Shake Down the Stars (28 page)

He kisses my cheek next, and I rest my hand across the back of his shoulder and point up to the half-moon suspended in the morning sky, a big dust ball when you get down to it. “Pretty, huh?”

He begins to hum softly.

“What's that?”

“Little jazz tune from back in the day.” He sings quietly. He has a nice voice, deep and rich: “‘Shake down the stars. Pull down the clouds. Turn off the moon, do it soon. I can't enjoy another night without you.' I used to sing it on nights when I was thinking about you and wishing you'd call.”

“Guess it worked, 'cause here I am.” I bump his hip with mine and smile. “‘Shake down the stars.'
I like that.”

“I'll have to play it for you later. Wait till you hear Sarah Vaughan's version.”

We continue to stare up at the blue sky. The stargazer in me can't help but point out Venus just below the moon, shimmering faintly in all that pale blue. “We're pretty lucky, you know. Mars's sky is a yellowish brown and Jupiter's is black.”

He takes my hand and gives it another kiss.

“She knew the names of the planets in our galaxy before she knew the alphabet. She was named after Halley's Comet. Her middle name was Mercury. Spencer fought me over that, but I won.”

“Pretty name,” he says. “You know, I was thinking. If your sister allows it, we'll bring the girls back here after the wedding while she's on her honeymoon. Have a nice visit. What do you say?”

“That would be great. And I'll keep trying to change her mind about the boarding school.” I sigh loudly and toss my head back. “And I guess I owe Mom another apology for losing my temper.”

He kisses me on the cheek, but I don't let him pull away. I kiss him on the mouth softly, holding my lips on his until I hear his breath quicken and feel my heart beat faster. I see a star cluster with millions of densely packed stars burst behind my closed eyes. After we kiss, we both sigh loudly at the heat we feel and the possibilities of what that heat represents.

“Wow,” he says.

“Wow.” I laugh.

Smiling, we go back to gazing at the blue sky. We're quiet until he reaches for my hand. “The universe,” I say, “is mostly made of dark matter. It's primarily a huge void of darkness that goes on and on and on. But every now and then between those vast eternities of black, there's a galaxy filled with billions and billions of stars—and some stars, like our sun, are surrounded by planets, like our planet.” I pause, my eyes fixed on the moon. “It's pretty amazing when you stop to think about it.”

S
herry nudges my arm and nods toward the corner of the tent. “Check it out.”

Clem and I follow her gaze. TV crews are filming Margot's wedding reception for a future episode of
Margot and Me
,
and when a cameraman steps off to the side, we spot Curtis's mother, flanked by her daughters, Tweedledee and Tweedledum, fast asleep at her table. His sisters wear matching weaves that hang past their shoulders; their silver silk gowns have enough dips and slits to make anyone wonder why they bothered dressing at all. Mrs. Randolph, meanwhile, sits with her head bowed into her chin, eyes closed, thick legs crossed at the knee. She wears a platinum-blond weave and a silver and black sequined dress with a matching sequined hat shaped like a fried egg.

“Poor thing is worn-out,” Clem says.

“She got the Holy Ghost so many times at the wedding, I'm not surprised,” I say. Twice, Mrs. Randolph jumped from her seat during the wedding and started shuffling her feet and praising God. “It's not even midnight. You'd think her daughters would wake her up.”

Sherry laughs. “She sure did give the cameras a show.”

We raise our brows and giggle. Sherry is my plus-one tonight; Clem, my plus-two. A few weeks ago, after I called Sherry and told her what happened, there wasn't a hint of judgment or anger in her voice. She simply said, “Today is a new day, and now you get to see exactly how kind to yourself you can be.”

She drove out to Selwyn's place two days later. I've pooh-poohed the idea of angels in the past, but that's what she is to me. I take a peek at her as she eyes an actress on the dance floor. She knows all the celebrities here and keeps pointing people out to me. I'm glad I was able to bring her.

There are three times the number of people here than at Margot's engagement party, and everyone is either on their feet dancing or laughing and chatting it up. The thirty-plus-member band moves effortlessly between old- and new-school grooves—with Curtis, of course, taking over the mike now and then for solos.

We're celebrating tonight at a movie producer's estate in St. Helena. The property is located on several acres of land, most of which are used for his winery. Richard Atwell, Margot's new wedding planner, found the estate after declaring the Huntington, her last-minute find with Danielle, “banal at best.” Cancellation fee paid, Margot moved the wedding to Napa County.

For a surprise, Curtis had the Edward Johnson Mass Choir flown in from Los Angeles to perform several songs. I notice a choir member with a pompadour and lopsided choir robe stumble and laugh out loud. As someone who knows drunk when she sees it, I can count on two hands the number of choir members who are higher on champagne than on Christ, and Pompadour is no exception.

Curtis is suddenly draping his arms around us from behind. “You ladies having a good time?”

“Great!” Sherry says, raising her flute of apple juice.

