Liar's Guide to True Love (23 page)

Wedding Tip: You don’t want to stand out for the wrong reasons.

This Saturday’s wedding is at the Waldorf Astoria, that New York landmark near Central Park. As much as I love some of the suburban venues, city vendors are easier to coordinate, and there’s no need for me to schlep out anywhere in a Zip Car. And since this is an afternoon affair, there’s a slim chance that I’ll be done in time to see Nick after his wedding. City weddings always have the most eclectic guest lists too—a combination of out of towners who have never been to New York, diehard Manhattanites who wouldn’t dream of attending a wedding off the island and a bunch who fall somewhere in between. The Waldorf is not my favorite venue, though, mostly because the two-story ballroom is just a pain to run around in and keep track of all the VIPs of the wedding party.

Today’s Bride went to college with Kate, and was one of those “friend of a friend” referrals. Quite frankly, I was surprised when I got the job since Kate slept with the groom. It was before he became the groom, while he and the bride were on “a break” he claims. No, Kate’s not invited. Early on in the planning, when the couple and I were at that stage of getting to know one another to be sure that our work styles meshed, there was a small hitch when the Bride realized that Kate and I are actually very good friends. But I quickly assessed that she was one of those brides who is really just all about herself, and I was able to easily avoid further conversation about my own life, and gear our conversations toward how I could fulfill all her wedding-day dreams.

The Bride is in the spotlight in every part of her wedding today—literally. She wanted to make sure all eyes were on her during this ceremony for four hundred, so we planned lighting at the end of the aisle to give her (and her groom, but mostly her) a halo effect. She wanted her blond hair to be lit “like an angel’s as she and her groom are united by God.” I go to check on this lighting as the guests come streaming in, to make sure it isn’t close enough to the Bride to melt her makeup. More than two-thirds of the guests have arrived. Spotlight Bride insisted on making the invitation for fifteen minutes earlier than the scheduled ceremony time to be sure that all would be seated and ready for her Entrance.

Both the bride and groom’s sides are filling out pretty evenly, and I am hoping that everything about this wedding goes so seamlessly that I can get out of here like clockwork. It really would have been fun to go to one of these things as a guest, as someone’s date, as Nick’s date. It’s been ages since any of my own friends or family got married and I wasn’t called upon to help out with some aspect of the planning or coordination the day of. I scan the crowd to determine if the room is full enough to start the string trio as a symbol that people should start quieting down and getting seated. There is a group standing on the groom’s side, talking and laughing, clearly enjoying the opportunity to catch up. A young man whose back is turned to me looks an awful lot like Nick from this distance. The same shade hair, same build. Before I tell myself that it’s just my mind playing tricks on me since I was just thinking about him, after all, I realize—this is the wedding of Kate’s college friends. Nick went to college with Kate. Nick is at a wedding today. For a city with eight million people, New York certainly feels too small today. I walk quickly down the side aisle next to the bride’s seating side, to make sure his back is kept to me. I keep my eye trained on him, on the back of his neck, as if maintaining a line of vision will keep him from turning around. I focus on the nape of his neck, that
sexy
nape of his neck, trying to ignore the petite brunette who has just linked her arm through his and tossed her head back in laughter. He brought another date? Okay, Cass, focus, I tell myself. All of that is secondary. Now how am I going to get through this entire wedding without him seeing me?

I leave the ceremony room successfully and maintain my line of vision on Nick. The worst thing that could happen is for me to lose him in the crowd and then bump into him when I turn around. The cliché races through my mind. Okay, Cass, breathe. There are four hundred and twelve people here, including the wedding party, not including servers, hotel staff. Hotel staff may be the key to getting through this, actually. I can simply ask their on-site event coordinator to do whatever needs to be done in the vicinity where Nick is, while I take care of things—elsewhere. With an event this size I would need their help regardless, I’ll just need to be more strategic about it this time.

