guessing it’s by Ms. Wedding Lurker herself, Marcie Miller. I have to hand it to her, though: it’s good television. I find myself rooting for the couple, even as they fight while Pixie insists that Clyde become a vegan. (In the end, they both wind up eating BBQ leftovers from the fridge at 3am.)
I finally surface from my TV stupor in the afternoon. It’s time to start getting ideas together, so I go to the place that always brings me the best inspiration: the bathtub. Other people have lucky pens and favorite cafes, but whenever I need a flash of creative genius, I just run myself a bubble bath and sink back among the suds.
I turn on the water and toss in a lavender bath ball. When the tub’s full, I slide in and start to muse. All my wedding designs start with the couple, so what would Pixie and Clyde want? Red for him and pinks for her, maybe, with a splash of black satin. As for venues, nothing beats the Plaza. If I could pull it off… I shiver with excitement, thinking how much fun it could be. Plus the boost it would give my company. Never mind the happily-ever-afters, wedding planning in the city is a cutthroat business. I need to grab any advantage I can get.
By the time the water cools, I’m bursting with ideas. I grab a fluffy robe and call Theo again. Voicemail.
“Think roses and stars.” I tell him. “A night-garden theme. We’re going to walk right up to the line of tacky, stare it in the face, and then throw some glitter at it. This thing is going to be a beautiful spectacle of lights and brightness,” I continue, just picturing the scene. “We’ll get the quartet to arrange some of Clyde’s hits. Chocolate and strawberries. Black stallions and white mares. Unicorns, if we can get them. This is it, Theo. This is absolutely it. It will be beautiful, shiny, romantic, cheesefest perfection.”
My phone beeps with a call on the other line. “Talk tomorrow!” I tell his voicemail, before switching over. “Hello?”
“Hi, pumpkin, it’s Bettina!”
“And Auntie Rae, too! Don’t hog the line, Betts!” My aunts love to call me from two separate phones in the house. “How was the wedding, the sporty-sports one?” Aunt Rae inquires.
“It went great. I’ll link you to the pictures when they’re posted online so you can see.”
“I’m sure it was gorgeous. Your weddings always are.”
“How are things down in Pelican Key Cove?” I ask, taking the phone out to the fire escape.
“Just fine.” Bettina answers.
“Any gossip?”
“Well…”
“Tell her about the big robbery,” Rae pipes up.
“What robbery?” I can’t believe it. My hometown is about as sleepy as they come.
“It was the biggest scandal,” Rae continues. “Margo Lendermere got caught shoplifting down at the Quick-n-Pick.”
“She did not!” Bettina argues over her. “She forgot to pay for her verruca cream, and that new deputy, the Jennings boy, chased her all the way down Main Street. You’d think she’d looted the bank for all that carry on.”
I laugh. The white sand beaches and quaint streets of the Keys feel a million miles away from the noise and hustle of New York.
“What about you?” Rae asks. “What’s happening up there?”
“Well, maybe something big. Have you guys ever seen The Princess and The Rock Star?“
“Ooh yes!” Rae cries. “We love it. Don't we, Betts?”
“Oh my goodness. Clyde Kincaid is a dreamboat. The things I would do to that piece of British toffee—” I have to cut her off because I know she will tell me exactly what she would do to. My aunts are many things, but discreet isn’t one of them. Growing up, they loved to sunbathe nude in our backyard. More than once, the mailman got more than he bargained for coming to deliver a package.
“So, guess what?” I say, excited. “I might be planning Clyde and Pixie’s wedding here in New York!”
There's a gasp, then squeals of excitement.
“Oh my gosh, you have to include Pixie’s little dog Buster in the wedding. He could be a tiny little itty bitty furry groomsman.”
“Well, it’s not a done deal yet,” I caution. “Theo and I have a meeting this week with a producer. Did I tell you the wedding is going to be on TV?”
I hear more screeches. I can picture the two of them in the kitchen, and suddenly have a rush of homesickness.
