Beach Wedding (3 page)

“You took notes, right?”

“Always.” Theo pulls out his phone. “Plaza, plaid,
poppies.”

“No, that’s last night’s plan. Inspiration struck
again at two in the morning.” I pull out my sketchpad, showing
him some magazine tears and brainstorming as we speed through
traffic. “We need to glitz it up. This is the girl who imported
a herd of zebra for her last birthday party, then dyed them all white
to look like unicorns. We go big, or we go home.”

“Got it.”

We come to a stop, and I fly out of the cab. Marcie’s office
address is a towering modern block in Midtown, and I fight through
the sidewalk traffic to reach the lobby.

“Wait.” Theo catches up. “You dropped this.”
He holds a familiar dog-eared postcard. ‘
Welcome to Pelican
Key Cove
’ is written over the beachfront scene. “Looks
cute,” he says. “I could use a vacation right about now.
Pina Coladas, girls in bikinis…”“Down, boy.”
I snap my fingers. “We’ve got to land this pitch first.
Then maybe I’ll get us some time off.”

“And a raise?” Theo grins.

“Don’t push it,” I laugh.

“Did I tell you you’re my favorite wedding planner in the
world?”

“Save it for the client,” I advise. “We’ve
never worked with real celebrities before.”

“It’ll be a breeze,” Theo says, holding the door
open for me. “As the tabloids say, they’re just regular
people underneath it all.”

Or maybe not. When we’re shown into Marcie’s office,
Clyde and Pixie are already settled on the couch by the windows. They
look ready for their close-ups, placing their drinks orders with a
nervous-looking PA.

“And, like, a green smoothie?” Pixie says.

“Milk for me, love.” Clyde pats his stomach. “Gotta
watch the ulcer.” He’s wearing black leather pants and an
old tour T-shirt, with his longish straggly hair puffed up in all
directions. He catches my eye and winks. “All right, darling?
Didn’t know this would be a party.”

Pixie bounds up. “She’s the wedding planner, babe.
That’s why we’re here, remember?”

Clyde yawns. “It was a long night. Played until two, you know.
That’s a late night for an old man. Hell, I don’t know
where I am most days until after lunch and a pack of Jammie Dodgers.”

“Quite.” Marcie steps forward and shakes my hand. “Glad
you could make it. We’re all excited to hear your thoughts.
Would you mind signing these NDAs before we begin?”

“What?”

“Non-disclosures. Confidentiality, you understand.”
Marcie presents Theo and me with a ten-page document of dense legal
jargon. I hate signing anything I haven’t had a chance to read,
but Marcie taps her foot impatiently, so I scribble my name at the
bottom. “Perfect,” she declares, then steps aside for me
to meet the happy couple.

Pixie kisses me on both cheeks. “I’m so excited!”
she beams.

Clyde salutes. “I figure, you’ve got to get hitched, you
wanna do it right. Right, babe?”

“Right.”

“Well.” I blink, overwhelmed. “Let’s get
started.”

We all sit down, and I pull out my sketchbook. “I think we can
give Pixie and Clyde a day worthy of ten TV specials,” I begin.

Marcie’s eyes widen. “Oh, a multi-part show. I love it.
Ratings will love it. That will make me love it even more. I like the
way you think.”

I smile, even though I was exaggerating. I point to my pictures of
the Plaza all decked out in bows and glitzy finery. “We want to
go big, show-stopping. The wedding of the season. Pixie riding down
Fifth Avenue on a white horse; Clyde landing a helicopter on the
roof—”

I’m interrupted by the PA returning with the drinks. “Here
you go,” she says meekly, offering Clyde his glass of milk, and
Pixie a noxious-looking green substance.

Pixie curls her lip. “What
is
this?”

“Your smoothie?” She shoots a nervous look at Marcie.

“Oh. No. I meant I wanted a half spinach, half kale, half kiwi
smoothie. With the skin on. Twist of ginger. Dash of beetroot.
Vegan.” Pixie beams. “I’m really into saving the
animals now.”

The poor PA is scrabbling to keep up. “Dash of what now?”

Theo leaps up before Marcie can open her mouth. “You know what?
My favorite smoothie place is around the corner. I know the owner.
I’ll go grab your drink.”

The PA looks relieved. She scurries after Theo out of the room.

As the door shuts, Marcie presses her intercom. “Call the
recruitment agency, have them send someone new. And for god’s
sake, make sure this one isn’t a total idiot.”

