THAT MAN: The Wedding Story

by L'Amour, Nelle

  “Sorry about that. A ridiculously impossible vendor. Trust me, he won’t be working in this town again.” Her voice was now deep and breathy.

  “No problem,” I squeaked, admittedly intimidated by her.

  “Well, let’s get down to business. I’m extremely busy and am doing my dear friend Helen a big favor by squeezing you into my jam-packed schedule. Consider yourself lucky.” She gave me the once-over. “I do hope you own a pair of contacts. Those hideous eyeglasses will never do on your wedding day.”

  “I do,” I muttered, not happy with her insult. I liked my tortoiseshell glasses. They suited me.

  “Good. One less thing to worry about. As you know, Helen wants her son’s wedding to be the wedding of the century.”

  I nodded wordlessly.

  She took a sip of her tea and then set the flowery bone china cup down. “I always thought my daughter would end up with Blake. Helen and I used to joke about it all the time.”

  A soupçon of suspicion niggled me. I wondered who her daughter was. My father’s words of wisdom—curiosity killed the cat—stopped me from asking.

  Enid sighed. “Bygones are bygones. Though you’re not exactly in Blake’s league—or my daughter’s—I can’t let my dear friend Helen down.”

  Internally, I cringed. How dare this haughty woman insult me like that? I had the burning urge to lash out at her and defend myself, but I bit down on my tongue. Starting things off badly wouldn’t benefit anyone.

  “Did Helen tell you anything about the way I work?”

  “Not really.” But I was already getting an idea.

  “My motto, ‘Moore is more’ has made me the most sought after event planner in Los Angeles. In fact, the world. I just got back from Dubai where I created an Arabian Nights wedding for a young Saudi princess. At the reception, the bride and groom came flying in on a magic carpet. We’re going to have to top that, aren’t we?” She flashed that half-smile again.

  Speechless, I nodded my head like one of those bobble head dolls. Gah! I just wanted something simple and elegant. I guess she never heard of the expression: Less is more.

  “So tell me, do you have a favorite movie?”

  What did that have to do with my wedding? I searched my mind. I loved animated movies and had several favorites, among them Frozen, Despicable Me, and The Little Mermaid. I randomly spewed the latter.

  Enid’s almond-shaped eyes lit up. “Fabulous. I love it. We have a theme.”

  “A theme?”

  “Darling, all my events have themes. Yours will be an underwater fantasy. I can see it now. Guests will dance on a glass-topped aquarium filled with tropical fish of all sorts. You’ll get married under a canopy encrusted with exotic seashells. We’ll do a coral and white color scheme, and at the reception, we’ll have stations of seafood flown in from all over the world—from fresh sushi made by the chef I work with in Japan to a boatful of shrimp straight from the Louisiana bayou. And of course, mounds of Beluga caviar from my preferred vendor in Russia.”

  As I listened, unable to get a word in, her voice grew more excited, and she began gesturing dramatically with her hands. “And pearls! What fun we can have with them! Hmm. Maybe pearl encrusted invitations. Ooh! Maybe we’ll place them in giant iridescent plastic clamshells. With oyster white bows! A first! And of course, edible pearls all over the ocean-inspired wedding cake. And your dress. Don’t even get me started on that. I’ll have to call Monique right away.”

  “Monique?” I peeped. Talking about clams, I was clamming up.

  Enid shot me a quizzical look. “Monique Hervé. She’s one of my dearest friends as well as Helen’s. Anyone who’s anything in this town has a gown custom-designed by Monique. I’m sure you saw the one Star Davis was wearing at her nuptials, which, by the way, I coordinated. It was on the cover of In Style.”

  No, I didn’t and I didn’t care. There was only one person in the world that was designing my dress. “Excuse me, Enid, but I already have a designer in mind.”

  She looked taken aback. Unable to lift her brows or scowl, she pursed her fire-engine red lips. “Really? And who might that be?” Her voice was frosty. She obviously didn’t like being challenged.

  “Chaz Clearfield.”

  “Who the hell is he?”

