Smile for the Camera & Strike up the Band

Alessandria

I smoothed my fingers over the neckline of my green chiffon dress--one of the three new ones I’d purchased specifically for the wedding week-end, all of which Patrick had yet to see--and then readjusted the green plastic flower clipped to my hair, which matched the one sewn to the right shoulder of the garment. My hair was pulled back into a bun and my make-up and nails done, and I smiled at my reflection, satisfied at what I’d managed to accomplish in two short hours.

There was a light knock at the door, and I felt my heart flutter. I knew it was most likely Dacian and Patrick, finally in their own outfits, and it would be the first time Patrick looked upon me in the dress that I’d so hoped would impress him. It seemed like I was dressing to impress him a lot lately, though I knew it was unnecessary. Annette told me it was part of the “honeymoon phase” in new relationships; dressing to get the other person’s attention, even though you know you already have it.

When I called out for them to come in, I was immediately met by two gentlemen in dress pants and white button-downs, hair slicked back and shiny black shoes on their feet. Despite the difference in hair and eye color, they really did look like they could be father and son; they carried themselves the same way, and smiled the same, all the way up to the eyes.

“Oh, my boys look like proper gentlemen,” I said teasingly, leaning down to press a kiss to my son’s cheek and then smoothed away the lipstick smudge with my thumb. “You look very handsome, baby boy.”

He smiled proudly, “Thanks, Mommy! You look pretty.”

“Thankyou, baby,” I gave him a brief hug before standing up straight again to face Patrick, sure a light blush was creeping through my cheeks already. Sure enough, he was looking me over with a half-smile and a twinkle in his eyes that couldn’t be mistaken. “You look handsome too, Patrick,” I told him quietly.

His half-smile went full-force and he reached out to tuck some of my hair back behind my ear, as he often did, and then played with the flower there for a moment. “You look beautiful, sweetheart,” he told me in the softest of voices, then cast a sideways glance at my son before kissing me quickly and nudging my nose with his own. I giggled a little before tucking my arm through his and taking Dacian’s hand with my free one, steering them both toward the door.

“So, um,” I said, clearing my throat and trying to ignore the little looks Patrick was still giving me as we walked down the hall, “Aren’t rehearsal dinners usually just for the wedding party and relatives?”

Zack, who was standing in the living room, straightening his red tie, overheard and told us, “Rian kept going back and forth about who to include in the wedding party, so apparently, Kara eventually got fed up with it and their resolve was to invite everyone to the rehearsal dinner.”

“And how many people were invited to the wedding?”

Zack shrugged, “Couple hundred?”

My eyes went wide; a couple hundred people I didn’t know would be attending the rehearsal dinner, wedding, and reception? As if reading my thoughts, Patrick leaned in and whispered, “I’ll keep an eye on Dacian; you find an open bar.” Very little of what he actually said registered, however; I was too distracted by the feeling of his breath on my neck, his lips almost close enough to touch my ear. Over the past three weeks, Patrick and I had been holding hands, kissing, sharing a bed, even, but we hadn’t again gone anywhere near sex. It was still scary territory for me, no matter how much I trusted him, and he understood that. But lately…lately, it was starting to feel more like a possibility.

No, not even a possibility; a desire.

I swallowed dryly and, though I hadn’t comprehended his words at all, I said, “Deal.”

Erica

Yellow was not my color, no matter what Cassadee said. When we’d gone dress shopping the week before, she’d quickly dismissed my personal taste and took complete control of our expedition, choosing the three dresses she thought would look best on me. For the rehearsal dinner, a pleated, lemon-yellow dress with two big yellow flowers on the neckline. For the wedding and the black-and-white themed reception…I couldn’t even think about those right now.

As I stared myself down in the mirror, two arms wrapped around my stomach from behind and picked me up, spinning me twice before finally putting me down. When I turned around, I saw Lipshaw smiling at me like an idiot, dressed in a pair of black pants and a pale blue dress shirt, an untied black tie hung over his shoulders. “Alex, you’re such an ass.”
“
Am not,” he told me with a pouty face, then held up the ends of his tie, “Do you know how to do this?” I rolled my eyes and reached for him, looping the ends together in a quick, practiced motions before finally pulling it (a little too tightly, possibly) together at the top. “Whoa,” he said, dumbfounded as he stared down at the knot, “How did you do that?”

I shrugged and turned back to the mirror, “During Josh’s wedding, no one knew how to tie ties, so I learned. Simple as that.” I played with the strap of the dress, making a face at the sunshine-y mess and sighing for about the twentieth time since I put it on. Having my hair back in a bun, I could handle. Make-up, I could handle. Stockings, flats, and nail polish, I could handle. But a dress that looked like it belonged on a Saturday morning cartoon?

“You know,” Lipshaw said, resting his chin on my shoulder and joining me in staring at my reflection, only his face was thoughtful while mine was critical, “You look really pretty. Cass has good taste.”

I gave him a horrified look and shrugged him off of me, growling as I tugged at the strap once more, “Shut up. I hate this dress.”