“That’s just wonderful, darling. You know what else would be wonderful?” Rae adds, hopeful. “If you came home for a little visit. Maybe for Thanksgiving?”
I tense. I haven’t been back to Pelican Key Cove, not since I high-tailed out of town in my old pink convertible the night before graduation, leaving everything—and everyone—behind.
“Why don’t you two come here?” I say instead. “New York is lovely in the fall. Or we could take another road trip. We had so much fun last year, driving cross-country.”
“But we’re always traveling,” Bettina says gently. “In case you didn’t notice, we’re getting old.”
“You guys? Never.”
She laughs. “Honey, you know we’d come see you whenever you want, but it’s been ten years now. Don’t you think it’s time you came home, even just for a short visit?”
I feel guilty. “Maybe.” I make a fast excuse. “I’ll see how this next wedding works out. Pixie and Clyde might want to elope abroad. You could come meet me in Europe, maybe. I’ll know more after the meeting.”
“All right, love,” Bettina sighs. “Good luck.”
“Call us the moment you’re done and let us know how it goes!”
I hang up, but I can’t shake that feeling of guilt and regret that comes whenever my aunts press me to come home. Ten years is a long time, but it’s flown by: first college, then scrambling away at entry-level assistant jobs with no time off for a real trip home, then getting my own business off the ground and hustling for clients. But soon, it was too easy to make excuses. Better to plan amazing visits for them here, or arrange to take a trip someplace new and exciting together. I’ve danced around the subject so long it’s like second nature to me.
The truth is, there’s just one thing keeping me away from Pelican Key Cove: Luke Porter, my high-school boyfriend.
My couldn’t-be-more-ex ex-boyfriend.
I sigh. The way I left things, I can’t imagine going back. I thought I’d grow out of it, but here I am. Twenty-eight years old, and still too chicken to face up to the past. Especially when that past has the face of an angel, with a devil of a sense of humor.
At least, he did a long time ago. But who knows what’s happened to him since?
People change. I know I have.
I shake off the memories, and reach for my remote. There’s no use dwelling on ancient history, and I’ve got another twelve episodes to watch before I call Marcie on Monday morning. I want to be totally ready for this pitch.
Chapter Three
Marcie sounds delighted to hear from me. Or maybe that’s just her regular voice. “Can you come in at noon?” she demands. “We have a free slot before Clyde’s oxygen treatment.”
“Today?” I blink, looking down at my PJs and bunny slip
pers. I’ve spent all weekend in a junk food and TV coma, and I was planning on using the day to get back to work. “I usually have more time to prepare—”
“Noon’s all we have. Take it or leave it.”
I regroup quickly. “We’ll be there.”
I hang up and text Theo an SOS, then manage the quickest hair-wash/shower/cleanup/manicure known to womankind. By the time he swings by in a cab to pick me up, I’m ready for action.
“I got your voicemails,” he says, amused, as I slide in the backseat. I give the driver Marcie’s office address, and take the coffee from Theo’s outstretched hand. “All fifty million of them.”
“You took notes, right?”
“Always.” Theo pulls out his phone. “Plaza, plaid, poppies.”
“No, that’s last night’s plan. Inspiration struck again at two in the morning.” I pull out my sketchpad, showing him some magazine tears and brainstorming as we speed through traffic. “We need to glitz it up. This is the girl who imported a herd of zebra for her last birthday party, then dyed them all white to look like unicorns. We go big, or we go home.”
“Got it.”
We come to a stop, and I fly out of the cab. Marcie’s office address is a towering modern block in Midtown, and I fight through the sidewalk traffic to reach the lobby.
“Wait.” Theo catches up. “You dropped this.” He holds a familiar dog-eared postcard. ‘Welcome to Pelican Key Cove’ is written over the beachfront scene. “Looks cute,” he says. “I could use a vacation right about now. Pina Coladas, girls in bikinis…”“Down, boy.” I snap my fingers. “We’ve got to land this pitch first. Then maybe I’ll get us some time off.”
