Groomzilla (2 page)

Ander began belting out “I Am What I Am” from
La Cage Aux Folles
in the background, and Daniel knew he was doomed.

RAFE’S JOB
in the music business didn’t mean a whole lot to Daniel, who found music in the background of his work time distracting and rarely bothered to turn his iPod on. But when the perks of said job were passed along—like Yankee Stadium box seats and tickets to whatever major music event was happening that week—well, then he loved Rafe’s job, even if he didn’t understand it. Since Daniel’s attempts at having a social life rarely panned out beyond a nicely detailed list, it became his regular outlet for when living and working in three rooms by himself started to wear. As Rafe’s fiancé’s best friend, Daniel got the extra special treatment, like dinner reservations at snooty restaurants for before and a sleek black towncar for afterward.

Of course his date was almost always Ander, but it still counted, right?

Daniel assumed it was Rafe’s way of making sure Ander’s best friend—and the voice of reason—thought he was awesome, but while Daniel appreciated it, he only felt comfortable accepting those gifts because Rafe was so amazing to Ander. And for as long as Ander had been waiting for the Right Guy, Daniel had been waiting and praying he’d find him so nothing terrible would happen to his best friend.

Ander—who avoided reason like the plague—had the kind of taste in men that often led to lurid exposés on news magazines. His knack was for walking into a crowded room, finding the most charming sociopath he could, then falling in love with him at the drop of a hat. Which then triggered Daniel’s need to swoop in and stop Ander from running headfirst into a brick wall.

No wonder Daniel didn’t have a social life—he was Ander’s emotional bodyguard.

Which didn’t address why Daniel hadn’t had a date in the two years Rafe and Ander had been together, but that was neither here nor there.

Here nor there, at the moment, found Daniel in bed with the television on,
Law & Order: Old School
in the background with the sound barely there. He glanced at the ceiling, the television, and the LED lights on the alarm that said 3:45.

He’d read everything Rafe had sent over three times, and that well-earned degree in business administration meant he could actually read the contracts and understand them.

The serious money beckoned. Limited screen time, but a contractual obligation for at least ten hours of raw footage per week for the duration of the six months of the series filming, not counting his “best man duties.” But the money. It kept coming back to that, unfortunately, and that made it hard to act superior. Could he claim a hatred of reality television’s over-the-top exploitation of the fame-hungry when those dollar signs called to him?

Daniel could easily pay off the remainder of his supplemental student loans and create a nest egg for when he returned to the corporate spiel. Of course he could also use that nest egg while he was branching out, expanding his business, hiring someone to help….

Ambition bubbled up under his skin.

He’d been in a holding pattern for so long. Boarding school—get good grades to keep his scholarship. Harvard—nose to the grindstone. Starting his business—no time for anything. Corralling Ander out of trouble—no time for a man of his own. But now this opportunity dropped in his lap.

Who was he to turn it down?

How could planning a wedding be so different than pleasing Mr. Snider and his love of the American flag? This was Ander, the center of attention no matter where he went. Daniel could do what he did best—a little organizing and a whole lot of managing his best friend.

IN THE
chilly hangar of Snider Aviation, Daniel’s teeth chattered as he tried to maintain a polite smile. The bundled-up employees had dutifully snaked through the buffet while listening to the speechifying, following all that excitement up with a patriotic concert by the brass band Daniel had found through Craigslist.

The employees looked miserable, but Mr. Snider was beaming as he took pictures with the tuba player.

Daniel had high hopes for a good testimonial quote for his website.

A quick check of his watch promised he was almost out of here. The event ended at four, and the cleaning crew would be walking in at 4:20 p.m. He would pay Sammy his usual cut and then disappear into his rental car, where he would turn on the heat high enough to bake a cake—at which point he might feel his feet again.

“Daniel!” Mr. Snider waved him over, pale white skin looking partially frostbitten but oh, that pleased smile.

“Yes, sir.” Daniel strode over to stand near the risers where the band was milling about.

“You did a fantastic job, just fantastic.” He swung one bony arm around Daniel’s shoulders; Daniel huddled closer for warmth. “I am so pleased with how it turned out. Like you reached into my brain and pulled out what I wanted.”

