Instant Gratification

by Blakely, Lauren

  Well, looks like someone has a signature pickup line.

  I head into the hallway of the brewery, Gavin close behind me.

  “You killed it out there. I’m almost glad Eddie has no filter.” He pokes his head out the door, checking the scene in the reception room. “Coast is clear.” He hands me an envelope with the rest of the rush fee in it.

  “Thank you. I appreciate the prompt payment.” I tuck the envelope in my inside jacket pocket. Appreciation doesn’t quite cover how grateful I am for this after-hours best-man gig. It won’t last forever; it can’t last forever. But it’s been a godsend now that I need the extra dough.

  My undercover groomsman business started on a lark five years ago when I spotted a freelance ad for a best man speechwriter. I nabbed the gig and earned a pretty penny for that first speech. Speechwriting is still a large chunk of what I do, but I’ve also expanded my services to include organizing stag parties (nothing tawdry—I focus on fishing and hiking trips or nights out at the pub) and now the fill-in business when it’s called for. That’s rarer, but it pays the best, so I’m taking it while I can get it, reaping the rewards of wedding season and all the reasons men call on rent-a-groomsman: they have few friends, they’re from another country, the bride doesn’t like the groom’s true best mate, the groom doesn’t want to pick between his good buds, his good bud is horrible at speeches, and so on.

  “Listen, what should I say to the relatives if they start asking about you and why you’re not around? They really do think you’re my buddy from college and that you live in London.”

  “You can say I flew back to England on the next flight out of New York. Had business to tend to.”

  “Aunt Ellen will miss you the most, I’m sure.”

  “And I’ll miss her and her slip stitches too. We were going to work on an afghan next.”

  “I can picture it now. She’d probably have crocheted your face into it too, she likes you that much. But seriously, what do I do if someone sees you wandering around the city, then asks about you?”

  “Say I’m back on business, or here for a quick trip into town. That’s how I'd handle it. I can wing it if I run into your mum or dad, or even dear Aunt Ellen. Don’t you worry.”

  I wouldn’t nab referral after referral if this wasn’t something I could handle. My job is to be smooth, and smooth is what I deliver.

  Gavin seems to consider this. “True. You’re a kick-ass wingman. A steely-eyed missile man.”

  I mime making a check mark. “‘Steely-eyed missile man.’ Be sure to leave that in your Yelp review.”

  “Want me to Yelp you? Because I will. I will Yelp you so hard.”

  I raise a brow, and Gavin laughs when he realizes why. “Okay, that did sound vaguely inappropriate.”

  “Only vaguely? You could enter that in Urban Dictionary. I believe you’ve founded a new term.”

  “My true calling perhaps. And thanks again, man. You were so damn believable. I was almost convinced myself that I FaceTimed you to tell you about Savannah.”

  “But didn’t you?” I ask playfully.

  Laughing, he scrubs a hand across his jaw, then his laughter fades to a kind of nervousness. And I know where this is going. I brace myself as he rocks back and forth on the balls of his feet then leaps off. “So, if you’re in town and want to hang out . . . Savannah and I would love to have you and Matilda over for dinner.”

  Ah, this is the hard part, when the ruse seems so believable that the guy wants to stay friends.

  On the one hand, what’s the harm? Meet up for a night out, a beer. But then a job becomes an unpaid job, and I need the money.

  “Sure, ring me some time,” I tell him, letting him down easy, knowing that when Gavin calls or texts, I’ll have to be busy. I’ve too much on my plate, too many people to look out for. Or rather two people specifically—me and someone I adore who needs me, my sister.

  Gavin smiles. “Awesome. I’ll do that.”

  “I need to take off, but you are going to have one hell of a great life. You and Savannah are one of the happiest couples I’ve ever seen.”

  There. Remind him of that. Not of this momentary appearance of friendship between two bros.

  I say goodbye to my client then exit the brewery, heading down the stone steps, unknotting my bow tie as I go.

  Nora’s waiting for me, and we head into the subway station around the corner then catch the next train as it arrives.