“And a raise?” Theo grins.
“Don’t push it,” I laugh.
“Did I tell you you’re my favorite wedding planner in the world?”
“Save it for the client,” I advise. “We’ve never worked with real celebrities before.”
“It’ll be a breeze,” Theo says, holding the door open for me. “As the tabloids say, they’re just regular people underneath it all.”
Or maybe not. When we’re shown into Marcie’s office, Clyde and Pixie are already settled on the couch by the windows. They look ready for their close-ups, placing their drinks orders with a nervous-looking PA.
“And, like, a green smoothie?” Pixie says.
“Milk for me, love.” Clyde pats his stomach. “Gotta watch the ulcer.” He’s wearing black leather pants and an old tour T-shirt, with his longish straggly hair puffed up in all directions. He catches my eye and winks. “All right, darling? Didn’t know this would be a party.”
Pixie bounds up. “She’s the wedding planner, babe. That’s why we’re here, remember?”
Clyde yawns. “It was a long night. Played until two, you know. That’s a late night for an old man. Hell, I don’t know where I am most days until after lunch and a pack of Jammie Dodgers.”
“Quite.” Marcie steps forward and shakes my hand. “Glad you could make it. We’re all excited to hear your thoughts. Would you mind signing these NDAs before we begin?”
“What?”
“Non-disclosures. Confidentiality, you understand.” Marcie presents Theo and me with a ten-page document of dense legal jargon. I hate signing anything I haven’t had a chance to read, but Marcie taps her foot impatiently, so I scribble my name at the bottom. “Perfect,” she declares, then steps aside for me to meet the happy couple.
Pixie kisses me on both cheeks. “I’m so excited!” she beams.
Clyde salutes. “I figure, you’ve got to get hitched, you wanna do it right. Right, babe?”
“Right.”
“Well.” I blink, overwhelmed. “Let’s get started.”
We all sit down, and I pull out my sketchbook. “I think we can give Pixie and Clyde a day worthy of ten TV specials,” I begin.
Marcie’s eyes widen. “Oh, a multi-part show. I love it. Ratings will love it. That will make me love it even more. I like the way you think.”
I smile, even though I was exaggerating. I point to my pictures of the Plaza all decked out in bows and glitzy finery. “We want to go big, show-stopping. The wedding of the season. Pixie riding down Fifth Avenue on a white horse; Clyde landing a helicopter on the roof—”
I’m interrupted by the PA returning with the drinks. “Here you go,” she says meekly, offering Clyde his glass of milk, and Pixie a noxious-looking green substance.
Pixie curls her lip. “What is this?”
“Your smoothie?” She shoots a nervous look at Marcie.
“Oh. No. I meant I wanted a half spinach, half kale, half kiwi smoothie. With the skin on. Twist of ginger. Dash of beetroot. Vegan.” Pixie beams. “I’m really into saving the animals now.”
The poor PA is scrabbling to keep up. “Dash of what now?”
Theo leaps up before Marcie can open her mouth. “You know what? My favorite smoothie place is around the corner. I know the owner. I’ll go grab your drink.”
The PA looks relieved. She scurries after Theo out of the room.
As the door shuts, Marcie presses her intercom. “Call the recruitment agency, have them send someone new. And for god’s sake, make sure this one isn’t a total idiot.”
OK. Note to self: don’t annoy Marcie. I clear my throat, awkward. Clyde winks at me again and asks, “Now, where were we? Talking about getting hitched, yeah,”
“Yes.” Marcie nods. “Continue!”
I turn back to my book. “Like I was saying, the Plaza. Classic New York wedding with a rock-n-roll twist.”
Marcie makes a humming noise. “We hadn’t decided on a location just yet.”
I’m one step ahead. “Of course.” I flip the page. “That’s why I have a number of alternate options. How about Vegas?” I suggest, showing them a big collage of flashy Vegas finery: the fountains at the Bellagio, the Strip all lit up. “You could combine a big bachelor and bachelorette weekend with the wedding. Break the world record for the number of Elvis impersonators performing the ceremony.”
