Chapter 18 Venue Hunting
Chapter18 Venue Hunting
The Mother of the Bride The Mother of the Groom
“Good morning, Ms.Diamandis! I’m Madison Meadows. I’ve heard so much about you!” said the young woman in the pink dress holding
an iPad standing at her front door. “I’m so excited to be working on this wedding!” The last few words were sung rather than
said. Alexa was suspicious of all this enthusiasm. Energy was one thing, but this was something else.
“Please, call me Alexa. Penny has told me all about you as well. It’s wonderful that the two of you connected through that
sorority even though you’ve never met. Really extraordinary.” Penny had explained that she found Madison through her sorority
directory.
“We Kappas stick together,” Madison declared, opening the passenger-side door of her Prius. “Even though she went to SMU and
I went to UCSB, we’re sisters.”
That was a concept Alexa struggled to understand, but she smiled warmly as if she did. “Do you know how to get to Nottingham Forest?”
“Oh, yes. And Penny sent me the addressess, so sit back and relax.”
If there was anything less likely to make Alexa relax than someone telling her to relax, she couldn’t name it. “Thank you.”
***
“Where’s Sarah?” Alexa asked as the mother of the groom slid into the car, wearing a navy-blue cotton day dress, white sweater
over her shoulders, and simple white sneakers. Abigail looked put together but tired. Alexa had learned long ago not to ask
travelers how they slept. Of course they slept poorly. Dwelling on it would only make the issue linger for them and for the
questioner. Nobody needed that. Plus, she assumed that Abigail had a bit of a wine headache. She was a little sloppy last
night and was clearly not hydrating enough. But again, never something Alexa would acknowledge. After years of practice, she
knew how to nudge the hungover traveler to get moving. “One iced coffee for you. It’s a special brew with cinnamon and just
a touch of sugar. It’s magic.”
Abigail accepted the beverage with gratitude. She’d already had her hot coffee, but the icy-cold brew felt energizing in her
hands, never mind going down her throat. It was cold, sweet, and spicy. “Sarah is out with Lloyd. They are scoping out a special
spot for the rehearsal dinner. Some surf club that Lloyd belongs to which sounds... quirky.”
Abigail struggled to sound positive in front of the wedding planner and the MOB. Did Alexa somehow know that Sarah hadn’t come home last night after her tacos-at-sunset date? Abigail had been abandoned by her daughter in shameless fashion: a short text at midnight informing her mother that she was staying at Lloyd’s because “the sound of the ocean from his bedroom is awesome.” Had Sarah forgotten that she was her mother, not her college roommate? The truth was that she wanted her daughter to share details about her life with her in a way that she could never have shared with her own mother. That felt like a breakthrough in terms of mother-daughter relations. Like many young women of her generation and class, Abigail spent years deceiving her parents about her sex life, concocting bogus trips with girlfriends or work conferences when she was really with a boyfriend. Shacked up, they use to say. But now it was all out in the open, sometimes under the same roof, and occasionally, Abigail felt that some details were too much. She wasn’t nearly as open-minded as she pretended to be. Still, she texted her daughter back in a wine haze, “Please be here for venue search.”
But there had been a follow-up text with a photo of Sarah’s coffee cup from the patio of Lloyd’s seaside condo and the words
“Coffee First! Then doing our own scouting. Surf Club! Possible rehearsal dinner place. Stand by!” and then a string of emojis
that were meaningless to Abigail. They do what they want , she thought, not what I ask .
Adding to her discomfort was the image of holding a rehearsal dinner at a surf club, whatever that was, instead of a proper
country club. She couldn’t wrap her throbbing head around what that might look like at all, except an image of those Gidget
movies from long ago with a creepy older guy character named Moondoggie in a straw hat. Abigail concentrated on her iced coffee,
hoping to zone out of the conversation.
But Madison Meadows had other plans.
“Amazing!” Madison said because she was the sort of girl who used “amazing” as a catch-all for every rejoinder, every adjective,
every adverb. “Is it the Padaro Surf Club? That would be an amazing place for your rehearsal dinner. It’s super exclusive
and has the beachiest vibe but super chic. Like, très, très chic. And totally chill with a beach bonfire and big blankets
and a bartender that makes the most amazing margaritas and palomas. Is it Padaro? Do you know?”
Abigail checked her texts. “It is.”