“I’m delighted to hear that, Mr. Snider, thank you so much.” Daniel smiled as he glanced at his watch. “Would you like to make the announcement about the gift bags?”

“Oh right, right. We need to wrap this up. Unfortunately!” Mr. Snider thumped Daniel’s back. “Wish I could do this once a week.”

“You might tire of macaroni salad and John Philip Sousa.” Daniel gave him a wink. “But it makes me happy that you are so pleased.”

Mr. Snider reached into his pocket and pulled out an envelope with a flourish worthy of the Academy Awards. “So pleased I wanted to give you your check now plus a tip.”

“Oh, Mr. Snider….”

“Here’s the tip—always take your shirt off before you iron it.”

Daniel’s keen ability to laugh at unfunny things came in handy; he tilted his head back and guffawed until Mr. Snider wiped his eyes with a “wooo” and a sigh. “All jokes aside, thank you, Daniel. You always do great work.” He handed over the envelope, which Daniel discreetly pocketed.

“Always at your service,” he said politely.

Mr. Snider gave him another back thump. “I’ll have Mimi call you about the Christmas party in the fall. And you know I’ll recommend you to anyone who asks. I take your business cards with me to all the conventions.”

Daniel “aw, shucksed” until someone called for Mr. Snider and he wandered off to give away ugly tote bags filled with useless crap to his frozen employees.

Bless and bye, from the bottom of Daniel’s heart.

He checked his phone as he headed toward the small corner that was his staging area. Sammy was in the parking lot with his crew, Ander had needed him sixteen times judging by the number of texts and missed calls, and one of his clients wanted a quote for a “corporate hoedown.”

Daniel texted Ander—
working, cool your jets
—and went about his wrap-up business. Pack up his stuff, keep an eye out to make sure no one stole anything he had to return to the rental place….

His pocket buzzed.

Call me immediately!!!!! EMERGENCY!

After so many years of friendship, Daniel had to translate the level of
Emergency!
Ander was talking about. Blood? No, Ander would be unconscious at the sight of it. Breakup? No, that would mean Ander showing up at the door of Snider’s hangar, clothes disheveled and tear tracks over his face.

Ah, the memories. Five years ago, the Hoover Realty Gold Leader Summit, at the Parsippany Marriott, Ander wearing his pajamas and rain boots. Daniel believed the dickhead in question was named Orlando.

All caps
Emergency!
spelled correctly meant wedding stuff or work drama, and Daniel considered how long he’d make Ander wait, calculating how much yelling that would translate into.

He was cold and cranky already, so he just pressed the little phone icon by Ander’s name and got it over with.

“Where the hell are you?” Ander demanded as soon as the call connected.

“Working in a cold airplane hangar, listening to patriotic music. Where the hell are you?”

“You have the worst job in the world.”

“Thank you. And just for that, I’m not stealing you a hideously ugly tote in a flag motif and a phone charger shaped like a tiny plane.”

“Oh my God, don’t tease! I want two.”

“Why are you blowing up my phone?” Daniel one-handedly finished filling the canvas tote with his various pens, screwdrivers, and double-sided tape.

“Because you work for me now and I’m your boss so you should be taking my calls,” Ander said sans irony.

“So you’re paying me to be your best man?”

“Wedding planner. We have so much shit to do and you’re playing with airplanes.”

“Ander, the wedding is more than a year away.”

The coughing sound through the line didn’t even come as a surprise. “About that.”

Daniel hung up on Ander and proceeded to finish his afternoon at Snider Aviation without focusing on future insanity. He paid the brass band, handed Sammy his check, put Post-it notes on what the rental place was picking up, and stole two phone chargers for Ander because he hated him but he knew it wouldn’t last. It never did.

Finally, after another thumping by Mr. Snider, Daniel limped on frozen feet across the parking lot to his rental car.

Only then did he call Ander back.

“Daniel!”

“Shut up and tell me when,” Daniel snapped as he slid into the front seat. The chill had spread to every part of his body; even his eyebrows were frozen.

