After the group clapped—including Bill, whose three slow claps made his derision clear—Wendy got up, and turned her back squarely to Bill. “Linette invited me to speak about my experience with selling my pilot project. I want to begin by saying, if I can do it, you can, too.”
Bill let out a long hissing sigh as he turned his gaze up toward the ceiling, but this hiss was drowned out when the rest of the group clapped with enthusiasm. Wendy then launched into the talk she’d practiced before Alejo. It was short, leaving out facts that were part of her non-disclosure agreement, but in every other respect she gave an honest assessment of her process.
It lasted four minutes—they had timed it—but at the end, Bill was shifting in his seat, smothering fake yawns, and rattling papers in his briefcase. In spite of that, or maybe because of that, when Wendy finished, there was a storm of hands going up, each person with a question. These questions extended well into the hour, and beyond, as people described their own projects, and tried to suss out what agents really meant when they said this or that. Wendy listened seriously to each, and without ever trying to represent herself as an expert, she led a discussion on current tropes and patterns of popularity.
At the end, people clapped again, and Linette said, “This was a fruitful discussion, but we ran out of time. Next week, back to our regular readings!”
Bill finally spoke up. “You seem to have forgotten to say that 99% of pilots get shot down before they ever go to production.”
Wendy turned to face him for the first time. “What I forgot to say was that this afternoon, my agent forwarded a message that we’ve been green-lighted. The pilot goes into production in six weeks.”
Wendy turned her back on him, and then she was surrounded by people with questions and congratulations. Joey Hu and his wife were part of this group. They stood like sentinels at either side of Wendy, Linette hovering near, so Alejo slipped away. Sure enough, Bill soon came striding out, slamming the door behind him. He caught himself up short when he saw Alejo in the empty shop, near the door.
Bill looked him over, then came up belligerently, his mouth opening.
Alejo forestalled him by saying, “I just want you to know that Wendy has a new lawyer. My lawyer. Also, Godiva’s. That’s two lawyers. We will soon be suing for custody; you will still be able to see your son, but the rules are going to change, beginning with his child support—every penny of it, from now on—going straight into a college fund. See you in court.”
Bill backed up a step, then tried to cover it by sneering. “Whatever,” he snorted. “Loser.”
That would be you, Alejo thought to himself. And the sad thing is, you don’t even know what you are losing.
He went back into the bright back room to rejoin Wendy.
TWENTY-EIGHT
WENDY
Just as well the weather was perfect. Wendy could not stop smiling as she daubed a touch of perfume behind her ears, and stepped into her pretty green outfit once again. As she shook out her hair—cut so well that it scarcely required any attention—she glanced out the window. Oriane and her girl gang had festooned ribbons and roses on either side of the path through the garden. She had to smile—the kids had taken over the wedding planning almost entirely, Sam choosing the music (surprisingly pretty melodies from various anime) and Oriane the decorations here and down at the beach, where the ceremony would be performed.
The “small wedding” had grown along with the kids’ plans. It seemed natural to invite Linette, and Godiva’s house guests, and of course Joey Hu, Doris, Mikhail Long and his wife Bird. When Wendy got together with them, she was introduced to another of Godiva’s friends named Jen—as tall as Bird was small—and her husband Nikos, who apparently owned an island somewhere in the Mediterranean. Of course they, and their baby, were invited as well.
The last of the paint was drying on the beach house when Godiva and Rigo arrived from Kentucky, their arms full of gifts for their new grandkids. Then Alejo’s childhood friend Lance Jackson turned up, with both his grownup children—invited by Alejo. As a family of bear shifters, they had a close bond, and nothing made them happier than to see Alejo with his mate and a family of his own at last.
It had seemed impossible that Godiva’s rambling rancho with all its various guest rooms could be filled up, but it was. The original plan had been to move to the beach house directly after the wedding, but the kids used all these visitors as an excuse to beg their way into moving to their new rooms—then Alejo and his friends had spent a day carrying all his and Wendy’s belongings down to their new bedroom, so that those guest rooms were freed up.
“My only regret,” Alejo said with a mock sigh, “is that it seems ridiculous to carry you over the threshold before the wedding.”
Wendy’s memory plunged back to her first wedding, in which they had ticked off every tradition—missing the joy, she realized all these years later. Things were so different now. And much better. After Wendy’s appearance at the writers’ group, Bill had promptly contacted nearly all the members with the intent to form a new group, under his leadership. Exactly two members had gone—both men Bill’s age. Already the group was better without Bill’s presence.
“I’d rather skip that carry-over-the-threshold tradition,” she admitted to Alejo. “I’d much prefer us walking in through the door together, hand in hand.”
“Then that’s what we’ll do,” Alejo said.
The wedding date had been pushed back twice because Wendy ended up traveling to Hollywood as the pilot went into production. The series even had an air date now. Her job was to keep writing scripts for it.
But first?
To get married.
She caught up her bouquet of roses, made by the girls, and walked out. Sam was waiting for her, his glasses winking in the sunlight. He had picked out his own outfit—with advice from Oriane—and stood on the terrace, dressed in a jewel-toned green shirt and gray slacks. There was a hint of the man he would be some day in his straight posture and in the bones beginning to emerge in his round face. He turned at the sound of Wendy’s heels on the tiles, and grinned, holding out his elbow at the proper angle. Squeak and Bandit and Ratty popped around him, then vanished as Sam proudly escorted his mother down the decorated pathway to the rose garden.
There, Oriane waited, wearing a cute, floaty summer dress in shades of light blue to match her hair, with jewel-green ribbons over one ear. She flashed a grin, and began walking down the new steps that a landscaper, brother to one of Alejo’s new construction buddies, had set into the palisade. Oriane, as maid of honor, went first, and Sam escorted his mom down to the beach, where the sand had been smoothed, and a path laid out, decorated by all the white and yellow and peach roses in the garden.
Alejo stood at the bower with the officiant, a friend of Joey Hu’s. When their eyes met, his crinkled with such warmth and promise that happiness bloomed fiercely in Wendy’s heart, she blinked fast, determined against tears. Those days were over.
She’d promised herself to remember every detail, but the simple ceremony passed in a blur of fresh ocean air with a drift of roses, and mellow light, and the grip of Alejo’s strong hands as they slid rings on each other’s fingers.
A quick kiss—with a promise for lots more later—and they were surrounded by the people they loved, everyone laughing and chattering. Wendy knew that Godiva had commandeered a catering service that Linette had recommended into setting up the terrace while the ceremony was going on, so that everyone could go back up and enjoy the food, the cake, and music arranged by Eve, through her musician friends.
