Swinging On A Star

by Janice Thompson

  “Th-the tropical storm.” Twila’s voice trembled as she took a seat at the table.

  “We were in the middle of the gulf on that big cruise ship,” Bonnie Sue added. “And then the storm hit.”

  I gasped, realizing that in all of the chaos I’d completely forgotten the trio of sisters had also been in the gulf. Lord, forgive me! I forgot to pray for them!

  “Our ship wasn’t due here till Sunday, but they brought us back two days early.” Twila slumped over, looking like she might pass out at any moment. “Don’t know when I’ve ever been so tired.”

  “Me either,” Jolene said, leaning against the wall. “I feel like I could sleep for a week.”

  “I just need to get my car and go home.” Twila yawned. “That’s why we came here first, to get my car. But it appears to be MIA.”

  “Ah, that’s right.”

  “Where is it, Bella? Did the winds pick it up and fly it away?”

  I smiled at the image of her pink Pinto sailing over the house. “Funny story.” I hoped she would find it funny, anyway. “We took it to D.J.’s house on Bubba’s wrecker so it wouldn’t be in the way during the wedding tomorrow night.”

  “Oh dear.” She groaned. “Why did you move it with a wrecker? Why not just drive it over?”

  “For some reason, I couldn’t find your keys all week. Mama didn’t have them. Rosa didn’t have them. And if you gave them to me, I must’ve somehow misplaced them. I hope you’ll forgive me. And I hope you have a spare set.”

  “Sure. I always keep a spare. But I could’ve sworn I gave you my original.” Twila fished around in her purse, coming up with the set of rhinestone-studded keys. “Oops.” She sighed. “I guess I’ve made a real mess of things.”

  “Not at all. But you’re stuck with us for the time being.” I reached out to take her hand. “You don’t need to be driving until you’ve had some rest. After you sleep, we’ll go and get your car.”

  “Yes, we’ll take care of that for you,” Joey said. “You ladies should get some rest.”

  Just then I thought I caught a glimpse of someone on the front porch. Through the dining room window, I could make out a blue shirt and dark pants.

  “Is that the Burton kid?” I turned to Joey. Moving into the foyer, I headed toward the front door. Pop, Joey, Twila, Jolene, and Bonnie Sue all followed along behind me, as if I were the Pied Piper. As I swung open the door, I came face-to-face with a strange man with a camera in his hand. A flash went off, nearly blinding me, and I let out a bloodcurdling scream. That didn’t seem to faze him.

  “I’m a reporter with the—”

  He never had a chance to finish. I yelled, “Get off our property before I call the police!” then slammed the door in his face. The noise awakened just about everyone in the house. Mama and Rosa came sprinting down the stairs, still dressed in their nighties. They took one look at the trio of sisters and began to squeal with delight. Then Mama turned my way.

  “Who was that at the door, Bella?”

  “I … I think it was the paparazzi!”

  Bonnie Sue looked as if she might faint as she heard the word. “P-p-paparazzi?” She looked at the other sisters. “Do … do you think they’re after us?”

  Joey snorted with laughter, then quickly tried to disguise it as a sneeze. Nice attempt, anyway.

  Twila giggled. “I don’t know, honey, but I guess it’s possible.” Turning to me, she explained. “We were a smashing success on the ship—with the passengers and the captain.”

  “Oh?” I wasn’t sure what this had to do with the paparazzi, but I kept listening.

  “Yes. And we had the prestigious honor of being asked to sit at the captain’s table. How do you like them apples?” She beamed with delight.

  “The captain’s table?” Mama looked shocked. “How did that happen?”

  I could hardly believe this news myself. To sit at a captain’s table usually required knowing someone pretty important. Or being someone pretty important.

  “Well, here’s the thing.” Jolene smiled. “One of the gals who judged the big karaoke event heard us singing and told him all about it.”

  “Singing?” This was news.

  “Oh, honey …” Bonnie Sue giggled. “We were all the rage last night at the big karaoke final. But anyway, back to the story. The next thing you know, there we were, dressed in sequins, singing for the captain. It was the fancy night, you know.”

  “Fancy night?”

