All I Need Is You aka Wedding Survivor Page 5

  “You might want to write some stuff down.”

  She sighed, leaned over, and fished around her bag for a neon-orange pen and lime-green spiral notebook, straightened up, flipped it open, pressed her neon-orange pen tip to the paper, and gave him a derisive little smile.

  “Rule number one—and this one is the most important rule you’ll hear,” he said with a slow smile. “It’s so important that if you don’t follow it, I will can you so fast that you will never even feel my boot in your butt. And here it is: No one knows. No one. Not your best friends, not your mother, not your priest. No one. TA is successful because we guarantee privacy for our clients and that means never mentioning their names, or where you are going, or even that you are working on a wedding. You cannot even begin to imagine how resourceful and sly the press and paparazzi are in this town. You have to keep this under wraps until it’s all said and done. Any questions?”

  “Nope,” she said, and instantly dropped her gaze, wrote something down.

  He leaned over, saw the word bossy. Oh great—he instantly suspected that her mouth had already opened and gums had flapped. He tapped her on the hand with his pen. She just inched her hand away from his pen. Eli frowned. “What’s the matter, Marnie? Do we have a problem? Have you told someone?”

  She looked off to one side and muttered, “Mom.”

  “Oh God—”

  “But she won’t tell a soul,” she insisted with big maple doe eyes. “I swore her to secrecy, and I swear, my mom won’t tell a soul.”

  “Who else?” he demanded.

  “No one, I swear it!”

  “No one? You’re sure about that? You haven’t been sitting around with your pals doing each other’s nails and gabbing about your great new job? About meeting a couple major Hollywood movie stars?”

  Her expression instantly went from pleading to miffed. “Sitting around doing my nails?” she echoed. “Are you serious? Is that what you think I do? You think just because I am a wedding planner that I don’t have anything better to do with my free time than my nails?”

  “Have you been talking, Marnie? Because in case you haven’t noticed, you seem excited about this gig and you have a tendency to talk.”

  “At least I do talk,” she shot back. “At least I don’t sit there glaring at the world around me like I’m mad all the time like some people. And you’re right. I am very excited about this job. But I am a professional. And for your information, Mr. Personality, I have a very full and busy life. I do not sit around and do my nails and gossip with my pals.”

  “Okay, Chatty Cathy,” he said, holding up a hand. “That’s all I’m asking.”

  She petulantly flipped her hair over her shoulder.

  “So I’m sorry about the nail thing. I didn’t mean to be offensive,” he grudgingly added. “I just want to make sure you haven’t been gabbing with your friends about this.”

  “I don’t gab with friends. If you must know, I had to move home with my parents because of some…issues…and my friends are four hours away. Unfortunately, I don’t sit around with anyone but Mom and Dad.”

  “Issues,” he snorted, and looked down at his list.

  “Yes, issues. Issues you know nothing about.”

  “Oh, really? Would it be issues like maybe too many shopping sprees? What is it with women and shopping, anyway? Why would anyone spend every dime they ever made and then some on shoes and clothes and spray-on tans?”

  Marnie gasped. “How did you know that?”

  “We run a very thorough background check. We can’t afford to have some flake infiltrate our operation.”

  “Is there a reason you act like we’re working on some top military secret?”

  “That’s a great description, because this is exactly the way we treat our business. The sooner you start thinking that way, the better off we’ll both be.”

  With a huff, she slid down in her seat like a chastised child. “Is there anything else, General?”

  “Yeah, Private,” he responded with a grin, and explained how they would work, how she would bill for expenses, how she was to report in to him on a daily basis. How he and Olivia and Vince would leave for the mountains a week ahead of her for the canyoning, and how no, Marnie could not go, because she had work to do.

  “There’s one last thing,” he said. “You need to manage the couple’s expectations.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning, we are going to be high in the San Juan Mountains and very remote. It’s not exactly Santa Monica where you can truck in a bunch of cute lights or whatever, or have limousines drive the wedding party around. Trust me on this—I know Olivia. She’s going to want the sun and the moon. It’s your job to give her that, but on a scale that matches up with a wedding in a remote mountain location. Just keep thinking about logistics.”

