by Cary Hart
“Sure thing.” Grant pulls out his cell and dials Mikey. “How long does it take these things to kick on?”
“Not sure. What did the service guy say?” I keep my eyes on the group at the door while side-eyeing Grant.
“What do you mean?” His brows furrow, holding the phone up. “That’s weird. I don’t have service.”
“The list. The generators were glitchy during the inspection. They noted we should have a serviceman come out.” I turn to face him, hands on my hips. “Please tell me you had the generators looked at.”
The lights stop flickering, and the room goes completely black.
“Vegas is dark!” someone hollers, and panic begins to set in. Every client, visitor, and employee runs to the nearest door or window, and the questions begin to rapid fire.
“Oh my God!”
“Is it a terrorist attack?
“I bet it was a planned outage!”
“Do you think this is a heist?”
“Is it the end of the world?”
“Someone call the power company!”
“How about Homeland Security!”
“Grant, please tell me you called the generator company?” I press further.
“Vegas…” he holds up his hands, “I promise, it was next on the list.”
“Dammit!” I slide my phone to life and hold it up to him. “Thanks for taking my charger. It’s almost dead,” I remind him as I send out a group text to Sully, Mikey, Dottie, and the rest of the crew, asking them to take their stations as we’ve practiced during our safety drills.
“Kid, we have a problem,” Aunt Dottie rattles from behind me.
“Oh good. You got my message.” I turn.
Dottie has the flashlight under her chin, causing her face to glow. “Boo!” She laughs, and I yelp. “What message?”
“The one I just sent.” I hold up my phone to show her, but it quickly dies. “Great. Just great.” I turn to face Grant and give him the stink eye. The one that says, “This is all your fault.”
“Kid, I just came to let you know I can’t find Burt.” She holds up the leash, still attached to his collar. “He’s gone.”
“Vegas,” Grant interrupts, but pretending he doesn’t exist right now seems like a better plan.
“Dottie, we have to find him. The cakes,” I remind her.
“Vegas,” Grant tries to interrupt again, and again, I ignore him.
“Don’t worry, kid. I set out cigar traps.” She winks as if this was the best-laid-out plan.
“Vegas!” Grant steps in between us and holds up his fully charged phone.
“What, Grant? So, you have a fully charged phone. Yay you!” I clap.
Holding the phone even closer, he states. “No service.”
And then, just like when Vegas went black, the whispers turn into shouts.
“No service.”
“I don’t have it either.”
“What’s going on?”
Panic is setting in. Our city is dark, and we have no
means of communication to the outside world to see if this is an isolated situation or part of something bigger.
It doesn’t matter how well you prepare for a situation like this, you’re never ready. This isn’t just another power outage, this is something more—and it’s up to the One Stop Wedding Shop to make sure everyone stays calm.
Easier said than done.
Vegas won’t even look at me. The upside to that situation? I can pretend it’s because of the blackout and not because I unintentionally ignored her list. In my defense—never in a million years did I think the brightest city in the world would go dark and our communication to the outside would be cut off.
“If you have something to say, say it,” Vegas blurts out, finally acknowledging my presence.
“Jesus, Vegas. Do you have to be so fucking rude?” I bite back. “I know this isn’t the ideal situation, but come on, there is no way we could have prepared for this situation.”
Vegas raises an eyebrow and purses her lips. “Expect it? No. Prepare for it? Yes.”
“Fine. You want to play it that way?” I squat down in front of her so she has no choice but to look at me. “By having the generators fixed, we would have allowed for ninety more minutes of limited power.” She turns her head, avoiding contact. “Keyword, Vegas—limited.” I swipe my phone alive and hold it in front of her face. “It’s been two hours.” I close the phone and hold up two fingers. “Two. The generators would have went out thirty minutes ago.”
Letting out a deep sigh, Vegas finally holds out her hand for me to help her up, and I do. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m tired, hungry, and I’m stuck inside a building with no air wearing a wedding dress.” She tugs at her gown. “A—wedding—dress.”
“Well, I can help you out of it if you want?” I waggle my eyebrows to a very unamused Vegas. “Just kidding. Geesh.”
“I’m sorry.” She turns in a circle before facing me again. “I just wish we had some kind of answer for them.”
“Vegas, we’re doing everything we can,” I try to reassure her. “For the people who wanted to leave, we let them. For the ones who didn’t drive themselves, Sully took them back to their hotels. And for the people who wanted to wait it out, I have Mindy and a few of the guys bringing the kitchen to the main chapel.”
She nods in approval.
“We do have a slight problem.” I wince.
“I’m sure it’s not a big deal.” Vegas waves her hand around. “Can it really get any worse than this?”
“You know the list with the batteries?”
“Yeeeees,” she draws out.
“I could have sworn it said to order AAA batteries, not AA, but I may have misread it.”
“You didn’t.” Vegas scrunches up her nose and counts out the days. “Grant! We change those out every week. Those candles won’t last the night.”
“It’s fine. I’m sure there are some real candles around here somewhere.”
“You are unbelievable!” she shouts, and everyone turns.
“Calm down.” I pull her off to the side. “I’ll take care of this.”