Curtis takes me by the neck and rubs his knuckles on top of my head before I can push him off.

“Can you believe how great this all is?” he exclaims. “This is a wedding!”

“Good,”
I say. “This
is
a wedding. Do you know who got married?”

Befuddled, he stares at me for a second, then grins at Clem while pointing my way with his thumb. “This one here is always full of jokes.”

“That's why we love her,” Clem says.

I nod toward Sleeping Beauty. “You might want to check on Mrs. Randolph.”

Curtis glances in her direction but only waves his hand at his slumped-over mother and half-dressed sisters. “Aw, you know, that's just Mom. When she's tired, she's tired, and there ain't no two ways about it. She'll wake up when she's good and ready and'll be like new. You can trust me on that. 'Sides, she don't ever sleep more than thirty minutes a shot. She's like one of them rechangeable batteries.”

“Rechargeable.”

“That's what I said.”

“No, you didn't.”

“Yes, I did.”

A tall, skinny man with a receding hairline interrupts us. “Curtis?”

Curtis opens his arms. “Wilcox, man! Good to see you!” Wilcox congratulates him and says something about the book Curtis is “writing,” and he and Curtis wander off before an introduction is made.

“Who was that?” Sherry asks, excited.

“Hell if I know. More cake?”

We head over to the wedding cake, a seven-tiered affair with seven varieties of cake. Our goal is to taste every one.

After finding a table, we watch a TV camera close in on Margot and Richard, bride and wedding planner, who are suddenly taken over by the impulse to dance. Margot smiles into the camera just as Richard extends a hand, and she twirls into his arms.

“She's so beautiful,” Sherry murmurs.

“She is,” Clem says in agreement. “Just as pretty as she can be.”

Margot
is
otherworldly tonight, a woman who belongs in a fairy tale, albeit a dysfunctional tale involving mistrust, cheating, and a dopey jerk of a prince. After the Danielle debacle, Margot made sure to hire a wedding planner of the male variety, and Richard is as efficient as they come, running the evening with military-like precision and an expert's eye to detail: a look-alike waitstaff in tuxedos and slicked-back hair served dinner, and it was his idea to hire dancers from Alonzo King LINES Ballet to perform two numbers, the first set to an acoustic version of one of Curtis's songs. Sparkling gold lights glow from behind the white chiffon that drapes the tent, giving the space an ethereal feel. The head chef from French Laundry presides over the kitchen, having been paid probably twice what his entire staff makes in a year.

Since Danielle is no longer in the picture, I was asked to give a toast. Initially, I worried I wouldn't have much to say except,
Let the girls stay, you spoiled bitch!
But a lot can happen in a few weeks. I found a therapist, for starters, and along with Sherry and the meetings, I'm learning on a deeper level about forgiveness and acceptance, for others and myself. In the end, I managed a quick two-minute speech that spoke to Margot's tenacity and her ability to make friends with whomever she meets. I then wished her success, ending the toast on a tone that sounded snider than I intended—“Good luck with the marriage!”

The band switches into a 1990s pop hit, and I hear Selwyn's yelp from somewhere in the crowd. I spot him near the band, dancing with Coco. Selwyn and Coco are my plus-three and -four. When I asked Margot to send Selwyn an invitation directly, she responded with, “Who?” So I told her, “Shawn,” and she finally got it, although not without making one of her digs: “Who the hell are all these people you're inviting? Since when do you have friends? Space is limited!”

If Coco is a natural bowler, she's gifted on the dance floor, too, and doesn't let any of the extra pounds she carries hold her back. She shakes and shimmies and kicks her legs with ease.

Clem grabs an hors d'oeuvre from a passing waiter. “I don't know where that woman gets her energy.”

The band moves into another tune, and Sherry jumps from her seat. “That's my song!” She sets her plate down and sashays out to Selwyn and Coco. Selwyn yelps again when he sees Sherry, then breaks into one of his James Brown spins, leaving Sherry and Coco laughing.

When Selwyn waves at me, suggesting I join them, I hold up the cake as evidence that my hands are full. He waves again, and I shout, “Maybe the next one!” He points and does his spin. I smile to myself as I think back to last week when he blasted old Ella Fitzgerald tunes and we danced in his kitchen after pigging out on homemade ice cream.

Clem leans close to my ear. “Selwyn and Piper sitting in a tree,
K-I-S-S-I-N-G
!”

I give her a light shove, and we laugh.

The man who congratulated Curtis earlier, Wilcox, walks over and extends his hand toward Clem. “Care to dance?”

My turn to tease: “I'm gonna tell George. You know he won't like your dancing with other men.”

“Oh you,” she snaps, her face immediately souring. “Leave me alone. I'm not married to George. It's just been a few dates is all.” She makes a point of taking Wilcox's hand. “I sure would like to dance. Let's do it!”

