Groomless - Part 2 (12 page)

“I appreciate that, as I’m sure you have a lot of harsher things you want to say to me. I was very selfish, to say the least. I know that now, and I’m still sorry.”

“We were really young, and we probably weren’t our best selves. Let’s leave it at that. I’m facing my dad’s mortality, so I can afford to be philosophical about little crap like that.”

“Our long history is just
little crap
?”

“Luke…”

“I know, I know. I see what you’re saying,” he said. “Okay. I can play it that way.”

“So we have a deal?” I asked, glancing at my watch. “Because Santino is going to flay me if I don’t let my ass back in the kitchen.”

“Deal,” he said and held out his hand, the one I’d held a thousand times and the one that had brought me so much pleasure when he ran it over my body under the moonlight.

Not allowing my mind to drift any farther into those intimate moments we’d once shared, I shook his hand swiftly, then stalked back to the restaurant. I wiped my hand on my jacket, as if to still the tingling of my nerves, the zing of recognition I felt from even his slightest, most formal touch. He had billions to make, and I had olives to count.

As I worked, I considered the notion that maybe we had never really been compatible. I distributed more olives and mentally cataloged the indignities I’d just signed on for: talk show appearances set against a backdrop of photos of our younger, happier selves; telling the heartbreaking story of my dad’s diagnosis again and again; and my name popping up in universal Tweets, right alongside Luke’s. For an instance, I wished I had just told him to fuck off, because I had plenty of family and real friends who could help me, and I’d already secured a damn free cookie cake, so I didn’t need him. Of course, I didn’t have the nerve to tell him that.

As I thought about that stupid, corny cookie cake, I let every little girl’s fantasies get the better of me. I imagined a tiered cake, a frilly garter, an ice sculpture, bowers of roses and beautiful pink tablecloths, linen rather than the plastic ones I always had. I felt a spark of excitement that made me feel instantly guilty. I knew it wasn’t right for me to take any enjoyment in the whole ordeal, as it was really just the prelude to my father’s death. Then again, I was sure that was also part of what he wanted, for his heartbroken daughter, the would-be orphan, to enjoy a little happy distraction before she was all alone.

* * *

The next morning, I stopped by my dad’s house to tell him the good news. I told my two aunts and uncle hello, since they were also there visiting, and then I blurted, “Well, I found a groom.”

“Tell me it isn’t that man from the underwear ad on the city buses,” my Aunt Edith said.

“No, it’s Luke. Remember him? The guy I used to date in high school?”

“He called me last night,” my dad said.

“He did?”

“Yes. It was very thoughtful of him. He asked my permission to fake marry you.”

“Well, I guess he’s always been pretty classy, even if it is pretend.”

“He said he wants me to experience the whole process of seeing my daughter settled, and giving my blessing is part of it.”

“So did you?”

“Of course! I’ve always liked that boy, even if he does wear a suit to work.”

“I wish he hadn’t called you,” I said, sighing and plopping down beside him on the sofa. “I wish he’d stay out of it. I told him all he has to do is show up, but he keeps butting in. He wants to do all this crazy stuff, make a big production out of it.”

“He said he has to do PR and be on television. He asked my blessing for that as well. He said I’ll see you on
Good Morning America
and that one your mother liked, that one with the pretty blonde on it.”

“
Live with Kelly and Michael
. Actually, that was planned before he even got involved. You and I both agreed to do that one. And I can tell you all of this myself. Luke doesn’t have to be your go to man.”

“Luke wanted me to know what was going on.”

“I can tell you.”

“I’m your father, and I like to hear about what’s going on with you.”