  As soon as she grabs a seat, she bounces. “I have news.”

  “Spill, woman.”

  She sighs dramatically, but her expression is one of utter bliss as she announces: “I’m leaving you.”

  3

  Truly

  Before I duck out of the bar and leave Gabriella on her own, I make eye contact with my second-in-command as she mixes a Tom Collins. “You’ve got everything under control here?”

  “Don’t I always? I’m your go-to gal.”

  “You definitely are,” I say. “And I will be moving you up soon.”

  “I’m ready. Just say the word. Now go take care of your stuff. I can see it in your eyes. You have boss lady things to do.”

  She shoos me away and I pop into my office and do a little research. I’ll be doing a lot more of that in the coming days—studying up.

  But I can’t complain. I love what I do, and I love learning. I cuddle up with Google for a few minutes, take some notes, and then gaze into the distance, plotting my next steps.

  I’m trying to picture the type of place the investor wants when my phone rings. It’s Charlotte, my best friend, so I answer right away.

  “So nice when someone actually calls these days.”

  “I’ve made it my mission in life to bring back the lost art of the phone call,” she says.

  “Before we know it, you’ll have restored letter writing too. What have you been up to?”

  “I just returned to the city after a few days away with the kids. Tell me non-kid stuff. How did the big meeting earlier in the week go with the investor? Did you wow Mr. Fancypants?”

  I sigh, sinking farther in my chair. “Define wow.”

  “And that sounds like it didn’t quite go as planned. What’s the issue? Is he simply not interested in the speakeasy concept? If that’s the case, color me shocked because I’ve seen your Gin Joint numbers. He should be eating out of the palm of your hand.”

  “Right? They’re like Mariano Rivera getting into the hall of fame kind of numbers.” I rap my knuckles against the photo on my desk of the famed closer and me from when I was lucky enough to meet the legend after a game.

  “Girl, I love it when you drop sports analogies on me.”

  “That reminds me, when are you getting us third-baseline seats to the Yankees again? I need my fix.”

  She laughs. “Such a greedy one. If you can tear yourself away from work for ten seconds, you can share our season tickets for the game next Sunday. Spencer has a meeting so he can’t go, but the kids can hang with my sister. We can go child-free.”

  I perk up. This news delights me. Not the kid-free part, since her kids are cool. But the baseball part. The Yankees are my happy zone. “I will work late every night to go to a Sunday game and replace your hubby,” I say.

  “We have two more tickets. Bring Malone and Jason. It’ll be fun.”

  “I’ll see if I can twist their arms. It’ll be hard, but I’ll do my darnedest.”

  “Good. But you didn’t answer my question. How did your big meeting go with Darren?”

  “Well . . . he likes Gin Joint. But he wants something else first. I was kind of hoping he’d say a Parisian-style bar.” That’s where I truly want to go next in my expansion plans, but I try not to sound too disappointed.

  “A Parisian-style bar would be amazing. I’ve wanted to do that for a long time too.”

  “Sadly, that’s not his first choice, and that’s the problem.” I stop, correcting my attitude. “Wait! It’s not a problem. I don’t believe in problems. I beli
eve in challenges.”

  “And why is this one a challenge?”

  “Because it’s a style I know little about. But I might have told the investor I know a helluva lot more about it than I actually do.”

  “Guess it’s time to come up with a whole new game plan.”

  That’s exactly what I’ll have to do.

  4

  Jason

  “A divorce? You want a work divorce already?”

  I’m shocked at Nora’s declaration, and I don’t want to lose my partner in crime. The groomsman-for-hire work used to be a solo gig, but lately a few men have asked me to bring a date. They figure if I have a date, there is less opportunity for guests to figure out I’m not part of the regular chummy club of guys. That’s why Nora became my standing partner this summer.

  “But it’ll be an amicable split, I promise. This is good news, I swear. Don’t you want to hear the reason why? I’m bursting. Bursting, I tell ya.”

