They were seated, like five mismatched peas in a pod, at a corner booth upholstered in green vinyl. Bridget stood out, put together in unrivaled style for the first time in weeks, content to outclass her surroundings. Rosemary, at the other end of the booth as well as the style spectrum, was content to be outside the house for reasons other than medical ones. At the center of it all, James and Jordan were content in their pod within a pod.
But Camille, seated next to her mother, was far from content. The Countryside Inn Café didn’t take reservations, and her group had waited forty-five minutes for a table. She hoped the line for tables meant that the food was decent. The menu offered standard fare.
When the waitress finally greeted them, Camille slapped the menu shut and looked up as though she’d decided to spring a pop quiz. “What’s your specialty?”
“Have you tried our pizza? It’s the best in the Twin Cities.”
“I just moved back from Chicago, where the pizza is hard to beat,” James said.
“Give us a chance,” the young woman wheedled. “I’ll give you my personal money-back guarantee. Now, you can’t beat a deal like that.”
“Where else but Minnesota for such a deal?” Jordan put in, slipping her fiancé an inside-joke glance. They both laughed. “We understand you do wedding receptions,” she said to the waitress.
“All the time, but not too many brides ask for pizza, which is a mistake in my book. It’s cheaper than chicken Kiev and looks just as good on the front of the dress as butter sauce.” She gave an appreciative look at the hand Jordan had laid possessively on James’s arm. “Pretty ring. I’d say this guy’s a keeper. When’s the big day?”
“We haven’t booked it yet,” James said. “I’m up for the pizza challenge. Who’s with me?”
Bridget opted out, but everyone else agreed on the house special.
“I think they’re setting up for a reception tonight,” the waitress said as she collected the menus. “You might want to go through the bar and take a peek at the banquet room. Your order will be up in twenty.”
“And so the hunt begins,” Camille muttered to Bridget as she slid across the booth.
“I wonder when the band starts.”
“We probably won’t stay too long. Right, Mama?”
“Who’s ‘we’?” Rosemary grinned and did a little hip swing. “I’m here for the music.”
“And I’m here for the drama,” Bridget said, following the conga line they’d formed as they made their way through the bar. “At someone else’s expense.”
“It won’t be mine,” Camille said blithely. “I’m here for pizza and beer.”
“The first round’s on me.”
Camille did a quick about-face, surprised that she hadn’t noticed Creed from the back. He swiveled, gave her a look that said she wasn’t getting by him that easily as he slid from the barstool. He greeted his daughter with a hug, gave everyone else a general nod. “Nice to see you, Bridget. Congratulations.”
“On what?”
“Your son’s good fortune.” As though the possibility of a miscue had just dawned on him, he added, “Hey, I’m sorry about the split, but it doesn’t surprise me. Mayfield’s no brighter than any of the rest of us guys.”
“Which Mayfield?” James offered a handshake.
“You’d better be the exception, young James. If there’s one exception in the entire male race, you’d better be it.”
“Men aren’t a race, Dad. They’re a gender.”
“Jordie, if this guy doesn’t treat you right, he’ll find himself in a race, trying to escape your ol’ man. Hell has no fury like a father whose son-in-law turns out to be dumber than he is.”
Creed laid a hand on James’s shoulder, man to man.
James chuckled. “Pretty hard to respond to that one without putting my foot in it. Let me just go on record with a promise to love my wife and respect my elders.”
“You raised a damn fine diplomat, Bridget,” Creed allowed. “If you need a date for the wedding, I can fix you up with my fiddler. Sam, come over here and meet my family.” He waved across the bar at a small, white-haired man. “Sam has a little age on him, but it takes years to become a good fiddler and a gentleman both. I wouldn’t fix you up with anything but a true gentleman, Bridget.”
“I don’t know about the fiddler part.”
“You had enough of that, huh?” He laughed. “What’ll you folks have to drink?”
“We were on our way to take a look at the banquet room,” Camille said. “Our first look at a possible reception site.”
“No kidding?” Creed reached back to the bar to stub out a cigarette and claim his beer. “I can vouch for the hotel rooms, but I haven’t been invited to any banquets yet.”
He hadn’t been invited to join the inspection party either, but he tagged along anyway.
Beyond the double doors, preparations for a celebration were almost complete. Round tables were set, and gold and silver balloon bouquets floated throughout the room. A tiered cake took center stage. A bit on the spartan side, Camille noted, but she was impressed with the two walls of floor-to-ceiling windows. She approached the woman who appeared to be supervising the setup and asked how many people the room could accommodate and the size of the party they were expecting tonight. She still had no idea what they were looking for, but she wanted to look as though she did.
