All I Need Is You aka Wedding Survivor

by Julia London

  “Sure. A letter came for you from that outfit you were working for, Thrillmakers.”

  Marnie’s heart dipped, and she unconsciously gripped the phone a little tighter. “Thrillseekers. A letter, you say?” she asked weakly.

  “Uh-huh,” Mom said in a singsong way. “A letter. Addressed to Miss Marnie Banks.”

  A letter, a letter…was it from him? Could it possibly be from him? “Okay, okay,” Marnie said, glancing over her shoulder at Emily. “Just leave it on the bar. I’ll stop by later to pick it up.”

  “Great. I’m making my famous soy enchiladas for supper. We’ll expect you. Toodleloo!” she said, and clicked off before Marnie could decline the invitation to supper.

  “This table is gorgeous,” Emily said when Marnie returned.

  Marnie glanced at the picture she had taken of a mocked-up table to show Olivia what they would do for the reception. “Yeah,” she said wistfully, taking a seat. “That would have been fun.” She proceeded to tell Emily about the Baccarat bowls with floating stars and the white roses that would have been strung and hung from the tent ceiling to give an illusion of stars, and what Emily might do at a fraction of the cost…but as she talked, she could see only Eli, could think of only Eli.

  She’d thought about him constantly since he’d left. For the first couple of weeks, she’d thought each day would be the day she’d hear from him. And when each day passed without a word, Marnie became the master of rationalization and gave him every excuse. He was in the Amazon, for Pete’s sake. It wasn’t as if he could pick up a cell phone or drop her a line.

  But in the back of her mind, a tiny voice would argue, couldn’t he, really? Didn’t they have mail in Brazil? Phones? Was she to believe that those poor people lived without the basic means of communication with the world? No, no, of course they had mail, and now that he had been gone for five weeks, she had finally come to the conclusion that she’d been dumped. Again.

  Or had she? Maybe, just maybe, he really couldn’t get hold of her. He’d told her to have faith. Maybe, hopefully, please, a letter from him had arrived. And maybe Emily Buckholtz would quit talking about the sort of wedding she’d always wanted so Marnie could go find out.

  The next hour seemed interminable to her, but she smiled and nodded and managed to talk through plans with Emily. They settled on the smallest of packages—a quickie wedding without a lot of trimming and very little fanfare. Great for Emily, but a far cry from the gala wedding Marnie had hoped to pick up.

  When at last Emily left, Marnie stood at her window and watched Emily putter out of the parking lot in a Geo Metro, then grabbed up her purse and keys and rushed out of her apartment, headed for Hancock Park and her mom’s house.

  She reached her childhood home in record time, but groaned when she pulled into the drive. The book club was meeting—she could see them all in the big picture window. That was the one thing she really didn’t need today. She grabbed her purse, determined just to slip in, grab the letter, and slip out.

  Mom, however, had other ideas. She was standing in the foyer waiting for Marnie when she quietly opened the door.

  “Marnie!” she cried, and flung her arms around her, squeezing tightly for a moment, but then suddenly rearing back and frowning. “You’re losing weight. I knew that would happen,” she exclaimed. “You’re not eating, are you?”

  “Mom, I’m eating. I’m not losing weight. I weigh exactly the same as I did when I lived here.”

  “Oh, really? And when was the last time you weighed?”

  “I don’t know,” Marnie said as she tried to dislodge herself from her mom’s grip.

  “Carol? Is that our Marnie?” Mrs. Campbell’s familiar voice rang out, followed by Mrs. Farrino’s gin-soaked smoker’s hack. “Bring her in here. We haven’t seen her in ages.”

  “Mom, no,” Marnie hissed, but Mom grabbed Marnie’s hand and pulled her into the dining room, ignoring Marnie’s attempts to tug her hand back.

  “Hi, Marnie!” the ladies called out, and Mrs. Campbell waved.

  “Hello, Mrs. Farrino. Mrs. Campbell. Mrs. Randolph. Mrs. Donaldson.”

  “So come in, come in,” Mrs. Campbell said, patting an empty chair. “Come do a Jell-O shot with us.”

  “A Jell-O shot?” Marnie echoed in disbelief, and looked at her mother.

