Swinging on a Star (16 page)
“I didn’t know he was coming. Brock arranged all of this. Well, Brock and D.J.”
“That D.J.” Marian giggled. “He really is something, isn’t he, honey?”
“Oh yes.” He was something, all right. And like a true knight in shining armor, he always rushed in to save the day, even when I didn’t know I needed saving.
“He’s a keeper, Bella,” Marian whispered in my ear. Then she glided back across the room and took her groom by the hand. Seconds later they were on the dance floor, waltzing to the song Bubba crooned.
I looked at D.J. and extended my hand.
He looked a little flustered. “Oh, I’m not a dancer, Bella. You know that.”
“Yes, and Bubba thought he wasn’t an opera singer either. The truth is, we don’t have a clue what we’re capable of until we try.”
He took my hand with a boyish grin. “I can’t argue with that logic. Maybe by the end of the evening I’ll be a ballroom dancer.”
He swept me into his arms, and I felt like a princess as he twirled me around the dance floor. When the song ended, D.J. looked up at the stage, a terrified look on his face.
“What is it, babe?” I asked.
“I, um, have to do something.”
He took off running, and I started to ask him if the clock was about to strike midnight. Maybe he’d leave a glass boot behind. For whatever reason, he took the stage next to Bubba. Then the two of them began to sing the most amazing Italian love song I’d ever heard in my life.
“Bella!” Jenna approached, her eyes wide. “I knew Bubba could sing, but . . . D.J.?”
I couldn’t respond because I didn’t want to miss even one second of their performance. Finally, as they rounded the chorus for the second time, I turned to Jenna. “I should’ve known. I’ve stood next to D.J. in church dozens of times and heard him worship. I knew he had a strong voice, but I never pictured this.”
Two cowboys from the piney woods of east Texas, standing on a stage in medieval attire and singing opera. Would wonders never cease?
Earline drew near with tears in her eyes. “Bella, I can’t thank you enough. Look at the transformation in my boys. Bubba has never been happier, and D.J. . . .” She released a sigh. “He’s turned into quite an amazing man. I’m so proud of him.”
“Me too.” I could barely get the words out over the lump in my throat.
When the song ended, Bubba made a run for the door, hollering his congratulations to the bride and groom. I whispered a prayer that he would make it back to the opera house in time for the second act. D.J. slipped back into town crier mode and introduced the court jester, who took the stage once again, his silly antics bringing more than a few smiles. The whimsical fellow was followed by a juggler in colorful attire, then a real sword-swallower, each one introduced with great fanfare by my Splendora sweetie. I squeezed my eyes shut, refusing to watch the sword-swallower, especially when he lit the swords on fire.
Over the next hour or so, things got a little rowdy. People ended up in the stockades—this part staged, of course. Somehow D.J. kept things under control. I’d never seen him more in his element. Who would have known it? My D.J. really was born to be a deejay, even a medieval one.
I was happy when the moment arrived for the fireworks. Nick and Joey had been working on this for hours, I knew, and it would be perfect. The trumpeters got our attention once again, and I watched, my heart racing, as D.J. summoned the guests to the area in front of the stage.
“His Highness and Her Highness would ask you to join them in the courtyard for the royal display of fireworks. Afterward they will board their carriage, hand in hand, for the first time as a married couple!”
He left the stage and headed my way. The guests began to spill out into the area around the castle, which, under the twinkling stars, looked as real as any castle from medieval times. Joy wrapped itself around me as those first fireworks lit the night sky, merging with the shimmering stars above.
D.J. slipped into place behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist. I turned to face him, my heart soaring with the excitement of the moment. Fireworks flew overhead, but they were nothing compared to the ones going off in my heart as D.J.’s lips met mine for a kiss sweeter than tiramisu.
Surely no one would mind if the town crier and the wedding planner spent a little time smooching under the stars. Right? We were only following the script, after all.
Demo version limitation
When D.J. and I came up for air, I giggled, then gave him another peck on the cheek. Off in the distance, Rosa shouted, “Someone shut that bird up before I strangle him!” and I laughed.
“I guess we’d better do something about Guido before Rosa hurts him.”
D.J. shook his head. “She wouldn’t hurt that bird. In fact, I think she’s crazy about him.”
“Oh?”