  Marnie nodded pertly. “Manage expectations,” she said, jotting it down. “Got it.”

  She didn’t have it. He knew she didn’t have it because she knew nothing about the way these people lived. Eli did know, and that’s why he and Marnie would be talking on a daily basis. He’d worked beside a number of Hollywood stars, befriended them, dined with them and knew them to be self-centered egomaniacs who thought the world revolved around them. Hell, he’d almost married one of them.

  That prompted a dull thump in his chest and he abruptly flipped his notebook shut. “You ready to meet the bride?”

  Marnie’s face instantly lit with an enchanting smile. “I can’t wait,” she said, and quickly began gathering her things.

  Marnie met Olivia Dagwood in her trailer on the set of WonderGirl.

  Her trailer was really cool, decked out in great, really cool Scandinavian-looking furniture, a big mirror and makeup lights, a separate room with a bed, a Jacuzzi, and a plasma TV on one wall. There were a couple of people inside—one man Marnie thought was a makeup artist, because he was holding a palette of what looked like eye shadows. And there was a woman with a iPad and the earbud of a cell phone in her ear.

  Marnie didn’t even see Olivia Dagwood until she stood up. She was wearing a very sleek and very modern superhero WonderGirl outfit. “Eli!” she purred, and went up on her perfect little tiptoes to air-kiss him before bending her head back to greet Marnie with a lovely smile. “So you’re my wedding planner!”

  Olivia, Marnie was extremely disappointed to see, was no bigger than a child. She was maybe two or three inches over five feet and might have weighed one hundred pounds. Marnie herself was five feet, eight inches, and a perfectly acceptable size ten. But next to Olivia, she felt like the Incredible Hulk.

  Frankly, she was stunned by Olivia’s tininess, because she looked so much bigger than this on the silver screen. And that outfit had to be a kid’s outfit she was wearing. And her head—of course Marnie would never say this to another living soul—but Olivia’s head seemed about two sizes too big for her tiny body. And if Olivia Dagwood was this tiny, and she and Vince Vittorio always seemed to be about the same height in the movies, that meant—

  “It’s Marnie, right?” Olivia asked, extending her tiny little hand.

  “Marnie, yes,” she said, recovering, and quickly shook Olivia’s hand and dropped it before she broke it. “It’s so great to meet you, Miss Dagwood. I’ve seen most of your films and I think you’re great. I loved A Late Summer’s Tale.”

  “Oh, thank you. I was nominated for an Academy Award for that performance.” She smiled appreciatively. “Please call me Olivia. We’re going to be working very closely together, so we should be friends.”

  Okay. She had officially died and gone to heaven. She was beaming and could practically feel her face splitting in two with a ridiculously huge smile.

  “Why don’t you have a seat? Peter was just touching me up for the next scene.”

  Peter, the makeup guy, gave Marnie a cool once-over before he turned his attention to Olivia again.

  “And this is my assistant, Lucy. You’ll be seeing quite a lot of her.”

&n
bsp; “Hi,” Marnie said.

  Lucy nodded her head and dipped her gaze to her iPad, as if something in there was too fascinating to break away from and say hello.

  “Have a seat, Marnie. Would you like something to drink?”

  Marnie eased down onto a lounge chair. “Ah…a diet soda if you have one.”

  “Soda!” Olivia exclaimed delicately. “Well, no—I should have said bottled or mineral water,” she said apologetically.

  “Oh. Bottled water is fine.”

  Without words or eye contact, Lucy got up and walked across the trailer to a small fridge, opened it up, then slammed it shut again. “We’re out of water.”

  Olivia, who had reseated herself in front of a lighted mirror, sighed wearily. “That’s the third time in two weeks. Do these people read their contracts? Can you please do something about it, Lucy?”

  Lucy stepped out of the trailer. Marnie looked at Eli. Eli winked at her.

  “Okay, Olivia, you remember what we talked about, right?” he asked, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Nothing too elaborate.”

