by T J Payne
THE VENUE
A WEDDING NOVEL
T.J. PAYNE
Copyright © 2020
All rights reserved.
This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Names, characters, and places are products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Published by Tunnel Falls
TABLE OF CONTENTS
TABLE OF CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
EPILOGUE
Free Excerpt
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
This book is dedicated to Michael and his loving family.
For reminding me why I write.
PROLOGUE
Invitation — DRAFT #1
Sup Amy,
How are ya, buddy? It’s been awhile!
I’m getting married soon and I’d love for you to come. It’d be great to reconnect and catch up. I’m sorry things got so weird between us back in the day. I didn’t mean to push you away.
Lilith, my fiancée, really wants to meet you, as well. She’s heard so much about you.
Are you still with Ryan Parker?
Not that it matters. If you are, he’s invited too.
Or whoever you’re seeing.
Please RSVP!
— Caleb
Invitation — DRAFT #2
Dear Amy,
Although we haven’t spoken since high school, I want you to know that I still consider you my best friend. I often look back fondly on our time together. You were there for me when no one else was.
It’s in that spirit that I want to tell you some exciting news.
I’m getting married!
And let me tell you, Lilith is awesome. I’ve gone through some tough times, but I’ve never been happier than I am right now.
We found a place in the Alps for the wedding. Don’t worry, I’ll pay for everything — I’m doing okay for myself these days. :) I’d love it if you could attend. It would mean so much for me to share this moment with you. Your parents are invited too; it would be fun to see them again.
You can (and should) bring your husband or boyfriend or partner. You don’t seem to be on social media, so I don’t know who you’re seeing these days. Unless you ARE on social media and blocked me. Haha! It sounds like I’m stalking you. I’m not, I swear. Just keeping tabs on an old friend. My best friend.
Anyway, Lilith is great. I’m very happy.
Please come. (I bet that’s what you said to Ryan Parker! I kid, I kid.)
I’d love to see you again, buddy! But if you can’t make it, no biggie. It’s cool.
Please RSVP.
Love, Caleb
Invitation — DRAFT #3
YOU’RE A FUCKING WHORE, AMY.
I’M GONNA RIP OUT YOUR HEART AND MASTURBATE WITH IT!
FUCK YOU.
By the way, I’m getting married.
Hope to see you there!
Sincerely, Caleb
Invitation — FINAL DRAFT
Dear Amy Holgate,
You are cordially invited to the wedding of Caleb Hunt and Lilith Foley.
The ceremony will be held at an exclusive European resort. All travel and accommodations will be provided by and paid for by the bride and groom. This is our way of thanking you for being such an important part of our lives and making us into the people we are today. A special day needs to be shared with special people.
You will not want to miss it.
Please RSVP by clicking on the provided link. You will be taken to a secure website that will handle all arrangements.
You are allowed a plus-one.
We look forward to celebrating with you.
Love, Caleb and Lilith
***
It was hotter than normal that day.
The Event Planner felt the sweat forming on her brow and back. She squinted in the bright afternoon sun. The owners didn’t allow the employees to wear sunglasses. Too distancing. It put a barrier between the staff and their clients.
The owners also didn’t allow sweat.
Elegance does not sweat.
Luxury does not sweat.
Sweating was a common problem for common people, of which there were none at The Venue.
The Event Planner checked her watch. She knew the limousine would arrive in two minutes. She knew because everything at The Venue worked on-schedule. Down to the second.
The clients had been told that they would arrive at exactly 2:30 p.m., Zurich local time, despite the trip requiring an airplane, helicopter, and limousine ride up steep, unmarked roads.
The Venue liked to schedule a walk-through for their clients a year before an event. That way, the clients could see The Venue in the proper season. A snow-dusted winter event just felt different than the soft evening glow of summer. Winter and Christmastime were usually booked for reunions and holiday parties, but summer was wedding season.
The Event Planner knew that “The Venue” used to go by another, more sophisticated name. But the owners found that their clientele discovered this particular event space through word-of-mouth. Those hushed recommendations often referred to the location only vaguely as “The Venue.”
The name eventually stuck.
Why force your American clients to mangle an obscure Romansh name? Calling it “The Venue” worked just fine.
The vast building, a cross between a ski lodge and a castle, sat nestled along the rising slope of the Alps. It easily held a hundred guests in the hotel rooms that filled the second and third levels of the spired, vaulted structure. With all its underground passageways and shelters, most of the staff assumed it had been built as a getaway for the Nazi High Command. But no one ever talked about that.
It was best not to ask questions at The Venue.
As the Event Planner tried not to sweat or squint in the morning sun, she heard the purr of the limousine’s engine as it wound its way up the mountain. It would only be a few seconds now.