  “Formal night,” Twila said with a yawn. “They have at least one formal night per week on the ship, so we got trussed up like chickens in our opera dresses and moseyed in to meet the captain. He heard us sing, then asked us to sit at his table. But I think …” Twila leaned in to whisper. “I think he had his eye on Jolene.”

  “Oh, hush, Twila.” Jolene giggled. “No doubt the man is just nice to everyone. But I must admit he’s the handsomest man God ever did put on this earth. Oh, you should’ve seen him, ladies. He was tall and tanned, with a silver moustache and perfectly placed silver hair.”

  “Perfectly placed, humph!” Bonnie Sue laughed. “There’s a reason it was perfectly placed. The man was wearing a hairpiece.”

  “Oh.” Jolene’s expression darkened. “Anyway, his name is Bjorn and he’s from Norway.”

  “Of course.” Mama nodded. “They’re all named Bjorn.”

  They are?

  “Bjorn’s wife died a few years ago,” Twila said. “He’s a widower now.”

  “Poor guy,” I said. “So now he spends his days traveling the seas?”

  “Yes, and he meets literally thousands of beautiful women,” Bonnie Sue said. “But the fairest of them all—at least from what we could tell—was Jolene.”

  “Wow.” I didn’t know what to say, but Rosa sure did. She jumped on the story with full vigor.

  “That’s the most wonderful thing I’ve heard in years, Jolene! I’m so happy for you. In fact, I’m so taken by your story that I might just have to go on a cruise myself.” Rosa took Jolene by the arm, giggling like a schoolgirl.

  I could almost envision my aunt on a cruise ship. Of course, there would be that one little problem at dinnertime. She rarely ate food that she hadn’t cooked herself. Still, if we could overcome that one obstacle, she’d probably have the time of her life.

  Rosa apparently wasn’t ready to let go of the story about the captain. “I’m trying to imagine what sort of courtship you would have with the captain of a cruise ship, Jolene,” she said. “Will you have to live at sea if he asks you to be his?”

  “Oh, I haven’t thought about that.” Jolene frowned. “I don’t know that I could ever leave Splendora. I love my friends and my church. They had a little chapel on the ship, but it’s just not the same thing.”

  “What a barrel of pickles this is.” Bonnie Sue sighed.

  Jolene’s eyes filled with tears. “Well, I don’t suppose I have to marry the captain. I can just dream of him. He can be that one special memory I have of a beautiful cruise to the Caribbean.”

  “Jolene!” Twila shook her head. “It wasn’t a beautiful cruise to the Caribbean. We were swept out to sea by a hurricane.” “Technically, it was a tropical storm,” I said. “Not a hurricane.”

  Twila’s eyes narrowed as she turned my way. “Honey, call it what you like, but when you’re on the inside of a metal tube, hurling this way and that, a sprinkle can feel like a hurricane. We were trapped inside there like sardines, and I didn’t think we were ever getting out.”

  “Thank God we found some other believers and went to prayer,” Jolene said.

  “Oh?” This piqued my interest for sure.

  “Heavens, yes,” Twila said. “You know what the Bible says about two or more being gathered together. So we went on a hunt for Christians. And by the time we were in the eye of the storm, we had a real prayer meeting going on. In the casino, no less. Even the captain joined us.”

  “That man can really pray.” Jolene sighed. “That’s how I knew he was the ri
ght man for me. Handsome and a good pray-er—the perfect combination.”

  I had to admit, I understood that last part. After all, D.J. was one of the best pray-ers I’d ever met. And it went without saying that he was handsome.

  What could I make of this story? The poor ladies had almost been lost at sea and still managed to find the good in the midst of the bad. Unfortunately, it looked like they were fading quickly. I offered them two rooms—mine and Sophia’s—and they headed upstairs for what I hoped would be a good long nap. After all, I had work to do. With the skies finally clearing, I saw my first glimmer of hope that this show—er, wedding—might just go on!

  23

  Send in the Clowns

  Once the ladies were safely tucked into bed, I followed Pop, D.J., and Joey outside to check out the damage.

