CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 12
Can We Have a Wedding If We Can’t Find the Groom?
“When was the last time you saw Fred?” I ask Emma after I’ve pulled her aside into a small room that has a distinct Great Gatsby vibe.
We’re alone, and I can hear the din of the party in the background—music, talking, laughter, the clink of glasses. The rehearsal is scheduled to start shortly, and people are going to notice if the groom and bride don’t appear.
And by “notice,” I mean start posting on social media about it on the cell phones they were supposed to leave in their rooms.
“Two hours ago,” Emma says. Her hair is in a bridal updo with a small tiara of what I assume are real diamonds. On someone else, it would look overdone and fussy. But on Emma, it serves as an added touch of elegance.
“Where?”
“In our room. He was, um, consoling me after this morning.”
I smile at her. She’s never been that comfortable talking about sex, which is kind of adorable given that she sometimes gets naked on camera. “Then what?”
“I had to finish getting ready for the party, and then do a photo shoot before with the photographer from People .”
“Where was the photo shoot?”
“On Descanso Beach.”
“What about Fred?”
“He’s only going to be in the photos at the dress rehearsal. He offered to come, but I told him it would be boring for him. He said he was going to find Tyler to try to clear things up.”
“That’s great of him.”
“Yes, but now I’m worried. Because Tyler’s here and Fred isn’t.”
“You think Tyler did something to Fred?”
Her hands twist together. Her engagement ring twinkles under the muted lighting. It’s a bit ostentatious, and for the first time, I wonder who paid for it.
“I feel like I’m going crazy. All this stuff with the cat and the hot tub and the schedule...Normally, I’d think it was Fred being Fred, that he was late like he always is, but it feels different. Do you get it?”
“Instinct can be powerful. You should listen to it.”
Tears pool in her eyes. “So something’s happened to Fred?”
“I’m not saying that. But I’m sure he’s not simply blowing you off.”
“What do I do?”
“Did you speak to Tyler about it?”
“I didn’t want to ask him. You understand.”
“Did you try calling Fred?”
“He left his phone in the safe in our room.”
“Ah.”
Her mouth twists. “Say it.”
“I’m not saying it.”
“I can literally hear you saying it.”
I hug her. “Okay, okay, I’m thinking it, but that’s not helpful, so let’s go and see if we can find Fred, all right?”
She sniffs against my shoulder. “Why is this happening? Who would want to hurt me? Or Fred?”
“I don’t know, Em.”
“I just want to marry the man I love. Why does it feel like that’s too much to ask?”
I pull away. Her eyes are red, but no tears have fallen; they’re just gathered in the corners of her big blue eyes. “If I knew the answer to that, then my boyfriend wouldn’t have told me he’s not proposing this weekend.”
She sniff-laughs. “He said that?”
“He thinks it’s tacky to propose at someone else’s wedding.”
“It is tacky.”
“I know, I know.”
“Is this the universe telling me I shouldn’t marry Fred?”
“No. You should marry him.”
She uses her thumb to wipe the moisture out of the corner of her eye. “Aren’t you the one always telling me you have terrible romantic instincts?”
“Where I’m concerned. But I’ve matched a bunch of people and they’re still together.”
“Like who?”
“The details aren’t important.”
“Uh-huh. What about Harper?”
“I haven’t had any luck there, I admit, but I think she is dating someone, only she won’t say who. Which worries me.”
“Why?”
“Because what if it’s Connor? Again?”
She shakes her head. “I think you need to let her make her own mistakes.”
“You’re right.”
Her face falls. “I’m scared, El. Really scared.”
“I know, sweetheart. Let’s go find Tyler.”
We locate Tyler off to one side of the party in conversation with Simone, David, and Allison. They’re all dressed in chic party clothes—the men in summer suits without ties, and Allison in a pink dress covered in flowers. Simone is wearing a saffron-colored jumpsuit that resembles the ones she wore on set but dressier, with heels and a statement necklace.
The sun is sinking through the horizon behind them, glinting off the water as the boats bob up and down. It looks picture-perfect, despite the strong wind, and it’s hard to imagine a storm is coming.
But I should know better than to judge the severity of a situation by its appearance.
“—should come out next spring to time with the next book,” Tyler is saying in his authoritative voice.
Simone frowns. “But that’s not When in Rome .”
“No, it’s...Ah, Eleanor, good, good, you can help us.”
“With what?”
“When’s your next book coming out?” Simone asks. “ When in Rome 2 or whatever?”
“It’s called Amalfi Made Me Do It , and it’s releasing in March.”