A hostess pulled a champagne bottle from its ice bucket, popped its cork, and poured two chilled flutes.
It was then, when the limousine rounded the final corner and came into view, that the Event Planner’s gaze fell toward a rose bush that accented the front door. She didn’t know why she looked there at that moment, except maybe she realized, subconsciously, that something was amiss.
Sure enough, on the dirt by the rose bush sat what looked like a pale, folded leaf. The Event Planner knew better, though.
Her glare darted to the various members of her staff, each of whom stiffened and grimaced in their red vests and bleached white shirts. They saw what she saw.
Nestled in the dirt was a human ear.
“Unacceptable,” she hissed.
> She plucked a white handkerchief from a nearby bellhop’s breast pocket and bent down by the bush.
The ear was cleanly severed but speckled in blood. An army of ants marched in a line over the top of it, seemingly making plans for how best to carry it away for their dinner.
The Event Planner scooped up the ear in the handkerchief.
Tucking the ear in the folds of the cloth, she shoved the handkerchief back into the bellhop’s pocket, taking a moment to adjust its corners into a proper triangle.
The bellhop and the rest of the staff kept their eyes forward.
The limousine came to a stop.
The staff rushed over, opening doors and unloading luggage.
A man and a woman stepped out of the limousine.
They were younger than most of the Event Planner’s clients. She had a keen eye for “new money,” and in this age of tech start-ups and venture capital, it seemed that fresh billionaires were minted weekly.
The man, barely into his 30s, shifted uncomfortably beneath his mismatch of designer labels. The Event Planner could see him constantly glance over at his fiancée, modeling his movements and excitement level on her own.
“Well… isn’t this lovely,” the woman said with a bit of a posh New England accent that struck the Event Planner as fake.
The woman had dark hair tied back from her angular face. The Event Planner could tell that the woman was fit. Months, perhaps years, of physical training had sculpted and toned her arms and legs, making her physique look quite impressive, even while draped in a loose summer dress. But the rest of her features pulled downward, as though gravity tugged at the edges of her nose and mouth, creating a perpetual, drooping glare.
The woman managed to pull her cheeks up into a smile that she directed at her soon-to-be husband. “This could work.”
“Do you like it? Really?” the man said, his face lighting up.
“Perhaps. It’s an option. Depending on the rental agreement, I suppose.”
New money all right.
The Event Planner stepped forward. “Mr. Caleb. Ms. Lilith. It is my great honor to welcome you to The Venue.”
The woman, Lilith, eyed her. “And you are?”
“The Event Planner assigned to your wedding. My job is to answer any questions you might have. May I interest you in champagne?”
Caleb reached out and took a bubbly flute from the hostess.
Lilith, meanwhile, made no such motion to accept the offered refreshment. Her gaze busily danced around, taking in the mountainous surroundings and the large, stone building.
After looking at her for a bit and concluding that she wasn’t going to take a champagne, Caleb set his drink back on the hostess’s tray.
“I hope your trip was comfortable,” the Event Planner continued. “If you would like to be shown to your room and given an opportunity to relax a bit, we can continue discussing your event at—”
“We’d like to finalize the agreement as soon as possible,” Lilith said.
The Event Planner smiled. “Of course. Everything should be in order. Please follow me.”
***
The Event Planner and her two clients sat at a table in the center of the otherwise empty ballroom.
Long windows stretched up one wall to the hall’s high, vaulted ceiling. The evening sun cast an orange glow on the opposite wall — a wall decorated entirely with medieval weapons. Axes, scythes, daggers, swords. Some blades were rusted, some were honed and gleaming.
“Naturally, it will look different at night when your reception occurs,” the Event Planner said, her sharp voice echoing around the bare room. “The chandeliers will be lit. We like to keep the lighting somewhat dim as we find that it promotes interaction among the guests.”
“Can we use that balcony for the bouquet toss?” Lilith asked, pointing to a spiral staircase that led to a small metal balcony that overlooked the ballroom.
“Many couples opt for that. The balcony provides an excellent overview of the festivities.”
The couple nodded. “And any damages that occur…” Caleb began to ask.
The Event Planner smiled warmly, “All included in the price of your rental agreement. Broken windows, broken tables, linen stains — all included. If, by the end of your celebration, your party is… how do I say… ‘well-behaved,’ then we will refund a portion of your deposit.”
“Well, that doesn’t sound like much fun,” Lilith said.
“I agree,” the Event Planner said. “And let me assure you, a damage-free event is a situation that I have yet to witness myself.”
“And, the, um, the estimate you told me… is that accurate?” Caleb asked.