  “Why not?” Mom asked with a shrug. “You think we’re too old for Jell-O? Now come in, Marnie, and sit down. We’ve missed you around here,” she said, pulling Marnie into a seat at the table. She sat beside her, very close, as if she expected Marnie to bolt. Which Marnie intended to do the first moment she could.

  “How’s that new apartment?” Mrs. Randolph asked.

  “It’s great. I really like it a lot,” Marnie said. In truth, it was a dump, but was the only thing she could afford and still pay off her debt.

  “Carol says it’s not in a real good part of Van Nuys,” Mrs. Campbell said, wincing sympathetically.

  “Ah, well…I couldn’t afford the good part.”

  “Forget that—what happened to the wedding of Vincent Vittorio and Olivia Dagwood?” Mrs. Farrino demanded. “I thought there was going to be a big wedding somewhere but then I heard on Access Hollywood that they’re just friends. Is that true, Marnie? They’re just friends?”

  Marnie had a sudden image of them all sitting around this table for weeks, speculating. “I have no idea, Mrs. Farrino,” Marnie said. “I guess they’re just friends.”

  “Horseshit,” Mrs. Farrino said, and took another drag off her smoke. “Carol, pass me the Fritos, hon.”

  “Well, I guess they must be,” Mom said as she passed the Fritos to Mrs. Farrino. “I saw in a magazine in the grocery store that Vincent is dating Olivia’s assistant.”

  Marnie blinked. “Lucy?”

  “Something like that,” Mom said. She picked up a little glass that looked like it was full of congealed cough syrup. “Jell-O shot?”

  “No thanks,” Marnie said. “So okay,” she added brightly, coming to her feet. “It’s great to see you all again, but I really have to be—”

  “Not so fast, Marnie,” Mrs. Farrino said, and clamped a hand down on her arm, the cigarette ash hovering precariously over her hand. “Sit, sit!”

  Marnie sat.

  “What I want to know is if you are still seeing that handsome man. You know, the Texas one?”

  Yes, she knew, the Texas one. The lonesome cowboy who made love like a man who had been stranded on a mountaintop his whole life. The man who could make her melt inside with just a look. The man who might have, maybe, actually written her a letter, but unfortunately, she didn’t know for sure because she couldn’t get out of the freakin’ dining room to check it out.

  “We, ah…we weren’t really seeing each other,” Marnie tried, and earned a bunch of snorting laughter from around the table for it. “Really!” she vainly insisted.

  “Oh, Marnie,” Mom said, laughing.

  “And besides, he’s out of the country right now,” Marnie added smartly.

  “Oh, that’s a pity.” Mrs. Campbell sighed. “I was hoping we’d see him again. He’s so cute. I just want to eat him right up.”

  “I want to eat him right up, too,” Mrs. Farrino said, and Mrs. Donaldson guffawed.

  Marnie felt the back of her neck get hot and glanced at her mom. But Mom just laughed and playfully punched her on the shoulder. “Honestly, Marnie. Where is your sense of humor? They’re just teasing you.”

  “Speak for yourself, Carol,” Mrs. Campbell said, and the four of them howled again.

  “Mom,” Marnie said, pinning her mother with a look. “I really have to go.”

  “Then go on,” Mrs. Farrino said with a flick of her wrist. “We’re just having a little fun. No need to get your panties all in a wad.”

  They were not in a wad. “It’s just that I have an appointment this afternoon, and I really have to go,” she said, standing up. She waved weakly at the lot of them and said, “Bye.”

  “Bye!
” the women called out.

  “Marnie, honey, we’re having soy enchiladas tonight. Go tell your dad you’re here.”

  “Okay, Mom.”

  “Don’t be late,” Mom trilled.

  “Okay!” she trilled right back, and as she exited, stage left, she heard them all laugh again when Mrs. Farrino remarked that Marnie had seemed a little too uptight even when she was a kid.

  Marnie stalked to the kitchen, picked up the mail, and flipped through it, finally finding the one addressed to her. She glanced at the return address and her heart soared. Thrillseekers Anonymous.

  She quickly tore it open, but her face fell when she withdrew an invoice with a yellow Post-it note stuck to it. The note was from Michael, explaining that the invoice had arrived only last week, and he could find no record of it having been paid, and could she please shed some light on it? She glanced at the invoice—it was for John and Jim, the professional guests.

