The Distance
Authors: Alexa Land
The Distance
by Alexa Land
Book Eleven in the
Firsts and Forever Series
Copyright 2016 by Alexa Land.
All rights reserved. No reproduction, copy or transmission in whole or in part of this publication is permitted without express written consent from the author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either used fictitiously or are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, business establishments or locales is purely coincidental.
This gay romance contains adult language and sexually explicit material.
It is intended for ADULTS ONLY.
Books by Alexa Land Include:
Feral (prequel to Tinder)
The Tinder Chronicles (Tinder, Hunted and Destined)
And the Firsts and Forever Series:
Way Off Plan
All In
In Pieces
Gathering Storm
Salvation
Skye Blue
Against the Wall
Belonging
Coming Home
All I Believe
Hitman’s Holiday (short story)
The Distance
Dedicated to
Stacey
With So Much Love
Thank You to
My Beta Readers
I appreciate you so much!
Thanks also to
My Firsts & Forever Group on Facebook
for the enthusiasm and encouragement
And Special Thanks to
Anita F.
and Jessica T.
for naming the love of Jessie’s life!
Table of Contents
I checked myself out from every angle in the frothy wedding gown, and decided white was definitely not my color.
“You look adorable, Jessie,” Nana told me. My employer’s real name was Stana Dombruso, but most people used her nickname, because she felt like a grandmother to us all. At the moment, the petite eighty-year-old was also wearing a great, big, fluffy wedding dress and preening in the mirrors that surrounded us.
“I look like Barbie’s flat-chested sister Skipper,” I told her, sliding my red baseball cap back on my head. “Also, this dress is failing the comfort test big-time. It’s super itchy, weighs a ton, and I keep feeling like my nipples are about to fall out.” I grabbed the top of the strapless, heavily beaded bodice with both hands and hoisted it toward my chin.
“So, that dress is out,” Nana said. “This one is, too. I look like a float in the Rose Parade.” She wasn’t wrong. Her white-on-white dress was festooned with three-dimensional fabric flowers and definitely parade-worthy.
From behind us, a booming voice with a thick Spanish accent exclaimed, “You are a vision, Nana!” Mr. Mario, her friend and hairdresser, came into the room and fluffed his big, ruffled skirt. He then started carefully smoothing his collar-length salt-and-pepper hair in the three-sixty mirrors. The wedding dress he wore was more cream than white, and looked pretty good with his faux tan.
“I’ve decided I hate this dress,” Nana said, tugging on the puff sleeves and making them stand out like a linebacker’s shoulders. “I like Jessie’s better, but he has a list of grievances.”
“I don’t understand mine.” I scooped up an armload of the skirt’s many layers, which revealed my turquoise sneakers. “When I was a kid, I had a little net for when I needed to clean my fish tank, and it was made out of this same, exact stuff. Why would anyone want to get married in a huge goldfish net?”
“That shit’s called tulle, and it’s supposed to be all elegant-like,” Nana told me. “But now that you said that, all I see is a big fish net. I still like the beading, though.”
I hoisted my skirt higher and scratched my thighs with my short fingernails. That tulle stuff was miserable. “I need someone to explain to me why any woman would want to be completely uncomfortable on what’s supposed to be one of the happiest days of her life,” I said.
“It’s a small price to pay for looking this good,” Mr. Mario said, admiring his reflection in the cream silk number. He occasionally moonlighted as a drag queen, so he was probably used to the horrors of women’s formalwear.
A rustle of fabric announced the arrival of five of Nana’s little girlfriends, who stuffed themselves into the mirrored room with us. They were all over seventy-five, under five-foot-two, and each wore an enormous wedding dress. “I like this one, Stana,” her friend Miriam said, spinning as much as she could in her lacy frock. The little room was wall-to-wall brides at that point.
“Nah, forget all that lace, it’s too fussy,” Gladys said, waving her hand dismissively. “What you want is simple and elegant, like this.” She flung her arms out to the sides, and in the process knocked Miriam’s wig off.
“Damn it, Gladys, watch your paws,” Miriam huffed. When she bent over to retrieve her wig, she bumped into Mr. Mario, who went over like a felled tree and took Nana and most of her friends with him. When his hairy legs flew into the air, the skirt dropped back to reveal tiger-striped socks, five-inch gold heels, and skimpy, leopard-print briefs. I managed to remain upright until a little old lady named Sylvia grabbed my skirt to try to hoist herself up, and then I fell right on top of her.
“You okay, Syl?” I asked, trying to locate the floor in that sea of fluffy dresses so I could push myself up.