They trot off, and I watch until my attention turns to Mom and the Reverend, dancing beneath the shimmering disco ball. Mom's lightly tousled hair softens her face, and she has the moves of a professional dancer. It seems that everyone homes in on her smile. The twins dance next to them with a group of friends from the church. I've been trying to put a positive spin on the whole boarding school nightmare, but all I can think is that I'll visit and call and write and see them whenever I can. At least Margot agreed to let them stay with Selwyn and me while she's on her honeymoon. Hopefully she'll keep her promise and let them come home if they don't like prison—
school
, I mean
.

I finish off my cake with a smack of the lips. Margot dances over just as I'm handing my empty plate to a waiter. “I'm tired of watching you standin' on the sidelines while everybody is having fun.” She starts to drag me out to the floor, even as I protest; slow dancing in Selwyn's kitchen is one thing, but dancing to something that has an actual beat is quite another.

I try to hold back—“No! Don't make me!”

But she's on a mission. “You're dancing with me, like it or not!”

Once on the floor, she takes both my hands and lifts them in the air. “Wiggle your ass. That's all you gotta do!” I eventually lighten up, and we dance like silly schoolgirls.

We dance through two songs before Curtis taps her on the shoulder. “Wife!” he exclaims, opening his arms.

“Husband!” Margot squeals. They start dancing, and I'm thankfully forgotten.

I check my watch and go over to Sherry, Coco, and Selwyn, currently bumping the sides of their hips in a three-way groove. “It's time?” he says over the music.

“Yeah, but you keep dancing.”

“Okay, I'll join you soon.”

I make my way outside toward the valet parking. I'm just in front of the tent when Mom steps out, laughing and trying to catch her breath. She holds a flute of champagne and gulps it back like water. She doesn't see me, but I smile anyway and continue walking. We're doing our best to remain civil. I'm not sure what will happen between the two of us, but I'm so focused on staying sober, I don't mind whether it's distance or pleasantries.

“Piper?”

I turn. “Hey, Mom.”

She walks up, exhaling loudly. “Ohhh, I don't remember the last time I danced so much. My feet are going to be so sore tomorrow.”

“You look good out there.”

She fans herself. “Thanks. I thought I was going to pass out for a minute there. I needed some fresh air. You having a good time?”

“I am.”

She takes a sip of her champagne, then smiles and looks at me. I hold her stare and force her to keep mine in hopes of telling her everything I want to say without saying a word,
I'm sorry and I love you
, the typical things a daughter wants to tell her mother. I do not assume that she's sober enough to remember this moment tomorrow, but I don't care.

She gently touches my hand. “She was a beautiful little girl, Piper.”

“Perfect.”

“I miss her, you know. I wish she were here.”

“I know, Mom. I do, too.”

A couple falls out of the tent, laughing loudly, and our spell is broken. She gives my hand a squeeze. “I should check in on Charles.”

I watch her walk back inside. Selwyn says Mom and I are a lot alike and that's why we clash so often. Maybe he's right. Mom is certainly a fighter, and I don't mind taking that from her.

I head to the makeshift parking lot and ask the valet to get my car so that I can take out my binoculars. After I retrieve them, I start the climb up the winding stone driveway that leads to the estate. The climb takes several minutes, the music and sounds from the wedding growing increasingly tinny and inaudible.

I'm perspiring by the time I reach the top. I stand at the edge of the circular driveway in front of the estate and gaze at what must be all of St. Helena down below. As expected, the light pollution is minimal, and it's easy to spot several constellations and planets. I take a moment to catch my breath. Tonight a loose star cluster, CGN108, is only twenty thousand light-years away and viewable through binoculars. When Selwyn and I read about the cluster online, we decided we'd take a break from the wedding at some point and check it out.

Most star clusters orbiting the Milky Way are packed with stars bound tightly by gravity. Not so with CGN108, whose stars are loose and not nearly as codependent. Astronomers, in fact, refer to clusters like these as “sisters” that will eventually go their separate ways. The stars aren't as dense as a regular cluster and so not nearly as magnificent, but they're special in their own right—able to fight the pull of gravity and make their own course.

It takes me a moment to find the cluster, and when I do, I whisper, “Thank you.”
I lower the binoculars after a minute or two and look down at the tents and people walking about the grounds. I stare out into the distance, at the dark hills and vineyards, then let my gaze wander back to the night sky. I gaze at CGN108 and all those stars inevitably separating as they make their way through space. I take in Orion's Belt and Taurus the Bull off to the left. Eventually, I take a breath and close my eyes entirely. I see the moon and fiery sun. I see all eight planets nestled in their corner of the Milky Way. I see the entire galaxy itself. I see fast-spinning pulsars with fuchsia-colored radio waves and supergiants emitting ten thousand times more light than the sun. I see the Horsehead Nebula, dark and ominous, and the Lagoon Nebula with its pool of newly developed stars. I see supernovas and dark matter and black holes. I see molecular gas and far-off galaxies. I see it all.