  “I know, I know,” she said, and looking at Marnie in the reflection of her mirror, she playfully rolled her pale-blue eyes. “Men. They have no appreciation for weddings, do they? Especially Eli. But honestly, I’m not a wedding person. I’m really doing this for Vince.”

  What did she mean, ‘especially Eli’? Why Eli? And why was Eli coloring a little? He didn’t seem the type to color. Ever. At anything.

  He looked at Marnie. “I’ll be back in a half hour.”

  “That’s okay, Eli,” Olivia said. “I’ll send her home in a car.”

  “You sure?”

  “Of course! We’ve got so much to talk about, and I am sure you don’t want to wait around. Is that all right with you, Marnie?”

  Was she kidding? “Ah—sure.”

  Eli didn’t look so keen on the idea, but he shrugged. “Okay. So I’ll call you tomorrow, Marnie,” he said, and with one last look at Olivia, he stepped forward, bent his head, and whispered in Marnie’s ear, “Remember what we talked about.” And then he gave her a very pointed look, stepped out of the trailer, almost colliding with Lucy and a guy in a green service shirt, who carried a flat of bottled Perrier.

  “Is it cold?” Olivia asked him. “I don’t want it if it’s not cold.”

  The man silently hoisted the flat onto his shoulder and went out again.

  “Morons. Who wants warm water? I’m so sorry, Marnie. Hopefully the morons will get us some cold water before my next scene. In the meantime, tell me a little about yourself,” she said.

  “Oh, Well, I suppose I should tell you that this is my first solo wedding, but I have apprenticed extensively under Simon Dupree—”

  “Dupree. Yes, I’ve heard of him. He did a strike party for a Miramax film I did, I think.”

  Marnie didn’t think so but continued on with her experience. And as she talked more and more about herself, she had the very distinct impression that not only was Olivia listening, she was interested.

  Oh yeah, this was going to be the job of a lifetime.

  Much later that afternoon, after a long chat about chefs, Olivia sent Marnie home. Literally.

  Dad was puttering around the garage and Mom’s book club was standing at the front window when Olivia Dagwood’s car pulled into the drive. Marnie climbed out, thanked the driver, and with her portfolio in hand, practically floated up to the door.

  “Who was that?” her dad called to her as she floated by.

  “A friend,” she said dreamily.

  “You have a friend that drives a car like that?” Dad asked, his voice full of incredulity.

  “Yep.”

  “Where’s your car?”

  “On La Cienega. Mom can drop me later,” she said, and floated inside. She was instantly met by five women, all menopausal, and all on at least their second cocktail. They stared at her curiously as she entered the dining room, where they typically held court.

  “Who was that?” Mom asked.

  “No one you know.”

  “Was it Olivia Dagwood?”

  That earned a collective gasp from the book club group. “Olivia Dagwood? The movie star?” Mrs. Randolph demanded, crowding in closer than anyone. “How would you know Olivia Dagwood?”

  Mrs. Randolph was not a big fan of Marnie’s, not for twenty years since Marnie broke up with her son Tim in middle school. “Olivia Dagwood? No!” Marnie cried and followed it up with a high-pitched, desperate bark of laughter. “Don’t be silly. That wasn’t Olivia Dagwood, that was Lucy.”

  “Lucy?” Mom asked, looking very skeptical.

  “Lucy! Lucy, Lucy, Lucy. From my old job, remember? She and I used to take Pilates together. She’s in town for a couple days.”

  “Oh…” Mom said, her skepticism turning into confusion. “Yes. I think I remember a Lucy. Of course. Lucy.”

  Crisis averted. At least until later when a canny Mom would want to know what happened to this so-called Lucy. “Okay, gotta jet,” Marnie said with a smile and cheerful wave, then darted down the hall to her bedroom before her mom could utter the name Olivia Dagwood again.

  Her bedroom, all yellow-and-white gingham, had remained unchanged since 1985, and usually Marnie hated it, but today, she tossed her portfolio on the bed and sank onto the bench in front of her vanity, grinning like a fool into a mirror that still had a picture of Sylvester Stallone as Rambo tucked into the mirror frame.

