Swinging On A Star Read online

  Bubba offered up a woeful shrug. “I ain’t never worn stuff like that before. Never thought I’d see the day when someone wanted to dress me up like a girl.”

  D.J. snorted, and Dr Pepper came shooting out of his nose. I slipped him a napkin, and he remedied the situation before Mama could see. She had a tendency to frown on such things. Still, I found the whole thing hilarious. And I could certainly see Bubba’s point. What guy—especially one unfamiliar with theatrical productions—wanted to stand on stage in tights? And at the Galveston Grand Opera, no less.

  “It’s not a girl’s costume,” Mama said, looking more than a little perturbed. “It’s authentic to the time period. We’re talking The Marriage of Figaro here. Did you look up those websites I sent you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You saw the costumes?”

  “Yeah.” His countenance hadn’t lifted at all, so I decided I’d better cheer him on.

  “You can’t exactly wear your jeans and cowboy boots for this one, Bubba,” I said. “You’d stick out like a sore thumb. I know you don’t want to draw attention to yourself.”

  “Exactly. Which is exactly why this costume idea won’t work. I’m gonna look like a goober in those frilly getups they’ve made for me.” Bubba sighed as he looked to Jenna for support. She flashed a warm smile and placed her hand on his. I heard him mutter, “And Mama’s bringing all of our neighbors. I can just see the write-up in the Splendora Daily now.” He groaned, then snapped closed the menu he’d been holding and put it on the bar.

  Poor guy. His days as a barbecue aficionado and shade tree mechanic were behind him now that he’d been “discovered” by my mama. One minute the boy was singing country tunes at a Fourth of July picnic, the next he was standing on a stage at the Galveston Grand Opera, belting out “Figaro.” With a slight country twang.

  I glanced down the counter at my mother. She reached into her purse and came out with a compact, then touched up her lipstick and smacked her lips together. Maybe I’d better help her out this time. After all, the show opened in three days and would run for the better part of a month.

  “The Marriage of Figaro is a romantic comedy, Bubba,” I said. “The costume is a part of the whole. You know? If people laugh, it will just add to the show.”

  “Mm-hmm.” He didn’t look convinced.

  “He’ll do it.” Those three words from D.J. sealed the deal. He looked at his brother and added, “Won’t ya?”

  “Yeah.” Bubba sighed. “But I won’t like it.”

  One tragedy averted, thanks to my knight. He always managed to save the day. Just another one of his many talents.

  Mama turned from her compact to look at D.J. and Bubba. “You boys still coming to our house for dinner tomorrow night? Rosa’s cooking the same meal they’re going to be featuring on the Food Network special, and she wants our input, especially on the bread. She’s getting a little nervous, but having everyone there will serve to calm her nerves.”

  D.J.’s eyes sparkled with a new enthusiasm. I knew he loved my aunt’s great cooking. Who didn’t?

  “I’ll be there,” he said. “Six, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “What about you, Bubba?” I asked.

  He nodded but didn’t say anything. I had a feeling the boy was ready to head back to the piney woods of Splendora to avoid facing this whole costume fiasco. Not that D.J. would let that happen. No, the show would go on, and all would be well. And Bubba would come to dinner. He was, after all, a really amiable sort of guy. I’d never seen him worked up like this before, and I had a feeling it wouldn’t last long, especially not with D.J. on the case.

  “Oh, Bubba has to come.” Mama reached for her glass once again. “His vocal coach has asked me to work with him on his tone and inflection. We’ve got a lot of work ahead of us before the show opens on Saturday night.”

  Yes indeed. But they weren’t the only ones who had a lot of work to do, were they? Bubba might be focused on memorizing his lines and Rosa might be gearing up for the Food Network, but what they were facing paled in comparison to my new job description. Not only did I have to pull off a full-blown medieval wedding, I had to hide the best man until it was over. Heaven help me!

  4

  Swinging on a Star

  On Thursday afternoon at a quarter till five, I readied myself for the big meeting with the bride and groom and their best man. Hmm. Make that “first knight.” I kept forgetting the terminology for this medieval event.

