“Al, give us a minute, please,” Marley said; then she faced Brant as Al continued out the door. “I’m okay with this. Honest. I’ll tell everyone the truth. The engagement was fake because—”
“Listen, Marley. It was fake until I asked you to marry me.”
“But I haven’t said yes to your proposal, and I’m not about to create even more problems that I’ll have to answer to later. Right now we’re friends, Brant, and that’s all.”
Brant’s forehead puckered in a frown. He held up his hand, reached in his pants pocket and lifted out his vibrating cell phone. He glanced at it before placing the phone by his ear. “Hi, Carla.” When Marley tried to get past him, he hooked her arm. “Right. Send me a text message. I want to show it to my girlfriend.” He paused. “Yeah, right, I said girlfriend. She hasn’t said yes yet.” He snapped off his phone. “That was my manager.”
“You told her about me?”
“We have no secrets. She’s set up the recording studio for the book I have to read. The publisher wants the book on tape when the mystery hits the bookstores. I’ll have to leave sometime after the wedding reception to get started.”
“Maybe you should go now. Get a head start.”
“No. You’re not getting rid of me. I’m your backup.”
Marley considered this. She’d always handled everything herself. Having backup gave her mixed feelings she couldn’t quite describe.
The church door opened, and Al came back in, more than a little annoyed. “Hey, you two. We want to get this over with before any more zippers pop.”
“Another minute, Al, please.” Marley clasped Brant’s arm. “If you stay, you don’t do anything stupid.”
“Like?”
“Like asking me to marry you in front of everyone.”
“Listen, girlfriend, I’m not into public humiliation. I’m only going to protect you from any lynching or egg throwing or whatever your family does when someone refuses to get married.”
“I’m not refus—”
“Please, Marley. Now!” Al said, then led her out.
* * *
“HOLD STILL,” AUNT EFFIE told Marley. “I had no problem sewing Chloe’s dress, but she didn’t wiggle all over the place. I’m not doing any precautionary work on the other girls, but I’ll stand by in case another dress splits.”
Marley held on to the counter in the small cloakroom to steady herself. “Did you know Brant was an actor when you met him?”
“Of course. I thought I recognized him when you showed me his picture on your phone. I had the hots for him when he was on a program I watch, one of those police things.” She pushed her blue-gray hair away from her forehead. “Still do. And he’s even better looking and nicer in person. Plus he can dance. Made me feel I was in my fifties again.”
“I never even guessed he was successful,” Marley said. “In fact, I thought he was barely making a living. You should see the clothes he wears, the rags. Most of the time he looks like someone living on the street.”
“Obviously, clothes don’t make the man.” Effie snipped the thread and checked out her work. “There. That should hold. You’ll have to be cut out of it.”
Marley thanked her aunt and headed toward the group assembled for photos. Backup, she thought. Someone standing beside her, backing her, protecting her. A warm glow began to spread through her. She liked the idea. She liked that it came from Brant.
All the men now wore their jackets, including Dennis. Lindy looked beautiful in her white satin gown trimmed in lace, and the train, positioned on the side, was spot-free, at least from the front.
Some woman Marley had never seen before organized everyone. “You here, and you here,” she said, making the mistake of putting Brant and Richard next to each other. However, the Roman Warriors intervened, preventing any problems, and they all stood stiffly at attention. Marley couldn’t muster a smile, nor could she take her eyes off the two men, who glared at each other through the entire process.
When they were finally through, Marley walked over to speak with Richard privately, only to have Brant quickly appear at her side. She held up her hands against his chest and said, “Give me a moment, please.”
Brant nodded and backed away.
“Richard, you said a few things in the church that were true and some that weren’t.” She paused. “You were right about the engagement. It’s a lie.”
Richard socked the air with his fist and mumbled, “I knew it.”
Marley heard movement behind her and fanned her hands, motioning Brant to stay away. “But it had nothing to do with you. I did it for me, so all my relatives would leave me alone and not bug me about my turn. I had no idea you were Denny’s brother or that you’d be here.” She pivoted to motion Brant over to join her, only to find him right beside her. “This business between the two of you,” she said, pointing a finger at Brant and Richard, “has to stop.”
“So, you’re not engaged?” Richard eyed Brant, jutting out his chin. “You can back off now. Marley and I have a lot of catching up to do.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Stop. Stop this now.” Marley put her hands up to grip her hair and put them down again after touching the hairspray. “I can’t stand this fighting.”
Brant stretched out his hand toward Richard. “We better stop before she destroys that hairdo.” He looked as though he was choking back amusement.
Richard hesitated a moment before complying.
“See, Marley,” Brant said. “We’re all ‘friends.’” He placed quotations marks in the air after releasing Richard’s grip. She stared at Brant, mystified by the strange feeling of loss that clutched her heart. Their engagement really was over, the fake one at least.
The picture taking, including some videos, now complete, the bride and groom piled into a limo and headed for the reception. Marley managed to get there, as well, going along with the flow, enjoying none of it. Brant remained quiet, texting on his phone during the ride.
