Nineteen Germaine
Nineteen
Germaine
2028
Yes, linen for the cabanas is fine.” Germaine shifts her phone to the other ear as she works the Keurig in her hotel suite. “I mean, if they have—only Egyptian cotton? I don’t know ... you will? God, Susan, you’re the best. Yes. Thanks.”
She hangs up and stirs cream and sugar into the coffee, carefully wiping off a fleck that lands on her enormous diamond engagement ring.
Today is the day before Germaine’s wedding. She never thought she’d say those words, but here she is, a glam fortysomething getting married. The location is an idyllic all-villa hotel in Santa Barbara with a view of the ocean, in a state close to Germaine’s heart. It isn’t one of her family’s hotels. They’re allowed to attend the wedding, but they’re guests, not owners—not of the property, and not of Germaine.
Germaine is blissfully unaware of who owns this hotel, in fact, and it’s a beautiful feeling. Although she does happen to be marrying a real estate mogul—but it’s not Eddie Chou. He married someone else years ago, the sister of Germaine’s sister-in-law, so he’s still part of the family, sort of. He’ll be attending the wedding, too, and will witness her walk down the aisle to meet Justin Yuen, one of the biggest stars of LA real estate.
But unlike Eddie and Germaine, Justin grew up poor as a kid in Koreatown. He knows the value of money and isn’t entitled or holier than thou, like many people Germaine could name. He’s also into meditation and self-care, and with him her life has become about seeking balance, not chasing after the next big thing. Even if Justin does live in a $20 million house in the Pacific Palisades and drives a Porsche Panamera as his “everyday” car.
Germaine loves him. Aside from the money, aside from the prestige, aside from everything.
She takes quick sips of her coffee, a bit of an indulgence after a very careful probiotic diet for skin health, checks her phone for any updates from Susan the wedding planner, and hurries down to the guest villas to make sure everything is set for the guests’ arrival. It’s so Mamma Mia! , truly. Sicily and Miranda are at the top of the list—Germaine hasn’t seen them in forever. Not since they gleefully attended her first wedding-dress appointment last year. It’s ridiculous. Everyone is so busy lately, running around with families and careers, but Germaine wanted some time to catch up. She asked the two of them to come this morning, before everyone else, so they could get a jump start on a weekend that will feel just like old times.
Or something close, at least. She’s not sure she could redo the all-nighters the 3AM Girls pulled. Plus, she has a few things she wants to talk to them about.
As Germaine exits the villa on the outermost end of the seaside terrace, finding it imperfect but tolerable, she glimpses her first guest arriving with Louis Vuitton luggage in tow.
“ M she didn’t really know what she was asking of the band, but it felt good to say—out loud—how tight of a leash her parents had her on, how much Bad Society’s invitation to sing onstage had meant to Germaine, and how she wanted to make an honest living now. And music was where she wanted to be.
Charlie didn’t have any openings for jobs with Bad Society, but she promised to call around, and soon sent Germaine some personal contacts for music producers and clubs around New York.
Germaine gratefully accepted a job at the only place that would take her: a midsize Eurobeat club in Chelsea. The manager was a Kidz Klub fan, too, and took Germaine on as ticketing staff.
It was the most regular-person job Germaine had ever had, sitting in a tiny booth and taking phone calls and scanning wristbands as the crowds rolled in every night. But she felt like she had come home. The bass in her chest, the adrenaline in the air, the people who dressed as they pleased and danced without a care in the world—all of it made something come alive in Germaine. She became friendly with the talent. She was interested in the DJs’ world, and they were interested in her, identifying her as someone they recognized, but they couldn’t say from where. Germaine didn’t mind. She didn’t want the St. Germaine-Chang name to do any heavy lifting for her anymore.
She worked at the club every night, often seeing the same DJs come through. And finally, after a few weeks, one of them invited her to come up and spin records with him.
To her surprise and his, she killed it.
She was a natural at finding the beat and rhythm, just like she did when she used to dance, and the crowd loved her. She allowed herself to become totally absorbed by the music, pushing it to merge with the energy of the crowd.
The manager liked it, too, and allowed her to play one night a week. Germaine created a stage name—G-Force—and one night a week turned into two. After establishing herself as a house favorite at the Eurobeat club, it was a short leap to other hot spots in Manhattan, and in just under two years, Germaine found herself going viral. It was her stage presence, her gender, her age, the way she was oblivious to and in tune with the crowd at the same time—all of it worked together to skyrocket Germaine out of DJ obscurity.