  “A young, up-and-coming designer. He’s very talented and happens to be one of my best friends.”

  Enid’s eyes bugged out. Suddenly, she reminded me of Cruella de Vil, and in fact, they could have been separated at birth.

  “I. Don’t. Think. So.” Each word was a sharp staccato.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Monique is already committed. And the publicity this wedding will get will assure her hundreds of thousands of dollars in business. You should know she is a very big supporter of Helen’s charities.”

  “But—”

  Enid rudely cut me off. Her eyes flared. “Let’s get something straight, Jennifer. I’m in charge here. Helen has put her trust in me to create a spectacular wedding. There are no buts. Are we clear on this?”

  Shriveling in my chair, I nodded.

  “Good. With the ridiculously tight time frame, there’s absolutely no room for second guessing.”

  I twitched a nervous smile, acknowledging her. In the near distance, I heard footsteps—the clickety-clack of high heels on the hardwood floor in the hallway.

  “My assistant should be here any second. With my hectic schedule, she will be your point person.” She directed her gaze at the doorway. “And here she is.”

  I swiveled my head and my jaw crashed to the floor.

  Enid’s voice drifted into my ears. “This is my daughter, Katrina, who will be working with you.”

  Shooting eye daggers my way, Enid’s daughter faced me.

  Blake’s ex hook-up.

  Kitty Kat.

  Chapter 8

  Jennifer

  I couldn’t get my mouth to close. I was in a state of semi-shock. I just couldn’t believe who was standing at the entrance to Enid’s office. Kitty Kat. The catty bitch who had butted heads with me the night of Jaime Zander’s art gallery gala and then kissed Blake at some black tie affair while we were broken up. The photo of her all over Blake had appeared in numerous magazines, including The Hollywood Reporter. If it hadn’t been for Chaz, who’d been at the event and witnessed her aggressiveness, Blake and I might have never gotten back together.

  Dressed to the nines in a body-hugging black mini-dress and six-inch stilettos, she was as stunning as ever. A tall, blond, D-cupped goddess who could have easily been a supermodel. The epitome of every woman Blake fucked until he met me. Her cat-green eyes, identical to her mother’s, continued to clash with mine.

  Enid’s face lit up at the sight of her daughter. “Darling, don’t just stand there. Do come in.”

  My gaze stayed glued on her as she slinked into her mother’s office. Her lustrous, shoulder-length tresses bounced like the hair you saw in one of those shampoo commercials. And her bountiful boobs bounced along in perfect rhythm. She held up her head proudly. Everything about her oozed confidence and sex. And trouble. My stomach twisted into a painful knot.

  “Why, hello, Jennifer,” she huffed, as she lowered herself into the armchair next to mine. Her cloying floral scent, the same as her mother’s, assaulted me.

  “Oh, I didn’t know you two knew each other,” chimed in Enid.

  “Yes, Mommy. We met on one occasion.”

  One time too many, I thought to myself.

  Enid continued while my blood curdled. Her words about a potential marriage between Blake and Katrina whirled around in my head. Did Blake have some kind of history with her?

  Enid cut my disturbing thoughts short. “Since you’ll be working so closely together, I thought it best you get to know each other. I’ve arranged a lunch for the two of you at The Ivy.”

  “And when would that be?” I asked, hoping the answer would be never.

  “Why today, of course. With the wedding so close, we
can’t waste any time.”

  “But—” I had a boatload of work with deadlines.

  Enid’s eyes narrowed. “Jennifer, I thought we agreed. The word ‘but’ is no longer in your vocabulary. We must work on a very strict schedule.”

  “Right.”

  I didn’t know whom I despised more. And even worse, feared. Enid or her daughter.

  The Ivy, the original outpost of the popular Santa Monica restaurant Blake and I frequented, was located on Robertson Boulevard, walking distance from Enid’s office. Except I needed to drive. Not thinking our initial meeting would last long, I’d parked my car in a metered space with a thirty-minute time limit. There was an underground parking structure located just down the street and that’s where I went. As I exited my car, a sharp pain stabbed at my gut. I winced. Just nerves, I told myself. The thought of having lunch with Kitty Kat was stressing me out.