The Event Planner saw Caleb shift his weight in his seat. She knew the look of sticker-shock when she saw it. Of course, they had run a background check on his finances and she knew that he could well-afford it.
With a reassuring smile, the Event Planner pulled a contract from her folder and set it on the table. “At this point, the remaining cost depends on your guest list. No children are allowed, obviously. Only adults. There is an additional surcharge for any guests whom we deem to be high-profile. Politicians, media-personalities, wealthy elites, business owners, and so forth.”
“Why?” Caleb asked.
“People of a certain visibility require more resources on our part. They tend to have lawyers, heirs, life insurance investigators. There might be fans or reporters who take an interest in the case. Nothing we can’t handle, but there is a certain amount of clean-up involved.”
“Most of our guests are from our childhood,” Lilith said. “They’re nobodies.”
“Fantastic. That’s always easier. And cheaper.”
“What about photos?” Caleb asked as he reached over and grasped Lilith’s hand tenderly. “I’d like to have something to remember it by.”
“Of course. You will, naturally, want photos to post on social media or have framed at your house. Your children, if you so desire to have them, will want to see your wedding, I’m sure. We understand. We will provide you with a photo album filled with happy memories. But, to be clear, those will all be photo-manipulated. There will, sadly, be no evidence of the actual event. You will have to keep your real wedding photos in your head. As we like to say here, ‘Discretion is Our Profession.’ You will be bound by a strictly enforced non-disclosure agreement.”
“And what about any guests who go home?” Caleb asked.
Lilith’s eyes narrowed and her face wrinkled in what seemed like disgust at the thought.
Caleb looked down and shrugged. “I mean, it’s, you know, it’s not fun if they don’t have a chance. And if they go home afterwards, I just don’t get why they wouldn’t, you know, say something about what happened here.”
“A very valid concern,” the Event Planner said. “In the past, money and pressure were enough to buy silence. With social media, things have changed. Anyone can be an investigative journalist. But we have a solution that has proven one-hundred percent effective. We have access to a psychotropic drug developed privately and utilized by the United States Government. It strips away the short-term memory. It is administered by a small dose of pills. All of your surviving guests must agree to take the prescribed pills upon departure.”
“Will we have to take the pills?” Lilith asked.
“Goodness, no. It’s your special day. We want you to remember it forever.”
Sensing that the time had come to close the deal, the Event Planner slid the contract across the table and placed a fountain pen on top of it.
“We have relationships with several Swiss banks,” the Event Planner said. “We also accept certain cryptocurrencies at whatever the exchange rate is on the day of your signature.” Then she calmly folded her hands and waited. “Take your time. I am here for any questions.”
Caleb picked up the pen. She saw his throat move in an involuntary gulp. His hand stayed still, but his eyes darted up and down the document, apparently not actually reading it but
letting his mind race.
“Second thoughts?” he said, turning to Lilith.
If there was any hesitation in Caleb’s face, it melted the moment he made eye contact with Lilith. That face of hers, which had always seemed to be scowling, became positively radiant. Her eyes lit up and her cheeks rose into a joyous grin.
“It’s perfect,” she said, pausing a moment, seemingly to breathe in the very aura of the room.
“It is?” Caleb said, his voice pitching an octave higher out of his own excitement.
“It’s everything I ever dreamed of.”
“Really? You really mean it?”
“It’s the wedding I want. Here. Surrounded by our friends and family.”
“Then it’s yours. We’re doing it.”
Without waiting another second, Caleb picked up the pen and scribbled his signature on the document.
Lilith let out a joyous screech. “We’re doing it!” She wrapped her arms around Caleb.
A waiter standing behind them opened a bottle of champagne. Pop!
“Congratulations,” the Event Planner said. “I’m very excited for both of you. I have yet to see a client regret this decision.”
As the waiter filled their flutes, the Event Planner took a moment to review Caleb’s signature. The process of signing was a formality, of course. The physical document would be destroyed. But signing an actual paper was a little tradition that seemed to resonate with the clients.
“We need to get Save The Dates out,” Lilith said, her eyes lighting up brightly. “I don’t want anyone to miss it.”
“I’ve already started composing some,” Caleb said.
The Event Planner smiled. “I will be sure to include whatever wording you would like. But, in general, we handle all communication with your guests ourselves. I advise you not to send emails or physical invites. Nothing that can be traced back to you. Less paper means fewer problems down the road. Remember, when you rent The Venue, the only thing you worry about…” she stretched her smile even wider. “…is enjoying yourself.”
Caleb and Lilith settled into their seats, finally relaxed enough to take dainty sips of their champagne.