“This is surprisingly nice,” she mused, imagining more candles. Lots and lots of candles.
“In a utilitarian sort of way,” Bridget allowed grudgingly.
“But it has windows, Bridge. That’s what Lauren’s reception was missing. Windows double the candlelight.”
Bridget scowled. “Lauren’s reception wasn’t missing anything. Not a thing.”
“You didn’t have windows.”
“Lauren’s reception was beautiful,” said Jordan, stepping between her mother and James’s. “And ours will be beautiful. But different. We’re starting at square one.” She took another look around. “I agree, Mom. The windows are a big plus. And people can go outside on the patio.”
“It’s pretty small. Of course, I don’t know how many people you’re planning on.” Bridget inspected the burgundy upholstery on one of the dining chairs. “Have you chosen your colors, Jordan? I guess you could always rent nicer linens and maybe chair covers.”
“I think you’ve skipped a few squares, Mom,” James said, slipping his fiancée a subtle wink. “This looks great to me. It feels friendly and comfortable.”
Jordan would go for a winker, Camille thought. Her father’s favorite brand of flirtation and her own worst weakness. Former weakness.
“We’re easy to work with,” the supervisor volunteered. She took a hotel business card from her skirt pocket and handed it to Camille. “Here’s the name of the lady you’ll need to talk to.” She glanced at Creed. “Aren’t you with the band?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m also the father of the bride.”
“That works out well. Is the groom’s father a judge by any chance?”
“Why not the groom’s mother?” Bridget demanded. She was checking out the wedding cake.
“Either way, you’d have some major bases covered.” The woman had clearly turned her interest to Creed. “I heard you guys practicing. They’re out there putting the name up on the sign now. Word’s gonna get out fast. Great name for a country band, hey.”
“What is it now?” Camille asked.
“‘Only the Lonely.’ We thought about ‘Pretty Men,’ but then we thought again.”
“Good thinking,” she said dryly.
“You got time to hang around and catch a few songs?”
“That’s what we came for,” Rosemary reported before anyone had a chance to say otherwise.
“Rosie, you’re the most loyal fan I’ve got, not to mention the most beautiful. And to think you’re my mother-in-law.” He turned to the fiddler, who had also tagged along. “Sam, we’d better strike ‘Mother-in-Law’ from tonight’s playlist.”
“He’s kidding,” Sam assured Rosemary. “That’s not our style. I wanted to call us ‘The Country Gentlemen,’ more in keeping with our true nature. Creed says the appeal of country music is that people don’t have to get up for it. They can be low down. The music will reach in and get hold of people right where they live. Even if they’ve hit bottom, it’ll find them.” He gestured to demonstrate. “‘Only the Lonely’ was Creed’s idea, so I guess we know where he’s living.”
“It sounds like a shameless bid for female sympathy to me,” Bridget said. “What is it they say about lonely women?”
“They make good lovers,” Creed said. He cocked a finger at Sam. “Take that song off the list, too.”
Sam slapped Creed on the back. “Damn, by the time you’re done hiding your true feelings, we won’t have much left.”
“We’re not staying long,” Camille said. “Save the true feelings for the bottom feeders.”
Creed laughed. “You wound me, Wild Thing.”
“Wild Thing?” Jordan aped, bouncing an incredulous glance between Creed and Camille.
“Haven’t you ever seen your mother boogie?” Creed asked.
“Mother? Boogie?”
“Sounds like somebody else is hiding her true passion. Once she starts gettin’ down on the dance floor, you’ll be here till last call.”
Maybe once upon a time, Camille thought, but she gave her daughter a suggestive smile. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to go out every so often. She didn’t have time. She had no reason to make the time.
Her married friends had long since stopped trying to fix her up with that friend on the rebound who’s just the nicest guy. Men on the rebound generally tried too hard, and nice guys generally bored her. Everyone finally believed that Camille enjoyed her independence.
But independence didn’t lend itself to going out on the town. There was no place for a fifth wheel on the boogie buggy.
Creed turned down Jordan’s offer of pizza. He’d already eaten the supper he was about to sing for. His music drifted into the café while his family dined. Camille had almost forgotten how much she enjoyed hearing the sound of his voice. She had planned to make her excuses and leave after supper, but that wasn’t going to happen now that she’d heard him and remembered how much fun it was to watch him.