  I always prided myself on dressing nicely and wearing makeup, but I must admit I spent a little more time in front of the mirror on this day than usual. I particularly focused on my long, dark curls, which seemed to have a mind of their own. No point in Brock Benson thinking Texas girls were careless with their looks.

  Glancing down, I smiled as my gaze fell on my boots. Until a few months ago, I’d never worn boots. That was before D.J. But now … now I understood both the comfort of a good boot and a good guy. And I couldn’t do without either one. Nor would I want to.

  A sound from outside caught my attention. I looked through the open window to see Rob’s Hummer pull into the driveway. I still laughed at the fact that my medieval couple traveled around in a vehicle that looked rather Trojan-horse-like. Seemed fitting.

  Rob stepped out first, then went around to the passenger side to open the door for Marian. He was such a gentleman, always right there at his bride-to-be’s side. But right now my eyes were searching out someone else, someone I’d been nervously anticipating all day. Squinting, I could almost see someone exiting the backseat passenger side. Not very well, though, with the bride and groom standing in the way.

  Then the Red Sea parted … and I laid eyes on him.

  Brock was taller than he looked on the big screen. Probably six feet or more. And those broad shoulders … mama mia! Be still my heart! Even from this distance, his white-toothed smile took my breath away. And I’d never seen clothing that fine outside of a magazine. Rodeo Drive, here we come! Along with his shockingly handsome attire, Brock wore dark, trendy sunglasses. Probably necessary when one was an easily recognized superstar. He pulled them off to look at the wedding facility. Now I could see the man in all his splendor, and what I saw dazzled me.

  My younger brother’s favorite pickup line came to mind right away: “Fa cosi caldo qui o e la tua presenza?”—“Is it hot in here, or is it just you?”

  “Yowza!” I reached for a Club Wed brochure and began to fan myself, then snatched up my bottle of water, taking a big gulp. Lord, help me. I don’t want to act like one of those ridiculous groupies he probably sees every day of his life. Just let me be myself. And Lord, keep this conversation centered on the big day, nothing else.

  Still, I could hardly catch my breath. Might be problematic, since we had so much to discuss. Breathing was pretty critical to the equation. I practiced my slow, deep breathing techniques and tried to concentrate on the conversation ahead. “You can do this, Bella. You can. Just stay focused. Think of the family. Think of how much you need Club Wed to succeed.”

  That last line did it. Making a success of the wedding facility was the driving force in my life these days, a force stronger than any Hollywood hottie.

  I paused at the mirror in the foyer of the wedding facility to check my appearance. Pushing back a loose hair, I noticed the trembling in my hands. Stop it, Bella.

  I opened the door at the very moment Marian put her hand up to knock. It startled all of us, and we ended up laughing. Great icebreaker. Doing my best to focus on the bride-to-be, I stepped out onto the veranda, willing myself to calm down. Oh, but a quick glance at the tall movie star— truly first-knight material—and my knees nearly buckled. His dark brown hair was … perfect. Not too short. Not too long. And his deep brown eyes nearly took my breath away. Who has eyes that color of brown? What would you call that? Cinnamon? Caramel? I swallowed hard, wondering if he wore contacts.

  Likely, but who cared? The man seemed to have a heavenly glow about h
im, kind of like those pictures of various saints hung on Aunt Rosa’s bedroom wall.

  Look away from the light, Bella. Look away from the light.

  Marian made introductions right away, and Brock put me at ease with his relaxed smile. “Great to meet you, Bella. Thanks for all of your help to make my best friend’s big day so special.”

  “You’re welcome.” I gave him a polite nod. Using my most professional voice, I asked, “Would you like to start outside in the gazebo area? I can talk you through the layout of the castle. Then we can go inside to discuss the details.”

  “Sounds great!” Marian grabbed hold of my arm and gave it a squeeze. I patted her hand and led the way down the front steps and around the side of the facility to the courtyard out back.

  Marian whispered in my ear, “What do you think, Bella? Isn’t he heavenly?”

  Looking back, I nodded. “Yeah, pretty heavenly. But remember, Marian, I’ve already got a star in D.J., so nothing else really comes close.”