OK. Note to self: don’t annoy Marcie. I clear my throat,
awkward. Clyde winks at me again and asks, “Now, where were we?
Talking about getting hitched, yeah,”

“Yes.” Marcie nods. “Continue!”

I turn back to my book. “Like I was saying, the Plaza. Classic
New York wedding with a rock-n-roll twist.”

Marcie makes a humming noise. “We hadn’t decided on a
location just yet.”

I’m one step ahead. “Of course.” I flip the page.
“That’s why I have a number of alternate options. How
about Vegas?” I suggest, showing them a big collage of flashy
Vegas finery: the fountains at the Bellagio, the Strip all lit up.
“You could combine a big bachelor and bachelorette weekend with
the wedding. Break the world record for the number of Elvis
impersonators performing the ceremony.”

Marcie makes that noise again. I flip the page.

“Malibu cliff-top ceremony!”

“Hmmm…”

“On the walkway at the Grand Canyon.”

A sigh.

“On a yacht in the South of France!”

They’re giving me nothing. Pixie looks wistfully out the
window, while Clyde picks dirt out from under his nails.

“Is there anything you had in mind?” I ask, getting
desperate. Usually by now, my clients have told me half-a-dozen
requests, and my challenge is incorporating them all into one
ceremony. But these guys? They’re blank. “Take a look,
see if anything sparks.” I pass my book to Pixie.

Marcie leans in. “To tell the truth, we’re rethinking the
whole ‘big wedding’ thing. Turns out we had a bit of a
backlash last season, when they were installing gold-plated toilets
in the mansion? Apparently, viewers had a hard time relating. Now the
network’s all big on ‘family values’ and ‘ordinary
Americans’.” She draws air quotes.

“And ordinary Americans don’t get married on a private
island in the Pacific,” I realize, striking my next pitch off
the list.

“Right.” Marcie gives a shrug. “What can you do?
But thanks for coming in, it was good to touch base.”

“Wait!” I didn’t get this far without thinking on
my feet. “If relatable is what you’re after, then let’s
do a classic small town wedding instead. Just imagine,” I say,
“A cute little chapel in the town square. White roses and
balloons spelling out your name. We could do a barn dance reception,
mason jars and BBQ! You could take photographs in the gazebo.”

Pixie claps her hands in delight. “Gazebo! That’s my
favourite soup.”

“Gazebo, not gazpacho,” I correct her gently. “So,
what do you think?”

Marcie answers for them. “I like it. Fish out of water, back to
their roots. Pixie, your grandparents came from some small town,
didn’t they?”

“Only if you call Atlanta small.”

Marcie waves her hand. “Never mind, we’ll think up some
reason.” She pauses. “Pixie and Clyde go country. It’s
got potential. Locations?”

“I can put together a list,” I tell her quickly. “I
work with location scouts all the time. There’s a ton of cute
places in easy drive of the city. Connecticut, maybe, or down in
Virginia if you want more of a Southern feel—”

“What about here?” Pixie interrupts. She’s holding
up my postcard of Pelican Key Cove. “It looks super cute!”

“Umm, that’s just my hometown. It’s a little
backwater place in Florida,” I say quickly, but Marcie,
eagle-eyed, is already tapping at her keyboard.

“The jewel of the Keys,” she reads aloud. “Be
transported to a simpler time in this quaint, beachside community.”

“It’s really more rundown than rustic,” I correct,
but Marcie’s in full swing.

“Look, they have a beach, Main Street, all that Norman Rockwell
stuff. Pelicans, too. You’d like that, wouldn’t you
Pixie?”

“Yes!” She squeals with excitement, crowding round the
screen with Clyde to look. “Are those the pink ones?”

“No,” I say, at the same time as Marcie declares, “Yes!”

She gives me a steely look. “Looks like it’s decided
then. Great!”

“Are you sure you don’t want to scout a few more places?”
I ask desperately. “Check availability and vendors?”

Marcie pulls me aside. “Here’s the deal. This wedding is
happening in Pelican Cave—”

“Cove.”

“Whatever. If you can’t make it happen, someone else
will. Does the name deKline mean anything to you?”

"Yes," I answer in a small voice.

Marcie sighs. “Listen, Ginny. We can offer you triple your
usual fee for the gig, not to mention all the free publicity. Are you
really going to walk away from that?”

I wrestle with the idea, before finally facing facts. There’s
no way I can bail on a chance like this. “ I’ll do it.”