Since then she’s built up a career that’s rendered her one of the most sought-after DJs in the world, booking for huge gigs in Ibiza, Abu Dhabi, Rio, Marrakesh, and many more. She’s played for a royal wedding in Sweden, a superyacht regatta in Dubai, gigs in castles and palaces and mega-clubs. Rolling Stone did a think piece on her about reinventing yourself in your forties.
She’s never been happier.
Cyprus is small fry in comparison. But Germaine promises she’ll do it for Miranda. She’d love to.
“Excuse me?” a voice calls from behind them. “Someone told me I could find a bombshell bride out here?”
They turn to find Sicily strolling up, decked out in a caftan and shades. Germaine shrieks again, and they laugh and hug, even getting a little teary eyed.
“And hello to you !” Germaine says, looking behind Sicily—she’s brought Liberty, her daughter, who is her total mini-me. At ten years old, Liberty is all smiles and down-home American sweetness, her blond hair a little mussed by the wind and her confidence still in preadolescence, certain that she can do anything.
“She wanted to see the hotel.” Sicily smiles indulgently, and Germaine knows that the real reason is because Sicily wants to show her daughter off to her and Miranda. “She wanted to spend the weekend with her big brother, so Hugo and Jaime will pick her up soon—they’re all going to their beach house, right, chickadee?”
“Noah promised to show me how to throw a football,” Liberty adds.
“His summer hasn’t ended yet?” Miranda asks.
“Not yet, but soon,” Sicily says. “Northwestern starts late.”
“I can’t believe he’s in college.” Germaine shakes her head. “I remember when he was born! I remember when you were born, Liberty!”
“He’s a good big brother, huh, Lib?” Sicily smooths back Liberty’s hair as she nods. “They’re all so sweet to her. One big, strange extended family these days.”
“I’m going to be a singer soon,” Liberty announces.
“ Maybe, ” Sicily says, pulling the girl a little closer as the others laugh. “But no auditions until you’re eighteen, remember?”
Liberty frowns. “You said sixteen last week.”
“Did I? Now why would I say that?”
“Because I started with thirteen and that’s where we landed.”
Sicily shakes her head. “Oh, you are killing me, kiddo.”
“Tell you what,” Miranda says. “Once you’re nineteen years old, you can come sing at my club, how’s that?”
Liberty narrows her eyes. “Is it a cool club?”
Miranda leans down and narrows her eyes back. “The coolest. ”
“Okay, enough of that,” Sicily says. “I bet that poolside snack bar has some ice cream, huh? Why don’t you go put it on my tab?”
“You’re just trying to distract me.” Liberty wrinkles her nose, and Sicily taps her finger on it.
“Yes, I am,” Sicily says. “Now shoo!”
Liberty rolls her eyes but giggles and runs away.
“Oh, girl ... you are not going to be able to restrain that one for long,” Germaine says once she’s out of earshot.
Sicily presses a hand to her chest and gives them both a look. “I’d like to send her away to an Amish farm for her teens. Reverse Rumspringa.”
“You won’t be able to. She’s got that star power,” Miranda says, shaking her head. “How’s Squeak?”
“He’s good. He spoils our little Liberty all the way from New York, but he has his hands full now.”
Miranda nods knowingly. Squeak has both a new wife—an up-and-coming hip-hop singer—and new twins, whom they’ve named Sound and Furie. “It’s a good thing you didn’t marry him,” she says. “He was a nice enough guy, but not the kind who’s going to take care of you long term.”
Germaine shoots Miranda a look, but Sicily sighs and nods in agreement, a little downcast.
“I know,” she says, sounding rueful. “But I always wanted a big white wedding.” Sicily seems to remember herself, recovers, and squeals, “Like yours , G! Can you believe you’re getting married ? You were always so against it!”
“I really can’t. It’s very surreal.” Germaine shakes her head. “But love changes you! Or maybe I just got old and decided to settle.”
The three of them laugh, the ocean wind blowing breezy and warm through their hair. It’s a perfect day, Germaine thinks, and the perfect company.
But there are, in fact, some things Germaine needs to settle, things she doesn’t want to take with her into her blissful new life with Justin, so she’s going to set the record straight. She’s going to come clean.
But who would Germaine be if she wasn’t at least a little vengeful?
She still has some tricks up her sleeve.