  As was always the case on the day after a big storm— particularly one in early October—the air was hot and sticky. You could almost cut through it with a knife, it was so thick. I’d been outside only a few minutes when my clothes were soaked, not just with perspiration but with the air itself. I prayed this icky feeling would lift before the evening.

  Looking around, I examined our properties—both the yard surrounding our house and the wedding facility. Thankfully, we hadn’t lost any trees. I didn’t figure the winds had been strong enough for that. But we did have a lot of broken limbs and piles of wet leaves, which the guys went to work cleaning up right away.

  The ground was soggy, and my shoes were plenty muddy by the time I reached the area at the back of the wedding facility. Yet the castle was standing strong. She’d served as a fortress from the storm. I could hardly believe it. Looked like she was on a strong foundation after all.

  Larry—my guy from Stages—arrived at 9:00 in the morning, took one look at the soggy area behind the wedding facility, and sighed. “Not the most ideal situation.”

  “But workable?”

  “I guess. I’ll keep you posted. Thank God we’ve already got the foundation in place.”

  “Yes, thank God for a good foundation.” I smiled as I thought about his words. “How long do you think it will take?”

  “Oh, maybe eight or nine hours.”

  “Yikes. Did I mention the rehearsal is at seven?”

  “Mm-hmm. And did I mention that a tropical storm just blew in off the gulf?”

  “Right. Got that.”

  Minutes later a truck pulled up in front of the Rossi home. I sighed as I read the words The Food Network on the side. Finally, the moment I’d been dreading. Rosa would get her foray into the spotlight, but would it interfere with the plans next door?

  A young guy with a ponytail hopped out of the truck and put a hand over his eyes, squinting. I approached him, and he extended his hand. “Rosa Savarino?”

  “No, I’m her niece. She’s inside.”

  The man nodded and waved the rest of the crew out of the vehicle. One by one they came, until the house was filled with people, equipment, and pure chaos. Guido didn’t take this interruption lightly. He squawked and squalled, making a general nuisance of himself.

  I led our guests into the kitchen to meet Rosa, and introductions were quickly made. The producer, who introduced himself as Shawn, gave instructions. “We’re going to be setting up lights in the kitchen and the dining room. We’ll film in both places. We’ll get several clips of you cooking, then a few more of the whole family—and maybe a few friends— seated around the table.”

  “What time do you think you’ll be shooting that part?” I asked. “Because I need to …” I didn’t finish.

  Shawn looked at his watch. “Maybe around six? We want to catch the sun as it’s going down so it really looks like you’re having a normal family dinner.”

  “There’s nothing normal about our family dinners,” Laz said, passing by.

  Shawn laughed. “Well, we want to make it look as normal as possible, so we’ll need everyone there. And we’re going to do some clips of family members talking about Rosa and her cooking too,” he said. “So get ready for that.”

  At this point, Guido took to singing “Amazing Grace.”

  “Laz, if you don’t shut that bird up, I’m going to …” Rosa didn’t finish her sentence, probably not wanting to look bad in front of the company. And the cameras. Already the cameramen were at work, testing their lenses and checking the lighting in the house. Anything we said from this point forward could—and probably would—be used against us. On a national television program, no less.

  The makeup people swept in and spent a couple of hours making Rosa look like an Italian beauty queen. They dressed her in a sparkly top and black skirt and dabbed on some makeup. I had to admit, she looked pretty snazzy. The only concession she wouldn’t make was with the hair. It went up in a bun, as usual.

  “She looks like the real deal with her hair up,” I whispered to the producer. “You want this to be authentic, right? Well, that’s our Rosa.”

  “Got it.” He smiled. “She’s really something, isn’t she?”

  “Oh yeah. And just wait till you taste her cooking. You folks are going to sweep her off to New York, and we’re never going to see her again.” A tight feeling gripped my heart as I uttered those words. Though I’d meant them in jest, it now seemed completely possible.

  Shawn grinned. “We’re counting on this meal being great. Do you know how much fast food we’ve eaten on this trip?”

  I could only imagine.

  “I’m telling you, Rosa is hands down the best Italian cook in the country.”

