“Nice to meet you.” I gripped his hand and focused on his eyes. Blue. Riveting. Perfect against the tanned cheeks and hair the color of the sand on East Beach—kind of a darkish blond. Completely out of place with the wardrobe. “Come on in.”
Dwayne flashed a smile and made a quick apology before we entered. “So sorry about the way I look. I came straight from work.”
“Oh, um, no problem.” Frankly, I’d never considered the fact that spinning tunes was such dirty business, but I didn’t waste his time asking about it. Instead, I led him inside and offered to give him a grand tour of the facility so we’d have a little more time to get to know each other before talking business.
I kept a watchful eye on him as we walked side by side through the various rooms. His smile, warm and engaging, drew me in. And his voice, every bit as deep as he’d sounded over the phone, only added to the attraction. On top of all that, Dwayne Neeley proved to be a nice guy. A really nice guy.
After a few minutes in the air-conditioning, the wet puppy smell disappeared altogether. And the sawdust in the hair was growing on me too. Gave a whole new meaning to the term dirty blond.
As I led him from room to room, I told the story of how my father had worked to renovate the place from a home into a wedding facility. Doing so brought back memories I’d almost forgotten, of how we’d labored together to tear down walls, hang trim, and paint in beautiful muted shades of gold. We’d given the whole place an old-world feel, one that met with even Rosa’s hard-to-earn approval.
All along the way, Dwayne commented on the beautiful architecture, pausing to examine the carvings in the wood trim around the doors in the chapel. “Great craftsmanship.”
“Thanks. My pop loves to work with his hands.”
“Me too.” He paused, then looked around in curiosity. “So, which room will I be working in?”
I led him to the ballroom where the reception would take place, and he let out a whistle as he looked at the chandeliers and other decor. “I’d be scared to touch anything in here.”
“It is pretty, isn’t it.” I looked at the room through new eyes, trying to imagine how a stranger might take it in for the first time. “You should see it when it’s full of people having a great time. The lighting in this room is just right, and once the candles on the tables are lit . . .” I stopped myself before going on. Didn’t want to wear the guy out. He wasn’t here to talk about decor, after all. He’d come to discuss music, nothing more.
I led him to the sound system where I’d watched Armando perform his deejay duties for years. “What do you think of this? Pretty impressive, huh?”
“Wow.” He ran his fingers across the knobs with a stunned look on his face. “This is some setup.”
“My brother Armando is a pro. And if you think this is great, you should see the sound system he put in our house next door. Just last night at dinner . . .” I dove into a lengthy story about the Frank Sinatra/Dean Martin fiasco that had transpired during our last meal together. I deliberately skipped the part where my ex nearly started a riot by stating that he preferred contemporary Italian music to the old-school standards. I shivered even now remembering how Laz and Rosa had responded to that.
“So, you live next door?” After a nod from me, Dwayne chuckled. “At least you don’t have to drive far to get to work.” A hint of a smile graced his lips, then he looked me straight in the eye with a “let’s get to business” look. “And speaking of work, I guess we should talk about why I’m here. What exactly did you have in mind?”
“Oh, well, I—” Just then the sound of tires squealing against the pavement interrupted our conversation. I took a peek out of the front window, stunned to see Sharlene’s Lexus in the drive. Yikes. I flashed Dwayne a frantic look. “My clients are early. Would you mind joining us while we meet, and I can fill you in after they leave? Or maybe we can work it in during.”
Dwayne glanced at his watch. “I guess that would be okay, but do you think it will take long? I’m driving back to Splendora tonight to have dinner with my parents. My brother is barbecuing.”
“I’m sure we won’t be long.” Hmm. To be fair, I really needed to give the bride and groom all the time they needed. “Just stick with me and then I’ll fill you in. And thanks, by the way.”
A moment later the bell above the front door jangled, and Sharlene’s voice rang out. “Yoo-hoo! Anybody home?”
Her fiancé’s laughter—already familiar after our last visit together—filled the lobby. I met them with Dwayne at my side.
