Toss the Bride (23 page)

The summer light is waning in the apartment and I think of the same light slipping away from Abigail Island a few hundred miles away. A sob bubbles up in my throat. The short week at the beach meant so much to Avery and me. We became engaged, helped another couple marry, and started talking about the future. Of course, then I had to go blow everything.

The phone rings and it is a number and name I do not know. I pick it up anyway. You never know if one of our brides is calling from a shop or a friend's phone.

“Hello? May I speak with Macie Fuller?”

“This is she speaking.” It has to be a bride, I think. Her voice is full of hope, as if she wants us to like her and book her wedding. Ah, the power of my job.

“Macie, this is Baker Land. Maurice gave me your number. He said he was tied up at the moment and I could speak to you about planning my wedding.”

It takes me a second to think these two thoughts:
Maurice is found again
and
Baker Land! The movie star!

Baker Land is one of the biggest actresses in Hollywood. Her romantic comedies and dramas rake in zillions of dollars, although I recently read that she desired to do smaller, more meaningful films on the side. She is beautiful in an approachable way: big green eyes, long blondish-brown hair, and a cute but mysterious smile. I cannot believe she is on the phone with me.

“Are you really Baker Land?” I ask.

“That's what it says on my driver's license.”

“Do you actually drive yourself places?” I know it is off the subject, but I think it is an appropriate question.

Baker Land laughs into the phone. “Yes, yes I do. Especially now that I have moved to Georgia. I live on a farm right outside of Atlanta.”

I remember reading something about Baker Land relocating to the Peach State. She planned to marry here, as well, because her fiancé is from the South. “So, you are getting married,” I say, striving for a little professionalism.

“That's right. And I hear Maurice is the best man in town to get a wedding together. We're thinking early October. Would that work for you?”

Work for us? Maurice would sell his vital organs to land this wedding. If that did not work, he would bump brides and rearrange receptions to get his hooks in a celebrity wedding like this. And not only a celebrity wedding, but
the
celebrity wedding. Baker Land's smiling face is on the cover of a magazine at least once a week. The exposure would make Maurice giddy for months.

That being said, it is awfully peculiar how he passed off the wedding planning to me. Maurice must be going through the wringer with Elise and Evelyn. Apparently he is out of commission, even for movie starlets. I shake my head. Life has become too confusing in the past six days.

“Let me get my book, Ms. Land. I'll check on our October dates.”

“Please call me Baker.”

“Of course,” I say. Call me Baker! I'd be glad to. Maybe we will hit it off and become pals. It could happen. I am starting to feel a little delirious. Take it easy, Macie, I caution my inner child, this woman made ten million dollars off her last movie. I inhale sharply. Wait until I tell Iris who called today.

“We have openings on Saturday, the fourth; Sunday, the fifth; Friday, October tenth; and Saturday, the eleventh. I'm looking at weekends, of course. If you want a nontraditional day, we have plenty of those open, as well.”

“I think Saturday, October fourth.”

“It's a done deal. Did Maurice tell you about our policies?”

“For all of the details, I will have you speak with Kathleen, my assistant. She handles all of that stuff for me. But I wanted to talk with you personally about planning the wedding—all of the girlie odds and ends. Can we meet for lunch this week?”

“I have tomorrow free,” I say. I am already searching my closet for an appropriate outfit to wear with a superstar. “I know a great place in Midtown.”

Again, I hear Baker's laugh. “Oh, I can't go out to eat. We wouldn't get a thing done. Come down to the farm. It will be much quieter.”

I feel so stupid. Of course, Baker Land can't just pull up a table at the local pizza joint. Reporters and photographers would flood the place, disturbing my new gal pal and begging to know my name. Baker interrupts my daydream of local stardom and says Kathleen will call with directions within the hour. We hang up, and I hit the speed dial to connect with Iris.

*   *   *

The next day, I call Avery again. He picks up and I start talking fast, hoping he is not too mad at me for being so flaky.

“Avery? I am really sorry for yesterday. We came back from such a wonderful week and I really flipped out. I don't know why, but I apologize.”