“Amazing. They should grab it if it’s available. Like right now!” Then Madison realized she was ordering the client around
and pulled back a bit. “My gosh, Mrs.Blakeman. I’m so sorry. It’s only that it’s a very special venue and perfect for the
casual intimate rehearsal dinner that Penny described. Beach Chic. Cali Greek. Patmos on the Pacific. Even in December, we can make that work.” Madison was speaking so quickly now, the words were ping-ponging around Abigail’s
head. “They can accommodate dinner for twenty and then others could arrive later for the bonfire and s’mores on the beach.
In my other job, which is more corporate than weddings, we did a sixtieth birthday party at PSC and it was amazing. Sorry,
PSC equals Padaro Surf Club. Can you ask your daughter to take photos? It’s private and only members can reserve the clubhouse,
meaning that someone like me can’t even get in to scout it. The members pay a fortune to store their boards there and have
their famous breakfast burritos after their morning surf. But to rent the clubhouse for the night is very reasonable. Because,
duh, no one surfs at night. And they do an amazing taco bar, with grilled-shrimp cocktails first and tres leches cake for
dessert. Elevated! But very California.”
“Oh! How wonderful. What did you call it? Cali Chic? Beach Greek?” Abigail flushed with pride. Somehow Sarah and her wanton
ways had led them straight to an exclusive club for their event that lived up to Penny and Chase’s elusive standards. And,
honestly, how much could tacos cost? What luck this Lloyd had turned out to be. “I certainly will have Sarah take photos!
And put that date on hold if you think it’s... amazing.”
“I do. Alexa, what do you think?”
Alexa was a big believer in checking things off the list, no matter what list she might be working. Getting the wedding venue and the rehearsal dinner spot secured in a single day would be a triumph. And it wasn’t her job to tell Abigail that the grilled-lobster tacos probably cost more than filet mignon at the best steakhouse in town. She had clients that liked to whisper such fun facts in her ear when she was informing them of the cost of certain luxury resorts in the Caribbean. As in, “We pay twenty-five dollars a taco for the lobster ones at Padaro. I think we can afford the cost of a rum punch at Jade Mountain.”
So, Alexa kept her mouth shut and responded with enthusiasm. “I think Penny and Chase would love to have the rehearsal dinner
there. It’s a Montecito classic. Not something you can find anywhere else. Penny in particular would be thrilled. That’s her
favorite beach,” Alexa said, trying not to give away her secret connection to the PSC and the evenings she’d sampled the lobster
tacos and the palomas.
Her mind drifted back twenty years to the handsome surfer she’d dated, and her neck got warm. Her only surfer, for the record.
A fall fling that involved bonfires and more on the beach. She wondered whatever happened to Peter “Pedro” Merriweather, real
estate scion and water rat. Probably married and divorced by now. But they had some fun while it lasted. “Madison is right.
It has a great vibe.”
“I’ll text Sarah right now,” Abigail said, thrilled at the development. Her headache was clearing and she felt wide awake
now. This town, maybe even the iced coffee, seemed to be working some magic on her. Wait until she told Aunt B the rehearsal
dinner was at an exclusive surf shack. Forget Patmos on the Pacific. More like Gidget on the Gold Coast! American Riviera
Retro! No doubt the venue was column-worthy.
Madison pulled the car into the parking lot for the Montecito Women’s Club. Compared to an on-the-beach clubhouse, this location
looked tired and unremarkable. There was zero enthusiasm in the Prius.
“Let’s make this quick,” Alexa said.
“Agreed,” said the wedding coordinator.
***
There will be no miracles today , Alexa thought. The sad, basic women’s club was an immediate no. There weren’t enough flowers and white lights in the world
to bring the once-venerable 1920s building back up to standards. Even the admin giving them the tour remarked on how tragic
it was that all the members were so old now that no one wanted to pay for the repairs. “Honestly, we’re looking for a buyer
if you know anyone. It’s registered historic, so it can’t be torn down for condos. Or turned into a med-spa.”
“Better suited for a charity rummage sale than a wedding,” Abigail remarked. “What a shame.”
Alexa nodded. “The photos on the website must be of some other club!”
Strike two was the private home of a former Baywatch cast member. Another fine example of deferred maintenance, the house was an eighties mini-mansion that seemed to defy every
zoning law in town. The place looked like a cross between an overbuilt Moorish palace and a dentist office. The grounds were
drab and the kitchen was too small for the caterer, so the cost to build an outdoor kitchen would be prohibitive. It did have
plenty of parking in an area that used to be a tennis court. Still, it was simply too ugly to bear.