  I arrived at The Ivy before Kat and was shown to the umbrella-shaded patio table that had been reserved for us. As the waiter handed me a menu, I took in my surroundings. The place was bustling. Filled with slick Hollywood mover and shaker types, supermodels, and those philanthropic, fashionable ladies who lunched like Helen. I even spotted a couple of celebrities. I could handle coming to one of these Hollywood hot spots with Blake or Chaz, but by myself, I felt uncomfortable. Out of my league to use Enid’s phrase.

  My eyes darted to the street, and I saw Kitty Kat pulling up to the valet in her black Mercedes convertible. An attendant ran to open her car door and she gracefully stepped out of it. She kissed and made small talk with a couple of stylish women, who were waiting for their cars, and then loped up to the equally attractive hostess. They hugged. Obviously, she was a regular here. She spotted me and strode over to our table. All eyes turned to look at the long-legged beauty.

  Taking a seat across from me, she set her monstrous designer bag on the brick patio floor and began, “I hope you know what you want because I don’t have a lot of time. I have a mani-pedi I can’t be late for.”

  The less time I spent with her the better. I immediately opened my menu and made a selection. A young waiter came by.

  “Well, hello, Ms. Moore. Will you be having your regular?”

  “Yes. A small plate of asparagus and a glass of champagne. The Perignon, please.”

  The waiter turned to me. “And you, madame?”

  “I’ll have the crab cakes and a passion fruit iced tea.” Truthfully, I craved a glass of champagne to calm my nerves and numb my mind, but I didn’t want to drink at lunch. I had a lot of scripts to get through today and needed to be clearheaded.

  The waiter came back quickly with our drinks. Without any kind of toast, Kitty Kat raised her flute to her full glossy lips and took a sip. I latched on to my iced tea and curled my lips around the straw, taking sip after long sip so I didn’t have to make any small talk with my companion.

  Kitty Kat set down her champagne. “So, Jennifer, has Blake fucked you every which way?”

  I gulped. The tea went down the wrong pipe, and I began to choke, spraying the amber liquid all over my silk blouse and the vintage floral tablecloth.

  “Has he fucked your tits? He loves doing that.”

  I was coughing too hard to respond.

  Her venomous eyes glared at my tea-stained chest. “I bet he hasn’t. You’re way too flat-chested.”

  My blood was bubbling with rage. I finally caught my breath. “Can we please talk about the wedding?”

  It was as if she had deaf ears. Her eyes bore into me. “Did Blakey tell you we were an item?”

  What?

  “We both went to Buckley. He was crazy about me. Head over heels.”

  Wait! Blake didn’t do love until he met me! “I don’t believe you!” I snapped.

  Kitty Kat smirked. “Oh, he never showed you any of our love letters?”

  My heart skipped a beat and my chest tightened. I parted my lips, but words failed me.

  “I’ll take that as a no. So, I brought one along to show you.” She lifted her purse onto the table and slipped a hand into it. A few rapid heartbeats later, she was holding a white manila envelope. My stomach churned as she pulled out the contents. A single piece of notebook paper.

  “Take a look-see,” she purred as she handed it to me. I instantly recognized the handwriting. The almost illegible scribble. Unmistakably Blake’s. My heart clenched. And as I read the words of a poem, my hands trembled.

  A million stars light up the sky;

  One shines brighter I can’t deny.

  A love so special, a love so true;

  A love that comes for very few.

  At the bottom, it was signed in large block print letters: ITALY~BB

  The letter slipped out of my shaking hands onto the table. I was having difficulty breathing. Finally, I managed a few words. My voice quivered. “It doesn’t say anywhere that he loves you.”

  A poisonous smile slithered across Kitty Kat’s face. “ITALY.”

  “That’s a country,” I countered defensively.

  “Ooh. You’re a smart one.” Her voice was dripping with sarcasm. “And FYI, that’s where we fucked for the first time when our families were vacationing together in Capri. We signed all our love letters that way. It’s an acronym that stands for I Totally Always Love You.”