  “Right. Sure. Give me the deets.” As much as I want to keep working with Nora, she’s a friend, and I ought to put her ahead of my own frustration over losing her. As the train chugs out of the station, I circle back to earlier. “Was it your agent who called?”

  Her smile goes full Cheshire cat. “Yes! And I want to tell you every single thing.” She sits straighter, doling out details with teaspoons. “First, do you remember the Steiner wedding we did the other week?”

  “Sure. The bratwurst king. German guy needed a British best man.”

  “Yes,” she squeals. “And that wedding gave me the final touch I needed.”

  “How so?”

  “Don’t you remember that wedding? I went for a German accent. And that was what I needed for my most recent audition. My agent just called to tell me I’ve been cast in a Chicago company. Say you’re happy for me. Say you’re very happy for me.” Her eyes twinkle with the prospect of Tony awards and regular paychecks.

  And mine, I hope, show nothing but true happiness for my friend. I yank her in for a huge hug. “That’s incredible. I’m thrilled for you.”

  Her voice catches, and a tear rolls down her cheek. “This is what I’ve wanted. Thank you for the opportunity.”

  “The opportunity?”

  “Well, you know I was always workshopping roles as your date.”

  Once, she was my artist lover from St. Petersburg; another time she slipped into the role of an ex-cheerleader from the heart of Texas; still another, she assumed the part of a buttoned-up banker from Berlin.

  “In that case, I’m thrilled that you apprenticed at the Jason Reynolds School of Undercover Groomsmen and Their Plus-Ones. And don’t forget to thank me when you nab your first Tony. Promise?”

  She makes an X on her chest. “Cross my heart. Hope to die.”

  “Don’t die. That would be bad. Or at the very least, wait till you’ve finished starring in Chicago.”

  She shakes her head. “It’s not Chicago the Musical. It’s a Chicago production. An out-of-town tryout for a new show. I’m going to be in the new musical adaptation of Raiders of the Lost Ark.”

  One of my eyebrows rises in question. “They’re adapting that for the stage?”

  “Complete with the giant boulder and everything.”

  “What about the snakes?”

  “Those are fake. Thank God. I hate snakes.”

  “Yeah, everyone does. And the tunes?”

  “They’re fantastic. Based on many famous lines from the movie.”

  I break into an impromptu show tune, snapping my fingers to lyrics I make up on the fly. “Snakes. Why did it have to be snakes? Oh why, oh why, oh why did it have to be snakes?”

  She dives in alongside me. “It’s not the years, honey. It’s the mileage.”

  I try to picture the rugged adventurer high-kicking it on stage with his whip and hat, and I can’t quite manage it. Then, the marquees on the Great White Way read more like a cineplex of unlikely musicals: Tootsie, Pretty Woman, Mean Girls . . . You don’t know whether to log on to Broadway.com or Fandango.

  “I suppose it was only a matter of time before Raiders stepped up for the musical treatment. Who are you playing? Marion?”

  She sighs dreamily. “I wish. That went to a big-name actor. I’m playing a German spy. And that’s why the accent came in handy. I’m in the spy chorus.”

  “That doesn’t ring a bell. Were there that many spies in the movie?”

  She waves a hand airily. “No, but who cares? There will be on stage. Anyway, can you find someone else to serve as your plus-one?”

  “Don’t worry about me.” Annoyance has no place here. “The stage is your dream, and I couldn’t be happier for you.”

  Besides, I know a thing or two about pursuing true dreams. I chase them every damn day and into the night too, working late on the blog, seeking out media opportunities, penning guest columns, and trying to find every opportunity to be the expert source. But now’s not the time to dwell on my goals or my needs.

  “Tell me more about the songs the coolest hero ever in film sings . . .”

  She rattles on about the production until the train reaches her stop. Then she says goodbye, and I’ll miss having her by my side at the next wedding.

  No help for it. I definitely require a shot or two tonight. Looks like a stop at Gin Joint is in order.

  * * *

  When I exit the subway on Eighteenth Street, I turn down the block and find a text from my buddy Malone, sent about ten minutes ago.

