“But Justin’s still in Florida,” I repeated. “He might not even get here by tomorrow. We both have to go get the license, right? I’m not going to stand in line all day for nothing. What does it matter? He’ll fly in tonight or tomorrow, we’ll do a public ceremony, you’ll film it, and it’ll be beautiful. Reality TV fans all over the world will tune in. Who cares if we don’t have a marriage license? Justin and I can fix that when we get home.”
Or, we could do nothing, since we’re already legally married, I silently added.
With a glance at each other, Rachel, Ed and Birdie sidled toward the door leading outside. I let them go. If things exploded, they didn’t need to get caught in the crossfire.
Janine frowned at me. “I’m afraid that’s not how it works. If word gets out that there was no marriage license, people will think the marriage was a sham thrown together for ratings. Then they’ll think your whole relationship was nothing but a showmance. They’ll realize how much of these shows is manufactured for entertainment value, and they’ll stop watching.”
“No one is going to care whether Justin and I got a marriage license before or after the wedding. If it comes up, we’ll show the one from Florida.”
“You think that’ll settle it? How long did people insist President Obama wasn’t really born in the United States?”
“That’s a little different, isn’t it? Justin and I aren’t running for president.”
She waved her hand. “Look, I don’t have time to argue. You’re going to City Hall, and you’re getting a marriage license. Logan will go with you.”
“Does he have an ID that says he’s Justin Taylor?”
“He doesn’t need one. He has an ID that says he’s Logan Cassidy.”
She couldn’t be suggesting what it sounded like she might be suggesting. “I don’t understand.”
“We can’t wait for Justin to get here,” Janine said. “The show needs more drama. Thus far, other than you whining about the cake and your mom’s dress freak-out, it’s pretty boring. That kiss was hot, but it didn’t go far enough. You marrying Logan instead of Justin? That’s drama.”
My jaw hit the floor. Needing time to think, I sipped my orange juice. “That’s ridiculous. I’m not marrying Logan.”
“You are if we say you are. You signed a contract, remember?”
“There’s no way the contract says I have to marry a total stranger.” Would that even be legal? For the thousandth time, I cursed Hurricane Cara for keeping Justin away. Not only would this nonsense not be happening, but he knew how to debate the fine points of a contract. I couldn’t believe the Plan had backfired so horribly. “Even if it said that, it can’t be legal.”
“You signed a contract for nonessential services. The terms are binding. And one of the terms says you give the Network final say over all wedding decisions.” Janine folded her arms across her chest and tossed her head. “And as a representative of the Network, I say you need to go to City Hall and get a marriage license. Marry Ed for all I care. But you owe me a reality TV wedding.”
Remember the Plan. The stupid, useless Plan. The Plan that very well might be the reason I was in this predicament in the first place. But it was all I had to hold on to until I got to Justin.
“I’m happy to have a reality TV wedding,” I snapped at her. “You owe me the man I agreed to marry. You need to get Justin here, now. Doesn’t the Network own a plane? A helicopter? Why aren’t you doing more to get him here?”
Watching Janine’s face as I spoke, I suddenly understood. The Network didn’t care if Justin got here before the wedding. They wanted the drama and the ratings. They wanted the viewers to see me have a meltdown when I found out he wasn’t coming. They wanted to make me look like the type of heartless woman who would plan a wedding to one man and marry another. They probably celebrated when Hurricane Cara hit the coast of Florida.
Her words only confirmed my thoughts. “Getting Justin here is not our number-one priority anymore. The show must go on.”
My heart pounded, but I couldn’t lose control now. I wouldn’t give Janine the satisfaction. Even though I wanted to claw her eyes out, I forced myself to take slow, deep breaths. What would Justin say about this? I imagined him standing beside me, holding my hand. Talking to the producers for me. Immediately, my frantic heartbeat calmed.
“From the look on your face, I’d say you don’t think marrying Logan is such a terrible idea,” Janine said.
“I’m thinking about Justin,” I snapped.
This was the most ridiculous thing I’d ever heard. Throughout this week, I’d been fairly easygoing. I tried on a thousand hideous dresses. After my initial protests, I didn’t complain when Koji, a total stranger to both of us, joined the wedding party. They wanted Joshua, the single most obnoxious person I knew, to be a groomsman? Fine. When they told me my estranged father had arrived, I went out of my way to give him a chance he didn’t deserve. Only after it turned out that he’d been a planted actor did I throw him out. Still, I let them invite whoever they wanted (except the aforementioned actor). I worked on stupid-looking floral arrangements, I stuffed dozens of goodie bags with useless crap that cost more than my annual food budget.
They picked the location, the cake, the flowers, the place settings. I didn’t point out that plate chargers were the biggest waste of money I’d ever heard of—and I still didn’t know what a plate charger was. (It did not have a USB port, I checked.) I sat on stage and let my least favorite person insult me in front of a cheering crowd. No matter what stupid ideas the Network came up with, I let it go. But even a good sport has a limit. They hit mine. This wasn’t going to happen.
The Network was not picking my groom, on top of everything else.
