Page 14 of How to Ruin Your Ex's Wedding
He gets out of the car, singing and dancing to the music. Lou Rawls. Snapping his fingers, one step forward, two steps back, and a little side-to-side sway while singing about how I’ll never find another love like his, and in general making a spectacle of himself.
Which he enjoys doing.
A lot.
For such a large guy, he has an amazing amount of finesse when he moves. He’s also a fantastic dancer and singer, which he often puts to good use in one of the pubs he owns in Seattle. They all feature karaoke and dance floors.
He hits the chorus as I’m loading my things into the back of his SUV. Knees bent, hips thrusting, index finger pointing outward and sweeping across the crowd that has started to gather, singing about how we’re all going to miss his lovin’. A few people recognize him, beginning to sing and dance along. Most take video, and the airport police blow the whistle telling him to hurry along. He blows a kiss to the crowd and gets back in behind the wheel.
“My man, how goes it?” he asks.
“It’s good. I’m tired, happy to be home.”
“All those bikini models wearing you out?”
“Yeah man, that’s it.” I laugh.
“Did you tell Emmanuelle to call me?” he asks.
“I did. She said something about you being a big lug who wasn’t worth her time of day.”
He puts his hand over his heart and looks at me. “Words wound, man.”
“Sorry, bro.”
“Speaking of wounds,” he says. “You okay with this whole ‘Tabatha getting married’ thing.”
“Of course. It was bound to happen sooner or later, right?” I ask.
“Not if you ask me.”
Gregor doesn’t like Tabby. At all. His exact words for her arecold-hearted shrew with the personality of a bull shark.
He continues talking. “I gotta admit, I’m amazed she found a second sucker. I thought for sure you’d be the only one.”
He’s not exactly without warrant in his assessment of her. Tabatha was a bit of a diva when we first met her. Not that you could blame her. She went from private tutors, personal assistants, and movie premieres to public school, tract housing, and prom. Even if it was her choice to do so, it was still a hell of a culture shock. And the girls at our school did not welcome her with open arms.
Except for her friend, Crystal. But the snubs turned Tabs hard(er). To say the least. Which is what Gregor is referring to. That, and he thinks she stole me from him. And maybe she did, who knows. Not that I’m a commodity to be had. Problem was, both were reaching new heights in their lives at the same time and relied on me, as their special person, to help them pave the way. Gregor, who was up for a Heisman trophy, which he won, and being first draft pick in the NFL. And Tabatha, with her return to acting after attempting normal teenage life.
“You hungry?” Gregor asks.
“I could eat.”
“New bistro I want to try over in Ballard.”
“Sounds good.”
Anything to get my mind off Tabatha. Not because I’m still hung up on her. But it never feels good when your ex moves on before you do.
3
Tabatha
Hunter pulls up to valet parking and waits for the attendant to open his door. I start to open mine, and the poor guy halts in front of the car, unsure as to which direction to go. I wave him toward Hunter’s side and continue getting out. Another attendant appears and assists me. Which, I have to admit, is always nice when in a car that is low to the ground while wearing heels and a pencil skirt.
Hunter straightens his jacket and then offers his arm to me as we enter the restaurant. He holds his head high, his handsome face stoic. He reminds me of a young George Reeves, the original Superman actor, with his slicked back hair and thick glasses. He wants to get married in two months, which seems fast, but for whatever reason, that timetable is important to him. Who am I to argue? Hunter has his quirks, but overall, he’s a great guy—solid character, hardworking, good lover, charming personality.
“Table for two by the window, please,” he tells the hostess and she leads us to exactly that. Hunter pulls out my chair for me, one that leaves my back to the restaurant. I don’t mind. Hunter likes to face people, and I’m used to having my back toward the crowd from my acting days, when I was out but didn’t want to be seen. As it turns out, there is a mirror behind his seat that allows me a view of the room anyway.