“Of course you will. I’ll call the network and get things
rolling. Welcome to the team.”

Marcie grabs her phone and starts dialling. Pixie and Clyde start
making out in the corner, cooing sweet nothings. The door opens. Theo
returns with the smoothie. He looks around. “What did I miss?”

“We’re throwing the wedding in Pelican Key Cove,” I
sigh, collapsing in a seat.

“Isn’t that where you’re from?”

“Yup.” I look at him, defeated, “I’m going
home.”

What Marcie wants, Marcie gets: barely a week later, we’re
exiting the airport at Miami International. We’re down to shoot
something she calls a ‘sizzle reel’ of footage, kind of a
video mood board to show the network what they’re thinking for
the show. I left Theo manning the ship back in NYC. I figure if
anyone can keep my current clients happy, it’s him. Plus, that
leaves me with one less person tagging along on my blast from the
past.

Hot blast, that is. The warm air greets us the minute we step out of
the terminal. I wince. I’d almost forgotten how the humidity
feels as it hugs you with its soggy warmth. My hair is going to be
100% frizz in no time.

“Ginny!”

I turn at the yell. Marcie is striding out with Pixie and Clyde in
tow. They all flew first class, of course, while I squeezed in coach.

“Are we ready to get this show on the road, yeah?” Clyde
seems to be actually melting as he takes off his black leather
jacket, slinging it over his shoulder.

“You guys have a limo waiting,” Marcie tells them. Before
I can get excited about the thought of AC and a driver, she says to
me, “We’ll be driving ourselves. This is Nick and Neil.”
She points to the guys toting cases of AV equipment. “They’ll
go in the limo and start shooting footage. I’ll ride with you.
You can fill me in on this town of yours.” She strides to the
rental car booth.

I lose her in the cluster of people, but it’s not hard find
Marcie in the crowd. She’s the one with the loudest voice,
demanding GPS, AC, and WiFi en route. Soon, I’m behind the
wheel of the rental car, hitting the highway with Marcie in the
passenger seat.

We drive away from the hustle and bustle of the city, and it doesn't
take long until we break away from the Miami traffic. Marcie fields a
constant stream of calls, talking “press strategy” and
“demographic shifts” and “live plus three ratings
bumps.” She yells, cajoles, and threatens, and by the time she
finally hangs up and turns her attention to me, I’m intimidated
and more than a little impressed.

“So, I’ve talked to the mayor of Pelican Crawl Klatch,”
she starts. I’m through trying to correct her. “He says
we have to give a presentation at a town meeting. It’s probably
just a formality to get them to sign off on the permits.” She
catches my look. “What?”

“Nothing. Town meetings can be kind of… odd, that’s
all.”

“This whole place sounds like a nut factor. But if wooing the
locals over at a town meeting is what it takes, when in Rome…”

“Pelican Key Cove is anything but Rome. No aqueducts,” I
say.

She looks at me funny. “What about ducks? I thought it was
pelicans.”

“Never mind.”

“So, is it true about the alligators?”

“What about them?”

“That they’re roaming wild.”

“More like slithering.” I catch her look of panic.
“Don’t worry. If you stay out of the marshes, you’ll
be fine. Most of them are harmless.” I smile. “My aunts
even adopted one, old Algernon, who lives down in the creek on the
back of the ranch.”

“A pet alligator?” Marcie curls her lip. “Are they
crazy?”

“Nope. Just from Florida.”

I drive on. The highway crosses the bay and into the keys, a
gorgeous stretch with beach views and the wide blue horizon. My heart
is beating faster now, closer to home. I’ve avoided making this
trip for so long, but now I can’t help but feel the ocean vibes
take me over, nostalgia thick in the summer breeze. The built-up
tourist strips and beachfront hotels pass by, and now we’re
really getting out into nature: beaches and swampland, small-towns
strung along like sparkling jewels, the road getting sandier with
every passing mile.

Growing up in paradise, it was easy to take all of this for granted.
As a kid, I dreamed about big cities and the hustle and bustle of a
million people, a place where nobody knew my name. It was a
restlessness that only grew the older I got. Some people love the
laid-back pace of life by the beach, but I felt stifled, impatient
for my real life to begin. Looking back, I can see I was still
grieving my parents’ deaths. I wanted to be far away from the
painful memories. My aunts did their best. They loved me and raised
me to never feel alone. But still, I couldn’t shake the hunger
of knowing there was a big wide world out there my parents never got
a real chance to explore. It was all on me to do it for them.