“Nope. Nuh-uh. No way,” I said. “When Justin gets here, I’ll marry him. If that’s not on Saturday, we’ll push it back. We’ll do a symbolic, ceremonial wedding, with or without a license. Or we move the whole thing until Tuesday, and he should be here by then. But I am not going to marry Logan, or Ed, or Connor, or Joshua, or Koji. I will not marry anyone other than Justin, and that’s final.”
“Yes, you will,” Janine said. “You signed a contract. If you bail now, you and Justin owe the Network three hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”
Chapter 17
Confessions from the Chapel, Friday morning:
Jen: No no no no no. What the hell are the producers thinking? I can’t marry Logan! I know Justin and I said we’d roll with the punches, but this is off-the-charts wrong. No way, no how.
I don’t have any idea where we’ll get three hundred fifty thousand dollars. I don’t know what I’m going to do. I’m trying to reach Justin. There’s got to be a loophole. Some kind of out for acts of God. It’s not our fault Justin’s not here. I get that the show must go on, but this is Hollywood! Why can’t they just push everything back a few days? They don’t even have to film the interim—we can pretend Justin arrived in the nick of time.
Ed: Logan’s totally hot. Jen could do worse. And he’s rich, right?
Rachel: Don’t help, Ed.
Justin’s Groom Cam, Friday:
I’m doing my best to get there. All the airports are still closed, even in Georgia. This hurricane caused a lot of destruction. But I’m not about to let Jen marry someone else.
Janine’s words hung in the air between us. All I could do was stare, mouth agape.
She uncrossed her arms and stood up straight, tossing her hair back over one shoulder. “Are we done here? Because I’ve got a show to produce.”
Finally, I found my voice. “No, we’re not done yet. What are you talking about?”
“Did you read the contract before you signed it?”
“Justin went over it with me. He didn’t mention anything about a three hundred-fifty-thousand-dollar penalty for canceling.”
“It’s not a penalty. It’s a liqu
idated damages clause,” she said, like that cleared anything up. She might as well have called it a purple alligator. “By signing the contract, you agreed to provide the Network with a reality star wedding for our viewers. You and Justin each signed a separate contract, right? Neither agreement is contingent upon the other appearing for the final episode.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying, you agreed to let the Network throw you a wedding, at which you would get married. Justin isn’t in breach for not being here, because it’s an act of God. There’s nothing we can do about him. But you still have to get married, which means we can use a substitute. The series airs in a few weeks, and we can’t wait.”
“Okay, so throw in someone who looks like Justin for filming additional scenes. You can do that, right?” That was the clause in the original contract for The Fishbowl, and the Network never used it. When I read the agreement for this show, I’d seen something similar. But it never occurred to me that we’d need someone to stand in for Justin during the actual ceremony.
“We can add a substitute for any purpose.”
“Okay, so find some blond guy about Justin’s height with hair like his, and we’ll fake the wedding. Why do I need a marriage license?”
“Because you owe the public a real wedding, not a showmance. Remember?”
My heart sank. We were going in circles, and Janine hadn’t budged an inch. I couldn’t marry Logan even if I wanted to. I was already married to Justin! Bigamy statutes didn’t have any sort of reality TV loophole, as far as I knew.
Janine said, “Look, I know you hate me, but I’m just doing my job. I was doing my job in Jamaica, and I’m doing it now.”
“The fact that you’re okay with a job ruining people’s lives doesn’t make me like you any better.”
She laughed, a hollow sound. “Girl, we made you! You are a household name because of us. Your bakery is a success because of the Network, and the shows you’ve done. Don’t stand there playing the victim.”
If looks could kill, I’d have skipped out the front door and hailed a taxi to the airport while Janine collapsed on the kitchen floor. As it was, no matter how hard I glared, her head refused to explode. Stupid Janine, never accommodating anyone.
“I didn’t complain about anything. When people ask what reality TV is like, I don’t tell them the truth. It’s all, ‘Oh, Carson, being on a reality show was the most amazing experience!’ But you’re talking about my life here. Until death do us part, remember? Some people take those vows seriously.”
“If you took the vows that seriously, you shouldn’t have agreed to exchange them on reality television.”
White, hot fury blinded me. I couldn’t think, couldn’t form any words. And yet, my arm jerked, and suddenly Janine was blinking orange juice out of her eyes. I let the now-empty cup clatter onto the table to stop me from throwing it at her.
“If you want to throw drinks, do it on camera,” Janine said. “Again, I’m doing my job.”
God, was I sick of employers who made unreasonable demands on their employees. “If you’re about to tell me you’ll get fired if I don’t marry a stranger, we’re done here. Get fired, I don’t care. You’ve done your best to ruin my life since the day we met. I’m not going out of my way to help you.”
“It’s not about you, Jen. Honestly, I like you.”
“Whatever. A, I don’t believe you, and B, the feeling is definitely not mutual.”
“I don’t like being the bad guy! It’s my job.”
“It’s my life.”
“You signed your life away,” Janine said. “That’s what we’re talking about. If you don’t comply with the contract you signed, you’re going to owe the Network a lot of money.”
“What if Justin arrives before Saturday? Can we get a marriage license on Monday when City Hall opens again and have the wedding then?”