“Just like you took care of the generator?” She smirks.
“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.” I switch my phone to flashlight mode. “There’s a basement, and before there were all these codes and fines, there were real candles. You can’t tell me my grandparents, who keep everything, threw them out.”
“The basement!” Vegas starts to take off.
“Whoa!” I reach for her hand. “You’re not going down there alone.” I pull her back, fully expecting her to put up a fight, but she just looks between us and gives my hand a little
squeeze.
“You’re right. Lead the way,” she agrees with a wicked smile.
“Really?”
“Sure—how do you feel about spiders?”
Vegas
“You weren’t kidding when you said they keep everything.” I hold the battery-operated candle in front of me and scan the shelves.
“Hey, if you happen to come across a tote with photo albums, let me know,” Grant says as he sets his phone down, light up, to free his hands.
“If they’re in an unmarked box, that’s all you. I’m not sticking my hands in them.” I shiver. “Spiders freak me the eff out.”
“Why, have you seen one?” His eyes go wide.
“No, but have you seen the webs?” I hold the candle up to illuminate our half of the room. “Gross.”
“Agreed.”
“I bet this one has something in it.” I reach in and pull the box to the edge, peeking in. “Bingo!”
“Candles?” he asks, continuing his search.
“Better.” I pull out a bag of glo-sticks. “Glo-wedding supplies.”
“Oh yeah. That theme is one that didn’t stick around.” He laughs.
“I don’t think there is enough for everyone, but they will cast enough light when the candles go out.” I continue to dig thro
ugh the box. “Oh my goodness! Looky here.” I pull out a box of glow-in-the-dark body paint.
Grant turns around and shines the light right in my eyes.
“I can’t see.” I drop the box of paints.
“My bad.” He turns it toward the ground. “Is that what I think it is?”
I nod.
“Put those in the bag.” He winks. “In case we get bored later and want to do a little arts and crafts—you know what I mean.”
I can’t say I’m totally opposed to the idea. The thought of Grant Foster using my body as a blank canvas has me wanting to lay it all out there, Titanic style.
“In your dreams.” I laugh as I sneak the paint into the bag.
“I saw that.” He continues to look through the boxes.
“I have no clue what you’re talking about.” I feign ignorance and blush.
I’m not sure how long we’ve been down here, but we have gone through shelves and shelves of boxes and totes, only finding a few glo-sticks, body paint, and candle holders. I wanted to give up looking, but Grant seemed to think where there’s candle holders, there’s candles.
“This is my last one. I don’t care what you say, I’m not opening anymore.” I pull the dusty box off the shelve, misjudging the weight. It falls to the ground and busts open, spilling photo albums out onto the floor.
“You okay over there?” Grant calls out.
“Yeah. I’m good,” I holler back.
“My phone is about to die over here.” He peeks through the shelf and smiles. “But I’m going to try to get through these last two.”
Picking up the littlest album, I dust it off and flip through it, seeing an embarrassing picture of little Grant Foster. “You won’t believe what I found.” I try to wipe the smile off my face, but then I see it: a little boy smiling from ear to ear, hand holding a box of empty Jujubes and his mouth stuffed full of them.
“Jujube!” I shout out, throwing my head back in laughter.
“Shit!” Grant shouts as something slips from his hands
and shatters.
Laughing so hard, I’m unable to speak. I just hold the album between my fingers, trying to stand up long enough to show Grant what I found.
“Get a grip, Vegas.” Irritation laces his voice. “You scared the fuck out of me, and now the radio I just found is useless.” He bends down between us and begins to pick up the pieces.
“I-I-I’m—” I let the laugh barrel out. “I can’t stop laughing. You just look so cute here.”
“What?” He jumps back up, letting the radio fall to the floor, then let’s out a blood curdling scream—and when I say blood curdling, I’m pretty sure Grant let out a shrill that would have made any horror film director proud.
“What-was-that?” I laugh out in one breath.
“Get it off!” Grant screams. “Get this fucking thing off me!”
This is where a normal person would seem concerned and help a guy out, but not me. Nope! Instead, I mentally check off the list…
Is he dying? Nope.
Is there blood? Nada.
Is he crying? Eh—does whining count?
“Calm down, Grant.” I hold the candle in front of his
face, seeing the silky threads clinging to his skin. “Ew, that’s gross.”
“Exactly,” he says, pulling at the sticky strands. “Can I get some help?”
“Do I have to touch it?” I make a face.
He gives me a go-to-hell look.
“Fine.” I set the album down. “But if a spider bites me…”
“I’m sure the spiders scattered the moment we can down here.” He rubs a hand over his head.
“If not, they did after that scream.” I stop, smiling.
“If you tell anyone about that…” he threatens.
“Grant Foster, I would never.” I gasp, holding a hand up to my chest. “I can’t believe you would think I would do something like that.” I reach over to pick up the album. “I mean, why would I do that when I have something like this?” I turn to the picture that had me in hysterics.
“You wouldn’t.”
“I would—unless…” I pause, “you would like to share the story behind it.”
Yanking the album from my hand, he runs his fingers over the cover before silently flipping through the album.