After they finished eating, they moved to the bar, where they got the last empty table. Camille laughed off James’s invitation to dance, but underneath the table she couldn’t keep her feet completely still. Not only was Creed’s music impossible to resist, but so also was the pleasure he took in making it. Creative juices were delicious. Camille had come to savor that particular taste in herself, and she knew how addictive it was, how the pungent taste would burst forth in the instant when vision became reality. But it would fade in its own attainment, and you had to start chasing it all over again.
Oh, she understood that now. She knew how he felt when he closed his eyes and crooned “A Thousand Miles from Nowhere.” It was undoubtedly a song made popular by another singer, but Camille hadn’t heard it before. She’d stopped listening to his brand of music the minute Creed had moved out of their home.
He didn’t write his own music. He “covered” other people’s songs, but when he sang a song his way, it became his. He lived it, loved it, caressed it with his whole sexy, soothing self, and gave it life. But because he didn’t record it, his song was fleeting. Beyond the moment, it lived only in the memories of those who’d heard it.
Maybe that was the beauty of it.
He sang for the crowd, which grew. People who had come in for a drink ended up staying for the music. He would have them as long as he wanted them, and the booking as well. A few weeks, probably, and then he would want a change of scene, a different crowd. But for now he gave unstintingly, and everyone in the room loved him for it.
Everyone.
He sang for Camille, a song called “The Heart That You Own.” For the moment she believed every word, every soulful sentiment. The rest of the band played on as he laid his guitar down, stepped off the riser, and drew Camille out of her seat, onto the dance floor. He had the grace not to sing, the style not to pose her in some sticky clinch. He knew her rhythm, and she knew his. No need to press. Their bodies touched and acknowledged each other and moved together like the two becoming one that they had once been.
“Damn, they look almost as good together as we feel.” James hooked his arm around Jordan’s shoulders and gave a quick squeeze. “You see, Mom? It’s going to be okay after some time passes and you get your feet back under you. You’ll be able to…I don’t know, maybe be friends or something.”
“I don’t see that happening.” Bridget scowled, her attention, like that of everyone else at the table, glued to Jordan’s parents. “I don’t see this happening. She’s lost all sense of dignity.”
“Would you mind if we decided to have the reception here, Bridget?” Jordan asked. “We’ll look around, but if this turns out to be what we want, will that be okay with you?”
“I suppose.” Bridget shrugged, shook her head, sipped her wine, and grimaced. She’d been served the house Chablis. “It’s not for me to say. I want to help, of course, but it’s not my decision.”
“We want you to be comfortable with what we decide.” Jordan turned her attention to the dance floor again. She smiled wistfully. “Dad has offered us his band.”
“And they’re good,” James said. “This is great stuff.”
“I don’t see how your mother would be comfortable with that,” Bridget said.
“We’ll deal with your comfort levels separately, Mom.”
“I’ll be comfortable having no decisions to make. I don’t suppose I could recycle the dress I wore for Lauren’s wedding? I guess not. That would show in the pictures. So one decision—a new dress. That’s it.” Bridget tasted her wine again, making no faces this time. “I can’t handle any more right now.” She drank again, then cast a forlorn glance at her son. “I hope I’m not letting you down. One parental letdown is—”
“Don’t start with that now, Mom. We’re having a good time.” James took the wine, then took his mother’s empty hand. “Dance?”
“You have a lovely fiancée to dance with.”
“Yes, I do. And I will. But sometimes a man feels an irresistible urge to dance with his mother.”
“I guess that’s no weirder than a woman’s urge to dance with her ex-husband.” Bridget allowed James to draw her to her feet. She was watching Camille and Creed as though they were doing something distasteful. “How can she resist giving him a piece of her knee right where it—”
“Mom, this is your firstborn male child you’re talking to.” James clucked his tongue, took his mother in his arms instructively. “We’re dancing. I get to lead now.” He looked down at Jordan and gave her a parting wink. Bridget finally took his cue. “Very good. No more scary talk. You’re doing just fine tonight, which is a great relief to me.”
Bridget glanced back at the table and gave an apologetic smile, which she turned up to her son as he danced her into the crowd.
Jordan watched and wondered whether they ought to consider eloping. Planning a wedding around two incredibly unorthodox and unpredictable families might not be the best way to begin the perfect marriage.
But if two negatives made a positive, maybe two uns cancelled each other out the same way. After all, her parents were dancing with each other. Her grandmother was somehow able to ignore the war between two poisons being waged inside her body and enjoy the dance music. And the perennial runner-up was the future bride of the man most likely to marry the girl with the crown.
A celebration was in order.