Page 33 of How to Ruin Your Ex's Wedding
“Here, as in following me?”
“My car is over there,” I say gesturing vaguely to somewhere up the road.
She waves me forward. I stay where I’m standing.
“Go on,” she says.
“After you,” I say waving her forward.
She crosses her arms over the chest. “Look, I’m trying to be nice here, but I don’t like you following me or walking so close to me, it makes me uncomfortable. Would you please just go?”
Deciding to give her a break, I tip my hat at her and walk by, not stopping until I see her drive past. Only then do I turn and jog back in the direction we came to collect the car she may have recognized—a ’79 Bronco that I’ve had for years. It was passed down from my dad when I was younger; second only to the cameras and some original prints, it’s my most treasured possession. I also have a pimped-out Jeep that she doesn’t know about that I got in exchange for the rights to an extremely favorable action shot of a Wrangler cresting a mountain-top. I trade off between driving the two, depending on my mood or the weather.
* * *
Back home, I spend some time downloading the photos from today onto my hard drive. I have to laugh when I see that roughly ninety percent of those taken of Tabatha are downright terrible. The bulk of which will never be passed along to her or Pimplecock. I will reserve them for my amusement only.
While I don’t do much direct image manipulation during my edits, I do like to crop, enlarge, and blur a bit. Never will you find a photo of mine that has been deceptively altered in Photoshop or some other such program. But I absolutely believe in cropping out unnecessary background objects as well as empty space. And if I find that a photo will be enhanced by blurring some spots to make others more pronounced, I’m not opposed to that either.
I throw one hundred or so shots into a shared folder that I have given Liza access to. She has requested she be the go-between for me and Wimpycock. Of which I have zero complaints over. The less time I have to spend interacting with him the better, as far as I’m concerned. Tabatha is another story entirely. I like seeing how far I can push her before she blows up at me. She came close today, I think. But the line is thin between pushing her buttons and getting fired, so I need to be careful.
Once I’ve put the “good” pictures into the shared folder for Liza to peruse, I go back to the bad ones of Tabatha. I’ve decided my favorite is one where her eyes are half closed, mouth wide open, and fork mid-delivery with cake. There is literally no way to make that shot appealing unless you chop her head completely out of the shot and replace it with someone else. Or even another of her.
I save it as my desktop screensaver then head to the bathroom to take off my fake facial hair. Like before, an angry red stripe forms along my upper lip after peeling it away. Even though I use a cream remover, it’s still sensitive. It’ll fade in a couple hours though. If I’m to be doing this on a more frequent basis, maybe I should look into a slightly better product to use than this cheap one I have now.
I shut down my system, grab a beer from the fridge, and order in a pizza. Then I sit out on my back deck and watch the views of the sound until my food arrives, thinking again that maybe I should get a dog. Or at least something that would help to cancel out the constant silence that I’m immersed in when I’m home. At least with a dog, I could talk to it, and if I didn’t want conversation it wouldn’t talk back.
9
Tabatha
Liza has us scouting locations for the ceremony and reception later today. Apparently, we also have to decide if we want them to be in the same place or if we care to travel and have our guests do the same. We’ve had a five-day reprieve from any sort of wedding activities due to Liza’s schedule. I find I haven’t missed the planning activities at all.
While Hunter hired her to be at our exclusive beck-and-call, she had a small number of events to wrap up prior to giving us all her focus. Not that dealing solely with us will leave her much free time, since Hunter wants to be married so quickly and with all the planning needed to keep to the “splendor in elegance” theme—whatever that means.
On paper, I’m a busy, career-minded, well-diversified, modern woman. In reality, I don’t have a lot to do since I’m not acting and spend much of my time being busy looking busy. Which is work. Real work. If you’ve ever tried to look busy when you aren’t, you know exactly what I mean. I know to some it looks like a life of luxury, but in reality, it’s hell. I have no discernible skills, nothing to offer the marketplace, my brand is in constant risk of running its course and becoming a thing of the past, and it’s not like this book that’s coming out is going to set me up for life. Plus, let’s face it, how long can a clothing line or syndication of decade plus old TV shows really pay the bills?
I know what you’re thinking, this is where Hunter comes in. With his ability to make money, I won’t have to worry about a thing. And you’d be right. Don’t get me wrong, I adore Hunter. I think we make a good team. We work, travel, and entertain well together. I enjoy his company and he loves me. There isn’t much else a woman can ask for.
Because, believe you me, that crap you see in books and movies, the happily ever after? The fairy tale? It doesn’t exist. Because, stories are just that. Fiction is . . . well, it’s fiction. Any romance you see in the movies is scripted, rehearsed, shot, and re-shot until it appears seamless. And passion? It’s fleeting. And infantile.
The real testament of a relationship is in compatibility and staying power. You can’t have one without the other. Which is how I know that Hunter and I are in it for the long haul. We are compatible to a fault, which in turn gives us staying power. That’s all it takes.
Crystal and her husband are a different story. They are an anomaly. Normal relationships aren’t like theirs. They are the one in a million couple that all the myths are fabricated from: they laugh and flirt, enjoy date night, have regular sex, seek counsel from the other, are the best of friends, and share a dynamic chemistry.
When I was young, I thought I had that one in a million with Pax. Instead, being with Pax convinced me of the dubious existence of such a coupling for the remaining nine hundred, ninety-nine thousand of us. After which I decided the only answer for me was to take on life alone. But being alone can be lonely.
Enter Hunter.
And with him, the end of my alone and the answer to my future.
My phone alarm sounds. It’s time for me to leave to meet Liza and Hunter to view locations. I double-check my makeup and outfit in the mirror. It’s important to Hunter that we exude a good impression at all times, by which he means one that meets his approval. So, I have my hair in the chignon he liked so much the other day.
I sincerely hope that photographer won’t be there. Liza assured me his pictures from the cake tasting were lovely. But I know for a fact he predominantly took pictures of me with my mouth open or eyes closed. The fact that he was even allowed a camera near me when I was eating is out of the ordinary. But Hunter, via Liza, had already okayed the shoot. Far be it for me to take that away from my groom. It doesn’t mean I have to let any unflattering pictures of me make it beyond the darkroom floor, so to speak.
I back my car from the garage and circle the drive to leave the property. GPS shows it taking about fifteen minutes for me to get to there. I use my hands-free to call Crystal.
“Hey, fancy pants,” she answers.