  It was not a letter from Eli. In fact, Eli’s name didn’t appear anywhere on the damn thing.

  Okay. All right. She’d pined, she’d hoped, and she’d had faith. Now she was just pissed. She folded the letter and stuffed it back into the envelope and shoved it into her purse. She marched out of the kitchen and into the hallway, headed for the door. As she passed the dining room, her mother saw her. “Marnie, where are you going? Don’t forget the enchiladas!” she cried.

  “Sorry, Mom, I’ve got something I’ve got to do,” she called over her shoulder and went out, got behind the wheel of her car, and pointed it in the direction of the Thrillseekers offices.

  The TA offices weren’t really offices, but Jack’s house off Mulholland Drive. Marnie had discovered this just before the wedding of the century that never happened, when she’d had to get a check for a vendor. He had a guest house on his property, set behind the main house and deep in some acacia trees, that served as their offices.

  She lucked out—Jack and Michael were both there, going over a movie script. They looked a little surprised when she walked up to the glass door and banged on it—she could see them sitting just inside. Jack instantly got up and let her in.

  “Hey, Marnie. This is a surprise,” he said.

  “Right.” She took the invoice from her purse and shoved it at Jack. “Michael wanted to know about this invoice. I paid these guys at the lodge. This is for your records.”

  “Ah,” Michael said, nodding as Jack took the invoice. He stood up, too, put his hands to his hips, glanced at Jack, and asked, “You drove all the way over here just to tell me that?”

  “I was in the neighborhood,” she said with a shrug. “I, ah, I told Eli you’d be getting an invoice for your records,” she lied, and looked at the floor. “I guess he forgot to tell you?”

  “Ah. I’ve only talked to Eli a couple times since he and Cooper left for Brazil,” Michael said.

  Aha, so there was a means of communication. Marnie bit her lip, absently fingering the edge of a lampshade. “Soooo…he’s still in Brazil?” she asked, trying very hard to act innocently about it. “I thought that would have been over by now.”

  “It is,” Michael said. “Right now he’s in New Zealand.”

  Marnie’s head snapped up at that. New Zealand? New Zealand? “New Zealand?” she exclaimed, forgetting her act. “He never said anything about New Zealand.”

  Michael exchanged another look with Jack. Jack put his hand on her shoulder. “He, ah…well, he had to go there in place of Cooper when Cooper’s mom had emergency surgery. It was a last-minute deal.”

  “Oh,” Marnie said, nodding. “Last-minute.”

  “Yeah. Last-minute.”

  She should have thanked them and left. She should have just let it go. But she didn’t—she started talking to fill the awkward silence like she always did. “But he might have called and mentioned New Zealand, right? I mean, it’s not like I’m entitled to an itinerary or anything, but, you know, we just survived the wedding disaster of the century, and it wouldn’t have killed him to see if I was doing all right, would it?”

  “No,” Jack said firmly. “No, it would not have.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “I’m not asking for anything but common courtesy here. Just some indication that he’s human, and that he considers the feelings of people with whom he has worked closely. It’s not often I get stuck in the mountains—like never—and my career didn’t quite pan out like I’d hoped after that fiasco, but does anyone care about that? Nooo,” she said.

  “Ah…we care. We really do,” Jack said, looking extremely uncomfortable. It was guy code, she realized—they were not going to dish Eli with her. Hell, they were probably all love ’em and leave ’em kind of guys.

  Marnie suddenly felt very dejected and let her hands drop listlessly against her sides. “Okay,” she said with a halfhearted shrug, “if you guys ever do another wedding, you know who to call, right?”

  “Right,” Jack said, patting her on the shoulder.

  “I guess I’ll just go now,” she said, and turned around. Jack got the door for her. Michael walked up behind her as if he meant to tackle her if she tried to stay. “I moved to an apartment,” she blurted, as if that meant anything to anyone in this room.

  “That’s great,” Michael said. “You want us to tell Eli you came by?”

  Marnie snorted. “Why?” she asked bitterly. “Don’t bother. Anyway, I just wanted to tell you about that invoice,” she said, and stepped out the door. “Okay. Thanks again.” She reluctantly lifted a heavy hand to wave to them.