“I know you do, Daddy. I just want—”

“To protect me? I know, honey, but until you have a child of your own, you won’t realize how backward that is. Since the day the doctors piled that red, squawking, bawling little princess in my arms, with the tiniest hands and feet I’d ever seen, all I’ve ever wanted to do was to protect you. That was what I was put on this Earth to do, to keep you safe and watch you grow so you could become the wonderful young woman you are. You don’t need to protect me, Julia. For your entire life, I have lived to hear about your problems and to try as hard as I can to make them go away. Pretty soon, I won’t be able to do that anymore. I don’t have much time left, but however many days or weeks or months it is, I wanna live it as your daddy. Let me take care of you, not the other way around.”

I wiped my eyes surreptitiously on my sleeve and hugged him carefully; he had deteriorated so much and was so thin that I feared I might break him. I remembered the days when he used to pick me up and carry me on his hip, my Mary Janes dangling on either side of him as he walked. I knew life was not permanent, something I’d learned the hard way by losing Mom already, but it was damn hard and miserable to know the man who had lived to spare me pain and difficulty was now losing the fight of his life, and there wasn’t one fucking thing I could do about it. All I could do was squeeze into some pretty dress, take Luke’s arm, plaster on a fake smile like the ones I always told my models to wear at their shoots, and act like this little olive-counter was going to make it after all, like that opening song on the damn
Mary Tyler Moore Show
that my mom used to make me watch with her on Nick at Nite when I was young. I supposed I could suck it up and pretend for just one night. I could make everyone, even my own father, believe that I was all set for a happy life. I could because I had to.

* * *

A few days later, I got dressed and groggily made my way downstairs to pour some cereal. As if the day was already not scheduled to be horrendous enough, my bowl of Lucky Charms had not one marshmallow in it. “Tell me you haven’t been rooting through the cereal again,” I said to my roommate.

Ignoring my accusation, “Good luck on the show,” Kate said. “I wish I could be there, but I have to work. I’ve got the Tivo all set up to tape it though.”

I smiled. “I’m a nervous wreck.”

“Who wouldn’t be? It’s your first time on television. Just be yourself. They’ll love you, just like I do.”

I stared down at the spoon wobbling in my grip. “My hands keep shaking.”

She hugged me. “Don’t worry. Kelly is a sweetie, and so is Michael. I watch the show all the time.” She grabbed her purse. “Okay, I gotta run. I’ll be late tonight, so don’t wait up.”

“See ya later,” I said, “and if you get a chance, stop and buy a new box of Lucky Charms, would ya?”

“Bye,” she said, still not fessing up to her breakfast cereal crimes.

A short while later, I found myself staring in disbelief at my reflection in the full-length mirror. I swear, I looked like the preppiest thing that had ever met starch and an iron in my Lilly Pulitzer shift dress and some kind of wedge sandals with a rope sole.

“Whoa,” Ann said. “Look at you in that shift dress! How did you afford it? They’re like $200 bucks.”

“They’re making me wear this.”

She cocked a brow. “Who?”

“Luke’s PR team. Some guy dropped it off last night. And some other gal dressed in a fancy, designer outfit named Liz spent an hour talking to me about what to say and what not to. And she went over this laundry list of stuff. Did I mention how bossy she was?”

“Well somebody has great taste over there when it comes to clothes. I love the dose of feminine charm. It’s elegant, as well as flattering. You look prim and proper, but sexy and gorgeous! And all at the same time. I bet Luke looks twice.”

I chuckled.

“Are you keeping it?” she asked.

“They said I could keep anything they sent over.”

“Great. Can I borrow it?”

“You can have it. They’re sending more dresses over later today.”

“It’s not really your style but I’m sure you can make it work. C’mon. It a free wardrobe!”

“I just want to wear my own clothes so I can feel comfortable in my own skin.”

“I gotta run, girl. Kate’s taping the show. I’ll watch it later. Good luck.”

“Bye.”
      At the studio, I was instructed to have a seat in front of a well-lit mirror, and they coated my face with eight layers of camera-proof paint and made my hair four sizes bigger. In the green room, I sipped nervous sips of water through a straw and wiped my sweaty palms on the sofa.