“Sure. He’s a part of Laz. And you know how she feels about Laz.” D.J. grinned. “Not that she’s come out and said it, mind you, but I think it’s pretty clear.”
“Yeah.” I cradled into his embrace. “Why do you suppose it’s so hard for some people to tell each other how they feel?”
“Not sure, but I’m glad that family trait didn’t trickle down to you.” He kissed the tip of my nose, then rose and grabbed my hand. “But Guido’s starting to get on my nerves now, so let’s go see if we can help him shift gears to another song.”
“He only knows one other song.”
“Exactly.”
We entered the kitchen to find Guido in his cage in front of the window. He was down to eighty-eight bottles of beer, and Rosa looked like she might very well strangle him. Brock sat on a barstool, scribbling down a recipe, and acknowledged us with a grunt as we walked into the room.
“Tell me again how you prepared the chicken parmesan.” He looked at Rosa, perched and ready to write her response.
“I start with the most tender chicken breasts I can find, and then pound them down to the perfect size, shape, and consistency.”
“Okay. Got it.” He looked up, ready for more.
“Afterward I deep-fry them and coat them in a meat gravy.”
“The best on the planet,” I threw in. “That first bite is always worth waiting for, but you’ve got to do it right. Get a decent-sized piece of chicken and plenty of sauce. And cheese.”
“Oh, the cheese!” Rosa’s face lit up. “I use mozzarella, of course, then add hand-grated Parmesan on top.”
“The whole concoction is a cheese lover’s delight,” I said.
“Or a lactose-intolerant person’s worst nightmare,” my pop said, entering the room. He filled his coffee cup, then left us to our own devices.
Brock looked up at Rosa. “Thanks so much for sharing your secrets. I’m taking them with me back to Hollywood. Hope it’s okay.”
“As long as you give credit where credit is due.” Aunt Rosa winked.
“Oh, I will,” he said. “I’ll tell everyone about you.”
Rosa laughed. “I don’t mean me, Brock, I mean the Lord. He’s the one we need to give the credit to.”
Brock looked a little confused by that.
I made my way over to Guido’s cage and began to sing, “Amazing grace, how sweet the sound . . .” Guido picked up on my lead and added, “That saved a wretch like me!” He sustained the word
me
for quite some time, his voice warbling. I laughed. Turning back to Rosa, I said, “See? He’s not so bad.”
“I just wish he would make up his mind, is all,” she said. “One minute he’s a believer, the next minute he’s singing about bottles of beer on the wall and calling people names. That bird straddles the fence, and it’s driving me crazy. There’s only so much a person can take, after all.”
D.J. seemed to find that pretty humorous. “Well, we’re working on him, but these things take time.”
That got Brock’s attention. He glanced up at us with a perplexed look. “What is it with you people and that song, anyway?”
“‘Ninety-Nine Bottles of Beer on the Wall’?” I asked.
“No.” He shook his head. “‘Amazing Grace.’ You were singing it in the car the other morning on the way home from jail, and the bird sings it all day long. Is that the only song your family knows?”
“Pretty much.” I grinned. “Unless you count all of those Dean Martin songs coming from Laz’s room. Or the Sinatra tunes Rosa plays all day. But even they don’t compare.” I turned to Rosa and shrugged. “Sorry.”
“No, you’re right.” Rosa looked up from her recipe box. “Don’t get me wrong, I love Ol’ Blue Eyes. I’d marry him today if he asked me.”
“Which would be tough, since he’s currently crooning his tunes from the great beyond,” D.J. whispered.
“But even Sinatra at his finest can’t touch me like the words to ‘Amazing Grace’ can.” Rosa lifted her apron and dabbed her eyes. “There’s something about those words. They’ve stood the test of time.”
She held us all spellbound with her dissertation on the song. I’d seen Rosa worked up before, but not like this.
Turning to Brock, she offered up an explanation. “See, I was just a little girl from Napoli who never really knew where she fit in.”
“That’s hard to believe,” Brock said, offering her a sympathetic smile.
“No, it’s true. I wasn’t pretty like so many of the girls, especially like my sister Imelda. But I always knew the Lord loved me anyway, despite any flaws.”
“You were just a kid.” Brock shrugged. “He wouldn’t be much of a God if he didn’t love an innocent kid. Right?”