  She patted my arm and nodded. “Oh, I know. I wasn’t suggesting anything. It’s just so exciting to have him here.”

  To say the very least.

  When we arrived at the spot where the castle would be placed, Brock let out a whistle. “Wow, this is a great area. Kind of reminds me of the side yard at my house in Malibu.”

  Well, of course it does.

  “Thanks,” I managed. “Quite a few weddings have been performed out here. One of our most recent was a country-western themed one. It was a lot of fun.” Boy, had it ever been! The night was forever engrained in my memory.

  “Oh, that’s ironic.” Brock grinned. “The movie I’ve been shooting in Austin is sort of a twist on the old cowboy theme. They’ve had me wearing boots and jeans and speaking in a drawl.” He dragged out the word duh-rawl, and I laughed. For a second there, he sounded just like D.J. Of course, that’s where the similarities ended. Handsome as he was, Brock couldn’t hold a candle to my honey. Sure, the voice was more polished. And yes, the clothes were more expensive—unbelievably so— but clothes didn’t make the man.

  “I think you’ll be impressed with the set design people we’ve hired for this wedding,” I told Brock as I snapped back to attention. “Very professional. And from what I can tell looking at the photographs from other events they’ve done, you actually feel like you’ve walked into a genuine medieval castle. A real step back in time.” Unless you count the Food Network trucks in the background. They’re pretty modern looking, I’m sure. Forcing a smile, I continued. “So, you should feel right at home.”

  “Especially in the costume you’ll be wearing.” Rob jabbed Brock in the ribs, and he groaned.

  “Trust me, this will be the first time in my acting career I’ve worn tights.” Brock grimaced at the word tights, which provoked a few guffaws from the rest of us. I hadn’t thought about the costumes as being an issue for the groomsmen, but maybe so. And how funny. This was the second time in two days I’d heard some poor guy complain about a costume-related issue.

  “C’mon now,” Rob said with an encouraging smile. “They’re not exactly tights. They’re just, well, stretchy pants. Under a long shirt. And besides, you played a pirate in a movie once, right? You’ve worn stuff like this before.”

  Brock groaned again. “That was different. Those were real pants.”

  “Well, it might be different from what you’re used to,” I said, “but remember, you won’t be the only one. All of the men in the ceremony—and all of the servers too—will be dressed in full-out medieval attire, so you’ll be in good company.”

  “And half the guests are coming in medieval attire,” Marian said. “You’d stick out more in regular clothes, trust me.”

  Hadn’t I said the same thing to Bubba just yesterday?

  “Still …” Brock shuddered. “I’m trying to imagine what’ll happen if the paparazzi happen to wander in on us.”

  “They won’t.” Marian looked my way. “Bella’s got this completely under control. Right?”

  I swallowed hard and forced another smile. “Yes, but I think we need to go inside and talk through some security issues. I’m assuming you’ll want to hire private security guards, right?”

  “I don’t think that’s necessary.” Brock shrugged. “I’ll just keep an eye out for paparazzi and stay on the down-low.” He went into a story about something that happened at the last private party he’d attended, and before long we all looked concerned.

  “Let me know if you change your mind,” I said. “Your safety is important to us.” So is the peace of mind of my bride and groom.

  Forcing myself to stay focused, I led the way through the wedding facility into my office, where I offered everyone a Pellegrino.

  As my now-captive audience took their seats, my cell phone rang, and I gasped, horrified. “Oh, sorry. Meant to turn that off.”

  “No problem, Bella.” Brock’s punctuated speech sent my heart into a tailspin. I loved a man with great diction.

  I silenced the ringer on my phone, noticing the missed call was from D.J. I would call him back later. He knew I was with clients. Besides, we’d see each other at dinner.

  Minutes later, we were all hard at work, finalizing plans for the big day. Once I slipped into wedding-planning mode, my nerves dissipated. No longer did I spend time thinking about the fact that I had a Hollywood star in my office. No, only one thing mattered now—the bride-to-be.

  I pulled out my notepad and began to cover the basics. First, the food. Laz, Jenna, and Nick, who’d agreed to cater the big event, had created an authentic menu, true to Renaissance times. It had been Nick’s idea, really. Something he’d seen at a theater he’d gone to once in Dallas. Marian had already given her wholehearted approval, but I thought it would be fun to talk it through with the guys. Let them see just how seriously we were taking this medieval theme.

