Chapter 13b

"Got another one of those?" Celia asked him, taking up position on the rail next to him. She, like everyone else at the rehearsal, was dressed informally. She had on a pair of khaki shorts and a white sleeveless blouse. Her hair was pulled into a simple ponytail.

"I think I can spare one," he said, pulling out his pack. He shook one out for her and then lit his lighter so she could ignite it. She drew deeply on it and then exhaled, sending a plume of smoke out over the beach where it was torn asunder by the breeze.

"Thanks," she said with a sigh. "I really needed that."

"My smokes are your smokes," he told her. "I spent a little time with your parents earlier."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah," he said. "You'll excuse me for saying so, but your mom is pretty hot for a woman her age. Greg should be pleased. You definitely pass the 'mom test'."

"The 'mom test'?" she asked. "I don't think I'm quite familiar with that."

Jake chuckled. "It's one of those chauvinistic ideas we men like to engage in," he told her. "According to conventional wisdom, if you're considering marrying a woman, you need to take a look at her mom on the theory that the woman in question is going to age similarly to her mother. The assumption is that you're getting a look at what your possible wife is going to look like in twenty-five years."

"Ahhh, I see," she said with a chuckle. "So if my mom would've been fat, or gray, or wrinkled..."

"Mom test failed," Jake confirmed. "Your mom, however, is none of those. Your padre is a very lucky man."

"So is my madre," she said. "You probably didn't notice, but daddy is pretty good looking as well."

"Actually, I don't tend to notice things like that," he said. "But now that you mention it, he does seem to hold up rather well."

They had a few more drags apiece, listening to the crashing of the surf. It was a companionable silence, not the least bit awkward.

"So how are you doing, Celia?" Jake asked her. "As I recall from past conversations, you only smoke cigarettes when you're stressed out. Is the wedding getting to you?"

"That's part of it," she said. "This whole week has been nothing but a frantic rush as we tried to pin everything down and make sure everything is arranged and ready."

"What's the other part?" he asked.

She looked at him and took another slow drag, letting it drift out of her mouth and nostrils. She tapped the ashes over the balcony railing. "Greg's been acting kind of weird lately," she said. "I'm not sure what to make of it."

"What kind of weird?" Jake asked. "Are we talking homicidal maniac kind of weird or the garden variety what-the-hell-crawled-up-your-ass kind of weird?"

Celia giggled a little. "The latter," she said. "It's been going on for almost two months now. He's very distant with me at times. At other times, he's very argumentative. He'll snap at me for some little thing and act like I just killed a child or something when all I did was drop a can into the garbage instead of the recycle bin. It's been getting worse over the past three weeks."

"You think it might just be pre-wedding stress?" Jake asked. "I hear it can be pretty bad."

"Maybe," she said. "It's certainly gotten worse as the date actually approached. But I think it might be something else as well."

"Like what?" he asked.

"It really started when Aristocrat told us they weren't going to pick us up for the next option period," she said.

That had been at the beginning of May, Jake remembered. The first time Jake and Helen had gotten together with Celia and Greg to play golf after returning from the international tour, the news had still been days fresh — fresh enough to still sting. And, now that he thought about it, Greg had seemed even angrier and more hurt about the rejection than Celia had. He had gone on and on about how the sleazy record companies just used someone as long as they were making money, destroyed their career with their overbearing restriction on artistic license, and then just threw them to the curb once they were done with them.

"It bothers him a lot that we're not going to make another album," Celia said. "He's been acting like it was some sort of personal affront to him and him alone. It kind of pisses me off at times, to tell you the truth. I mean, Eduardo and the rest of the band had to move back to Venezuela because they kicked us out of our condos. I would have had to move back too if Greg wasn't paying for an apartment for me. And somehow, I've managed to accept all this. I don't know why Greg can't."

"I assume you've talked to him about this?" Jake asked.

"I've tried," she said. "All he keeps going on about is whether or not there is some way I can sign with a different label as a solo artist and put out my own album."

"You can't," Jake said. "You're pretty much forbidden from making any music until your contract expires."

"I know," she said. "He can't seem to get a grip on that particular fact though. I keep trying to tell him that it's only two years, that I'll be able to put something together when I'm free, but he says that it might be too long. That people might..." She choked up a little, turning her face so Jake couldn't see it.

Jake reached out and gently took her face in his hands, turning it back to him. There was a tear tracking down her left cheek. "People might what?" he asked.

"They might forget about me by then," she said.

"It sounds like maybe you're worried about that too?"

"Yes," she said. "I am."

He tossed his cigarette out onto the beach below and put his arm around her shoulders, drawing her against him. With his finger, he reached up and wiped the tear from her face. "You're a great musician, Celia," he told her. "You were forced to make some forgettable music by your circumstances, but your career is not over, whether people forget about you or not. Once you're free, you can make any kind of music you want and it'll be badass music because it will be yours. You've got the voice, you've got the composition skills, and you've got the guitar talent. All you'll need to do is surround yourself with some good musicians who will do what the hell you tell them to do and you'll shine. I have no doubt about that."

