Swinging On A Star Page 11

  He held up his program. “Read the synopsis.”

  “Ah.” I let it go at that, but I had a feeling there was more to this story than meets the eye. Kind of like Brock. There was certainly more to him than meets the eye. He might come across as a self-absorbed Hollywood hunk-a-man, but I’d already figured out there was much more to him.

  D.J. looked my way with confusion registering in his eyes. Ouch. I’d hurt his feelings by talking to Brock. But what could I do about it? I didn’t want to be rude, after all. Right? On the other hand, maybe he felt left out. I leaned his way, grasped his hand, and gave it a squeeze, which he returned.

  I watched the rest of the show in rapt awe. Mama had hit the nail on the head where Bubba was concerned. The boy could’ve taken home an award for his performance. And the folks in the wardrobe department were probably celebrating the fact that he’d put on every outfit.

  After he sang his last song, the audience erupted in applause, and I joined them, clapping until my palms smarted. What a transformation a costume could make.

  I glanced at Brock, unable to hide the smile. Yes, what a difference a costume could make.

  15

  Just One of Those Things

  On Sunday morning I drove the Splendora trio to the pier, then met my family at church. Brock and Rob stayed home, but the rest of us enjoyed a break from the craziness of the week. The reception from our friends at church didn’t surprise me. Mama was congratulated on every side by people who had seen last night’s production. She took it all in stride, but I could see the appreciation in her eyes.

  D.J. joined us as the service began, settling into the spot next to me in the pew. I loved going to church with him more than almost anything else, in part because he sang with such abandon. And he truly loved the people. That much was evident in all he said and did.

  Still, I had to wonder how he felt about the Methodist church after growing up in a Full Gospel congregation. Did he find us tame in comparison? If so, he hadn’t said. I somehow imagined D.J. Neeley would be at home in any church, as long as the Lord met him there. And as long as I was sitting at his side.

  Our pastor chose a topic that seemed to correspond with what the Lord had been showing me of late. It was all about old things becoming new. I opened my Bible to 2 Corinthians and read along as he quoted the text for the message: “Therefore, if any man be in Christ, he is a new creature: old things are passed away; behold, all things are become new.”

  Hmm. For whatever reason, that verse made me think of Brock Benson. He was a great guy, clearly. But I had the strongest feeling God had led him here to Galveston Island for more than just a wedding. He was at a fork in the road. I could sense it. And God wanted to do something fresh and new in his life. I spent the next few minutes praying for him, then focused on the message.

  After church, I found Brock in the kitchen, looking at Guido’s cage. “What’s with the white cloth over the cage?” Brock asked. “Is he being punished?”

  I laughed, then did my best to explain. “Not exactly. That’s a prayer cloth.”

  “Prayer cloth?”

  “Yeah.” No doubt he’d find this interesting. “See, Rosa has a theory that whenever Guido’s under the covering of her prayer cloth, he’s one bird—calm, cool, and collected. Then, when the cover is removed, he’s another.”

  Brock quirked a brow. “I think I’d just leave him under there 24-7.”

  “Right.” I sighed. “But then there’s Laz. He’s nuts about Guido. Probably because Guido actually belongs to his old friend Sal, who lives up north. Sal had a stroke a few months ago and is in rehab, so Laz is watching over Guido for him.”

  “Oh, man. Now I feel sorry for the poor little guy.” Brock lifted the edge of the prayer cloth, and Guido hollered, “Wise guy!” Dropping the cloth, Brock said, “But not that sorry.”

  He went off to find Rosa, and I headed upstairs to my parents’ room. I rapped on their door, surprised to find Mama taking a nap. “Oh, sorry.” I shrugged. “I need the keys to Twila’s car. I can’t leave it at the wedding facility all week. Bad for business.”

  “Where are you going to park it?” Mama’s pursed lips let me know that parking it in the driveway was out of the question.

  “Oh, not to worry. D.J. said he’d drive it over to his condo. I don’t know why we didn’t think of that sooner.”

