An hour later, he has written a song in his notes app. And the song has convinced him that this doesn’t have to be the end. No, a fight can also be an opportunity to work things out.
That is what he and V are going to do.
Since it’s still early evening in New York, he records the song as another voice memo and sends it to her. It sits on her phone, unopened for minutes, unopened for hours. He works on the song some more. Sends her a new version. It’s almost sunrise again, and he knows he needs to get some sleep and set an alarm this time.
He can’t be a mess for this wedding.
They’re not paying him this much to be a mess.
He wakes up at seven in the morning because the wedding is in Torekov, a small coastal town a three-hour train ride away. There are more texts from Mikhail, and a call asking him to confirm heknows the time and place of where he needs to be and that he’ll be there. Mikhail also says to be sure to leave time to change into the sponsor’s suit. J had forgotten he wouldn’t be wearing his own clothes and wonders if he gets to keep the suit after. Probably not.
There is still no word from V.
And J...
Well, J is starting to wonder if there’s ever going to be a word from V again.
He knows this isn’t rational. At the bare minimum, she’ll have to be in touch for her things. But also—there had been some tenderness, even in that final (notfinalfinal!) phone call, hadn’t there?
We’re working on the scene.
We’re working on the script.
How could she not answer? Or is a lack of answer her answer?
J plays the song, over and over, as if a new verse will emerge from her point of view. He barely rehearses Celestia’s wedding song.
So many things of V’s are scattered throughout the apartment. J imagines they’ve turned against him, too, hold him responsible for their abandonment. The hairbrush in the bathroom wonders what will become of her. The unread books on her side of the bed assume this is the point where she gives up on them completely. A blouse in the closet pledges to wait, however long it takes.
A love hangover is far worse than the drunken kind, because with a love hangover, you know it isn’t going away in a matter of hours. J’s head is beginning to pound. He wants to call someone for some sympathy, but he also doesn’t want to make the situation any more real than it already is. Because if he doesn’t tell anyone, and he and V manage to overcome this, then it will be like it never happened. No one will ever know. As far as the world is concerned, J and V are still a great couple. Nobody knows otherwise. Except maybe the people in V’s office, and anyone else she’s told.
His head pounds some more. He has to control himself. He has to get to the wedding. He reminds himself it’s a big deal, and a big paycheck. Then he laughs at himself: Look at him, grateful for thousands when V is playing with tens, maybe hundreds, of millions.
He quickly runs through the last verse of the wedding song.
You’re a Tiffany diamond
You’re a scarf from Dubai
You’re a Burberry trenchy
Bright socks from Givenchy
Moët champagne
A Porter refrain
You’re the best...
money can’t buy!
It’s far from a flawless performance, and he takes his lyrics notebook with him, not trusting himself to remember the way the brand names fall in Celestia’s song, and fearing she’ll have set a trap door for him if he gets her sponsors wrong.
He intends to memorize it on the train ride to Båstad, but he ends up napping instead. When he catches the bus to Torekov, he is dis-combobulated. The setting doesn’t help—there’s no particular reason for there to be public transportation in this town, which has a population of under a thousand, except that it happens to be a town where the rich and famous like to cavort. As J walks from the station, he stares at the large seaside houses and vaguely recalls that one of them is owned by the actor Hugh Grant. V probably told him this once. How else would he know?
While the wedding is being held in a church, the reception is in a vast tent complex by the beach. When J arrives, he spots some photographers hanging out in front. At first, security stops him, butafter he brandishes his guitar and explains who he is, they let him pass.
When he enters the ballroom tent, he nearly thinks he’s entered a greenhouse instead. The large room is a topiary explosion of trees, plants, and vines that must have taken days to arrange.
