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“A Kibbie what now?” I try to catch up. The resort lobby area is gorgeous: open air, all understated eco-luxury and pale-washed terracotta, leading out to a stunning infinity pool that looks like it melts right into the perfect turquoise sweep of the bay. Palm trees sway overhead, birdsong chirps, waves crash against the distant shore.
It’s paradise, alright. It’s just a shame my “vacation” comes with a highly-strung starlet scowling through her Botox.
“You promised me you would fix everything.” Avery stabs a perfectly manicured finger at my face. “You swore, this would beperfect.”
I take a deep breath, and drag my attention away from the glittering ocean views.
“I did, and I will,” I reassure her. Avery has wedding planners – a whole team of them, who have been working round the clock for months to make this tropical wonderland of a ceremony happen – but clearly, that wasn’t enough. So here I am, to make sure they all do their jobs properly – and don’t murder our blushing bride in the process.
At least, not before she makes it down the (orchid-lined, crushed-silk-strewn, butterfly-themed) aisle.
“I’ll meet with the wedding planners ASAP, and review our schedule of events,” I tell Avery briskly, whipping out my phone to take notes. “The feast isn’t until tonight, plenty of time for set-up, and I’ll get DeeDee’s bridesmaid dress to the seamstress, she can alter it right back again. That’s why I made sure we have her here at the resort, on-call 24/7,” I add. “To handle these last-minute emergencies.”
Avery exhales, and in an instant, her scowl is replaced with a warm, grateful smile. “I knew you would rescue me!” she exclaims, launching herself at me in a hug. “You don’t knowwhatI’ve been going through, trying to manage everything alone. It’s impossible to find anyone competent, it’s like they don’t evencare!”
“Whoa there,” I stumble back, disentangling myself from her iron grip. I pat her shoulder gingerly. “It’ll be OK. Just a few first-day hiccups, that’s all. Every production has them.”
Avery nods, dewy and relaxed again. “I know, I know. It’s just… this ismyproduction. My big day. There’s no director, or writer, or costar to share the pressure.”
“Except for your groom,” I remind her, and Avery trills a laugh.
“Please. All Robert has to do is show up in a tux and look dapper. He’s not the one they’ll be looking at. Judging…”
“You mean, admiring,” I correct her. “Obsessing over every detail of this wedding. Wishing they were you.”
“If they knew I haven’t eaten carbs in four years, maybe they would think twice about that,” Avery says, with a wry, knowing smile, and I can’t help but smile back.
“See, now that’s just tragic. Not even one single French fry? To celebrate?”
Avery gives me a look. “Since when has anyone eaten a single fry? No, I can’t risk it,” she adds mournfully. “One taste of sweet, starchy goodness, and I’d lock myself in my room all week with room service on speed dial. Goodbye, female lead inTotal Annihilation 3. Hello, quirky best friend character in a Hallmark movie. I’m not talking about a Christmas one, either,” she adds, curling her lip. “It’ll be one of those off-brand, ‘fall in love at the harvest festival’ plots. And I’m telling you now, I haven’t worked this hard, or come this far, to wind up in a frumpy sweater, getting upstaged by an adorable goat!”
I snort with laughter – and then cover it with a cough when I see the deadly serious expression in her eyes.
“No carbs, got it!” I exclaim, then I swiftly change the subject. “Lottie sends her love, by the way. She’s sorry she couldn’t make it.”
Avery blinks. “Right, your kid!” she exclaims, like she didn’t spend a month hanging out with us all, working on a movie on Cape Cod last year. “How is she? Such a precious girl.”
“You mean, precocious.” I grin. “She’s great. She’s actually at space camp right now in Houston, nerding it up with the other future NASA kids of America. Classes, lectures… I can’t even keep up with some of the stuff they’re learning?—”
“Baby!” Avery cuts me off, beaming at someone behind me. I turn, as Robert Carlyle strolls over: Hollywood mega producer, legendary dealmaker… and Avery’s husband-to-be.
He’s dressed in a tan linen suit, shirt open at the neck, with a Panama hat perched at a jaunty angle over his tanned, weathered face. He looks like he just got finished with lunch at the Palms with Sinatra and the Rat Pack: every inch the old-school Hollywood mogul.
And I mean,old. Robert’s got to be pushing sixty, at least twice Avery’s age. But she doesn’t seem to care about the massive age difference, as she kisses him on the cheek and smiles up at him prettily. “This is Hazel,” she says. “Hazel Donavan? She’s running this whole wedding.”
“Of course, great to meet you.” Robert gives me a hearty handshake. “I’m a big fan of your work.”
“That’s kind, thank you,” I smile, even though I doubt he’d heard of me up until ten seconds ago. My job is behind-the-scenes by nature, and a power player like Robert only ever deals with A-list talent.
“Sweetheart, did you see Blake and Ryan yet?” Sure enough, Robert looks around. “I want to talk to him about that tequila deal…”
“They should be arriving later. But go easy on the shop talk,” Avery scolds Robert playfully, slipping her arm through his. “I know you boys love to talk business, but this is supposed to be a vacation, too. Remember what Dr. Martindale said about your blood pressure.”
“I promise, I’ll stay calm,” Robert replies, with an affectionate smile. “That is, unless Ryan tells me he’s blowing through my budget.”
A group of older gentlemen in matching blazers gathers across the lobby, and Avery waves at them. “What are you all planning for the afternoon?” she asks brightly.
“There’s a cigar bar and some fine whisky with our names on it,” Robert replies.