  “Great idea. To be honest, I’m a little relieved that the people from the Food Network won’t see it. The kind of car in a person’s driveway makes a vivid first impression. Not that I’m out to impress anyone, but a 1983 Pinto, well …”

  “Say no more. I’ve got this under control. Just need to get the keys from you.”

  “From me?” Her brow wrinkled. “What makes you think I have the keys to Twila’s car?”

  “She told me yesterday that she would leave them with you.” I paused, deep in thought. “Or maybe she said Rosa. Let me check.”

  I practically sprinted to the kitchen, anxious to get this over and done with. I found Rosa hard at work counting out the pans for Marian’s wedding cakes. In the midst of all the chaos, I’d forgotten she’d agreed to make the cakes for the big day.

  I glanced over at the small television, Rosa’s constant companion while she cooked, to see Giada De Laurentiis on the Food Network. “Oh, it’s Everyday Italian, your favorite show!”

  “Every show on the Food Network is my favorite.” She giggled. “Last night I watched Ace of Cakes to get in the mood for baking. And then I watched a great cake-decorating competition. Cute show. Oh, but speaking of the Food Network …” She dove into a long-winded story about Iron Chef Bobby Flay. Turned out she’d started to suspect this whole Food Network gig was really just a ruse. Maybe Bobby was coming to the house to challenge her to a throw down. Now that would really be something!

  We got so caught up in our conversation about food that I almost forgot the reason I’d come to talk to Rosa in the first place. “Rosa, do you have the keys to Twila’s Pinto?”

  “Keys? Hmm?”

  “To the Pinto.”

  “Bella, I haven’t driven since the ’70s. You know that.” She went back to work, muttering under her breath about not having enough pans.

  “Yes, but I thought Twila said she would leave her keys with you so we could move her car before the wedding.”

  “Ask your mother.”

  “I did. She doesn’t have them.”

  Rosa shook her head. “Me either. And I’m a little distracted right now, Bella. Once I finish up here, I have to figure out how to memorize those lines they’ve given me to say next Friday.”

  “Lines?” I smiled. “I have the perfect idea. Get Brock to help you. He loves running lines with people. Told me so himself.”

  Rosa looked over at me, relief in her expression. “Oh, Bella! That’s a wonderful idea. I can’t believe I didn’t think of it myself.”

  “Well, you’ve got a few other things on your mind.” I walked over and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “I know I’ve already told you this, but it’s worth repeating. I’m so thrilled for you, Rosa. You’re the best cook I’ve ever known. If anyone deserves a spot on national television for their cooking, you do.”

  “Humph.” Laz walked through the room, reached over to snatch a piece of chicken, then kept walking.

  Rosa sighed as he disappeared from view. “What am I going to do with that man, Bella? He drives me out of my ever-loving mind.”

  “Yep. I know.” I started to say, “Marry him,” but thought that might stir up trouble. Instead, I whispered, “You know, I think he’s a little jealous.”

  “Jealous?”

  “Yes.” I leaned in close, hoping Laz was out of earshot.

  “He makes a pretty mean pizza. Think about it. He owns his own restaurant. But no one much talks about his cooking skills. I think this whole Food Network thing has him a little, well, envious of you.”

  “Oh.” She paused from her labors and shook her head. “I don’t know why it di
dn’t occur to me, but I’m sure you’re right. Maybe I need to ask him to cook a couple of nights this week. Might give me a chance to rest, anyway. I’m pretty worn out. Been on my feet for, well, sixty-five years.” She winked and I laughed. Truly, she had worked in a kitchen most of her life. All the more reason she deserved a spot on national television.

  As I left the kitchen, I passed Laz in the hallway with Guido on his shoulder. The bird was quoting John 3:16. Not bad, I had to admit. My uncle had been working on the parrot for several months, and all with only one thought in mind— sending him back to his original owner with the salvation message in his beak.

  “How do you think Sal will feel when he finds out his bird has come to know the Lord during his stay in Texas?” I asked with a grin.

  “Don’t know. But I have to reach Sal with the gospel somehow. After all of those years he spent in the mob …” Laz dove into a story about the old days, but my cell phone rang, interrupting him. I smiled when I saw D.J.’s number.