“August.”

“Five months.” Daniel turned the car on, pressing the heat button as soon as the engine caught. “You want me to plan a wedding for you—
you
—in five months. On a television show.”

“Victor feels like we would do better for a fall ratings promotion blah blah something something—I didn’t understand the production particulars and I don’t care. I just want to get married to the man I love in spectacular fashion. He asked, I said yes, and then Rafe agreed.”

The blowing eventually turned from cold to something warm, and Daniel felt himself thawing against the seat. The windows steamed up as he considered the ramifications of just driving south until he ran out of gas, then abandoning the car.

“Listen, I know you’re freaking out right now because that’s what you do, but okay, here’s the bonus part: Rafe said that he would double your fee due to the rush and because you’d only be able to work on our wedding, so you don’t have to worry about paying your bills! I know your schedule is light until Christmas season, and this means you don’t have to take on any new clients!” Ander’s tone very closely resembled sincerity. “So now I just took care of what you were freaking out about.”

Daniel sighed.

Because that was what he was worrying about.

“We would need to start immediately, Ander. I have no idea what venue we’re going to get in August that isn’t already booked—”

“Westlake Estates, third Saturday in August. The producer? Victor? He pulled some strings—you’re going to love it. Big lake and luxury cabins—we’re getting married in a barn!”

Suddenly worried the cold had caused hallucinations, Daniel pinched his thigh. No, he was conscious. “A
barn
? Have you met you?”

Ander blew out an exasperated breath. “For your information, asshole, I picked it because it reminded me of your grandmother’s lake house and how much fun we had during our summers there and how it reminds me of the only family I really have—you.” He paused with dramatic effect. “I hope you feel bad now.”

“I feel bad now.”

“Fantastic. That means you have to meet me tomorrow at eleven in the city, because we’re having a sit-down with the producers.”

Daniel’s phone beeped.

“I just sent you the address,” Ander continued, fully embracing his upper hand. “Wear something that doesn’t embarrass me, which means any of your suits that are not gray or navy. I assume that leaves a black one. Oh God, I need to go, Rebecca is waving at my door like something is on fire. I pray it’s Sven’s desk. Or Sven. Bye, love you. Remember, no gray or navy.”

The call disconnected and Daniel let his forehead hit the steering wheel.

THE NEXT
day, at 10:50 a.m., Daniel fiddled with the collar of his pristine white shirt as the cab made the last turn and pulled up to the corner. The red tie and black-on-black checkered vest were two of Ander’s designs—gifts and therefore thankfully free. In the retail world they cost as much as Daniel’s nifty black suit. He’d followed Ander’s directions about his clothes because it was easier than being a rebel. Daniel hated being a rebel. They tended to be nonplanners and “wingers.”

He’d just finished paying the driver at the corner of Madison and Fifteenth Street when another cab pulled up behind his.

Ander.

Daniel walked over to open the door, revealing his best friend.

“God, you even shined your shoes, I love you,” Ander deadpanned as he exited the cab with a flourish. His black overcoat and shocking-neon-lemon-yellow scarf trailed behind him, blond-streaked hair teased and tormented into a wave that added another two inches to his willowy height.

“I wanted to look nice for your producer friends and avoid another harassing phone call from His Highness,” Daniel said with a smirk as Ander joined him after paying his driver. “Ander, you look positively respectable today. I’m stunned.”

Once upon a time, at a New England prep school far, far away, they’d worn each other’s uniforms and athletic sweats interchangeably. They were scholarship kids and, worse, lifers—kids who didn’t go home for holidays and rarely for summers, who sat by themselves during Family Fun Week and didn’t have their own credit cards. At some point Ander had discovered the holy grail of Fashion as Art of Expression and Attention and Daniel decided that a nice pair of flat-front trousers, loafers, and a cashmere sweater he scrimped and saved for satisfied him in ways a shirt made out of paper could not. Then came the growth spurt that Ander kept all to himself, now towering almost a full seven inches over the top of Daniel’s subdued yet fluffy hair.

“You look like a banker who needs a haircut.” Ander kissed his cheek affectionately.