“Only if you want to pay the increased production costs,” she said. “We have a week’s worth of footage of you getting ready to get married, you and Logan talking and getting to know each other, you and Logan flirting, you and Logan kissing. There’s almost no footage of you and Justin. What we have now fits this new narrative. If you marry Justin, we need to redo half the series.”
She probably wasn’t seriously offering to let us pay the difference, but her words got me thinking. Considering Justin would get fired if we didn’t finish the show, paying the Network to ensure that the show went on—and that I wasn’t forced to jilt him on national television—wasn’t the worst idea. Maybe we could get Justin’s company to pay it.
I asked her to estimate the amount, but when she stated a number, I gasped. She had to be inflating it to scare me. But she pursed her lips, tilted her head to one side, and dared me with her eyes to argue. She might have looked scarier if she didn’t have orange juice dripping down her toned arms onto the floor.
With a sigh, I broke eye contact. This conversation wasn’t getting me anywhere. I needed to talk to Justin about our contract, then Connor. If anyone could get the producers to see sense, it was one of their own. Failing that, I needed to have a long conversation with Logan. If he refused to marry me, maybe Janine would see reason. Surely they wouldn’t tie us up and carry us both down the aisle for ratings. What would they call the show? Married at Gunpoint? Married by the Network?
“Can we go to Vegas and get married when Justin gets here? People get married last-minute in Vegas all the time.”
She shrugged. “Sure. You pay to transport the entire wedding party and all five hundred guests to Nevada, we’ll talk.”
The Network had me over a barrel, and Janine knew it.
“Give me a copy of the contract,” I snapped.
Wordlessly, she held it out. I skimmed it, but without a lawyer to explain, all I accomplished was delaying the argument.
“Let me talk to Justin,” I said.
I needed to make sure we wouldn’t have to pay if I didn’t marry someone. Also, I needed to figure out if bigamy was still illegal in California and what the penalties were. But I didn’t say any of that to her. Now wasn’t the time.
“You and Logan leave for City Hall in half an hour,” she said. “Talk fast.”
* * * *
A brief conversation with Justin confirmed most of what Janine told me. The damages clause was valid if three hundred fifty thousand was a reasonable estimate of how much the Network would lose by canceling our show at the last minute—and in reality, that was probably low. Without their cap as a limit on damages, we might have found ourselves owing even more.
“Why didn’t Braden and Amanda have to pay?” I asked.
“We don’t know that they didn’t, but they probably offered us up as a substitute. Which means we can get out of paying if you can convince Rachel to take one for the team and marry J-dawg tomorrow.”
I snorted. “I’ll work on it. Unless she’s an extremely talented actress, it’s fair to say that whatever she was feeling has run its course.”
“That’s highly unfortunate for us. Good for Rach, though. I’m glad she came to her senses.”
“Back to the fake wedding,” I said. “Does the fact that we’re already married make any difference?”
“Well, if necessary, you’ll refuse to sign the marriage certificate after the ceremony. They can’t hold your hand and make you do it. But let’s not get to that point. We’ll keep working on a better solution. Especially because it’s perjury to go to City Hall and swear an oath that there are no lawful impediments to getting married.”
This kept getting better and better. “I’m not going to jail for the Network.”
“You won’t have to. We’ll figure it out.”
“Does the fact that you can’t make it to the wedding come into play at all?”
“It might,” he said. “If they sue us, you could raise impossibility as a defens
e. We could even tell the judge that we’re already married and that it would therefore be illegal for you to marry someone else.”
My ears perked up. If we had a defense to a lawsuit, I had no problem throwing a fit on national television. Sure, they’d edit it to make me look bad, but so? Refusing to marry Logan couldn’t possibly make me look worse than actually marrying him. “I like that. What’s the downside?”
“If we don’t get married on the show, the Network pulls their business from my law firm, and I get fired.”
My hopes crashed. Our light at the end of the tunnel turned into an oncoming train. I’d completely forgotten about our little “incentive” to coming on the show in the first place.
“Uuuuuugggggggggggggggghhhhhhhh. This sucks!”
“Exactly. Also, the contract has a clause that says, if there’s an issue, we agree to be sued in Los Angeles. We’d have to fly out for the duration of the trial.”
“…leaving Sarah on her own to manage the bakery without me, again. I am the worst business partner ever. She should fire me.”
Justin sighed into the phone. “You’re a great partner, but this is a mess we need to untangle. I’ll work on it. Meanwhile, play along.”
“You want me to go get a license to marry someone else? Should I cross my fingers behind my back while saying ‘I do’?”
“Can you move to Plan B?” he asked, referencing one of the things we talked about when this all started, a million years ago.
“Yeah, I think we have to,” I said. “Let me talk to—”
Janine and Connor appeared in the doorway, and I shut my mouth in a hurry. Connor couldn’t help me at the moment, and I didn’t want him to get fired for trying. Janine motioned toward the driveway with one hand. Time to go. I had about twenty minutes in the car to talk Logan out of this farce and figure out how to execute Plan B before I found myself committing an involuntary felony. Awesome.
Reality Wedding Page 17