Sharlene took one look at my bohunk of a deejay and stopped dead in her tracks. Her gaze shifted back and forth between the two of us, her pink-lipsticked smile widening in suspicion. “Who do we have here?”
“Sharlene, Cody, this is Dwayne Neeley.” I deliberately minimized his first name to one syllable in an attempt to maintain professionalism.
“Duh-wayne!” Sharlene grabbed his hand. “My brother’s name is Duh-wayne. Great to meet you. Where are you from?”
When he responded with “Splendora,” a jolt of electricity ricocheted around the room.
“My grandparents live in Splendora,” Cody said. “My grandpa’s the pastor at the Full Gospel Chapel in the Pines. He’s the one performing our ceremony.”
“No joke? Pastor Higley?” Dwayne’s face lit up.
“Yep.” Cody nodded. “Ed Higley. That’s my grandpa.”
My deejay’s smile brightened at this news. “I grew up at that church. My parents still attend. Do the names Dwayne and Earline Neeley mean anything to you?”
“Sister Earline?” Cody said. “The pianist?”
“The very same one.”
“Sure, I know who she is,” Cody said. “Though, to be honest, all of the women at that church stand out in my mind.” He paused and then grinned. “I’ve only been to my grandpa’s church a handful of times in recent years, but I always thought they should’ve named it the Full Figured Chapel in the Pines, myself.”
Dwayne erupted in laughter, and a humorous conversation ensued surrounding the size of the women at that particular house of worship.
“I know what we should do!” Sharlene’s eyes lit up. “We’ll ask your mama to play the piano at our wedding! We’ve been looking for a pianist.”
“Well, I’m sure she’d be honored, if she doesn’t already have plans,” Dwayne said with a nod. “She’s got a portable keyboard. And she plays a mean wedding march.”
“Oh, wonderful!” Sharlene clasped her hands together. “If she agrees, we’ll send a wedding invitation to your whole family. That includes you too, Dwayne, of course.”
“Well, of course,” I explained. “That’s what I was about to tell you. Dwayne is the—”
“I think it’s a great idea,” Cody said. “It’ll be old-home week.”
Another lively conversation followed. Within minutes, Dwayne, Sharlene, and Cody were best friends. Turned out they had more than names and families in common. They’d all gone to A&M. Go figure. Looked like I was the outcast, not my deejay. Still, I couldn’t help but marvel at how God had orchestrated all of this. Perhaps, if all went well at this wedding, Dwayne would agree to stay on and deejay the next. And the next.
In an attempt to steer this ship in the right direction, I cleared my throat. “Everyone ready to start?”
“Sure, honey.” Sharlene took me by the arm, whispering in my ear that Dwayne was the handsomest thing she’d ever seen, next to her own fiancé, of course. Forcing the edges of my lips not to betray me, I led them all into my office, where we all settled into plush wingback chairs.
I glanced over at Dwayne with an apologetic shrug. I hadn’t planned to make the poor guy sit through a meeting with the bride and groom, but now that we were all buddies, maybe he wouldn’t mind. Besides, I’d make this up to him later by upping his pay. If he stuck around.
We dove into a detailed discussion about the upcoming wedding, and the minutes ticked by. Make that hours. Several times I noticed Dwayne gl
ancing at his watch. I also observed—through the window—the sun setting off in the west.
Still, Sharlene continued on, making several changes to our earlier plans. She discussed, at length, the country-western decor, and then shifted her attention to the food. Barbecue, of course. At this point, Dwayne offered his brother’s help. Turned out “Bubba” was a barbecue aficionado. Wouldn’t be a bad idea to include someone outside my own family on this one, I reasoned. After all, Laz and Jenna had never attempted a Boot-Scootin’ barbecue before and would probably appreciate the help.
After that, Sharlene and Cody expressed their preferences for centerpieces—cowboy boots filled with yellow roses and silk bluebonnets tied off with red, white, and blue bandanas. I bit my tongue—literally—and we plowed forward, finally turning our discussion to the music.
Clasping my hands together, I turned to Dwayne. “Well, it looks like we’ve hit on a subject that involves you.” I gave him my warmest smile. “Let’s talk about the music.”