Someone’s hand found my ass in the cloud of tulle and gave it a squeeze as Sylvia exclaimed, “Oh, I’m fine! This is more action than I’ve seen in a decade!”
She gave me a gummy smile, and I called, “Everyone, watch where you step! Sylvia’s teeth flew out again.”
Just then, the mirrored door swung open, and Sylvia and I and two more ladies spilled out into the hallway. I looked up at Nana’s grandson Dante, who wore an impeccable black suit and an amused expression. He raised an eyebrow at me and said, “Really?”
“Just help me up,” I told him. He pulled me to my feet, and then he and I began picking up little old ladies and lining them up in the hallway.
When everyone was upright, Nana said, “I need a side-by-side comparison. Let’s go out into the showroom so I can see all these dresses in a row.”
The shop’s two employees were being remarkably accommodating and grinned when our procession filtered into the main part of the bridal boutique. They were even modeling wedding dresses for Nana, because she wanted to see them on people and not on a hanger. I carried my skirt bunched up in my arms to keep from tripping over it, and lined up between Mr. Mario and Gladys as Nana put on her big, round glasses and assessed us carefully.
Finally she declared, pointing around the room, “I like the beading on Jessie’s dress, the sleeves on Miriam’s, the skirt on Muriel’s, the bodice on Mr. Mario’s, and not a damn thing on the dress I’m wearing.” She turned to one of the salespeople and asked, “You got anything like that?”
The younger of the two shop workers, a slim blonde with lots of makeup and flat-ironed hair, tapped her chin with a manicured fingertip as she thought about that for a moment, then said, “Possibly. Let me go look in the back.”
“I love my dress,” Muriel said. “I feel like Cinderella.” She was wearing a pink gown with a skirt big enough to smuggle the carriage into the ball.
“But you look like the evil stepmother,” Gladys shot back.
“I’m telling you, Nana,” Mr. Mario said, still completely working that cream-colored number, “have something custom-made, just for you. That way you can get exactly what your heart desires.”
“But what if I don’t like the dress when it’s finished? I think it’s better to see something ready-made and know exactly what I’m getting.”
“But you are not a ready-made kind of woman, Nana,” he told her. “You’re a one-of-a-kind creation all the way!”
She said, “You know, the first time I got married, I was barely out of my teens. I wore a frumpy, off-white dress with long sleeves and a high collar, which had been handed down in my family. It looked like a nun’s habit. I figure anything’s gonna be a step up from that, and there are so many pretty dresses here to choose from. Oh, like that!”
Her brown eyes lit up at the giant monstrosity the salesperson brought from the back. The thing was completely over the top. It had little puff sleeves, so much beading on the bodice that I was surprised the salesperson could lift it, and a full skirt with probably twenty rows of ruffles. The top third of the dress was white, but the ruffles morphed from pink to red in an ombre effect, with the darkest color at the bottom. It was enough to make even a Disney princess reconsider her lifestyle choices.
“The only sample we have of this particular gown is both tall and plus-size, though it could of course be ordered in petite if you like it,” the blonde woman told her, holding up the sparkly garment by its hanger and draping the enormous skirt over her arm to fan it out. I knew Nana wouldn’t want to wait, but she was barely five feet tall and probably eighty pounds soaking wet. If she tried to put that dress on, we’d have to send in a Saint Bernard with a barrel of brandy to find her.
“I can model it for you, Nana,” Mr. Mario offered. “I’m the tallest one here.” He was maybe five-ten, and that (plus the heels) made him a lighthouse in the sea of little old ladies.
“I want to compare it to the bodice of the dress you’re wearing, though,” she told him, “so I don’t want you to change. Besides, it’s not quite accurate that you’re the tallest one here.” She turned to her grandson Dante, who had to be six-four, and beamed at him.
He’d been leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest, and stood up quickly as he exclaimed, “Oh no. Not going to happen. We weren’t even supposed to stop here, we were on our way to the wine shop! I’m only along to offer opinions on champagne for the reception, not to model wedding dresses!”
“Oh come on, be a sport! You’re the only person it’ll fit,” Nana cajoled. “That’ll be the last dress I look at today, I swear. After that we’ll go straight to the wine shop, no more dilly dallying. But until I see it on a person, how do I know if it’s my dream dress?”
He said, “It’s not. You and your posse already tried on fifty dresses, and you didn’t like any of them.”
“But what if it is? What if this is the one and I miss out on it just because you’re stubborn?”
“Have Jessie try it on,” Dante said, gesturing at me. “For some reason, he’s perfectly willing to go along with this craziness. Why, I’ll never know.”