Marcie makes that noise again. I flip the page.
“Malibu cliff-top ceremony!”
“Hmmm…”
“On the walkway at the Grand Canyon.”
A sigh.
“On a yacht in the South of France!”
They’re giving me nothing. Pixie looks wistfully out the window, while Clyde picks dirt out from under his nails.
“Is there anything you had in mind?” I ask, getting desperate. Usually by now, my clients have told me half-a-dozen requests, and my challenge is incorporating them all into one ceremony. But these guys? They’re blank. “Take a look, see if anything sparks.” I pass my book to Pixie.
Marcie leans in. “To tell the truth, we’re rethinking the whole ‘big wedding’ thing. Turns out we had a bit of a backlash last season, when they were installing gold-plated toilets in the mansion? Apparently, viewers had a hard time relating. Now the network’s all big on ‘family values’ and ‘ordinary Americans’.” She draws air quotes.
“And ordinary Americans don’t get married on a private island in the Pacific,” I realize, striking my next pitch off the list.
“Right.” Marcie gives a shrug. “What can you do? But thanks for coming in, it was good to touch base.”
“Wait!” I didn’t get this far without thinking on my feet. “If relatable is what you’re after, then let’s do a classic small town wedding instead. Just imagine,” I say, “A cute little chapel in the town square. White roses and balloons spelling out your name. We could do a barn dance reception, mason jars and BBQ! You could take photographs in the gazebo.”
Pixie claps her hands in delight. “Gazebo! That’s my favourite soup.”
“Gazebo, not gazpacho,” I correct her gently. “So, what do you think?”
Marcie answers for them. “I like it. Fish out of water, back to their roots. Pixie, your grandparents came from some small town, didn’t they?”
“Only if you call Atlanta s
mall.”
Marcie waves her hand. “Never mind, we’ll think up some reason.” She pauses. “Pixie and Clyde go country. It’s got potential. Locations?”
“I can put together a list,” I tell her quickly. “I work with location scouts all the time. There’s a ton of cute places in easy drive of the city. Connecticut, maybe, or down in Virginia if you want more of a Southern feel—”
“What about here?” Pixie interrupts. She’s holding up my postcard of Pelican Key Cove. “It looks super cute!”
“Umm, that’s just my hometown. It’s a little backwater place in Florida,” I say quickly, but Marcie, eagle-eyed, is already tapping at her keyboard.
“The jewel of the Keys,” she reads aloud. “Be transported to a simpler time in this quaint, beachside community.”
“It’s really more rundown than rustic,” I correct, but Marcie’s in full swing.
“Look, they have a beach, Main Street, all that Norman Rockwell stuff. Pelicans, too. You’d like that, wouldn’t you Pixie?”
“Yes!” She squeals with excitement, crowding round the screen with Clyde to look. “Are those the pink ones?”
“No,” I say, at the same time as Marcie declares, “Yes!”
She gives me a steely look. “Looks like it’s decided then. Great!”
“Are you sure you don’t want to scout a few more places?” I ask desperately. “Check availability and vendors?”
Marcie pulls me aside. “Here’s the deal. This wedding is happening in Pelican Cave—”
“Cove.”
“Whatever. If you can’t make it happen, someone else will. Does the name deKline mean anything to you?”
"Yes," I answer in a small voice.
Marcie sighs. “Listen, Ginny. We can offer you triple your usual fee for the gig, not to mention all the free publicity. Are you really going to walk away from that?”
I wrestle with the idea, before finally facing facts. There’s no way I can bail on a chance like this. “ I’ll do it.”
“Of course you will. I’ll call the network and get things rolling. Welcome to the team.”
Marcie grabs her phone and starts dialling. Pixie and Clyde start making out in the corner, cooing sweet nothings. The door opens. Theo returns with the smoothie. He looks around. “What did I miss?”
Beach Wedding Page 2