I find Vicky, the Waldorf’s coordinator assigned to our event, and ask her to please ask the string trio to start the prelude. And I pull her into my confidence, sort of. “You see that guy over there, the tall one in the tan suit, blue shirt?” She nods. “He’s my ex and well, we sort of had a falling out. He doesn’t know I’m here, and well, I don’t want him to cause a scene, if you know what I mean.” I pause for effect. “It would totally ruin the bride’s wedding.” Vicky is very understanding, and of course all for doing anything she can to make this event a success.

Most of the guests begin to get seated right as the music starts—except for Nick’s crowd who is too caught up in their reminiscing to notice anyone else. Vicky politely asks them to be seated, and I give her a thumb’s up. I run up to make sure the bridal party is ready—the procession will be her parents first, the three bridesmaids and then the Bride. Alone, with no one blocking anyone’s view of Her. She mentioned once that she didn’t even want a flower girl because they attracted so much attention with their cuteness—what if people didn’t notice her coming down the aisle?

As usual, I stay at the back of the ceremony, off to the side, as unobtrusive as possible, simply there to time the procession. The last bridesmaid is at the altar, and I adjust the Bride’s train one last time before the string trio starts playing the traditional wedding march, at a volume just a few notches above before. The Groom is beaming, with that nervous smile that so many grooms have in common. All the guests’ eyes are on her, just as she wanted, and she looks around and smiles at a few of the dozens of cameras flashing at her. Nick, I take a second to notice, does not have a camera, merely a respectful smile for the Bride during her moment. This is the start of exactly the type of wedding he is so against, I think to myself.

The Bride turns to take the Groom’s hands, and there she is, backlit with the angelic halo. The photographer snaps away, as do several guests. A few bold ones tiptoe into the aisle to take advantage of the photographer’s angle.

Just a few minutes into the ceremony and the Bride begins to look around. I get nervous that she is trying to catch my eye to alert me to some disaster-in-waiting. But she half turns toward the guests with a small smile, and then I get it. Unfortunately I see that she is taking the advice of many wedding planning books and web sites a bit too literally. She is taking the time to enjoy the ceremony, to soak in the culmination of a year of planning. But she does so by completely ignoring the minister. She even gives a small wave to someone, as the minister speaks about love being about respect for one another. She has barely looked at the groom, who dutifully looks at the minister and at his bride. I see Nick shake his head a little—the tiniest bit, only perceptible to someone watching him as closely as I have been. He gets it too, and is probably disgusted that a bride would be so disrespectful during the most formal part of the wedding, during the actual portion where a marriage begins. He probably thinks all she wanted was the beautiful dress, the extravagant flowers, the big party. He probably wonders if any of this is about the marriage at all. The bride looks happy though, and I remind myself that that’s ultimately what this job is about.

Speaking of my job, I turn away to go check on the reception set-up. Everything looks to be in order, right down to the towering cake (seven layers!) that is topped by a glittering swirl of the bride and groom’s first initials. The floral centerpieces look fresh and welcoming on crisp white linens. I ask Vicky to make sure that the flowers from the ceremony get transferred to the reception hall. After the ceremony, when the guests file out, will be the time I can’t count on exactly where Nick will be. Will he step outside to call me? Pop into the men’s room? I’ll just be sure to follow the bride and groom to make sure they have everything they need to take a few pictures outside, and leave the guest transition to Vicky and site staff. I doubt that Nick is one of those guests who eagerly watch the couple’s every move during a wedding. He looks as though he would be happy to catch up with his old friends over drinks at the open bar.

The photographer leads the couple outside, while the guests get settled into the reception room. The Groom happily carries her train, while the wedding party and I follow. They really do seem to adore one another, I think to myself. We are out of sight of the reception room windows now, and the photographer sets them up with requisite formal shots. I remind the ladies to tilt their bouquets forward just slightly, so that the photos will show more flowers than stem. The Bride decides she needs to powder her nose, so I happily oblige by pulling out the packet of disposable oil blotting papers I always carry. We take photos for about twenty minutes, and then I usher everyone inside. I go ahead to find Vicky, to ask her to tell the band that the introduction of the wedding party is about to begin. Outside the room the Bride is so giddy with the excitement of being introduced as “Mrs.” for the first time, she can hardly stand still. I stay with them until Vicky gives me the signal, and then I quickly step back behind the doorway frame as the band leader announces them to the applause and cheers of their guests, and leads them right into their first dance to “At Last.”