At the reception, the bride sat at the head table next to the groom; the rest of the wedding party sat on either side of them. For some reason, Lindy insisted Brant sit next to her, which put Marley next to Dennis at the long table. When Richard took a seat beside her, she didn’t bother to look his way.
“Despite all the problems, they made it,” Richard said in an effort to draw her into conversation. “So you and...Brant, is it?...are what?”
“We’re friends. I thought he made that clear.”
“I guess you’d have to be, pulling off a fake engagement and getting everyone to believe it was true. But it’s over now, right?”
Marley glanced Richard’s way and saw hope. Having had no further opportunity to talk with Brant, she had no idea exactly where they stood. Was it over? She knew then with all her heart she wanted Brant, but she had no idea how to go about having him. What could she tell Richard? Instead of answering, she focused on the food in front of her.
The salad was limp, the chicken overcooked and the dessert a sticky-sweet concoction she didn’t like. Marley left most of it on her plate. She’d hear later from her mother about the horrible food, and how her mother could have done better and should have been allowed to.
Richard invited her to dance. Marley shook her head. The thought of dancing made her feel sick. Maybe it was that dessert.
Her cousin Cheryl leaned over past Richard and asked something about a Tupperware order. What order? Her sisters asked her opinion on several matters, and Marley couldn’t come up with a comment. She felt as though a plug had been pulled, allowing all the life to drain out of her. And then Brant got up to toast the bride.
To her dismay, Richard drew closer. “Just because he’s an actor, he thinks he can...” Richard continued to mumble about Brant’s ineptitude as the best man throughout Brant’s speech, so she
heard none of it. She turned to tell Richard to be quiet, and her lips nearly brushed his cheek. When had he gotten that close?
Heat burned her face, and she muttered an apology. She saw Brant lift his glass in a toast, his eyes on her. Embarrassed, she stood and went out a side door into the garden, only to have Richard follow right behind her. When he put an arm around her, she moved out of his grasp.
Richard sighed and said, “Guess the playing field isn’t level, after all.”
“It never was. I’m sorry, Richard. You’re a nice guy—”
“Sure. But Brant’s nicer.” He leaned against the brick wall, crossing his arms over his chest. “You know,” he said, “actors are more prone to casual sex than your average Joe.” He pushed away from the wall. “Seems you fell for someone like your father after all.”
“Marley.” She pivoted to find Brant walking toward her. “Your mother is about to make an announcement. She asked me to get you.”
“Oh, no. She’s going to tell everyone she and my dad are getting married again.” Marley clutched her stomach. “I’m going to be sick.” She deposited her undigested meal on the dirt next to the gravel path. To add to her humiliation, both men stayed on either side of her, each holding a shoulder.
“She hates her father,” Richard said.
“I got that,” Brant replied. “Can’t say I blame her.”
Marley backed away from them both and ran to the ladies’ room. After rinsing her mouth and patting her face with cold water, she went into one of the stalls, locked the door and sat on the toilet, her feet against a wall. She was still sitting there when a woman entered, calling her name. Marley hugged her knees. The woman left. Marley focused on the fingers of her left hand and pretended to touch her guitar strings, making various chords. She gave up when it provided little relief.
A short time later she heard Brant’s voice. “Someone saw you walk in, Marley, and there’s no other way out.”
She didn’t answer. She heard stall doors being pushed in until his lizard boots stopped in front of her door. “Did I say something deplorable during the toast? You ran out—”
“I didn’t even hear it. Richard kept talking right by my ear, and I started to feel sick.”
“Are you coming out of there? I’m feeling silly talking to this door.”
Marley dropped her feet to the floor and opened the door.
“If you want, I’ll cancel my flight. The job can wait till tomorrow.”
“Don’t do that. I’ve already ruined enough things.” She walked past him to the sink and leaned on the marble top. “I don’t want that on my conscience, too.” She caught her reflection in the mirror and shuddered.
“Al’s driving me to the airport.” Brant approached her and didn’t stop when she waved him off through the mirror. “I’ll leave the tux and rings at the motel.”
She looked up at him. “What should we do about the guitars?”
“Keep them. Give them to your family. The guitars don’t have cases, so you can’t take them on the plane.”
She stared at him, confused. “Don’t they have to go back? You borrowed them, right?”
“No.” He came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her while continuing to talk to her mirror image. “I bought them outright. Twelve hundred dollars.”
Her eyes bulged, and she faced him. “You spent...?” Her mouth opened but she couldn’t form any words. Finally, she said, “They aren’t worth that.”
“They’re worth every penny. They gave me the opportunity to play with you.” He sighed and brushed a kiss against her ear. “The best night of my life.” He pulled her closer. “I won’t kiss you,” he said. “I lost my meal, too, and my mouth tastes raw.”
“No,” she gasped. A shudder ripped through her. “Not food poisoning on top of everything else?” She buried her face in the ruffles on his shirt.
“That certainly would make this the wedding from hell,” Brant said, chuckling. “But I doubt it. We’re both just a little on edge. And I’ve never been able to hold anything down when someone barfs right next to me.” He pulled her closer. “Got some on Richard’s shoe, too, which completely made my day.”
