Confessions of a Wedding Musician Mom

by Jennifer McCoy Blaske

“Well,” said Jessica, “we’re having a really romantic setup with lots of candles and flowers, so we want music that really fits that mood. You know, lots of flowing, romantic …” She peered at me. “Is something wrong?”

  “Oh, just a little something in my eye. No big deal.” I chuckled and dabbed the tear that was streaming down my face with my finger. “So, you want romantic music. Well, piano music would be a wonderful choice.” I shot a smile at Erica who just stared at me calmly. “For example, I have many classical pieces that would …”

  It felt like my entire head had turned into a set of faucets. I sniffled again. Why hadn’t I packed any tissues in my purse? Why? Because I’d had no idea this was going to happen, that’s why.

  I debated running the back of my hand under my nose to catch the impending gush, but decided that would seem awfully gauche. Instead, I tried to stifle the coming fountain with a few more sniffles. It sounded like I was snorting.

  “Excuse me.” I lifted my index finger and turned my back to them as I swiped the contact lens out of my eye. I kept the contact pinched between my fingers—I’d figure out what to do with it later—as I rubbed the tears under my eye with my knuckles. I gave a few more sniffles, then turned around with a big smile. “Thank you,” I said with one final sniff. “Okay, so we were talking about flowing, romantic music. I have a lot of classical music that could fit the mood, or if you’re looking for songs that are a little more modern, then maybe …” My voice faded.

  Jessica was giving me a strange look. “You, uh, you have a big black smudge under your eye.” She tapped her finger on her cheekbone.

  “Oh. Thank you.” I rubbed my finger under my eye a few times. “Okay, so as I was saying, I …”

  Jessica glanced uncomfortably at Erica who looked amused.

  Jessica looked back at me. “It’s still there.”

  “Heh heh …” I forced a laugh. “Well, you know how mascara can be. Hang on just a minute …”

  “Maybe we should come back later.” Jessica shot an uneasy look at Erica who nodded in agreement.

  “No, wait! I’m fine!” I turned away from them, furtively licked my finger, and rubbed it under my eye. “There! I’ve got it now! I’m fine!”

  “Why don’t you go ahead and finish taking care of your, uh … issues,” said Erica. “We know how to reach you.”

  “No, wait!” I whirled back around, hoping that I’d wiped the black smudge off my face rather than making it worse. “Everything’s taken care of. I’d be happy to talk with you now. Candles! Flowers! Romantic music!”

  “We’ll call you.” Erica gave me a condescending smile as she turned to go. “Let me introduce you to the harpist in the lobby,” Erica said to Jessica as they walked away. “I think you’ll like her. She’s very professional.”

  AARRRGH!!!

  I stood there stunned as they disappeared into the crowd. My nose was still running, my contact lens was pinched between my fingers getting dry and crispy, and the left side of my face probably looked like a tear-stained, black-smeared, scary mess. There was nothing to do but shuffle to the restroom and attempt to put my face back together.

  When I returned to my booth my face looked fine, but the rest of me felt awful. Today was supposed to be the big turning point, the moment Steve and I had been waiting for, the kickoff to a wonderful career being a successful wedding musician. Instead, not only did I spend a ton of money for nothing, I’d made a total fool out of myself in front of the one person I was hoping to impress.

  What was I going to do now? How long could we keep sinking money into this without having anything to show for it? Should I just quit trying? If I did, would I have to get a hideous office job where I would spend all day crunching numbers and …

  “Ceremony music! That’s what we forgot!” said a voice.

  Two young women were approaching me.

  My brain screeched to a halt and immediately switched gears. “Hi, I’m Heather!” I was as bubbly as I could possibly be.

  “I’m Christine,” said one of them. “My wedding is next month and when my sister and I heard about the show today we thought it would be fun to check it out and get some last-minute ideas. And I realized when I saw your sign that I totally forgot about ceremony music.” She suddenly looked nervous. “Do you think you’ll still be available on such short notice?”

  I fought the intense urge to leap up and down the aisle while cheering and turning a few cartwheels. “Not a problem.” I smiled. “Not a problem at all.”