Avery's voice is oddly flat. “I think you need to figure out what's going on in your head. Every time I bring up the future, you get a little weird.”

“I was fine when we were on the island, you know.”

“Sure. When you were in your element, helping Jessica and Kevin get married, or when you and I were having a romantic time strolling on the beach, you were happy.”

“I'm happy!” I say a little too loudly.

Avery sighs into the phone. “Macie, do you not want this? Do you not want to get married to me?”

“Of course I do, honey. I just am having a hard time adjusting, I guess.”

“And it's hard on me, always waiting for the next blow up,” Avery says. “I think I should give you a few days to be alone and really figure out what's going on.”

I think this over, glancing down at my ring. It might be the mature thing to do. The last thing I want to do is drive Avery away with my mood swings. We hang up after I promise to think about what's bothering me, and I sit down on the couch. My mind is going a million miles a second and I just can't sit still.

I decide to stroll down Highland and hit my favorite coffee shop for a latte. I have two hours before I need to get on the road to visit with Baker. I have selected one of the sundresses that Avery bought, and I will wear my dressiest sandals. With a leather briefcase and simple, silver jewelry, I should look professional but also stylish. At least, that's what I tell myself.

I pick a corner table and doodle on a piece of scrap paper. I know the wedding planning part by heart, but I want to think of things Maurice has probably never dealt with like paparazzi, helicopters, and security teams. We will need to hire out a firm that specializes in events for the rich and famous. My guess is that Baker wants a truly southern wedding, so she came to Maurice. The other details can be worked out with various vendors.

Without Maurice's guidance, I should be scared, but I'm not. I can't explain it. Even though I am meeting with one of the country's most famous people today, Baker Land is still a woman who wants a meaningful, pretty wedding. I understand that. A meaningful, pretty wedding is what I have wanted for the last year or so.

My mind rolls back to what Iris said yesterday. Sighing, I turn over my little piece of paper. If I can plan a celebrity wedding, I can make a dumb list for Iris. I cap and recap the pen, thinking.

This is what I write:

What Scares Me About Planning My Wedding
by Macie Fuller

Then I sit there, tapping my pen against the leg of the table. I sip some latte and then sip some more. I stir the contents of my paper cup. What is it that Iris said? I replay yesterday's conversation in my head. She said that my fears mask something deeper. What it is, I do not know. But I promised I would do this little exercise, and Avery's waiting on me to get my act together, so here goes:

Picking a date
—Once I do that, everything gets set in motion

Buying a home
—We have to work out where we live and how much money it will take. Also, once you buy a home, you have to fill it with things!

Planning a wedding
—I do this for a living. Will it be special?

Having a new family like the Lelands
—They are so different!

I stare at the list, trying to think of something else to write down that might magically explain all of my twisted-up feelings. Before I know it, the latte has turned cold and it is time to head back to my apartment, dress, and travel south to Baker's farm. I am eager to meet her, nervous, and excited. In the back of my mind, I think of Avery. I want to tell him all about this meeting, but I know he is more interested in what is going on in my head, not celebrity brides.

I drive south on I-85. The diamond on my left hand winks in the morning light, reflecting its own little patch of sparkle. I force myself to look squarely at the cars and trucks on either side of the car. Think of Baker's wedding, I tell myself. Plan her day and worry about yours later. Luckily, the traffic is heavy and I have to drive carefully. There is little time to think of anything else.

This morning I dialed up all the brides we have on the books. I made the calls under the guise of “checking the status of your special day,” but in reality I was covering for Maurice. Just in case we had any mad brides out there, I wanted to go ahead and face the fire. Only two women told me they had left messages for Maurice that he did not return. I apologized, mentioned a summer flu, and everything was forgiven. After that little bit of playacting, I called Maurice's cell phone to tell him what I did. I also informed his voice-mail box that I was meeting with Baker Land and I would take care of everything until he was, um, back in the swing of things.