“This is fun,” I told him. “Besides today, when would I ever get to try on a wedding dress? You have to open yourself up to new experiences in life.”
“This is one life experience I’ll gladly do without,” he said.
“You know your grandmother, Dante. Do you think there’s any way on earth she’s going to leave here without seeing that dress on someone? If you play along, we can be out of here in fifteen minutes. Otherwise, I anticipate two or three more hours as we try on every frock in the place.”
He sighed dramatically, then turned to Nana. “I’ll only do this under two conditions: no one takes pictures, and no matter if you love the dress or hate it, it’s the last one today. After I model it for you, everyone gets dressed, we get back in the limo, and we proceed to the wine shop. Agreed?”
“Scout’s honor,” Nana said, flashing him the hang-loose symbol by making a fist and extending her pinky and thumb. “Now hurry up and change. I’m growing old over here!”
Dante’s shoulders slumped in defeat, and the blonde salesperson told him cheerfully, “I left a tulle petticoat in the first dressing room on the right. Be sure to put that on underneath, so Nana can get the full effect.”
He muttered under his breath, snatched the dress, and stomped off to the dressing room. As soon as he was out of earshot, Nana chuckled delightedly and fished her phone out of her bra as she said, “He didn’t say anything about video.” She told the salespeople, “There’s a hundred bucks in it for both of you if you sneak in the back and hide his suit when he comes out here. I love my grandson, but the boy needs to lighten up. He’s been so damn serious lately!”
The older of the two salespeople, an elegant-looking woman with short, silver hair, grinned and said, “I’m on it.” She picked up the skirt of the silk wedding dress she was modeling and slipped through a doorway to my right.
Nana poked at her phone a bit, then handed it to me and said, “Here, Jessie, you know what to do.” I quickly dialed Dante’s husband Charlie and his brother Vincent, put them on a video conference call, and hit record.
Dante emerged a couple minutes later, scowling as he crossed his muscular arms over his chest. Funnily enough, the fluffy gown fit him pretty well, though he was so tall that it barely skimmed his ankles instead of reaching the floor. Nana doubled over in a fit of laughter, the Rose Parade gown billowing up around her, and Dante knit his brows and asked me, “What happened to no photos?”
“I’m not taking pictures, I’m on a video chat with Charlie and Vinnie. Give ‘em a wave,” I said, twirling my free hand like a beauty pageant contestant.
“Go ahead, Dante, spin for us,” Nana managed. He sighed dramatically and did as she asked.
When we got a look at the back of the dress, I started laughing, too. A huge, pink bow adorned his backside, and as I panned the camera down, I said, “Look Charlie, your husband’s ass is gift-wrapped all nice and pretty for you.” On screen, Vincent was laughing so hard that he had to take off his glasses to wipe the tears from his eyes, and Charlie was beaming delightedly.
Dante fought back a smile and tried to glare at me. “I don’t know when or how, but there will be payback for that video call.”
“I didn’t have time to get Gianni and Mikey on the line,” I told him. “You popped into that gown faster than a squirrel going after a bag of circus peanuts! But the good news is, I’m recording this, so I can email it to the rest of your brothers.”
“Oh shit,” Nana exclaimed. “I suddenly realized what you remind me of with that white top and the red bottom. You look like a giant tampon, Dante!” On screen, Vincent howled with laughter and disappeared from sight as he fell to the floor.
Dante rolled his eyes and tried to make a dignified retreat, but his skirt got stuck on something in the doorway and he was pulled up short. Two of Nana’s girlfriends rushed forward, freed the skirt, and pushed on his ass to stuff him and that big dress through the door. Just as he vanished from sight, the salesperson returned with his suit in a white shopping bag, and Muriel hid it under her full skirt. Meanwhile, I said goodbye to Vincent and Charlie and handed the phone back to Nana.
“You know,” Nana said, “I got no problem with anybody of any gender wearing whatever the hell they want. So when I say Dante looked ridiculous, it’s not because he’s a man in a dress, but because wedding dresses in general and that one in particular are so totally over the top! I thought I wanted a big, sparkly gown because I never got to wear one the first time around, but now that I think about it, maybe not. Don’t even get me started on the symbolism of wearing white! What kind of bullshit is that? And what am I trying to do in a huge, flouncy dress, make people think I’m a princess? Please. That’s a major downgrade when you’re already the queen. Plus, every one of these gowns failed the comfort test big-time. I’m not saying I’m gonna marry my honey in a track suit, but damn, I’m sweating like a snowman in hell in this thing, and that ain’t pretty!”