  Chapter Eight

  Two days after the Bridal Bazaar I got an email from Christine. She asked me to send her a contract for my services at her wedding, which was in three weeks.

  It was official! I finally had my first real wedding job lined up. I was just weeks away from being able to call myself a bona fide wedding pianist.

  I was surprised—and a little bit nervous—to hear that they weren’t having a rehearsal the day before the wedding. But Christine assured me that everything was pretty straightforward and her wedding coordinator, Jamie, would tell me anything I needed to know and answer any questions I might have.

  Over the next three weeks I perfected the pieces I would play for the prelude. I also learned Christine’s requests: “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” for the processional, “Here Comes the Sun” for the Bridal March, and “Signed, Sealed, Delivered” for the recessional.

  I debated at length over what to wear and how I should do my hair. I finally decided on a black dress with long sleeves and a mint-green scarf, and I would put my hair in a French twist—with a lot of hair spray.

  Meanwhile, as I waited for the day of my first professional job, besides learning new music, I also learned how to make chicken pot pie and white bean chili. And thankfully, they were both easier than the lasagna.

  * * *

  The church was in the older, historical section of Madison. I arrived early so that I’d have plenty of time to find Jamie and make sure I understood all the details.

  I walked up the stone steps and through one of the red wooden doors. Then I went into the sanctuary. With huge stained glass windows on either side, and a high ceiling with wooden beams and hanging lanterns, it was quite impressive.

  A dark-haired guy wearing a gray jacket with a blue tie was standing near the front pew leafing through a bunch of papers. He looked college-aged.

  When he heard me come in he glanced in my direction and said, “I think Uncle Kenny is still upstairs helping the groomsmen get ready.”

  I looked behind me. There was nobody else around. “I’m sorry, were you talking to me?” I asked as I walked to the front of the room.

  He squinted and took a few steps toward me. “Oh, wait. You’re not Aunt Carol,” he said with a nervous laugh. “Her hair is the same color as yours.”

  “Oh, I’m not a guest. I’m the piano player for the ceremony.”

  “Oh!” He looked slightly alarmed. He began shuffling through the papers in his hand more quickly. One went flying and fluttered gently to the floor. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were supposed to be here already.”

  “I’m a little early,” I explained, wondering why this person, who I guessed was a relative, would know or care when the piano player was supposed to arrive.

  He reached down and snatched the wayward paper off the floor. “Okay, good.” He took a pencil from behind his ear and marked something on one of the papers. “Pianist has arrived!” He looked up and laughed nervously again, then he suddenly extended his hand. “I’m sorry, I should have introduced myself. I’m Jamie, the groom’s cousin.”

  “I’m Heather.” I was feeling a little confused as I shook his hand. Jamie? Surely he wasn’t …

  “I’m the wedding coordinator for today.” He started writing again. “Oops, my pencil just broke. Do you have one I could use?”

  “Uh … yeah.” I rummaged through my purse and handed him a green mechanical pencil.

  He took it and scribbled on a piece of paper agai
nst his palm.

  “That looks really uncomfortable,” I said. “Maybe you should use something to write on?”

  “Yeah!” he said. His eyes lit up. “Do you have a music book that I could use? That would be great.”

  “Okay.” That wasn’t exactly what I had in mind, but I reached into my bag again and handed him The Essential Wedding Collection.

  “Thanks,” he said, putting the papers on the book and writing some more. “I’m so nervous. I’ve never done this before.”

  I felt a knot in the pit of my stomach. “You haven’t?”

  “No.” He finished whatever he was writing and put my pencil behind his ear. “I don’t even know that much about weddings, but Christine and Matt just asked me to help them out, so I said I would.”

  The ramifications of what he’d just told me were sinking in. Here was the guy who was supposed to clue me in on exactly how this all worked and he knew next to nothing. Heck, I probably knew more than he did. We were in big trouble.

  “Um, could I have my pencil back?” I asked.