Sharlene and Cody turned to face Dwayne with puzzled looks on their faces.
“Oh, is that the missing piece to this puzzle?” The bride-to-be’s face lit in recognition. “I get it. You must be our—”
“Dwayne is your deejay!” I interjected, then turned to my boot-wearing cowboy with another smile, grateful he’d stuck around to talk about the most important thing of all.
But he didn’t say anything. Didn’t have to. The frantic look in his eyes let me know at once that something had gone terribly wrong.
“Well, it makes perfect sense that you’d choose a career in music, what with your mama being a pianist and all.” Sharlene flashed a warm smile in Dwayne’s direction, then pulled a piece of paper out of her purse. “I wrote down all of our favorite songs,” she said. “Including the one we’d like to use for our first dance.” She looked at Dwayne with a dreamyeyed look. “We’re huge Martina McBride fans.”
“And Kenny Chesney,” Cody said. “Hope you have some of his music.”
“I, uh, well, sure I do.” Dwayne looked like he might be sick, and my stomach suddenly felt plenty queasy too.
With great animation, Cody and Sharlene shared their great passion for country-western music, the hub of their reception—the one thing that pulled everything else together. I listened to them carry on, but I couldn’t get over the feeling of nausea that gripped me every time I looked into Dwayne’s wide eyes.
I managed a silent E buona notte al secchio, knowing I was sunk. Finished. Finito.
Still, my cowboy said nothing. Oh, he occasionally nodded and responded with a “yes” when asked if he knew a particular song or another, but beyond that, he kept his thoughts in his head. I had a feeling I’d be thanking him later.
Just as the shadows of the evening nearly darkened the room, the bride- and groom-to-be stood to their feet and offered their good-byes. I walked them to the door, gave Sharlene a hug, then turned back to Dwayne, whose cheeks blazed redder than the sauce on the Mambo Italiano special.
He flashed an accusing look my way as he stammered, “W-what in the world just happened here?”
“Y-you’re a deejay.” The words were really more question than statement.
“Yes. I’m a D.J.” He raked his fingers through his sawdust-filled hair. “Dwayne Neeley Jr.”
E buona notte al secchio!
Everything faded to black.
5
Make the World Go Away
There’s nothing like waking up on the floor with half a dozen frantic family members hovering over you to make you wonder what you missed while you were out.
Through the dizzying haze, my mother’s perfectly made-up face came into focus. She rocked back and forth at my side as if mourning my death. Aunt Rosa stood near the front door, clutching her rosary and crying out to every available saint. And my father—whose voice could be heard above the din as he called 9-1-1—paced the room, his heels clacking against the thick, wood-planked floor. My brother and sister-in-law stood nearby, praying at Indy 500 speed, while their boys hovered off to the side, wide-eyed and silent. Precious sat on my chest, lamenting in slow, high-pitched doggy wails.
I shook off my grogginess and tried to focus on Uncle Lazarro, who leaned over me, wailing, “Ritornare, Bella! Return to us!” His garlic-laced breath jolted me back to reality. Who needed smelling salts with relatives around?
I blinked hard and tried to speak but couldn’t. What in the world had happened? Had I died? If so, this certainly answered any lingering questions about my dog’s salvation.
My gaze shifted from person to person as I tried to make sense of it all. Were these perhaps angels sent to usher me into God’s holy presence? If so, the Lord had an interesting sense of humor.
Through the sepia-toned fog, I noticed my sister’s red-rimmed eyes. She clutched the hand of someone who definitely qualified as angel material—a handsome cowboy with a five o’clock shadow and sawdust in his hair. Who was that again?
Ah yes. As the world came into focus, I remembered . . . everything. Duh-wayne. Duh-wayne who wasn’t a deejay.
Nope, I hadn’t died, though I suddenly wished I had.
Seconds later I managed to get my lips to move, though no sound escaped.
“I think she’s trying to tell us something!” My mother’s words echoed against the slick floor, magnified a hundred times over in my already ringing ears. Everyone drew near. So near, in fact, that I could scarcely breathe.