Marley started to cry and laugh at the same time. “It’s not fun...funny. It’s horrible.”
They held each other for several minutes until Al stormed into the ladies’ room. “Will you two cut it out? I’ve got to get him to the airport.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
ONCE THE RECEPTION was over, Marley could have gone back to her parents’ home to continue with the party, but she chose not to. Brant wouldn’t be there. And Richard probably would. Instead, she drove to her motel.
Inside her room, she found Brant’s tux hung neatly in the open closet. Both engagement rings sat on the pillow, wrapped in a sheet of paper.
“I agree about the rings,” the note read. “You deserve better than diamonds. We never exchanged numbers. Here’s my cell.” A string of numbers followed. “Call me so I’ll have yours. Don’t know how often I’ll be able to talk once I’m involved with the project. Wish I had the chance to pull that thread on your zipper. I’ll do it in my dreams. All my love, Brant.” Marley sat on the chair, a lump of depression, as she read and reread the note.
She had to get out of her dress. Effie had sewn it way too tight, and it was beginning to cut off her circulation. She couldn’t reach the back. Every attempt to pull the formfitting garment around so she could reach the zipper ended in frustration. Marley fell on the bed exhausted and lay on her stomach as she tried to focus on a solution to her problem.
She missed Brant. Ached for him. How could he mean this much to her in such a short time? She took the note he’d left and typed in his number on her phone. The call went directly to voice mail. Maybe he was already on the plane and had turned off his cell. She didn’t leave a message. What could she say? I miss you. I love you. Come back and get me out of this dress.
Marley pounded the bedspread in agony. She wanted out of this stupid dress so she could shower, cool down and get all the gunk from her hair.
Someone knocked on the door.
Marley did a push-up on the bedspread, waited, still supporting herself with her arms and looked at the doorway that separated the two rooms. Who could that be? She maneuvered to the side of the bed and placed her bare feet on the rug. The pounding continued as she headed for the door.
“Marley, you in there?”
“Richard? What are you doing here?” she said as she opened the door.
Richard had changed into a blue golf shirt and a pair of tan pants. “Now that Brant took off, I’m back to being the best man.”
“Best man? Why?” Marley shook her head. “The wedding’s over.”
“Right, but not the final cleanup. I came for the tux. Have to return it tomorrow. Everyone else has changed into casual clothes, and they’re planning a barbecue at your parents’ place.”
Marley stepped aside so he could come into the room. “Really? Tomorrow’s Sunday. I thought—”
“With so many outfits to collect, I figured I’d get a jump on it. Why wait till the last minute?” He glanced at the open closet and went toward it. “How’s the dress situation working? You need any help?” he asked as he took the hangers off the rod.
Marley considered for a moment before saying, “No, I’m fine.”
He held the tux over one arm and walked over to her. “You sure? I hear your sister had a hard time getting hers off. Your aunt did such a good job sewing her in she had to be cut out of the dress.” Richard dropped the tux on the bed and reached into his pocket. “I brought some scissors.”
He took out a pair of tiny nail-clipping shears. “Let’s get you out of that dress and into something more comfortable. Your sisters changed already, and they asked me to bring you back to the party.”
Marley hesitated. She really wanted a shower before going anywhere, and she hadn’t been able to get out of the dress herself. “Okay,” she said, turning so that her back was to Richard. “Just cut the thread in a few places so I can take the dress off.”
She felt the metal touch her skin in several different spots, each time increasing her sense of freedom. “That’s enough,” she said, moving from Richard’s reach and grasping the back of her dress. “I’ll handle it from here.”
And then Marley turned—to find Brant standing in the doorway.
“I left my cell in the tux.” Brant, wearing the same clothes he’d arrived in three days ago, walked over to the bed and removed the phone from his jacket pocket. He held it up and showed everyone, including Al, who stood by the door.
“Come on. You got it,” Al said. “Let’s go.”
Brant placed the phone in his pocket and walked purposely over to Marley. “Call me so I can have your number.” Wrapping his arm around her shoulders, he pulled her against him so that they both faced Richard. With one hand, Marley continued to hold on to the back of her dress, but she wrapped the other around Brant’s waist.
“This is my woman, and I want you out of here.” Leaning closer to Marley, he added, in a softer voice, “Okay if I say ‘woman’ instead of girlfriend? It sounds so much more Roman Warrior.” Brant looked back at Richard. “Have I made myself clear, or do I have to sing and dance around you in the parking lot?”
Ignoring him, Richard said, “You coming with me to the barbecue?”
Marley was thankful Brant didn’t answer for her. At least he wasn’t taking his “woman” thing beyond what she could tolerate. “No,” she said. “If I decide to go, I’ll go alone.”
“Al,” Brant said, “would you get him out of here so I can say goodbye properly?”
“Okay, but make it snappy.” Al guided Richard by the elbow, and they did an awkward two-step through the doorway. Over his shoulder, Al said, “You can do all your talking on the phone.”
“I don’t want to talk.” Brant drew her into his arms. “I want to kiss her,” he said, “so she’ll never be able to forget me.” And he did.
An Act of Love Page 17