  “Hey, you.”

  “Hey, yourself,” he said. “Did you find Twila’s keys? Are we moving her car to my place?”

  “It’s the strangest thing. I can’t find her keys anywhere.”

  “No problem,” he said, putting my mind at ease. “Bubba’s got the wrecker parked at my condo. He can come over to your house with me after his matinee, and we’ll load up the car and take it to my place.”

  “It won’t damage the car?” I asked, trying to envision the look on Twila’s face if we dented her little baby.

  D.J. laughed. “Not at all, Bella. Don’t worry. We’ve got this under control.”

  “Of course you do.” He always had everything under control. Why did I doubt him?

  Awhile later, the guys pulled the family wrecker into the drive at the wedding facility.

  “I’ve seen this car in the parking lot at church every Sunday up Splendora-way,” Bubba said, “but I’ve never had the courage to ask Sister Twila why she chose the color pink.”

  I pointed to the faded Mary Kay sticker on the back. “I have a feeling she won this car in the ’80s for selling makeup.”

  “No joke?” He pulled off his baseball cap and scratched his head. “I’m surprised it’s still running.”

  “And her makeup is still going strong too.” D.J. winked and we all laughed. He turned to face the car, suddenly all business. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

  “Oh, speaking of shows …” I looked at Bubba with a smile. “I know I told you this last night, but it bears repeating. You were absolutely amazing in that production. I was blown away, to be quite honest.”

  “Shoot.” His gaze shifted to the ground. “I still can’t believe it’s really happening. My life has sure gone a different direction since I met all of you folks.”

  “So has mine.” D.J. slipped his arm around my shoulder. “It’s a little crazier, but I wouldn’t change a thing.”

  Just then, Brock came walking across the front lawn of the wedding facility, dressed in his Urkel-like getup. Bubba burst out laughing at the sight of him. “What happened to you? Your pants shrink in the dryer? And what’s up with the glasses? You having trouble seeing or something?”

  Brock sighed. “Hey, it’s just a part I’m playing. That’s what I do. I’m an actor.” His gaze narrowed, and he looked at Bubba with intensity. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I saw the show last night.”

  “You did?”

  “Mm-hmm.” Brock nodded. “And I have to say, that was the best version of Figaro I’ve seen … and I’ve seen it three times. You were very good. Impeccable.”

  “Well, shoot. Impeccable? What does that mean?”

  “It means without flaw.”

  “Oh no!” Bubba put his hands up. “I’m plenty flawed, trust me. But I appreciate your kind words. They mean a lot to me.”

  Brock gave him a business card, which Bubba read with interest. “What’s this about?”

  “My agent, Arlen Collins. One of the best in the business. I’ve already called him and told him all about you. There’s a new movie being cast next month in Los Angeles, and they need a singer. I think you’d be perfect.”

  “W-what?” Bubba pressed the card back into Brock’s hand. “No way. I’m not leaving Texas. And I don’t sing.” His cheeks turned red. “I mean, I guess I do sing, but not for a living.” He shook his head and stammered, “Well, technically I guess I am getting paid for it now, but that doesn’t make me a professional.”

  “If you’re getting paid for it, that makes you a professional.” Brock nodded. “And besides, Arlen is going to be looking for someone new, someone fresh. Best of all, this is a country-western movie, so all of the music would be right up your alley.”

  “Man, I don’t know what to say.”

  “Just say you’ll call Arlen. He’s been a real door opener for me.”

  “Shoot.” Bubba repeated his favorite word, then pulled off his cap and ran his fingers through his hair. “I’ve already got the best door opener of all. Don’t know why I need an agent.” When Brock quirked a brow, Bubba added, “Got the Lord on my side. He opens the doors that need opening.”

  Brock sighed. “You people and God. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he lives in Texas.”

  “He does,” I said with a grin. “Among other places.”

  “Mm-hmm.” Brock walked back toward the house, muttering all the way. He turned for a moment and called out, “Think about what I’ve said!”

  Sighing, I turned back to the Neeley brothers. “What are we going to do with him?”