“What is it, Bella?” My father’s tear-stained eyes locked on to mine.
“Yes, what are you trying to say?” Mama clutched my hand.
“I’m . . . trying . . . to . . . say . . .” I squeezed my eyes shut and willed the shrieking in my ears to halt so I could finish the sentence. “I’m trying to say . . . it’s so loud in here I can barely hear myself think.”
As I pushed the dog aside and struggled to sit up, everyone in the place broke out in wild celebratory applause. Lazarus himself would’ve been impressed by the reception. Aunt Rosa dropped to her knees in the open doorway and ushered up her praises in Italian with palms extended heavenward. My mother clasped her hands together at her breast, tears flowing, and my father told the 9-1-1 operator I’d been resurrected, then began to dance a little jig with Deany-boy and Frankie. Even my normally dignified sister shouted an uncharacteristic, “Praise the Lord!” The dog took to yapping with vigor, then snatched Duh-wayne’s pants leg in her teeth, pulling it this way and that.
Had they really thought I was a goner?
“Oh, Bella, my Bella!” My mama’s lyrical voice rang out. “If not for this wonderful man”—she pointed to Dwayne—“we might have lost you.” She dove into a lengthy explanation of how “this angel sent from God” had come to the house to fetch them and how they’d all come running to my rescue. To hear her tell it, I might never have awakened if not for all of them.
I ran my fingers through my matted hair and wiped the drool from my chin, horrified at what I must look like. “I just fainted.” I tried to shrug it off. “It’s really not that big of a deal. People faint every day.”
“Did you hear that? No big deal!” Uncle Lazarro reached for his walking cane and struggled to stand. “Bella has tasted death and lived to tell about it.” He wobbled to his feet and gazed down at me with newfound admiration in his eyes. “You must tell us of your experience.”
My experience?
“Yes, what did you see while you were in heaven?” my mother asked. “Was there a white light?”
“A long tunnel?” my sister-in-law asked.
“A heavenly choir?” my father queried.
“Well, I do remember a light,” I mumbled. When they all gasped, I pointed up to the chandelier with a giggle. “And I’m pretty sure there was a choir, but man, were they off-key.”
No one seemed to get the joke except Dwayne, ironically. He drew near and extended his hand with a smile. I sighed as I took it and allowed him to help me to my feet. As we stood there—the two of us
—surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, I couldn’t help but think I’d better make introductions, and fast.
The next ten minutes were spent doing just that. When you come from a family as large as mine, the getting-to-know-you part takes time. And when you come from an Italian family, it takes even longer. It’s not, “Meet my Aunt Rosa.” It’s “Meet my Aunt Rosabella Donata Savarino from Napoli, the best cook on Galveston Island, known for her homemade sauces and unquestionable love of Frank Sinatra music.” And so on.
Dwayne nodded politely as each new person was introduced, but I couldn’t help but wonder what was going through his head. Did he have as many questions for me as I did for him?
After meeting the relatives, my mother sang Dwayne’s praises for another five minutes, then promptly did what any good Italian mama would do—invited him to stay for dinner. Great. Dinner and a show. What more could a cowboy from the piney woods of east Texas ask for after a hard day’s work?
“I, uh . . .” He gazed at his watch. “I was supposed to be in Splendora a half hour ago for a barbecue with my family.”
Yikes. That was my fault. I mouthed the words, “I’m sorry,” and offered up a shrug.
“No big deal.” He flipped open his cell phone and punched in a number. “Just let me make a call, and then I’ll join y’all next door.”
“Y’all,” Sophia whispered in my ear as she linked her arm through mine. “Did you hear the way he said ‘y’all’?” Her eyes filled with wonder. “That voice of his . . . it’s hypnotic. I could swoon.”
“Mm-hmm.” I shrugged. What more could I add, really? That he’d sound even better with a microphone in hand? That I’d be willing to pay double if he’d reconsider and save my neck?
The others headed off to our house, but Sophia tugged at my arm and whispered, “Let’s wait for Dwayne. Don’t you think that’s the polite thing to do?”