Vicky has already taken care of timing the start of waiters taking orders for the main course, so I have a breather for a moment to see that Nick is at a far corner table, sitting next to his date. He was obviously placed at one of the less prominent tables, being on the groom’s side and not even a blood relative. His back is to the dance floor, and he doesn’t seem to be straining to catch glimpses of the couple. It shouldn’t be too difficult to stay out of his line of vision. Thank goodness there are so many people here.

The salad course has begun and people are tucking in to their food and drink, and snapping photos. Everyone seems to be having a good time, and I’ve only had to dig into the Prada twice for some minor needs—a safety pin and hair spray for wedding party members. The photographer has his own assistant, so there’s no need for me to do any miscellaneous work such as holding the offset flash or an extra camera. Several people have started to dance, Nick and date not included. In fact, no one from their table has gotten up much. The waiter has kept their glasses full, and they definitely seem to be Groom’s Set—what I’ve come to call the groom’s close college buddies, by whom the Bride is mildly annoyed, and perhaps slightly embarrassed, but willing to invite because they are her fiancé’s friends. There actually seems to be two of those tables, set right next to each other, with plenty of banter between all of those sitting there. Nick’s date seems to fit in awfully well with his old friends, and I feel that familiar jolt of jealousy again.

I manage to stay out of the ballroom for most of the reception, helping the mothers re-pin corsages, adding a couple of bobby pins to bridesmaids’ updos—behind-the-scenes stuff that keeps everyone picture perfect. There is only another hour left for the party—one of the things about halls like this is that they get everyone in and out like clockwork. Nick seems to be having a great time. I barely need to keep my eyes trained on him since he is sticking pretty tight to his crowd in the corner.

The newlywed couple step up to the microphone, as many couples do to thank everyone for coming to celebrate their big day. The Bride is absolutely grinning, and I am satisfied with another job well done. She is boisterous into the mic, bubbly and animated, while her groom stands by her, also with a silly grin on his face, the result of being surrounded by all their loved ones—and likely several gulps of champagne. I love to just see the expressions on people’s faces during these events, the mothers, the sisters, the lifelong friends. Then I realize that people are looking around, looking for someone, and then I hear the Bride say loudly into the microphone, “Oh there she is, the best wedding planner in the world, everyone—Cassandra Hanley. She did everything for this day, just everything, worth every penny.”

I’m tempted, so tempted to duck behind the doorway, a plant, anything. Now I know what it means to wish the ground would open up and swallow me. To me there is a deafening silence in the room as I feel my heart race. But I remind myself that I am a professional, first and foremost. I make a living out of bringing fantasies to life, and I can fake it through this next moment. I paste on a smile and give a little wave. Everyone turns back to the bride and groom. Everyone except Nick, who is so far away I can’t quite make out his expression. But there is no doubt that he has seen me and heard every word of my introduction. I catch his eye for a moment and then look away, scanning the crowd as I always do at my weddings, watching the wedding party, ready to anticipate their needs before they even think they have any. I gulp hard. A huge part of me wants to run over to him, to tell him I can explain everything, to tell him I’m sorry. But no, this day is not about me. I’m not even his date. I’m the Wedding Planner. I am still on the clock. I still have a job to do. A job that I’m good at. A job that I’m proud of. A job that I love, I remind myself.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see him slowly threading his way toward me. Not now, please not now, I think. I have no idea what to say to him yet. Maybe he is just going to the restroom, I hope. No, his trajectory is clearly toward me. When he is a few feet away I turn my back to him, to go somewhere, anywhere. “Cassandra,” he calls. I pretend not to hear. “Cass,” he says, closer now.

“I’ve got to get to the Bride’s changing room,” I call over my shoulder.