“Morning, sunshine,” Luke said when he walked in, wearing a crisp, blue shirt with one button undone. He looked sickeningly perfect, as always, all fresh and tan, the picture of athletic good health.

I glared at him as he offered me some orange juice.

“Geesh, JJ. I would have thought you’d have outgrown your hatred of early mornings.”

“Define ‘early,’” I grumbled, rolling my eyes. “I assure you it’s relative.”

“Nervous?”

“Terrified. I know I’m gonna drop an eff-bomb, right into the damn mic.”

“You won’t…and the production people know to listen carefully just in case. They’ve had Robert De Niro and Keith Richards on this show. I’m pretty sure they’re prepared for a few four-letter fuck-ups.” 

“I’m scared, Luke…for real. I am about to share my family business with the whole world. I’m afraid people are going to watch this and get on social media and say shit about us being greedy or that my ankles are fat, and that will just upset my dad.”

Luke looked down. At the awful wedge sandals. “I don’t see any cankles from this angle,” he teased. “You’ll be fine, and no one is going to think anything other than that it is a sad story but you are so very brave for trying to grant his last wish, even though it tears you up.”

“I don’t feel brave,” I said, my lip trembling in spite of my best efforts to still it.

Luke tilted my chin up with his fingers. “Look at me. You’re stronger than this. If you can stare down Santino every day at work, you can face two friendly TV personalities lobbing softball questions and making sympathetic noises. C’mon! You had the balls to ask me for help when all I’ve ever done was let you down. You’re made of steel, JJ. You can do this.”

“I wish—”

“Don’t,” he said firmly.

Then, right there in the green room, he kissed me again. One minute, he was giving me an earnest pep talk, and in the next, I was in his arms, being peppered with his flaming-hot kisses. Helpless to his advances, I closed my fingers over his stiff collar and gripped it, holding him against me as I rose up on my tiptoes to kiss him more fully. My lips parted for him, and I let out a soft moan when his tongue swept inside my mouth. It was as if I was sixteen all over again, and I felt like bright flashbulbs were firing behind my eyes. My fingers and toes tingled, and I wanted to press myself against him; I wanted to rip off our clothes, because even that thin layer of fabric between us seemed to be an obstacle to what I truly desired. There was nothing innocent, consoling, or comforting about those kisses. It was all fireworks and race cars and falling off a cliff.

“Three minutes!” a production assistant’s voice boomed through the speaker.

In an instant, with our eyes wide like two kids who’d just gotten caught with their hands in the forbidden cookie jar, we broke apart and instantly started patting the wrinkles out of our clothes.

I gaped at him. “What the fuck was that?” I demanded when I could finally speak again.

“That’s your last ‘fuck’ until they take the mic off you,” he said.

“You didn’t answer my question, Luke. Where did that come from?”

“I’m guessing high school, based on how I feel right now,” he said. “Our own private class reunion, I guess.” Luke seemed keyed up, with his hands thrust in his pockets and his body bouncing on his toes, as if he was on the basketball court or was ready to run away. “I’m sorry. It’s just… Well, you looked so lost and vulnerable, and I wanted to—”

“If you say you wanted to comfort me, I’m going to smack the shit out of you,” I warned.

“I wanted to take it all away, to pull you into me. I didn’t want to stop till I knew you felt good…or at least better.”

“What angle are you working here?” I said.

“No angle. I wasn’t planning anything, including the kiss,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “You’d better fix your lipstick.”

I went to the mirror and found that my unassuming rose gloss was now a messy smear that ran halfway down my chin. I ripped tissues out of the box and wiped my face, aggravated. Now, instead of only being nervous about a TV appearance, I was all shaken up inside, confused and twisted. On one hand, I longed for him, but on the other, I was furious at him for confusing me and messing up my professional makeup job. “Damn it. I look like a kid in a pink cupcake-eating contest. Don’t they have any wet wipes around here?” I asked, darting my eyes around the room, “Or at least some translucent face powder and a margarita the size of my damn face.”