  “Oh, oh yeah, of course.” He grabbed it from behind his ear and handed it to me. “Oh, and I guess you need your music too.” He put out his hand with the bunch of papers. “No, wait. Heh heh.” He pulled the book out from under the papers and gave it to me. “That one is yours.”

  “Thank you,” I said, putting the book and pencil back in my bag. “So, I guess you should tell me where you’ll be when you give me the cues.”

  “Cues?” Jamie sounded as though he had no idea what I was talking about.

  The knot in my stomach got a little tighter. “I need you to cue me when the processional is about to begin, when the bride is ready to enter, that kind of thing.”

  “Oh, right,” he said with a nod.

  He continued nodding slowly. Unfortunately, I had the distinct impression that he still had no idea what I was talking about.

  “I, um …” Jamie glanced around the room. “Uh, I’ll get back to you about that, okay? Oh, I just remembered that I was supposed to ask the officiant something. Let me see if I can find him. Uh …” He looked around helplessly for a moment. Then, with a sudden air of authority, he announced, “There’s the piano!” With a fanciful gesture he motioned toward the shiny baby grand in the front of the sanctuary as he turned and left the room.

  Okay, then, I thought. I walked over to the piano, set up my music, and looked at my watch. Based on the research I’d done, I learned that the ceremony musician starts playing thirty minutes before the ceremony.

  At exactly 5 o’clock I dove into my music. I started with Bach Invention 13 in A Minor. As I played the songs I’d been so carefully perfecting at home, the guests began trickling in.

  By the time I started the last piece, MacDowell’s “To a Wild Rose,” I figured that the ceremony was probably about to begin any minute. I needed to be ready for Jamie’s cue. But, come to think of it, he never did tell me where he’d be or how he was going to cue me.

  I checked my watch again—5:16. What? How could it only be 5:16?!

  Is my watch wrong? I thought wildly as I continued playing. Had I really only been playing for sixteen minutes? I felt like I had tons of music prepared. It never even occurred to me to time exactly how long it took to play everything. What was I supposed to do for the next eighteen minutes?

  No, wait. This wasn’t really a problem. Once I finished playing “To a Wild Rose,” I would just go back to the first piece and play through everything one more time. Guests were still arriving, so they wouldn’t all have heard the earlier pieces. And even if some people had, well, so what? They weren’t going to think: She already played Bach Invention 13 in A Minor about ten minutes ago. What’s wrong with that pianist?

  There was no reason to panic. When I finished “To a Wild Rose” I went back to the top of my list and started again.

  At 5:32, as I began playing Bach Invention 13 for a third time, there was still no sign of Jamie—or any member of the bridal party. Then I began to panic. If people aren’t already catching on, they certainly will if I play all these pieces a fourth time, I thought.

  Thankfully, Jamie appeared through a door in the back corner a few minutes later. He walked down the outer aisle toward me.

  Jamie crouched down next to the piano bench. “We have a little problem,” he whispered. “Just keep playing.” And with that, he headed back the way he came and out the door.

  A problem? What did that mean? What kind of problem? And how long was this problem going to take to get fixed?

  At 6:05 I started playing Bach Invention 13 for the sixth time. It was obvious that some of the guests were getting restless. Some of them were shifting their weight and looking around, but others just seemed bored. One teenage boy was sitting with his head in his hands and his elbows on his knees, looking as though he was about to doze off. A woman about my age with her hair in a bun checked her watch, looked around the room, and then gave an exasperated sigh.

  What was going on? Were we all trapped in some bizarre circle of hell, doomed to keep listening to these same pieces over and over and over?

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a woman wearing a long teal dress enter the back of the room. She was carrying a bouquet of white roses.

  What the? The processional was starting just like that? Why didn’t anyone tell me?

  With my heart pounding, I yanked my book off the piano and tossed it on the floor. I fumbled for what felt like forever to slap up the music to “Somewhere Over the Rainbow.”

  I figured out the rest of my cues by myself. Christine standing in the back of the room in her white wedding gown was a pretty good hint that I should play “Here Comes the Sun” for her entrance. And at the end of the ceremony, when the officiant announced the couple, I knew it was time to play “Signed, Sealed, Delivered” for the recessional. Well, that, plus the fact that the officiant turned and gave me a look when there was a long silence after her announcement.