  Tears were forming in my eyes, but I fought them back. Don’t let her get to you, McCoy.

  “Blake only loves me.” My voice was desperate and watery when it should have been convincing and strong. I anxiously fiddled with my engagement ring.

  A throwaway “ha” spilled from her lips. “He still loves me and I’m going to prove it to you. Besides, you’re all wrong for him; he needs Hollywood royalty not some Middle America farm girl.” She snorted like a pig. “He’s just blindsided. You’ll see.”

  Rage whipped through my veins like a rollercoaster. Impulsively, I grabbed my glass of iced tea, ready to toss it at her. However, my hand was shaking so vehemently the glass tumbled onto the table. The tea spilled everywhere, soaking Blake’s poem. The words dissolved into an unreadable inky blur.

  Kat’s eyes flickered with fury. She screwed up her face, her lips snarling. “Look what you’ve done!”

  “I-I’m sorry,” I stuttered, springing to my feet. “I have to go.”

  Leaving Kat fuming, I skirted past the waiter, who was bringing what we’d ordered to our table, and sprinted down Robertson to my car. Tears were falling.

  I desperately needed to talk to Blake.

  Chapter 9

  Jennifer

  Blake was at his desk, his eyes glued to his computer, when I stormed into his office. His face looked intense.

  “Blake!”

  Upon hearing my voice, he looked up at me, startled as if I’d taken him out of deep thought.

  “What’s up?” He was being terse with me, something I’d never experienced.

  “We need to talk,” I replied, marching up to his desk.

  “I can’t right now. I’m in the middle of getting last minute P&L numbers together for my father’s board meeting. He needs them by three o’clock to review. The meeting’s at four.”

  “But it’s important.”

  “This is more important. I can’t be distracted. It’s going to have to wait till later.”

  “When’s later?” The testiness in my voice was thick.

  “I don’t know. The meeting could go late.” He paused. “Come over here. Let me give you a birthday kiss.”

  “I can’t right now,” I snipped, mimicking the tone of his earlier words.

  “Fine.” He stabbed the word at me and immediately returned his eyes to his computer screen.

  Through pent-up tears, I stormed out of his office as fast as I had stormed in. So, work came first.

  I spent the rest of the afternoon in my office, my door locked and my office phone set to “do not disturb.” I pored over several scripts, in various stages of development, for the erotic romance block I’d developed for MY SIN
-TV. I had a hard time concentrating. And I think I was being overly critical because I was in a bad mood. I’d desperately wanted to talk to Blake about Kat, but he was too busy. Okay. I got that, but it was the way he handled it.

  After giving script notes, I watched a rough cut of an episode of Shades of Pearl based on Arianne Richmonde’s popular trilogy. It was the sixth installment. Pearl (Cameron Diaz) was slow dancing with her now husband Alexandre (Gaspard Ulliel) in their suite at the Hotel George V. Goose bumps spread across my skin, and I was verging on tears. My viewers were going to love it. It was so sensual and romantic! I could feel what Pearl was feeling. The lust. The love. I’d gone to France last Spring to supervise the shoot. My first time in Paris. On my last day there, Blake had flown in and surprised me. And just like Alexandre, he’d taken me into his arms to dance and shown me that Paris was the City of Love. Our mind-blowing Bateau Mouche ride was just the beginning. Over the weekend, he’d fucked me senseless, sending me into outer space. There were not enough Michelin stars in the world to rate the delicious orgasms he’d given me. He knew every romantic hot spot in the city—from the most intimate restaurants to the expressive Wall of Love. A shudder ran through me. I now wondered—had he made love there with well-traveled Kat? I couldn’t get her out of my mind.

  Blake didn’t bother to call or text me the rest of the afternoon. I guess he was still in the “very important” board meeting with his father. I glanced at my watch. It was after six. I decided to give his secretary, Mrs. Cho, a call to find out if she knew when the meeting would end.

  “Me have no clue. Meeting go for very long time,” she said in her charming Korean accent. “You want I tell Mr. Blake you call?”