“And it’s about you and Connor in Italy, yes?” Tyler asks. “All that recent kerfuffle.”
“Connor and Cecilia , yes.”
“Can it be considered a sequel to the first book?”
I don’t like where these questions are going. I glance around for a waiter. I could use at least one alcohol drink. But there aren’t any around.
Why is there never alcohol when you need it?
Sigh. I should probably keep my wits about me, anyway.
Oh, I definitely should.
“It’s about many of the same players, why?”
“You see, Simone, it’s the perfect time to release the movie. There will be buzz about the book, and it will set up a sequel nicely.”
“A sequel?” Simone says, her tone as unhappy as I feel.
“Yes, David’s working on the script already, aren’t you?”
David gives us all a wide grin. “I did five pages this morning.”
“Wait,” I say. “Have you even read Amalfi Made Me Do It ?”
“Unnecessary.”
“ Unnecessary? ”
“I’ve read the media accounts and conducted some interviews with the key players.”
“Interviews?”
“He means me,” Allison says with her trademark laugh that turns every situation, no matter how serious, into a joke. “Don’t be so formal, honey.”
“Well, regardless, aren’t we getting ahead of ourselves?” Simone says. “Perhaps David isn’t the best person to write the sequel.”
“Pardon me?”
“I did have to do extensive rewrites.”
“They weren’t that extensive,” David says.
Simone looks down at him. “Is that so.”
“I’ve been meaning to speak to you about that...I’ll be taking you to mediation.”
“I’m not afraid of the WGA.” 54 , 55
“What’s she talking about?” I say to Allison. As an actress, I assume she knows more about these things than I do.
“Not sure.”
“A director doesn’t get credit for writing a script unless they contributed at least 50 percent,” David says.
“So,” I say to Simone, “you changed 50 percent of it?”
“I did.”
“She did not .”
“Are you the one responsible for the terrible dialogue?”
“The dialogue is good ,” David says. “And all Simone did is a polish—” 56
“So you’re both responsible is what I’m hearing?”
Emma gives me a tap on the small of my back and makes a small pleading sound.
I’m a terrible friend.
“I’m sorry, Em. Um, have any of you seen Fred?”
“Missing, is he?”
“Did you do something, Tyler?” Emma says.
A slow, satisfied smile breaks on his face. “So he is missing.”
“We’re looking for him,” I say. “What do you know?”
“I know he isn’t to be trusted. I’m sorry, Emma, but it’s true. If I thought bringing you together on this movie was going to lead to this...”
“But where’s Fred?” Emma says. “This isn’t funny, Tyler.”
“I am not amused. You can be certain of that.”
“What’s all this about Fred?” Mrs. Winter says, arriving in a cloud of Chanel with Mr. Winter in tow. She’s wearing a bright yellow kaftan with a matching headpiece.
Which tracks.
I mean, what mother wouldn’t want to outshine her son at his wedding rehearsal?
“He was supposed to come to us for a drink before these drinks, and he didn’t show up. Is that your fault, girl?” She glares at Emma, which I’m proud to say Emma doesn’t shrink under.
Emma always rises to every occasion, especially a challenge.
“No, Mrs. Winter. We’re looking for him.”
“By standing around bickering?”
“We’re trying to find out if anyone saw him,” I say. “Has anyone seen Fred in the last hour?”
“Fred’s missing?” Oliver says, walking up with Connor in tow. “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” Emma says. “Do you know anything?”
“I might,” Connor says, raising his hand like he’s being called on in class.
“Excuse me?” I say.
He glances at Tyler, who nods his head imperceptibly. “I have a tracker on his phone.”
“You what ?”
“Standard operating procedure.”
“Standard operating procedure for what?” Oliver asks, his voice as stiff as his posture.
“That’s none of your business.”
They glare at each other.
“Connor,” I say, “if you know something, please tell us. Emma’s worried.”
“If you insist.” He takes out his phone and taps at it. “He’s in the building.”
“No,” Emma says. “His phone is in our room.”
Connor gives her a sad shake of the head. “Maybe one of his phones is.”
“What does that mean?”
I put a hand on her arm. “Let’s figure that out later, okay? Where is he, Connor?”
Connor opens an app, which shows a glowing dot. “It looks like he’s below us.”
“In the basement?”
“If there is one?” He glances around and spots the hotel manager. “You. Sir. Is there a basement in this establishment?”
Mr. Prentice walks up. He’s wearing a baby-blue suit like you might see at a gender-reveal party. “Why do you ask?”
“We need to see it.”
“Why don’t you just call Fred?” I say.
“I’ll do it,” Emma says.