  “What do you mean?” D.J. gave me a funny look.

  “I mean, God apparently sent him here for a reason. We’ve only got a few more days before the wedding, and he’s going to be gone on a boating trip for most of those. I just feel this … pressure to let him know that God loves him.”

  “Bella.” D.J. drew in a breath as he shook his head. “You’re a wonderful, godly girl. Anyone who spends any time at all with you can see the love of Jesus in everything you do. Just be yourself. It’s pretty obvious Brock knows where you stand. Where we all stand, for that matter. The seeds have been planted. We have to trust God to do the real work.”

  “Right.”

  D.J.’s words made sense, of course. But what if Brock went back to Hollywood in the same spiritual condition he’d arrived in? A wave of sadness washed over me as I contemplated that possibility.

  “Hey, are we going to move that Pinto or what?” Bubba yawned. “I’m beat. Can’t wait to fall into my bed and sleep straight through till tomorrow.”

  “Sure. Let’s get ’er moved.” D.J. led the way to the car and used some sort of a long, skinny tool to try to get the door unlocked. For whatever reason, it wouldn’t budge. It did, however, set off the most annoying alarm I’d ever heard in my life.

  “W-what is that?” Kind of sounded like the car was shouting something. I unplugged my ears and distinctively heard, “Back away from the car! The eyes of the Lord are upon you, and he knows where you live!”

  “Did that car really say what I thought it said?” D.J. shook his head, looking like he didn’t quite believe it.

  As if to answer his question, the car blurted out the same words again. This time I realized I was hearing Twila’s voice. How did she do that?

  “That car just said it knows where I live.” Bubba made a funny face. “It’s smarter than I am. I don’t even know where I live these days—Splendora or Galveston. It’s a toss-up.” He laughed. “But one thing’s for sure, I feel the wrath of the Lord when I touch this car, and that’s not a good thing. Twila can be pretty intimidating, even coated in pink paint.”

  “I don’t care if she shouts at the top of her lungs. We’ve got to get this car moved,” I said. “The ladies aren’t coming back till next Sunday, and we can move it back before they get here. She’ll never know.”

  Bubba groaned. “Okay, if you say so. But I’m holding you responsible.”

&nb
sp; “I’ll sign on the dotted line, taking full responsibility. The Pinto’s gotta go.”

  Minutes later, the poor old girl was on the wrecker, ready to be hauled to her new home at D.J.’s condominium. I smiled as I saw her disappear down Broadway. No, Sister Twila might not be happy about this, but what other choice did I have? I couldn’t help the fact that she’d forgotten to leave her keys. Or that one of us had lost them. I still hadn’t figured out which one was more accurate.

  Then again, who had time to think? I still had a wedding facility to organize, a program to print, and a castle to build. Better get to it!

  16

  The Tender Trap

  On Monday, with Bubba’s debut behind us and the trio of sisters out to sea, I could finally focus on the wedding. I spent the morning working on last-minute details, everything from the program to the centerpieces to a variety of decor items I’d rented. I didn’t want to leave one thing undone.

  As I walked into the yard behind the wedding facility, I looked at the cloudless sky and thanked God for small favors. With so much to do this week, we’d need continued good weather. I stood in silence for a moment, staring at the spot where the castle would be built. If I closed my eyes, I could envision it all. The musicians playing that melodic classical music. The smell of food straight off the grill. Those gorgeous Renaissance costumes. Everything.

  I paused to pray everything would go well—not for my sake but for the sake of the beautiful bride. Then, glancing at my watch, I gasped. No standing around daydreaming—not with so much to do! Determined to stay on top of things, I headed off to the costume shop to pick up the guys’ outfits for the big night.

  Arriving home, I found Rob and Brock on the driveway in front of the basketball hoop. Rob held a ball in his hands. He looked at Brock—who was still dressed in his Urkel-esque attire—with a grin. “You game?”

  Brock shrugged. “Sure. It’s been years, but I guess I’m up to it.”

  “Years?” I asked. My brothers couldn’t go two days without a basketball in their hands, and he’d gone years?