She smiled, snuggling her face into his shoulder. "Thanks, Jake," she said softly. "That actually makes me feel better. It wouldn't have it had come from anyone but you, but I... you know... I respect your musical opinion quite a bit."

"And I respect yours," he said, hugging her against him a little tighter for a moment and then releasing her.

"That still leaves me with the problem of Greg," she said.

"How big of a problem is it?" Jake asked. "Is it big enough that... you know... maybe tomorrow is a mistake?"

She sighed. "I honestly don't know," she said. "I love Greg very much and I know he loves me, but this whole issue is just... weird. I don't know why it bothers him so much that I won't be working for the next two years, but it does. It's not like we need the money or anything."

Jake shrugged. He didn't know either. During the few conversations he'd had with Greg since arriving in Martha's Vineyard yesterday, he had been pleasant and a good host, giving no hint that he was troubled.

"He was embarrassed when you asked us about the leak to the press," Celia said.

That had been a few days after the media had first started demanding to know if the rumor they'd heard about Jake's attendance was true. Greg had denied leaking anything and had seemed genuinely upset that a leak had taken place. He had his people look into the matter and it had been discovered that one of his publicist's assistants had been the source of the leak. She had claimed it was a simple mistake and that she hadn't realized the information was supposed to be secret.

"It wasn't his fault," Jake said. "Shit happens. I, of all people, should know that. He told me that he gave the young lady in question a stern talking-to and that was the end of it."

"That's just it," Celia said. "I... well... I'm not entirely sure that he was being truthful about all of that."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't have any hard proof or anything, but I kind of think that Greg told his publicist to release that information and make it look like an accidental leak."

"Why would he do that?" Jake asked.

"He seemed to think that if it became public knowledge that you and I were friends — that if I had enough street-cred to hang out with Jake Kingsley — then Aristocrat might just change their minds and authorize a new album after all."

"Wow," Jake said, unsure what to say.

"Obviously it didn't work," she said. "I could've told him it wouldn't. But that was one more thing he got pissed off about and led to another two-day rant about the record company."

"Are you sure you're doing the right thing by marrying him?" Jake asked.

She offered a cynical smile. "It's a little too late to back out now, wouldn't you say? In less then eighteen hours it'll be a done deal, prenuptial agreement and everything."

"It's never too late until you say those two little words," Jake said.

She shook her head. "I'm not much for grandstand plays at the last second," she said. "Besides, what's the worst that could happen if — God forbid — I am making a mistake? We'll get divorced somewhere down the road and I'll end up collecting a good chunk of alimony for a few years. If nothing else, it'll keep me in the states until my contract period expires."

"That's not what marriage is supposed to be about," Jake told her.

"I know," she said. "And I'm just blowing off a little steam here. More than likely all of this is just pre-marital stress and we'll go back to our happy little life once it's over with."

"Hopefully," Jake said.

She threw her own cigarette over the balcony, adding to the litter on the beach below. "We'd better get back in before they send someone out to find us."

"Right," Jake said.

"Thanks for listening to me, Jake. I really do feel better about all this now that I've been able to talk to someone about it."

"Anytime," Jake told her.

"You really are a dear friend to me," she said. "One of my best, as a matter of fact. Sometimes I wonder..." she blushed a little. "Oh... never mind."

"What?" he asked.

"Well, if circumstances would have been different, if... you know... there could've been anything between us."

"I guess we'll never know," Jake said.

"I guess not," she said with a hint of sadness.

She reached forward and gave him a big hug, wrapping her arms around his back. He put his arms around her waist, feeling the softness of her skin beneath her shirt, feeling her breasts pushing into his chest, smelling the scent of her vanilla wafting up through the sharper odor of cigarette smoke. She looked up at him, her brown eyes sparkling, staring into his. And then she leaned forward and kissed him softly on the lips, lingering there for a few seconds. It was a kiss that made him tremble.

Slowly she pulled her lips away, a melancholy smile on her face, her arms still around him.

"What was that for?" he asked her, his voice not quite steady.

"I just wanted to see what a first kiss with you might've been like," she said. "Now I know."

"And what did you think?" he asked.

She released the embrace but didn't move away from him. She reached up and ran her index finger through his long hair for a second. "It was very nice," she said. "I'm glad I did it."

"Me too," Jake told her.

They went back inside. Jake didn't talk to her again the rest of the night.

In all, there were three hundred and sixteen guests at Celia and Greg's wedding ceremony (Greg's publicist would later describe the affair as a "small, intimate ceremony with just a few close friends in attendance"). Most of these were on the groom's side. There were dozens of famous actors and actresses and their significant others. There were movie producers, directors, and a few odd make-up artists and crew members. There were only a few members of Greg's family on this side of the room. His mother and sister were there and two people he identified as cousins. He was estranged from his father for reasons he had never explained to either Jake or Celia and his older brother had elected not to come for reasons that were also unexplained.