  Jack and Michael glanced at each other, then at Marnie. “Bye,” they said.

  Marnie walked away, her heart heavy, her feet even heavier, and she thought, for the first time—okay, the second time—that she really hated Eli McCain. New Zealand. That bastard!

  Michael frowned as he quietly shut the door behind Marnie’s retreating back. “Did McCain say anything to you about having something going with the wedding coordinator?” he asked Jack.

  Jack looked surprised. “No. Did they?”

  “Are you blind?” Michael snorted. “What do you think? You saw her.”

  “Right,” Jack said, looking confused. “That was pretty weird. But you don’t really think there was anything going on, do you?”

  “Why not?” Michael returned. “She’s a damn fine-looking woman.”

  “Yes, she is,” Jack readily agreed. “But this is Eli we are talking about. You know, the I’ll-never-be-with-a-woman-again Eli.”

  That made Michael laugh. “You want my opinion? I think Eli will be the first one of us to be taken down by a woman.”

  “Nah,” Jack said.

  “Bet.”

  “How much?”

  “A thou. And no interfering,” Michael said, sticking his hand out.

  “No interfering,” Jack said, taking Michael’s hand, “except to tell him she stopped by. He can take it from there.”

  “Deal,” Michael said, shaking. “And I am going to enjoy spending your money, bro.”

  “But you won’t be spending my money,” Jack said. “I’ll be spending yours.”

  “You’re really pretty dumb when it comes to this stuff, you know it?” Michael said, grabbing two beers out of the fridge.

  “Oh, and what are you, Casanova?” Jack snorted, taking the beer Michael offered him.

  “I’m damn sure more successful than any of you assholes,” Michael said, and the two men continued to argue about who was the real ladies’ man over a couple of beers.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  September 3 If I could have one night over, it would be the night of the storm. Do you remember it? I’ve thought of it a lot and sometimes the image is so vivid that I can feel your hair on my face or your breath on my neck. Not a day goes by that I don’t think of you, Marnie. Not a moment exists without you in it somehow. I think of you when I see the sun glinting off the highest peaks, I smell you in the salt of the sea, and I hear your voice when we’ve bedded down at night and there is no sound
but the crackle of the fire. You are everywhere, Coppertop, yet you are so far from me that I know I must be dreaming…

  Did she think of him? Did she recall that night in the same way as he did, or was he building castles in his mind? Had he fallen over the edge again, had he tripped and broken his heart wide open? Would she be waiting for him?

  Waiting. Why in God’s name should she be waiting for him? He’d come to New Zealand on a whim, in a moment of cowardice. Michael had said he’d do it when Cooper had to bail, but Eli had jumped in without thought, acting from that place in his gut where all his fears and insecurities continued to live. It was embarrassing—he’d written her a dozen letters or more—love letters, letters he didn’t think himself capable of thinking, much less writing—and they were all stuffed in the cargo pocket of his pants, none of them mailed.

  He couldn’t quite put down that small niggling fear that kept creeping, uninvited, into his thoughts, the one that he was the only one to feel this way, that he’d built her smile and her admission of love in the throes of lovemaking to something more than was really there. If he was the only one to feel this bond, he rationalized, then acting on it would make him an even bigger fool than one who wrote passionate letters to a woman who was halfway around the world and stuffed them in his backpack.

  But as he led a run down some of the best Class V rapids in the world, Eli came to the conclusion that he was a goddamn coward if he didn’t face his fears, and those were fighting words. No matter how it might go down, he had to know if he’d manufactured it all, or if Marnie really was The One.

  Now that he was in Auckland, finishing up with the gig and preparing to leave by week’s end, he’d called Marnie twice—both times on the cell phone TA had given her, and both times he’d only gotten voice mail.

  But a thought had awakened him at four a.m.: her gig with TA was up. She’d probably given the phone to the guys. What an idiot he was. He glanced at his watch—it was nine in the morning in LA. He picked up the phone and dialed her house.

  “Hel-lo-oo,” Mrs. Banks sang into the phone when she picked it up.

  “Hello, Mrs. Banks, it’s Eli McCain. How are you?”