Connor looks at her with some pity. “No, you can’t.”
Emma pales and shrinks away. I pull her to me. “Just call him, Connor.”
Connor dials a number. We can all hear it ring, ring, ring through his phone. But no one answers. And there’s no voicemail; it just goes, um, dead .
“The basement?” Connor says to Mr. Prentice.
“Technically a furnace room.”
“We’ll go there, then.”
Connor holds his phone in front of him like a divining rod as we follow Mr. Prentice to a side door, where there’s a dark staircase leading down into the ground. He snaps on a light, but it’s still gloomy and damp.
It looks like one of those stairs in a horror movie.
You know, the ones where people go down and never come up again?
And you want to yell, Don’t go down there!
But it looks like we’re going down there, so...
“Why would he go to the furnace room?” Oliver asks.
“An excellent question for Fred once we find him,” I say.
“Are you saying that my son is down there? Whatever for?”
I feel Emma shiver behind me. “You should stay here, Em. Stay here with the Winters. Just in case.”
She goes even paler, but she does as I ask, leading Mrs. Winter away from the rest of us, with Mr. Winter following along behind.
Now it’s just me, Connor, Tyler, Simone, Oliver, Allison, David, and Mr. Prentice. We walk down the rickety stairs, and my feeling of unease grows.
This is why I don’t watch horror movies.
I don’t like jump scares.
Or that ominous music they play before something bad happens.
But that music’s playing in my head right now. Duh-duh...Duh-duh...
Oh, wait. That’s the Jaws music.
You get the idea.
“Watch your head,” Mr. Prentice says. “The ceiling is low.”
We’ve reached the cellar floor. It’s dirt, with blackened beams overhead holding up the building, built into ledge rock. The walls drip with moisture, and the air reeks of mold and wet wood. It smells like something might’ve died down here a long time ago.
It’s exactly the sort of space you’d use if you were space-casting this type of scene.
And the hotel manager’s right, the ceiling is low . I reach a hand up and touch it. It comes away wet, and I rub my hands together, trying to warm them.
Why would Fred come down here?
Maybe it’s just his phone?
A second phone.
That’s never a good sign.
“Which way?” I ask.
“This way,” Connor says. His phone glows in the dark, lighting up his face.
I know his expressions well enough to recognize what he’s feeling.
Excitement.
The jerk.
I take Oliver’s hand. “What if...”
“Don’t go there,” Oliver says. “Maybe it’s just his phone.”
“I thought that, too, but why? And that would still mean he’s missing.”
“We should add this to the script,” David says behind me. “It could make a really dramatic scene at the midpoint, don’t you think, Simone?”
“Not the time, David,” Allison says gently.
“Oh, yes, of course. It would be better in the sequel, anyway.”
“There isn’t going to be a sequel,” I hiss.
“We’ll see.”
We shuffle along the corridor. There are red lights up near the ceiling, the kind that might come on in an emergency, even though the power’s not out.
Not yet, my brain can’t help but think.
Because it’s just a matter of time before that complication arises.
“Just up here,” Mr. Prentice says. He reaches up and snaps on a light, another bare single bulb hanging from the ceiling. There’s a metal door in front of us, closed tight and covered in rust. “It’s in there.”
“Aren’t you going to open it?” Connor says.
Mr. Prentice shivers. “I don’t...You should.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Connor hands me the phone. “Hold this.” I take it, and he puts his hand on the door handle and pushes it down. “It’s stuck.”
“Is it locked?” Oliver asks.
“No,” Mr. Prentice says.
“Put your shoulder into it, then.”
Connor steps back. “I’m wearing my good suit.”
“Seriously?” I say. “This was your idea.”
“I’ll do it,” Oliver says, stepping forward. He takes the handle, puts his shoulder against the dusty door, and pushes. “It’s stuck.”
“I just said that.”
Oliver pushes again, coming up on his toes. “A little help here?”
“Fine.”
He and Connor start to push, counting together. “One, two, and...”
The door gives, and they both tumble into the room, almost losing their footing. I follow them in, but it’s dark and hard to see anything.
A light snaps on.
Fred’s splayed out on the floor on his stomach with his arms extended.
And from this angle, it looks like he’s...wait for it... dead .
54 Will it surprise you to learn that there are often disputes over who wrote a movie? No, right?
55 The WGA is the Writers Guild of America, the union that protects writers against producers and directors.
56 “Polish” is an industry term that means they changed up to 10 percent of the script. TL;DR: When you see a screenwriter’s name on a movie, that means they wrote some of it, but there’s anywhere from one to an infinite number of other people who had their hands in the final draft, including the director.