“This is a hard no. I don’t have to see the upstairs,” Alexa said, ending the tour without fanfare.
The trio piled back in the Prius and made their way up through the mountains to wine country and the vineyard that was going
to save the day. Madison distributed boxed lunches and beverages to her clients, informing them that it was a forty-five-minute
drive to wine country. “But it’s amazing. So totally worth the schlep. For the wedding, we’ll rent buses.”
Alexa and Abigail spent the time eating chicken salad sandwiches and fruit cups, saving small talk for the ride home.
***
“This is unacceptable,” Maddie said in her big-girl voice. “I called yesterday afternoon to confirm this appointment. How
could the venue be booked?”
“I’m sorry. The booking came in this morning. A bride from Chicago. I tried to call you to save you the trip, but there’s
not much cell service on the drive. I left a message...” The events person from Los Olivos Vineyards let her voice trail
off. She was inexperienced and, despite her apology, rather unapologetic. She took the first legit reservation and the deposit
that came with it for a night in December during a slow week. Minutes before their arrival at the charming spot with the perfect
barn, the permanent tent over the dance floor, and enough grapevines to please the average wine taster but not so many as
to fool everybody into believing that Los Olivos was anything more than a for-show vineyard, a bride-to-be from Chicago had
beaten them to the punch. “The bride hasn’t even seen the place, but she said there was nothing else left in town, except
the women’s club. Which is... not top-tier.”
“This is not top-tier. We should have been given first right of refusal seeing that we were on our way here.” Madison was
working up a head of steam but staying on the right side of polite. Barely.
Alexa stepped in. She had been through too much in life to be undervalued by the events coordinator at a fake winery. “It’s
not even a real vineyard. I don’t think it would have worked anyway. Good luck to the bride from Chicago. This place will
be a muddy mess when the December rains hit.”
Turning to poor Madison, Alexa reassured her. “Let’s head back down the mountain to real civilization. I have a few thoughts
on places much better suited for our purposes.” And then with a nod to Brittany or Kelsy or whatever might be the name of
the young woman in the inappropriate polka-dot minidress, she headed back to the car.
***
“Is this a disaster?” Abigail spoke first once they got back to the car.
“No.” Alexa and Madison spoke at once.
“We can regroup. We will find a spot that’s not the women’s club. I’m thinking some out-of-the-box place for the wedding.
Someplace uniquely Montecito. Like the Padaro Surf Club, but inside for seventy-five people and a ceremony,” said Madison
with false confidence.
“Agreed. I’ll reach out to my local contacts. There must be someplace we’re missing. We need a day to come up with it,” Alexa
added, energized by the incompetency of the winery employee. Now she finally felt invested in this task. This was her Penny,
her wedding. “Can you call Penny? For some reason, she really had her heart set on that fake vineyard. And I don’t think I
can break it to her.”
“Of course I’ll call. That’s my job. But not until we’re down the mountain. I’ll drop you both at home. I know you have a
dinner tonight and you probably want to rest, Mrs.Blakeman. A little jet lag may be setting in. I’ll head back to the office
and get to work on alternatives before I call Penny. Everything will work out,” Madison concluded, giving herself the pep
talk that Alexa often used with clients.
Everything will work out.
Abigail sat in the back of the car, eating her oatmeal chocolate chip cookie from the box lunch and saying nothing. These
two accomplished women seemed afraid of Penny, she thought. And it made her smile. That and the fact that she had secured
a rehearsal dinner spot with ease. She felt a tiny bit smug. And exhausted.
***
“And here she is!” Ming announced as Sarah finally arrived home nearly a full day after her Not a Date began, in a new set of UCSB shorts and a matching tee, fresh sweatshirt wrapped around her waist. She held a Trader Joe’s paper bag in her hand, presumably holding the raspberry dress and the shawl inside. Ming and Abigail lay out by the pool. Abigail recovering from the venue site visits and Ming doing the New York Times crossword puzzle and filling her houseguest in on the local gossip like the dress code policy change at the clubhouse allowing
denim on the property during the day (“And so begins the decline...”). Sarah’s arrival signaled a change in tone and beverages,
and Ming wanted all the details in the hour they had before Alexa arrived to take them to dinner. “Don’t say a thing. I want
all the details. But for that we need gin and tonics. I’ll text Mariah.”
