CHAPTER 49
TYLER
The next day, Tyler stopped by her sister’s house to fill her in on the wedding plans.
“You’re getting married—when?” Dylan’s eyebrows shot up as she leaned against the kitchen counter, arms crossed.
“July first,” Tyler repeated. “But we’re not telling anyone. The invites will say it’s a barbecue or something. Evites, since we’re in a time crunch.”
“What about gifts?” Dylan opened her sewing kit. “You’re not even registered.”
Tyler shook her head. “We don’t want anything.”
“Turn around.” Dylan wrapped a measuring tape around her waist.
“If you’re too busy, I’ll just buy something off the rack.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Dylan said. “It’ll be ready before you’re back.”
The Oh Claires’ LA showcase was next week, and Tyler and Allie were flying down for it. Kim couldn’t make it—Cary had a show that night—but they’d promised to record the set for her.
“Thanks, I appreciate it,” Tyler said. “I’ve got something new, something borrowed, and something blue. I just need something old.” She pursed her lips and looked up, thinking.
“Here.” Dylan twisted the silver ring off her pinky finger. “It’s Mom’s wedding band. I moved it when my fingers started swelling.”
Tyler gasped, a hand to her chest. “I can’t take that.”
“It’s tradition.” Dylan slid the ring onto her sister’s finger. “It goes back generations on Mom’s side. They wear it on their right hand in the Netherlands.”
“But it’s yours.”
“It’s yours now.” Dylan rubbed her bare finger. “I’ve worn it long enough. Dad says everyone who wears that ring has a happy marriage. I know I sure have.”
Tyler wiped at the tears streaming down her cheeks and hugged her tightly. “Thank you.”
“Of course.” Dylan flared out the fabric of her skirt. “Should I wear a dress—or a tent, in my case?”
“Just wear your regular clothes. I’m changing right after the ceremony anyway.”
“What ceremony?” Joe asked, walking into the kitchen.
“Cary and I are getting married before I blimp out,” she said, then glanced at Dylan. “No offense.”
“None taken,” Dylan said, jotting something on a scrap of paper.
Tyler turned to Joe. “I was wondering if you’d officiate?”
Joe blinked, then smiled, eyes going glassy. “I’d love to,” he said, voice thick. “It would mean the world to me.”
The following Thursday, Tyler and Allie checked into the Hollywood Roosevelt Hotel. The Oh Claires’ showcase was later that evening, and their meetings weren’t until the next day, so they threw on bathing suits and headed to the Tropicana pool.
They scored two lounge chairs side by side—no towels on them, the universal sign they were fair game.
“My phone’s blowing up,” Allie said, squinting at the screen.
“Just turn it off.” Tyler pulled down the brim of her floppy hat. “The guest list is full.”
“I don’t know how this happened.” Allie held up her phone, but the glare made it unreadable. “I mean, I knew they were good, but this is unprecedented.”
“People in LA love to gossip,” Tyler said. “Plus, the ASCAP folks know everyone, and—”
“Hey!” a voice called from across the pool.
They sat up, shielding their eyes.
“Kim? Oh my god—what are you doing here?” Tyler asked, stunned.
“Jesus, it’s hot as balls out here,” Kim said, lifting her sunglasses. “Cary insisted. I hopped the first flight out of Branson.”
“You were in Branson?” Allie asked. “You should’ve gone to the Titanic museum.”
“Dude, I’ve never even seen that movie.” Tyler and Allie exchanged a look over their sunglasses. “And that song? Awful.”
Kim dropped onto Tyler’s lounge chair. “I figured we could squeeze in some girl time before you get married and shit.”
“Do you have a date?” Allie asked, thumbs tapping away.
Tyler shook her head instead of lying outright. “Are you coming to our Canada Day party?”
“Fuck yes,” Allie said, and Kim nodded. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
Kim took a sip from her Klean Kanteen. “Are you changing your name?”
Tyler sighed. “I always wanted to be Mrs. Cary Kingston, but then it feels like I’m becoming his wife instead of him becoming my husband, you know? So probably not.”
Kim lowered her sunglasses. “I’d fucking never, dude.”
“You’re anti-marriage,” Tyler reminded her.
“Same,” Allie said. “And hyphenating? My last name’s too long. It’d be a mouthful.”
Tyler stretched out and applied sunscreen to her stomach. “Do you think the baby knows it’s hot out here? I swear this cream is soaking into his eyes. It’s weird to think I might have a dick growing inside me.”
“I wish I had a dick inside me,” Allie said.
They burst out laughing as a few older guests shot them dirty looks.
Mind your own business.
“You won’t even go on a date,” Kim said to Allie.
Tyler snorted. “Like you should talk. We both took extended dick vacations before Cary and Vegas.” She turned to Allie. “What are you looking for, anyway? I know some nice guys in Winnipeg. Mostly divorced but not too damaged.”
“Smart and independent,” Allie said, removing her sunglasses and tousling her shaggy hair. “We do enough babysitting. That’s why the Toronto industry girls are obsessed with—”
“George,” they said in unison.