  Malone: Just finished a set at Gin Joint. Incidentally, I killed it. I’m here with Nick and Harper for a few if you want to join.

  Well, sounds like he can read my mind. I tap out a reply, then stop when I spot him walking toward me, dressed in a tailored suit, his silk tie loosened a bit. Times like this, you’d be hard-pressed to believe he wears a white coat during the day as he examines cats and dogs. After hours, he looks every bit the part of the dapper lounge singer.

  “If it isn’t the vet by day, Harry Connick Jr. by night.”

  “I am something of a superhero. But then, don’t we all have our secret identities?”

  “Isn’t that the truth?” I check my watch. “I guess you didn’t last long after you crooned your heart out to the crowd of . . . what was it, two people tonight?”

  “Packed house, asshole. Packed house.”

  “If you say so.”

  He narrows his eyes. “And you wonder why I’m leaving.”

  “Aww, you’re so sensitive. It’s sweet.” I gesture toward the end of the block. “I take it you’re calling it a night?”

  “I am. But Nick and Harper are at Gin Joint, so you can catch up with them. The place is still hopping. No surprise. My sister is a maestro of the nightlife business.” He smiles, and there’s pride in that grin. Malone and Truly are closer than most siblings, maybe from being twins. Now and then, though, it sends a prickle of guilt down my neck because I’m keeping a secret from him. But if he knew what happened between Truly and me one snowy night six months ago, he likely wouldn’t be talking to me right now.

  But since it’s never going to happen with his sister again, there’s nothing to worry about. “I’ll go catch up with the crew.”

  “And I’ll see you tomorrow night at softball,” he says, then takes off, humming “Give My Regards to Broadway” as he goes. “Give my regards to Broadway. Remember me to Herald Square.”

  “Stop, make it stop. It’s like a chainsaw mating with a jackhammer,” I shout.

  “I’m sorry, did you say I’m making it rain? I thought so.” He waves dismissively and continues his number down the block.

  I head to the bar. Drinks, friends, people to talk to where I can be myself? A spot where I don’t need to pretend I’m buddy-buddy with everyone just to make a buck? Sounds great. But the part I like best?

  Sparring with Malone’s sister.

  I mean, with Truly.

  My good friend Truly.

  That’s all she is. Not my best mate’s sister who I
screwed one Saturday night when we were out of town.

  But before I reach the bar, my phone bleats. It’s Chip, my client for next weekend. I answer right away, gliding into my practiced don’t-ever-let-on-there-are-problems tone. I’ll need it to avoid the thorny issue of whether I’m still bringing along a date as he’d requested.

  5

  From the pages of Truly’s Drink Recipe Book

  Game Plan:

  Gin

  Blackberry

  Home-brewed ginger ale

  When business throws you a curveball, what do you do? When someone surprises you and wants something a little different than you expected, do you freak out and say, “OMG! I can’t do that”?

  No way.

  You woman up.

  You figure it out.

  You develop a new game plan.

  If you don’t have one yet, it’s time for a little gin, a little home-brewed ginger ale, and some fresh-crushed blackberries. Have a sip, savor the effervescence, and delight in the fizz. Let yourself drift off as new plans start to form.

  Soon enough, you’ll know what to do to get what you want.

  6

  Jason

  “Hey, Chip, how’s it going? Counting down the days till the big I do?”

  “Hi, Jay!” I don’t use my real name in the business. Jay is an easy pseudonym, and using it helps to keep my worlds separate. “Just wanted to double, triple, quadruple check everything for next weekend.”

  I reel off the details, hoping to avoid mentioning my now dateless state. “My groomsmen are at the ready. Troy will be with me, along with his wife. He’s fantastic and has an uncanny ability to fit into any situation. And then there’s Sully, also with the missus as his plus-one. He’s very focused, very committed to the job, so he’ll be excellent. You’ll have all the groomsmen you need to pair up with the bridal party for photos and walking the aisle.”