You know that feeling you get when everything seems to be right with the world? When the planets seem to be in alignment? That was exactly how I felt as I walked up the steps to my ex-boyfriend’s wedding. I was wearing an impossibly sexy vintage Halston dress (if only two sizes too small) and brand new stiletto heels (that I could almost even walk in), flanked on either side by my two best friends. Nothing could go wrong.
Well, sort of. My feet failed me, or I should say, my brand new three and a half inch heels failed me and I tripped up the steps in my haste to get to the wedding in time.
“I’m okay,” I said, as Jack held me up. Always the gentleman. As he stood me upright, I turned to face he and Vanessa.
“First,” I said, “I just want to thank the two of you for hauling yourselves out to L.A. on such short notice.”
“You know we’d do anything for you,” Vanessa said. “And, also, I was invited, so I was coming anyway.”
“Right,” I said. “Then, Jack, especially you. It really means a lot to me that you’re here and that you’re helping me to perpetrate a fraud on the Scottish community.”
“Anything for my girl,” he said, putting his hand on my face. “You know that.” And I did.
“Okay, so try to remember your Scottish accent,” I said. “Don’t do that English one or that Irish one. Focus.”
“Got it,” he said. In a perfect Scottish accent.
“And do not slip into that freaking Australian accent,” I said, “because, A- I will kill you and B- you’re just not very good at it.”
“Right,” he said back, still in character with accent in tow.
“And say lots of Scottish stuff like I taught you.”
“For fuck’s sake!”
I smiled like a proud parent. What I was about to say next was “Try to be more like Douglas,” but I knew that it would hurt Jack’s feelings. “Okay,” I instead said, “try to be more good looking.” Vanessa’s mouth fell to the floor. In hindsight I tend to think that maybe I should have just said the Douglas thing.
“For fuck’s sake, Brooke,” Jack said.
“Sorry,” I said, “I’m just nervous. I meant….”
“Maybe this will make you less nervous,” he said as he pulled something out of the inside pocket of his jacket.
It was the fake engagement ring—I hadn’t even realized that I’d forgotten it.
“Thank you,” I said, and kissed Jack on the cheek.
We walked up the stairs to this fabulous Los Angles hotel, and I felt like a movie star. Maybe that’s because my ex-boyfriend Trip is a Hollywood agent, and most of the guests actually were movie stars, but I digress.
Quietly decorated in creamy white and beige tones, the hotel looked more like a spa than a hotel. Delicious fabric hung from everywhere and soothing music surrounded you as you walked in. I even detected the faint smell of vanilla mixed with spice—the familiar infused with the exotic. This being L.A., I went with it. Like the guests arriving for the wedding it was hosting, the hotel was fabulously elegant. Every inch of it, every last detail, was hopelessly chic. Even the bellhops’ uniforms were glamorous. I wondered what the rooms looked like.
There was a delicate pond in the center of the lobby and the sound of the water trickling down its tiny waterfall had the intended effect—I immediately felt serene and at peace. There were black stones all along and inside of the pond which created a striking contrast to the stark white that enveloped most of the space. The reception desk was hidden in a corner—the couches and tables which boasted cocktail service were the centerpiece of the lobby. That it was a hotel seemed only incidental to the “see and be seen” atmosphere that was before my eyes.
The hotel was beautiful, my friends and I looked beautiful, and at that precise moment in time, I felt like the world was beautiful.
Amidst the crowd of movie stars and movie star wannabes, I saw a tall figure that seemed to be the center of attention. His dirty blonde hair had gotten lighter in the Los Angeles sun, but even before he turned around, I knew that it was Trip from the very way he stood. Back straight and shoulders at attention, he looked like the prep school graduate that he was. Wedding guests were approaching him and hugging him and kissing him from every angle and I could see a line of people, three or four deep, jockeying for position.
“Maybe we should wait until we see him at the cocktail hour,” I said to Vanessa and Jack. “He looks too busy now.”
“Good call,” Vanessa agreed.
As we tried to make our way through the lobby, Trip turned around and made eye contact with me. For an instant, I didn’t recognize his face. I realized that we hadn’t seen each other since our law school graduation. It struck me as sad that it was possible to barely even recognize someone with whom you had shared three years of your life. Someone with whom you had shared your bed.
“Brooke?” he called out from the eye of his tornado of wedding guests.
“Trip!” I said and walked towards him. He broke away from all of the other guests to greet us.
“Brooke, I almost didn’t recognize you,” he said as he gave me a kiss hello.
“Me too,” I said.
“Vanessa, you look exactly the same,” he said as he gave her a kiss. “Gorgeous as ever. When are you going to come out here so that I can make you a movie star?” She giggled and all I could think was, Why doesn’t he want to make me a movie star? I would have to clarify that with him later.
“Trip,” I said, “I would like to introduce you to my fiancé, Douglas,” I said, as he shook hands with Jack/Douglas. Trip smiled at us with a million startlingly white teeth and I realized that I had forgotten how good looking he was.
“Ah, Douglas,” Trip said, “nice to finally meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“G’Day mate,” Jack/Douglas replied, Crocodile Dundee triumphantly returning to our midst.
Now, does that sound Scottish to you?
Trip looked at me in confusion and I looked back with one of those smiles that says ‘I know you think my fiancé is Scottish and he’s speaking like an Aussie, but really, there is a very logical explanation for this.’ You know, that look.
As I stood there with my mouth gaping open, horrified that Jack had given up the game before the game had even begun, a thought ran through my head for the very first time— maybe this would be harder than it originally seemed.