“With Zach?”
Darlene let out a soft snort. “No.”
“Why not? You always say he’s so talented.”
“He is. But Zach has other… priorities.”
As if on cue, a uniformed doorman opened the building’s front door for Zach and a buttery blonde in a miniskirt. This was Lauren (Laura?), a pharmaceutical rep. They’d met at a wedding; she’d been a bridesmaid. She and Zach had been dating for about six weeks. Zach dated someone for about six weeks a lot.
Lauren (Laura?) put her arms around Zach’s neck. He leaned down for a kiss, which quickly lengthened into a full-on make-out.
A scalding rush of anger that only Zach could inspire exploded in Darlene’s stomach. Could he go one month without charming the pants off some Bachelorette wannabe? And did they all have to constantly hook up in front of her? She leaned on the horn, hard. The sound broke the lovers apart with a satisfying jump. Zach shot her an apologetic grin, the kind of warm, winning smile that forgave just about anything. After one more stomach-churning kiss, he loped toward the car… before stopping to let a jogger pass. Then a dog walker. Then he was chasing the dog walker halfway down the block to return the guy’s dropped glove. Jesus, they were already late! Finally, he popped the trunk to store his guitar, the case plastered with UK flags and a BRITS DO IT BETTER sticker.
“Morning, Mitchell.” He slid into the back seat. “Hello, Zia, love: long time. Ooh, is that bagels I smell?”
The trio hadn’t worked a wedding together since November, nearly six months ago. The one on Long Island, where a flock of pigeons got loose in the kitchen and Liv found out poor Eliot had died. The last time Darlene had seen Liv was at the funeral. She’d been surprised to get another booking. In Love in New York was still alive.
“Hey, Zee-Bot.” Zia twisted around in her seat. “Blondie was cute. Predictable, but cute.”
“Don’t get attached.” Zach arched his back like a satisfied cat. “I think our time together is coming to an end.”
You could set your watch to it. Darlene pulled into traffic.
Zach eyed the bagel in Zia’s hand and tickled Darlene’s neck. “Tell me you got ol’ Zachie some breakfast, Darlene, my darling?”
She swiped him away. “You didn’t reply to my email about the new arrangement for ‘At Last.’ ”
He met her eyes in the rearview mirror, eyebrows up. “The one you sent at midnight last night?”
“ ‘At Last’ is the first dance,” she pointed out. “It’s special.”
“I know, I know. Well, we can go through it now. We do have a three-hour drive ahead of us.” Zach ran a hand through his hair and yawned. “As long as I can work in a quick nap. Barely got a wink last night.”
“You’re so unprofessional,” Darlene muttered, changing lanes.
“They’ll put it on my gravestone. Here lies Zach. He lived unprofessionally.”
He did. Lavishly and without regret. With his flop of light brown hair, decent body, and that outrageously effective smile, Zach was cute. Less hot, more attainable. Very, very attainable. And so Zach Livingstone lived unprofessionally. Sometimes twice a night. He fixed Darlene with disconcertingly blue eyes through the rearview. “Bagel?”
Darlene sighed and plucked the bag between her legs. “Sesame. With scallion cream cheese.”
“My favorite!” Grabbing it, he smooched Darlene’s cheek. Scratchy stubble and warm, soft lips. The spot where he kissed her pulsed, sending a false alarm down her entire body. Flustered, she almost swerved into the next lane.
“Watch it,” she snapped, as the car next to them blared its horn. “Or that gravestone’ll become a reality.”
“Easy, Mitchell. I come bearing treats.” Zach leaned forward between the girls, presenting both fists. Zia tapped the closest. He opened it to reveal a fat joint. In the other, a lighter.
Zia laughed and high-fived him.
“You’re not smoking that in here,” Darlene said.
“Duh. We’ll get high at a rest stop and buy loads of terrible junk food. My treat.” Zach grabbed the car’s auxiliary cable and plugged in his phone. The swaggering, slippery groove of Salt-N-Pepa filled the car: “Shoop shoop ba-doop shoop ba-doop, shoop ba-doop ba-doop.”
Zach turned it up, seat-dancing in time with Zia, twisting left, then right, left, then right. “ ‘Here I go, here I go, here I go again…’ ”
As if Darlene could expect anything less from Zach “I Bring the Party” Livingstone. And it was always fun to hear him sing in an American accent. Giving up, she joined in—“ ‘Girls, what’s my weakness? Men!’ ”—pulling onto the West Side Highway.
* * *
Just over three hours later, the trio pulled into the service parking lot of Dave and Kamile’s wedding venue. It was a glorious May day in the Catskills. A warm breeze ruffled the apple tree blossoms, sending white petals floating through the clean, country air. Darlene was still climbing out of the front seat when a very enthusiastic blonde appeared out of nowhere, introducing herself as “Savannah Shipley, from the emails.” A small-town beauty queen not quite pretty enough to take State. She handed Darlene a form. “It’s an NDA.” Evidently, Savannah-from-the-emails was excited by this. “Nondisclosure agreement. We have a celebrity guest attending today’s wedding.”
Darlene skimmed the form and scrawled her signature. She’d performed at plenty of weddings with high-profile guests. They didn’t really affect her but for the fact the other guests were usually paying more attention to them than her, the person onstage.
Savannah thrust a form at Zia, beaming. “You’re a server, right? You’ll be circulating around our celebrity guest.” She bounced on her toes. “It’s Clay Russo!”
The name was vaguely familiar, but Zia couldn’t conjure a face. “Football player?”
Savannah’s jaw dropped. “Movie star.”
Zia didn’t really keep abreast of popular culture. The idea of sitting in a dark room for hours on end, staring at a screen, felt a bit oppressive. She’d rather be outside, in her body, in the air. She signed the NDA and handed it back. “I’ll keep an eye out.”
“It’s better you don’t keep an eye out,” Savannah corrected. “He’s actually very private, and I think he’s going through a breakup, according to the tabloids, so we should all—Oh. Hello.”
Zach emerged from the back seat, yawning. “Gosh, I just had the most amazing dream.” He locked eyes with Savannah. “Or maybe it hasn’t yet ended?”
Darlene shuddered. Zach did land most of their gigs by flirting with female wedding planners or bro-ing out with male venue bookers. But seeing white male privilege in action was still gross.
“This is Liv’s new business partner,” she said pointedly.
“Welcome to the family.” Zach smiled. “Although surely you being here is a little unfair.”
The girl’s eyes pulsed in… was it alarm? “What do you mean?”
Zach’s smile was conspiratorial. “How does it look for the wedding planner to be more beautiful than the bride?”