  Shawn motioned for me to keep talking and signaled for the cameraman to get some footage. Suddenly I was very thankful I’d touched up my makeup.

  “So, what have you learned from your aunt over the years?” Shawn asked.

  “Too much to share in a one-hour show!” I laughed. “She’s always made cooking seem like so much fun. You should’ve seen the kinds of games we played growing up.” I couldn’t help the smile that crept up as I remembered every one. “Rosa would play ‘Name That Spice’ with us. That was our favorite.”

  “How did that go?” Shawn asked.

  The memory was suddenly so real, I could almost smell the spices. “She would fill small plastic bags with different spices, most fresh from the garden. There was always oregano, of course. And basil. But then there were some trickier ones. Rosemary. Nutmeg. Fennel. Thyme.” I closed my eyes, remembering what each one smelled like. I opened my eyes and smiled. “Anyway, she would line us kids up in the kitchen and give us a piece of paper with the names of the spices on it. We had to match the bags with the names on the paper, and the child who got the most right would get two desserts that night.”

  “Not a bad deal,” Shawn said. “So who won?”

  “Most of the time my brother Nick. He’s a born chef, just like Rosa. Oh, and just like Laz. My uncle is great in the kitchen too. We’re just a family of great cooks. Well, some of us, anyway. Not all.”

  “What about you?”

  “M-me?” Yikes. No one had ever asked me about my cooking skills before—that I could remember anyway. Did I dare confess? “Um, yeah, well … I can’t even boil water.”

  “How is that possible?” he asked.

  “Easy. Rosa’s so good that I’m afraid anything I attempt would always and forever be compared to her stuff. So, for now anyway, I’ll go on being spoiled by her cooking.”

  “And if she ever moves … ?” Shawn asked the question I’d been struggling with just a few minutes earlier.

  “I think we’ll keep her.” As I turned to the camera with a smile, I caught a glimpse of the clock on the wall: 10:30. I’d better get busy.

  Pop engaged the producer in a titillating conversation about his lactose-intolerance problem. Great. Just what I wanted flashed on national television—my father’s aversion to cheese.

  Lord, help me. Please.

  I headed out to the veranda, smiling as I saw D.J. working in the yard. He took a break and headed my way. He must’ve picke
d up on my anxiety because he started massaging my shoulders right away. I melted under his touch.

  “Oh, man, that feels good.”

  “Stressed, huh?” he asked.

  “Yeah. I’ve been dreading this day for a week now. I don’t want anything to ruin the rehearsal tonight. But I don’t want to hurt Rosa’s feelings either. So I need your help.”

  “Whatever you need, babe. I’m here for you.” He wrapped me in his arms and planted a kiss on my forehead.

  “Okay, what about this. I’m going to come and go from the wedding facility to the house. That way I can keep an eye on the set construction guys and still let Rosa know I’m there for her. Whenever they get ready to film, I want to be right there, in the room. If they’ll let me.”

  “I’m sure they will. But how can I help?”

  “Let’s just tag team, okay? Whenever I’m over there, you stay here with the family. Whenever I’m here with the family, you keep an eye on the castle.”

  He laughed. “Sounds funny. Keep an eye on the castle. But I’m fine with that. Anything you need.” He released a yawn, and I sighed.

  “I hate to ask you to help when I know you’re so worn out, but I’m so glad you’re here. I really mean that. I wouldn’t have made it through the last week or two without you, D.J.”

  “Just the last week or two?” He gave me a rehearsed pout.

  “You know what I mean.” I gave him a kiss, in case he had any lingering doubts.

  “So what’s Vinny DiMarco going to do all day?” he asked, rolling his eyes.

  I sighed. “No idea. Probably hide out. Seems like that’s what he spends a lot of his time doing.”

  D.J. shook his head. “I wouldn’t want to trade lives with the guy, that’s for sure. I might be your average Joe, but at least I’m free to come and go as I please without paparazzi following me.”

  “First of all, you’re not an average Joe. Not even close.” I gave him a wink. “Second, speaking of paparazzi, would you mind keeping an eye out for them? I have a feeling that with all the action going on around here, they’re going to pounce.”