Celia's side of the room, by contrast, had very few famous people. No one from Aristocrat Records had bothered to show up and the only other professional musicians in the group were Jake and the other members of La Diferencia. Most of the pews on this side of the room were taken up by Celia's family and close friends from Barquisimeto (all of whom had been flown in for the occasion at Greg's expense). There were grandmothers, grandfathers, and one great-grandmother. There were cousins and uncles galore. There were half a dozen members of the church Celia had attended as a child, including her former choir teacher. There were three women and two men who had been childhood playmates of Celia.

In addition to the guests, there was a complete photography crew from People magazine in attendance. They had paid fifty thousand dollars for the exclusive right to photograph the nuptials and distribute them in their magazine. They flitted here and there, flashing their bulbs and taking pictures of everything and everyone.

Jake and Helen sat on the bride's side of the room. Since Jake was to be part of the ceremony, they were in the second row, just behind the seats for the immediate family. Jake was wearing one of his custom tailored tuxedos. Helen was adorned in a royal blue dress that had cost $2800 in the Rodeo Drive shop where they'd bought it. It was modest, falling to just below her knees and displaying only the very top of her cleavage. Only Jake knew that beneath it she was wearing a pair of silk stockings attached to a garter belt.

At Celia's insistence, the ceremony itself was a traditional contemporary Catholic wedding. This was to please her family, she had confided in Jake at one point, and not because she or Greg were practicing Catholics. The priest entered the room first. He was decked out in full regalia and held a large, leather bound bible in his hands. The organ played soft music and Greg's groomsmen entered the room, walking slowly down the aisle. The groomsmen escorted Greg's mother, Celia's mother, and Celia's grandparents to their seats at the front of the room. They then retreated back out of the room, only to return a minute later with the bridesmaids on their arms.

"Nice dresses," Helen whispered to Jake.

As far as bridesmaid dresses went, they were pretty attractive. They were floor length, rose red gowns that left the shoulders bare. All of Celia's bridesmaids were friends from Venezuela and had dark complexions that contrasted very nicely with the color of the gowns.

The groomsmen and the bridesmaids separated and took their positions before the altar. Next, the best man and the maid of honor entered the room. Greg's best man was Michael Stinson, his co-star in the last movie he'd made. Celia's maid of honor was Gloria Dominquez, the girl who had been her best friend during her high school days. These two walked arm in arm to the altar (Gloria had been in awe of the fact that she got to touch Michael Stinson all throughout the rehearsal last night) and then separated and took their positions.

The flower girl came next. She was a young cousin of Celia's, about six years old, and absolutely adorable in her red dress. She scattered rose petals around the aisle in advance of the bride.

The Wedding March began to play. The priest asked that everyone please stand in honor of the bride. Everyone stood and turned toward the back. Celia entered the room, escorted by her tuxedoed father. She was quite stunningly beautiful, decked out in a traditional white wedding dress that had been designed by Versace himself (or Himself, as Greg liked to put it). The dress had cost more than twenty thousand dollars and it fit to absolute perfection.

"Look at her," Helen whispered. "She's gorgeous."

Jake simply nodded. Helen was correct.

Celia took her place at the altar. The priest asked who gave this woman and Celia's father replied that he and her mother did. Her father then took his seat and the ceremony began in earnest.

It went on for more than forty minutes before they started to get to the good part. The priest read passages from the bible, he expounded upon the religious implications of the holy union of matrimony, and every few minutes he would say, "let us pray" and everyone would lower their heads while he talked to Our Father. Every few minutes apart from that, he would say, "please rise" and, once they did, he would recite some other passage from the bible and follow it up with a "you may be seated". Finally, just when Jake was starting to think he wouldn't be able to stifle a yawn any longer, the exchange of the vows began. When that was done, the priest asked each of them if they took the other in holy matrimony.

"I do," said Celia, looking shyly at Greg.

"I do," said Greg when it was his turn.

They exchanged rings and then the priest told them they were man and wife. Greg kissed his bride and quiet applause rippled through the room.

"And now," said the priest, "a dear friend of the couple, Mr. Jake Kingsley, will perform a song he has written in honor of this union. As we found out last night at the rehearsal, this song has never been performed before another person before. Celia, Greg, and all of you will now enjoy it for the very first time." He looked at Jake. "Mr. Kingsley?"

Jake gave a brief smile to Helen and then stood up. He walked slowly to a spot just beside the altar and pulled up a Fender electric/acoustic guitar from hiding behind a section of latticework. The guitar was plugged into a guitar cord that ran discretely off to a small soundboard that was plugged into the facility's speakers. Jake had sound checked and tuned the guitar earlier that day, before the arrival of the guests. He pulled a pick from the inlay and walked up to the small microphone the priest, Greg, and Celia had been using.

Jake spoke no introductory words, nor did he give a warm-up strum of the strings. He simply began to play, picking out a soft, gentle eight note rhythm that was both soothing and captivating. He sang into the microphone, using his voice to its best advantage, singing of love and beginnings and compromise and contentment. There were two verses with a chorus in between that spoke of the "start of the journey" that a married couple was embarking upon. There was a brief bridge, during which he upped the tempo the slightest bit, displaying a considerable amount of flair with his instrument and getting a good many feet tapping. Finally, there was a final verse that led to an abbreviated version of the main chorus with a subtle changing of the lyrics.