“It was my mom who gave me the nickname,” he begins.
“After the candy?”
“Yeah.” He nods. “I was a talker. Never a quiet moment in our house.”
I smile, envisioning the curious little boy in the pictures.
“I remember it like it was yesterday. I was dying to see this movie, but my dad refused because, again, I talked too much and would disturb the people around us.” Grant holds up a finger. “One time, the usher asked us to leave.”
“You were a kid. Kids ask questions.”
“No—” he laughs, “not like I did. I’m pretty sure everyone hated to watch movies with me. Actually, they still do. I have this habit of talking back to the screen.”
“Well, I like to solve the movie before it ends,” I chime in. “And I’m usually right. People hate it.”
He snorts.
“Well, my mom, knowing how much I wanted to see this alien invasion film, struck a deal. If I promised to keep it down, she would buy me all the candy I wanted.”
“I bet she paid for it later…sugar rush.”
“You would think.” He glances down at the picture. “But the moment I popped one of those chewy gummy dots into my mouth, it was over. Quiet the whole time.”
“That good, huh?” I questioned.
“Oh, they were that good,” he agreed. “But they were also really sticky. I was so consumed with digging the jelly out of my teeth, I didn’t pipe up during the whole film.” He turns the picture around. “This was taken a few months before my mom got really sick. My grandparents came to visit and my mom had a severe migraine. Their remedy? A box of Jujubes.”
I smile, taking the photo album from his hands, and place it in the bag. “We can get the rest when the power comes back on. And just like that, his cell phone dies.
“We better get going.” He nods to the candle. “I think I saw some batteries in the office.”
“Lead the way.” I hold out my hand, and we turn to leave.
“Baaaaaaaah.”
The sound echoes off the aging concrete walls, followed by a blood-curdling scream and high-pitched squeal. I nearly jump out of my skin as I try to figure out which sounds came from where. No doubt, the girly one was Grant, and the respectable Hitchcock-worthy yelp was my own.
The “baaaah” no doubt belonged to the resident goat, who seems to be in the middle of trouble at every turn.
“Well, that was interesting.” I cock a brow. “First time,
I’ll give you that, but this time…” I let out a very low high-pitched scream, mimicking him from just moments ago.
“Not another word…” he warns.
“Tell that to Burt!”
“Aunt Dottie!” Vegas hollers as we reach the top steps. “We found Burt!”
“Over here, kid.” Dottie holds her flashlight up, waving us over. Her eyes get bigger as we get closer. “Why is Burt glowing?”
“Actually, that’s a funny story.” Vegas turns around and bats her eyelashes at me, and I give her my best try-it-and-see-what-happens glare.
“One we will spare you of,” I cut in.
That little fucker almost took off my finger when we were down there. For whatever reason, he wasn’t budging. He found his spot and was happy right where he was at. I wanted to leave him. He found his way down there, he could have found his way back up.
Vegas, on the other hand, was worried. Apparently, she has taken a liking to the smoking goat and refused to come up without him. Her solution: the glo-necklace—which Burt didn’t have a problem with until Vegas decided why don’t we crack it and make it glow.
Wrong move.
Burt Reynolds snapped his head ba
ck when I was putting the make-shift collar around his neck, trying to nip the plastic and getting my finger instead. Blood went everywhere, and yes, I screamed like a bloody bitch baby.
“Doesn’t he look cute.” Dottie comes a little closer and tugs on the glowing red collar. “Let’s go get—huh—is that…?” Dottie rattles as she bends down a little closer to examine the fur.
Vegas stands on her tiptoes. Hiding her face with her hair, she whispers, “Shhh—she only sees the red glow.”
“Never mind.” She flashes us a toothy grin. “Burt, let’s go light one up.”
I whistle. “That was close.”
“It sure was.” Vegas lets out a cute little giggle.
Cute giggle?
What in the hell has gotten into me?
Vegas Manilow, that’s what.
Clearing my throat, Vegas turns to face me. “Should we go look for those batteries?” I throw my thumb over my shoulder. “I thought I saw a box of batteries in the office.”
“Grant, your finger.” Vegas reaches for my hand, cradling it in both of hers. “This is pretty bad.” She twists it from side to side.
“It’s fine.” I pull away, not wanting her to make a fuss over this. “We have a building full of people who have nowhere to go. This is the least of our worries.”
“Are you sure about that? I’m not sure if Burt is up to date on all his shots.” She grabs ahold of my hand again.
“Shots?” I ask. “You mean like rabies?” My eyes widen at the thought of having to get a round of shots. Not that I can’t handle a needle, but thirty of them? It’s a lot for any one person to think about.
“I’m kidding. The vet makes regular visits.” She pats my shoulder. “He’s clean.” She nods. “Now, why don’t you be a good little patient and let nurse Vegas take care of you.”
“Hmm…” I close my eyes.
“Are you?” she questions, and my eyes slowly open. “Oh my God, Grant! You just pictured me in a naughty nurse’s uniform, didn’t you?”
Guilty.
“Who said anything about naughty?” I tilt my head to the side and let my imagination run wild. “But thanks for the visual.”