Mariah was the weekend housekeeper, and she arrived in moments with three cocktails with plenty of ice, and lime from the
backyard tree, on a silver tray. By that time, Sarah had flopped down on a lounge chair, looking to her mother like the cat
who ate the canary. Or whatever the vegan version of that expression might be.
“Tell us everything,” Ming encouraged, handing Sarah a glass.
“That was the best twenty-four hours of my life,” she said without hesitation, and then became self-conscious that her mother
was there. Texting her saucy details to declare her independence was one thing, but describing them in person was another,
so she pivoted. “Except the time UConn made it to the field hockey final four and we beat Princeton in overtime. That was
a great day, too.”
But a breathless Ming, who was asking all the questions that Abigail would never dream of asking her children, was determined
to get the details out of Sarah, who had been completely wrong about the Not a Date bit. “Start from the beginning. What did
he smell like?”
“Ming!” the Blakeman women said at the same time.
“Well, he was very handsome. I just was wondering.” And they all laughed.
“Like coconut,” Sarah confessed, and then opened up after another sip of her drink. “He was in date mode the minute we got to the car. He had flowers, a straw hat, and sunscreen for me!” Sarah, who was more accustomed to young men whose idea of romance was grabbing her a beer out of the cooler, was overwhelmed by Lloyd’s maturity. “His car was immaculate.”
“That says a lot about a man. My late husband’s Porsche was pristine. If you know what I mean,” Ming gushed.
They didn’t. But Sarah went on with the details, Ming added commentary, and Abigail practiced self-restraint. Normally not
a fan of personal details revealed in public, she wanted to know what had happened between her daughter and this sudden suitor.
Sarah told them that first he took her to the university campus and they toured his lab. (“He’s letting you right into his
world! That’s a wonderful sign!”) Then to the beach, where they swam in the Pacific, bought tacos at the beachside stand,
and watched the sunset. (“Very spiritual. Water, heat, corn.”) Then they bought shrimp and fish at the market and he made
her dinner at his place, a three-bedroom condo within walking distance of the beach that he’d recently remodeled. (“Ocean
view! He’s a keeper.”)
And then Sarah explained away their night together in the politest terms. “We’d had some wine. So we didn’t think driving
was a good idea.”
Abigail jumped in. “Very sensible. And I appreciated the text. You did the right thing.” She had no interest in hearing the
nitty-gritty of what happened after the wine.
“Yes, you did the right thing,” Ming agreed with a wink and a lilt in her voice.
In the morning, they headed to the PSC, where Lloyd took to the water and Sarah ran on the beach. Afterward came the famed
breakfast burritos, followed by a day at the zoo, where they held hands the whole time. “Mom, it’s not just animals. It’s
the most beautiful botanical gardens, too. Imagine Connecticut, but totally different flora and fauna. You would love it.”
Abigail smiled at her daughter, for this gentle reminder of the interest they shared. They had spent so many mornings together out with the roses at Fair Harbor when she was little and through her teen years, working side by side trimming, weeding, feeding. Those were happy days. “Maybe I can get there on our visit. If not now, at the wedding for sure. It sounds like you had a very lovely date.”
“It was perfect,” Sarah said, glowing. The grown-up glow of a woman who’d met her match, not a schoolgirl with a crush.
Sarah put down her drink and rose to change for dinner. “I hope you don’t mind. He’s picking me up in the morning for the
farmers market and then a drive to nearby Ojai. Apparently, the field hockey team at a prep school there needs a coach.” And
with that, she floated out of the room.
“What fun! A romance happening right in front of our eyes!” Ming gushed.
“Yes, what fun,” Abigail lied, her head about to explode. One day in the state and Sarah was entertaining new job possibilities.
What was happening to her children? First, Chase moving to Queens and now Sarah considering a cross-country relocation! Abigail
had to take back control, first of her emotions and then of her family. Sarah couldn’t leave her, too.
Ming turned to Abigail. “There’s nothing like that feeling, is there? When I met my second husband, I knew from the very first
minute we would be together. And we would be happy. And we were.”
“Nothing like it,” Abigail said, recalling the early days of her romance with George from so long ago. It was possibility
and probability all rolled up into one. She was so grateful to have found someone who understood her and appreciated her.
She knew he felt the same. From that very first night, they were connected, meant to be, on a path that would guide them the
rest of their days. For better or worse, they had vowed. (Though lately, the scale seemed to be tipped toward “for worse”
until they could sell that house.) Despite her current worries, Abigail wanted her daughter to have that kind of connection,
too. But couldn’t it be with someone in Connecticut?