  But Marnie didn’t see Rambo. All she could see was a vision of her new future. Tomorrow, the car was going to pick her up and take her to Olivia’s house. She was going to Olivia Dagwood’s house in Brentwood to talk about dresses and cakes and…and something about an arch that Marnie didn’t really understand, but would figure out later.

  Could this be happening? After suffering the layoff and having to move home and not being able to find a job and generally feeling pretty crummy about herself, could it be possible that she was about to climb out of a hole and start a new exciting career?

  Not dressed liked a frump she wasn’t.

  Marnie jumped up and headed for her meager closet. She was really going to have to find something that made her look a lot less incredibly hulkish if she was going to be the wedding planner to the stars.

  CHAPTER SIX

  At the DreamWorks studio, Jack and Eli met with the executive producer of the live-action period movie Graham’s Crossing, which was set to start filming in October in Ireland. TA had been tapped to choreograph and coordinate the film’s stunt work, and they were currently negotiating the terms of the agreement.

  At the conclusion of the meeting, Jack asked Eli to wait—he had something he needed to do with the director, who happened to be in the building.

  Eli was hanging out in the executive lobby, flipping through Variety, when he felt a familiar presence. He slowly looked up and idly wondered if he’d go his whole life feeling like he’d been kicked in the stomach every time he saw her. “Hello, Trish,” he said, his voice gone depressingly soft.

  “Hi, Eli,” she said, smiling prettily, as if they were old acquaintances. As if they’d never been more than that.

  She didn’t look any different—still pretty and small and blond. Her clothing looked top dollar, but Eli would have been surprised if it hadn’t—she was with Tom Malone now, a successful actor on his way to the big time and one of a horde of multimillionaires in this town.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked casually.

  “Graham’s Crossing.”

  “Oh,” she said, flipping voluminous blond hair over her shoulder. “That’s a Spielberg film, isn’t it?” When Eli didn’t answer, she smoothly moved on. “Guess what? Tom is backing a film for me to star in. We’re shopping it around to the studios,” she said very matter-of-factly, as if he could possibly care. As if it were typical for a star on his way up to give a vehicle to a B-list actress. But that’s what Trish had expected, Eli supposed, when she started sleeping with Tom Malone
.

  Eli had worked a dozen of Tom’s films, had even been on a couple of extreme-sport outings with him, and had always thought he was a good guy. But he’d never thought, never once suspected that Tom Malone was sleeping with his fiancée, Trish.

  Trish, damn her. He tried not to think of her. Ever. It was easier now, because it had been almost a year since she’d given him the good news that she was “seeing” someone else a week before the massive wedding that she had insisted on. He hadn’t wanted a huge production, but Trish had, and he had jumped into it with both feet because he adored her.

  “That’s great, Trish,” he said, and tossed the rag aside and leaned back, folding his arms over his chest. “Glad to hear things are working out for you.”

  “Eli,” she purred, with a sympathetic smile. “Don’t be that way. It’s water under the bridge, and besides, we might end up working together someday.”

  He couldn’t help himself; he laughed at that and stood up, towering over her at six feet two. “Don’t think so,” he said pleasantly. “I’ll leave this town before I work with you again.”

  “Eli!” she exclaimed, smiling coyly at him with big blue eyes.

  “Have a good life,” he said, and walked away, leaving her gaping at him as if she couldn’t believe he’d just walked away.

  How could she expect anything less? She’d destroyed him a year ago, and that he could walk away now instead of crawling was a small victory for Eli. He’d never been in love with anyone before Trish—he’d been the kind of guy to flit from one girl to the next, moving on about the time they started getting serious. But with Trish, he’d fallen hard, like King Kong off the Empire State Building.

  And with a year under his belt to obsess about it, Eli wondered several times how he could have missed her cheating, why he hadn’t seen any signs, hadn’t felt a little nudge deep inside him telling him the whole thing with Trish was off kilter. Maybe he had. Maybe he’d had the nudge and ignored it, and that was what made him such a putz. He’d been totally blindsided by Trish’s announcement that night they were lying in bed together. Oh yeah, he’d been lying there thinking about how happy he was and wondering how many kids they’d have, and if they’d take after their mom or their dad.