  When the recessional was over and most of the guests had filed out of the room, I was packing up my things. Jamie trudged up to me, looking exhausted and slightly pale.

  “Well, we did it,” he said. It sounded more like a question. “Here.” He handed me an envelope with my name on it. “This is from Matt and Christine.”

  “Oh, right. Thanks.” I’d been so concerned with everything else that I’d forgotten all about actually getting paid. “So what happened earlier? What was the problem?”

  “The best man left the ring in his hotel room and had to go back and get it,” said Jamie with a long sigh. “Thanks for covering.”

  “Sure.” I slung my bag over my shoulder. “So I guess we’re both experienced wedding pros now.”

  “Yeah.” He smiled weakly. “I’m just glad it’s over.”

  In spite of how nerve-wracking the whole thing had been, I couldn’t help feeling happy as I walked across the parking lot. I’d actually played the piano in public again, and I’d even been paid to do it!

  And if I could do it once, then I could do it again.

  Chapter Nine

  That Monday afternoon I sat down at the kitchen table with a box of cards and a black pen. I hardly ever wrote actual letters or sent snail mail anymore, but I thought that sending Christine and Matt a personal thank you note—with a business card enclosed, of course—would be a nice touch.

  “Mom!” Angela yelled from down the hall. “Mom!”

  Nuts, the pen was out of ink. I tried scribbling on the back flap of the envelope but it didn’t help. “Yes, Angela, what is it?”

  “Danny keeps calling me a snoober blaster cannonball!”

  I got up, tossed the pen in the garbage, and started searching around in a drawer for another one.

  “Mom!” Angela shrieked. “Didn’t you hear me? Danny keeps calling … there! He just did it again!”

  “Danny, don’t call your sister names!” I yelled as I sat down at the table with a new pen.

  Dear Christine and Matt,<
br />
  “Mo-om!” Danny called.

  I sighed. “What now?”

  “Angela won’t give me back my superhero duck!”

  “I’m just looking at it for a minute!” Angela yelled. “Don’t be such a baby!”

  “Don’t call me a baby!” Danny screamed.

  “Well, don’t you call me a snooper blooper ball!”

  “It’s a snoober blaster cannonball!” Danny yelled. “Don’t you know anything?”

  “I know that you’re a little snoober booper butthead!” said Angela.

  “Mo-om!” Danny howled. “Angela called me a bad name.”

  “Angela, if he’s bothering you so much, just go in another room!” I yelled.

  Thank you for snoober …

  “Oh for heaven’s sake!” I muttered as I tossed the pen down and ripped up the card.

  “MOM!!!” Angela shrieked. “Mom!”

  I slammed my hand down on the table. “Enough! I am trying to concentrate! Just find something to do and leave each other alone!”

  I took another card out of the box. As I was about to start writing I heard footsteps pounding toward me.

  “But Mommy!” Angela squealed as she ran into the kitchen. “It’s an emergency! Danny has a Barbie shoe stuck up his nose!”

  I turned around. “He what?”

  “He has a Barbie shoe stuck up his nose!” She pointed down the hallway in a panic. “Come quick!”

  I blinked. “How did a … ? Oh, never mind.” I jumped up and followed her down the hall.

  Danny was on the floor of Angela’s room. He was breathing loudly through his mouth and poking his finger up his right nostril.

  “No!” Angela said. “Don’t poke it. You’ll just shove it further up!”

  Danny pulled his finger out of his nose. “Really? Do you think it could go all the way up into my brain? That’d be cool!”

  “Mommy!” Angela wailed.

  “Everybody calm down,” I said, kneeling on the floor next to Danny. “I’ve never heard of people getting Barbie footwear lodged in their brains, and I doubt you’ll be the first. Come here Danny.” I gently pulled Danny’s hands away from his face and tilted his chin up. Sure enough, there was a tiny pink bump about halfway up his nostril.