  “A true medieval feast would have included things like turtledoves and partridge,” I said. “And goose and venison. We’ve decided not to go that route.”

  “The turtledoves thank you for the reprieve.” Brock gave me a wink, and my heart gravitated to my throat.

  “We, um, have decided to do roast quail and fish, as well as a traditional beef kabob dish.”

  “And turkey legs,” Rob said. He jabbed Brock in the ribs with his elbow. “That was my idea. I’ve never been to a Renaissance festival without getting a turkey leg. We don’t want anyone to leave disappointed.”

  “Of course not,” Brock agreed. “And I’ll be the first in line for mine.”

  I laughed but made a point to get back to the subject at hand. “We’ll have a variety of side dishes—potatoes and all sorts of fruits and cheeses. We were thinking pears, strawberries, apples, raspberries, and red currants. Afterward, along with the wedding cake, we will serve tarts and custards. All of this is appropriate to the time.”

  “You’re making me hungry.” Brock looked at his watch. “We skipped lunch, and I’m starved.”

  “We’ll have to do something to remedy that,” Rob said.

  Marian turned my way. “Bella, is there someplace around here we could grab a bite to eat after this? Someplace secluded, I mean.”

  “Hmm.” I thought of Parma John’s but knew it was out of the question. “I do know a great seafood place with a private room. I could call ahead and see if the room is available.”

  “That might work.” Brock gave me a grateful smile. “Didn’t mean to interrupt your spiel about the wedding, though. Go ahead and finish.”

  “Oh, well, I was just about to finalize the flower order with Marian.” I turned to her, trying to stay focused.

  Marcella had recently taken over our local florist’s shop. She had already presented the bride and groom with a delightful plan for wedding bouquets, so I knew we had that part squared away, but I needed to clarify a few things based on a phone call from her earlier today.

  “You’re still wanting to do Texas wildflowers, is that right?”

  “
Yes.” Marian nodded. “Nothing too weddingish. I want the bouquets to look just like I went out into the yard and plucked the flowers myself. Besides, brides back in those days only carried flowers to keep from smelling.”

  Brock’s eyebrows elevated at that one. He turned to her with a “Huh?”

  “Well, traditionally people bathed only a couple times a year back in medieval times. So the original purpose of carrying flowers was to make the bride smell better.” She turned to Rob with a wink.

  “Yeah, that’s one tradition I don’t mind breaking,” Rob said with a grin. “We can be authentic and clean at the same time.” He nodded with a slight look of panic in his eyes, which tickled Marian.

  “Nah, I think authentic is best. I’ll stop bathing between now and then, just to add more realism to our special day.” He wrinkled his nose, and she giggled. “Kidding!”

  Rob turned to Brock and mumbled, “That was a close one!” and they laughed.

  Marian jumped right back into the planning. “What about the musicians?” she asked. “Were you able to lock in that group I told you about? The ones I found at the Renaissance festival last year?”

  “The madrigal group? Yes. They even sent me a sample CD of their work. Their harmonies are great. And they make the rounds to several festivals around the country each year, so they know their stuff.” Thank goodness this part of the evening was locked up tight. We’d been lucky to get this group, though Marian’s dad had to pay a pretty penny to do so.

  “I guess we’d better get letters of commitment from them regarding my privacy,” Brock said with a sigh. “We need to make sure no one involves the media.”

  “Ah.” Letters of commitment? As in, legally binding? Would all of the guests have to sign one too?

  A shudder ran down my spine as I thought about that. What a mess this was turning out to be. Why couldn’t Brock Benson just be a normal best man? Why did this have to be so complicated?

  We talked through the rest of the wedding plans, but I could tell the guys were distracted. I saw Rob mouth the word hungry to Brock, and I reached for the phone. “You guys must be starved. Let me call Landry’s to see about getting their private room for you.” I punched in the number and quickly asked for the most secluded place in the restaurant. They could accommodate the group in half an hour, so we needed to get this show on the road.