“Yes, but here’s my point.” She leaned her elbows on the island and looked into Brock’s eyes. “I’m
still
his kid all these years later. And I still have flaws. But he loves me just the way I am. He’s not like a man. I don’t have to get all fancied up to impress him. It’s his grace . . .” Rosa’s eyes filled with tears. “Well, it’s that grace that frees me up to be who I was called to be. It’s that grace that reminds me I’m his child. If not for that grace, I wouldn’t be here. Life is just too hard.”
You could’ve heard a pin drop. I’d heard a lot of sermons in my life, but none like this. Rosa’s words cut straight to the heart. Brock rose from his seat and began to pace the room. For a minute no one spoke a word.
“So . . .” He finally broke the silence. “That part about being lost and then found . . .”
We all looked at him, but no one interrupted.
“I’m not saying I really think I’m lost. But if I did, how would I go about getting found again?”
“You’d have to do the very thing that’s the hardest to do— put your trust in someone other than yourself,” I said. “And you don’t have to worry about fixing anything yourself. He wants you . . . just like you are.”
“So I guess that whole karma thing has to go right out the window if all of this stuff is to be believed.”
I nodded. “Yeah, that’s what I was trying to say the other day. If we could save ourselves, that would be one thing. But we can’t.”
“And there’s no point in trying,” D.J. added. “We’re totally dependent on God, which is what makes the grace part so important. He does for us what we can’t do for ourselves.”
“I’m telling you, this would never fly in Hollywood.” Brock continued to pace. “But there’s something about all of you that’s . . .”
“ Different?” Rosa asked, wrinkling her nose.
“Yeah.” Brock paused, then smiled. “But in a good way. In a way that makes me want to rethink the last twenty-eight years of my life. You know what I mean?”
“I know what you mean.” Rosa reached over and touched his arm, such a gentle gesture that it took me by surprise. She really was softening lately.
Brock walked over to Guido’s cage and stared him down. To his credit, Guido did a pretty good job of staring back. Then the most amazing thing happened. Without even being prompted, Guido began to sing “Amazing Grace” once again. When he got to the words, “I once was lost, but now am found,” he paused, then continued his stare down with Brock.
If that didn’t convince a guy, nothing would.
Less than five minutes after Guido’s final rendition of “Amazing Grace,” Brock fell to pieces right in front of us. He told us everything—about his childhood, his journey out of the pit he’d lived in with his mother, the eventual move to Los Angeles . . . everything. We let him talk, knowing it was the best thing for him, what with confession being so good for the soul and all. Besides, this was his testimony, and I had a feeling he’d be using it a lot from now on.
When he finally paused to take a breath, Brock turned to D.J. “What do I need to do?”
“Do? Hmm.” D.J. paused, a reflective look on his face. “Well, you can start by just having a conversation with God like you’ve had with us. You’re going to find that he’s really easy to talk to.”
“I wouldn’t have a clue how to do that.”
Over the next couple of minutes, D.J. talked Brock through the basic plan of salvation in layman’s terms. No sermonizing. I’d never been prouder of my sweetie. And when Brock bowed his head to pray, the whole room grew silent. Even Guido seemed to fall under the spell of the holy hush.
My heart thumped madly as all of this transpired. Somehow God had taken the chaos of the last few days and used it for his glory.
You did it, Lord. You really did it
. Why had I ever doubted? And how wonderful to see the role D.J. had played in all of this. He had such a natural way about him. No preaching. No condemnation. Just a simple, honest conversation with a life-altering message attached. I had so much to learn from him.
As I turned to face Brock, I found myself unable to hold back my tears. “I’m so excited for you. This is going to change . . . well, everything.”
“I have a feeling you’re right.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “But I’m not sure where to start. There’s got to be something I can do.” He paced the room.
“Something you can do?” I asked. “You’ve already done it, Brock. You’ve asked Jesus to be the Lord of your life. That’s the best decision you’ll ever make.”
“I know, but now that I’ve done that, I feel like there’s something more he has for me. Remember that stuff you told me about putting others first? I’ve had it backwards all along. It’s time to change that. It’s not about me, is it?”
“Well, you’re supposed to love others as you love yourself,” I said. “So I suppose it would be impossible to love others if you didn’t love yourself first.”