Using a tiny compass Avery gave me a while ago along with Kathleen's directions, I find the farm after only two wrong turns. I am delighted to be out of the city. The roads are only two lanes instead of six, and everywhere I look I see sheep, horses, and cattle. Baker's farm appears to have all three, plus four or five dogs that rush out to greet me once the main gate opens.

In every direction, pastures stretch almost to the horizon, offset by sturdy black fences. I pull to a stop before an old farmhouse that has been renovated and expanded. Huge pots of geraniums flank the front door. The dogs circle around, curious and friendly. Walking toward the front door, I breathe deeply. The air just smells better out here.

Kathleen turns out to be an efficient, superserious assistant who is in her late forties. I can tell that I will have to be on my best behavior around her. Trying to break the ice, I ask Kathleen how she came to work for Baker, but I get nowhere. “I'm from L.A.” is her terse reply.

Kathleen holds court in a large office in a converted stable near the main house. I am surprised that Baker is nowhere to be seen in the well-lighted room decorated in soothing khaki and crisp white. When I mention this to Kathleen, a thin smile floats across her face. She closes a file drawer with an exact movement.

“Ms. Baker cannot be bothered with the myriad of details required for planning a wedding. You will work strictly with me.”

“Oh, I thought Baker wanted to meet with me over lunch to go through the wedding design. You know, girl to girl.”

“However nice that might sound to you, ah, Macie, a woman of Ms. Land's talent and demand cannot be bothered with having lunch with anyone who wants to.”

“No, you have it wrong. Baker asked me to have lunch with her.”

“That may be true, but we must always assume that Ms. Land does not know every last booking on her schedule. We must look out for her,” Kathleen says. “Now, join me over here at the table. We must get going on these plans.”

Perhaps it is because I have had a week off at the beach and I have gotten lazy, but I resent having to work under these conditions. My brides might be beastly, spoiled, or just plain misguided, but they are my brides. I work with
them
—not their assistants—and any combination of fiancés, sisters, and mothers. Kathleen is shaping up to give everyone a run for their money.

Within a short thirty minutes she informs me that the wedding will be at the farm, the tents and other privacy screens have already been ordered, the caterer will fly in three weeks early, and security measures are in the works. I am not to talk to the media. A stack of nondisclosure documents is shoved into my hands.

I start to feel very small, sitting there in my sundress. The list of wedding ideas for Baker sits unread in my bag. I really don't know how I can be of any use. I am about to tell Kathleen this when the door opens. Baker Land, movie star, strides in the door giving me her famous smile.

“I am so glad you are still here! I was forever with an appointment. I am so sorry. Have you eaten? 'Cause I am starving,” Baker says. Instead of shaking my outstretched hand, she hugs me. Startled, I hug her right back, noticing that she is shorter than I would have guessed.

“Baker, dear, Macie and I were just finishing up. I know you have that one o'clock with Zip Henderson. We don't want to make him wait.”

Baker gives Kathleen a look. “Zip will keep. If he really wants me for his next film, a few minutes won't hurt. I want to plan my wedding.”

The squishy feeling in my stomach starts to leave. This is what I know: a girl who is excited about the day she walks down the aisle.

Kathleen's face softens just a bit. “I'll go and get something for you both to eat.” She leaves us alone.

I look at Baker, who sits in the ladder-back chair next to me. Her famous face wears a touch of mascara. Her long hair is captured in a plain ponytail holder, and she sports a worn pair of jeans and a red T-shirt. A ring with the largest diamond I have ever seen rests on her left hand.

“Kathleen can be a little overwhelming,” Baker says. “I hope she didn't run you over.”

“Well, I was starting to wonder why you needed a wedding planner,” I say, smiling. I like this movie star already. “All of the major details seem to be decided.”

“That's exactly why you are needed, Macie. I want someone to shop with, someone to look at place settings with. I don't care about security and all of that. I want to do the girlie things.” Baker jumps up and walks around the office. A large, erasable white board behind her is covered in writing. The words “Press Tour for ‘Love Sunny-Side Up'” are scrawled across the top.