“I have an idea,” Tyler said.
“Like we aren’t busy enough,” Kim replied.
“That’s just it.” Tyler sat up. “We need help at the office.”
“Do you have anyone in mind?” Allie asked, still thumbing her phone.
“Lara.”
“What the fuck?” Kim rubbed her temples. “Are you joking?”
“I’m serious.” Tyler dropped her head. “I should’ve warned her about Tommy. I feel responsible. I want to mentor her. She could work remotely and stay in Vancouver.”
“We can’t let that slimeball ruin her career,” Allie said, finally putting her phone down.
Kim hesitated. “Fine.”
Allie picked her phone back up. “I know, I know—it’s a sickness.” She slipped her sunglasses back on. “We’ve got a lot of press coming tonight.”
Tyler took off her hat. “I can already hear the comparisons: L7, The Runaways . . .”
“Hole,” Kim added.
“Exactly,” Tyler said. “All-girl bands, even though they sound nothing like them. We should just tell people they’re like Jane’s Addiction meets Foo Fighters.”
“I’m down with that,” Allie said, texting again. “Still bummed about the Foo Fighters drummer.”
“Same,” Kim said. “Taylor Hawkins was the fucking best.”
After dinner at the hotel, the women walked down Hollywood Boulevard toward the Hotel Cafe, the Sex and the City theme playing in Tyler’s head. They’d done it. KAT Management was official—and they even had business cards with QR codes to prove it.
At exactly seven p.m., and with a full house in attendance, the Oh Claires plugged in their instruments.
“Isn’t that Porter?” Tyler shouted over the music.
Porter Reynolds wasn’t on the guest list, but as president of a global booking agency, he could walk into any venue he wanted.
Allie smirked. “At the Hotel Cafe? I doubt it.”
The Clark Kent lookalike approached with a smile. “Hi, Allie. Tyler.”
“Hi!” Tyler shook his hand and winked at Allie. “I thought that was you.”
“Porter!” Allie pulled him into a hug until he cleared his throat.
“Oh—sorry.” She stepped back and straightened his tie. Porter wore the same thing every day—black pants, black shirt, black tie—like a uniform. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to see the band. Figured you’d be here.”
“Hey, dude!” Kim waved her water bottle, finally clueing in.
“Hi, Kim.” He gave her a half-smile before turning back to Allie. “I’ve been talking to the labels. There’s a lot of interest now that Sebastien’s out of the picture. Americans don’t have time for his nonsense.”
“Nonsense,” Tyler repeated with a laugh, sipping her club soda through a paper straw before it disintegrated. “Are you coming to our Canada Day party?”
“As Cary’s new manager, I probably should.” He tugged on his tie. “Guess I’ll need something a little more festive.”
“Did you do this?” Allie asked, gesturing toward the packed room.
“You found them,” he said. “I might’ve made a few calls.”
“Why are you helping us?” she asked bluntly.
“I want to partner with KAT Management—to represent your bands outside of Canada.”
The women exchanged a knowing glance. It was a good offer. Okay, a great one.
“Cary’s off the table,” Allie said, starting negotiations. “We’ll handle the US on a case-by-case basis.”
“Do you want the Oh Claires for the States?” Tyler asked.
“I want them for the world. But I’ll take what I can get.”
Porter held out his hand. “I never should’ve let you go.”
Allie shook it. “Then don’t.”
“Can I get you ladies a drink?” Porter asked, his cheeks a little flushed as he loosened his tie.
Tyler and Kim shook their heads.
“I could use a drink,” Allie said, grabbing his arm and steering him toward the bar.
Kim smirked and turned to Tyler. “Dude, did you see that?”
Tyler plucked the soggy straw from her glass and crumpled it into her hand. “She said she was looking for someone smart—”
“And she got Superman.”
“He’s totally Clark Kent,” Tyler agreed.
They both laughed, then turned their attention back to the stage just as the Oh Claires launched into a blistering set, their energy electrifying the room.
Tyler leaned in so Kim could hear her. “I need to tell you something. But you have to swear on Rory’s life you won’t say a word.”
“Dude, I know. You’re pregnant.”
“Funny.” Tyler rolled her eyes. “I wasn’t going to say anything, but since Vegas knows—”
“Knows what?” Kim asked, shifting closer.
“That’s why I’ve been asking if people are coming on Canada Day. We’re getting married, Kim. No bridal party or anything—it’s a surprise.”
“Get. The. Fuck. Out!” Kim threw her arms around Tyler, nearly knocking over her drink. “I’m so happy for you!”
Tyler lifted a finger to her lips. “Only Dylan, Joe, and Vegas know. And now you.”
“What about Bert?”
She groaned. “My dad’s never met a microphone he didn’t like.”
“True,” Kim said with a laugh. “And Vegas . . . man, that guy can keep a secret. No wonder he’s so good at poker. That’s how he got his nickname.”