I ignored this, afraid of what I’d say if I did respond. We were almost to the club entrance; once over the threshold, he’d be my mother’s problem and I could get back to BRR duty, where I belonged.
“I feel like we haven’t been properly introduced,” he continued, as I yanked open the glass door with my free hand. “I’m Ambrose. And you are?”
“Finally,” my mother hissed, intercepting us the moment we stepped inside. I looked at a nearby clock: it was six fifteen. As she was someone who deeply prided herself on the timeliness of her events, every minute of a postponement caused an uptick in annoyance. Ambrose might not have known it, but if he’d dawdled any longer, more thanhis wrist would have been twisted. As it was, he gave her the same charm-confident smile, which she countered with a stare so icy I almost felt sorry for him. Almost.
“This way,” she barked, as I dropped his hand, relieved to step out of the way and the fray. He followed her without any comment, protest, or dragging involved. Even he knew right off who was the boss.
My phone buzzed. William.UPDATE?
ALL IN PLACE, I replied.HEADING TO BRR.
I walked past Ambrose and his mom, then the rest of the wedding party, which had been lined up for so long their restlessness was obvious. As I passed the bridesmaids, I felt a hand on my arm. When I turned, Bee gave me a grateful smile. “Thanks for retrieving my stupid brother.”
I nodded, markedlynotassuring her he was nothing of the sort. “Of course.”
Back in the last row of chairs, there was an obvious buzz of speculation as to the delay. To the untrained ear, all waiting sounded the same, but I knew the difference and so did William, who claimed the energy of a bad start had the potential to curse any event that followed it. When I spotted him behind a pillar, I was not surprised his mouth was a thin line, the closest he’d allow to a frown while working.
Finally, at 6:23, the processional music began. I pivoted in my seat, looking over my shoulder as the ring bearer and flower girl plodded adorably down the aisle, tossing rose petals in front of them. As William ushered them into their spots, the bridal party followed, two by two, like animals tothe ark. When Bee passed me, she smiled at me again, and I got the distinct feeling she was used to apologizing for her brother. In contrast, when he and Eve came along next, the crowd oohing at her yellow dress and him so handsome in his tux, he didn’t even see me.
A wedding is a series of special moments, strung together like beads on a chain. Sure, by themselves, they are lovely, but put them all together and you get art. If we did our job right, the fact that the initial moments were off wouldn’t even be remembered after the first dance, toasts, and cake cutting were done. But really, in a perfect wedding—or world—you wanted the best possible beginning. Start on a high note and, no matter what song follows, chances are just better that it will be music to your ears.
At 9:47, despite the strict ten p.m. sharp ending on the schedule, the dance floor remained crowded. Still, I took no comfort in the fact I’d been right talking to Jilly earlier. The day had been unexpectedly hot for the end of April, and the combination of stress, sunshine, and multiple hours on my feet had taken a toll. I didn’t want to go to Bendo, much less make the effort required to be “out there,” with two boys I didn’t even know. And I definitely didn’t want to dance. Which was why, when Ambrose Little emerged from the back of a rather sloppy-looking Electric Slide line, spotted me, and beckoned, I only shook my head.
This was a no-brainer, but not because of anything todo with him. The Golden Rule of working a Natalie Barrett Wedding: remember your place. It wasn’t unusual for clients, over the course of many months of planning, to develop a certain dependency on us. Huge life events that were fraught with emotion often led to displaced feelings. However, “Nobody wants to look at their pictures later and see their wedding planner acting like a guest,” my mom always reminded extra employees we took on from time to time for bigger events. “If we don’t stay out of frame, we haven’t done our job right.”
So I wasn’t surprised to be asked to dance. It happened, especially at open bar events. I was, however, not expecting him to respond to mynoby shaking his own head, then walking right over and sticking his hand out to take mine.
“Dancing is healing,” he said, opening his palm wide to me as the music faded out and another song began. “Let’s heal.”
“No, thank you,” I said.
He wiggled his fingers wildly, as if imitating a sea anemone might suddenly sway my opinion.
“Thanks, but no,” I told him, switching up my three allowed words in this situation.
“Ambrose!” a girl in a short pink dress, her now bare feet crisscrossed with the evidence of previously worn sandals, hollered from the floor. “Get over here! We need you for the conga line!”
“Hear that?” he said to me. “Conga! You gotta get in on this.” When again I shook my head, he sighed loudly, then bent over with his hands on his knees, as if my response wasnow so tragic it had knocked the wind out of him. After a second, he lifted his head, then one hand, busting out the sea anemone move again. “Conga. Healing. Let’s go.”
“No, thanks,” I told him.
People were starting to form the line now, stumbling as they grabbed on to each other, laughing and flushed. If there was a benchmark of the Beginning of the End of a reception, this was it. Ambrose looked over, grinned, then turned back to me. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I don’t have to squeeze tight.”
“You won’t have to squeeze at all,” I said. “Because the answer is still no.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be working this event?”
“I am.”
“So you should dance, then.”
“That’s not how it works.”
“Why?”
The last thing I felt like doing was getting into the parameters of my job with a clumsy, wavering conga line approaching. “I’m not a guest, I’m an employee. We don’t dance. We work.”
He considered this briefly. “Okay, then I’m asking you to be my date. You’re off duty.”