“But it’s so cute!” He insisted. “If you weren’t like a sister to me, I might be very attracted to you in that dress.” He nodded matter-of-factly and I rolled my eyes and smacked him on the shoulder before pushing past him to head into the main room of the hotel suite we’d all pitched in on. Truth be told, his compliments were reassuring to me. If Lipshaw--a guy that had, indeed, become like a surrogate brother to me--could find me attractive in a non-sisterly way in this dress, then maybe someone else would to.

Cass let out a loud squeal when she saw me, jumping up and down in her designer Mark Jacobs dress and smiling at me, “Oh, you look so good!”

“That’s what I said!” Lipshaw agreed, following me out of the room, “Kind of hard to believe that a month ago she was all jeans, hoodies, and frowns.” He gave me a playful little shove and I shot him a look before retrieving a can of soda from the mini-fridge. “Eh eh eh,” Cass said, taking the can from me and putting it back where it came from, “You’ll ruin your lipstick job.”

I rolled my eyes and reached for the fridge again, “It’s going to get ruined as soon as we start eating at the rehearsal anyway; what’s the big--”

“The big deal,” she cut me off, “Is that I don’t want it to get ruined before Gabe has a chance to see you.” I blinked at her in horror, and she smiled in response. “I figured that would get a reaction. Would you stop acting so surprised all the time? Everyone knows that you like Gabe and Gabe likes you and, for some stupid reason, you aren’t together yet. I am determined to change that sad fact.”

I shook my head, “Cass, that’s really sweet and everything, but Gabe and I--”

“Have to figure things out for yourself,” she finished for me, crossing her arms over her chest. “Come on, we all saw you guys kiss in New Mexico; what’s left to figure out? You guys just need to grow some balls and say you’re an item. Let’s go,” she grabbed my arm abruptly and started tugging me toward the main door. When I opened my mouth to ask why, she was already explaining, “Everyone that’s staying here is meeting downstairs. Gabe will be there for sure.”

I immediately dug in my heels and started fighting her, “No, no. Cass, no.”

“Stop being so shy; I swear, for a bitch, you’re a big baby.”

With the combined efforts of Cass and Lipshaw, they finally managed to drag me (literally kicking and screaming) to the elevator and down to the lobby where, sure enough, various band and crew members--some I knew personally, some I only knew by reputation--where standing around, talking. For a brief moment when I wasn’t thinking about murdering a singer and guitarist and making a run for it, I had the amused mental imagine of a fourteen-year-old girl walking into the lobby at this exact moment. Hey Monday, Cobra Starship, The Cab, Every Avenue, Fall Out Boy, Anarbor... It was like a candy shop for prepubescent orgasms.

“Vicky,” Cass waved to the keytarist, gesturing her over, “Hey, girl; where’s Gabe?”

Vicky looked me over with a knowing smile and nodded toward the hotel bar, “Getting a quick drink in before we head out. Erica, you should go make sure he doesn’t get shitfaced and ruin Rian and Kara’s rehearsal dinner.”

I wanted to refuse, but I knew that--though the intentions were blurry--the fact of the matter was that someone should be keeping an eye on Gabe for that very reason. He could easily lose count of his drinks and end up flashing Kara’s grandma, or something other unspeakable act. So after a moment of staring at her, I finally grumbled, “You guys suck,” and headed for the bar.

I found Gabe immediately, sitting at the bar with a drink in his hand, staring down at it. He was dressed in black pants, white shirt, and a black vest that seemed to further define the muscles I knew were hiding beneath the clothing, hugging him tightly. I felt my mouth go dry and I cleared my throat, drawing his attention to me before I could lose my nerve and run away. When he saw me, his eyes went wide for a moment and he just stared at me, a little smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Wow, Ric,” he mused, “You look good.”

I blushed, but tried to shrug it off, “You don’t look half bad, either.”

“Gee, thanks.” He laughed and looked back down at his drink, taking a little swig and asking, “So did they send you here to monitor my drinking, or did you just miss my company?”

“A little bit of both,” I said, sitting down. I mentally applauded my daring, but froze when he raised an eyebrow at me. A moment later, however, he was smiling again, and I couldn’t help but do the same.

He held up a finger to the bartender and passed the glass to him when he approached, “I won’t be needing this after all.” Once he’d paid for the unfinished drink and turned back to me, he asked, “So, tell me about this whole missing-my-company thing.”

I felt my face heat, but I tried to keep my cool. “Oh, you know,” I waved a passive hand, “A day just isn’t complete with out a dose of adorable annoyance.”

“Aw, you think I’m adorable!”

I gave him an exhausted look, “More so when you aren’t speaking.”

Alessandria

“Whoa.”

That was really the only word I could think of: Whoa. The rehearsal dinner was taking place in the huge lobby of an old train museum near Inner Harbor, and it was decorated in lacey golds and silvers, with candles on almost every surface. My own wedding--should I ever get married--wouldn’t even be this extravagant, let alone my rehearsal dinner. I stood in the entryway of the lobby for a long moment, almost afraid to step inside, wary that I might accidentally bump into something and cause thousands of dollars of destruction.

Patrick took me by the elbow and steered me onward, making sure Dacian kept pace. “Nice, huh?” I nodded numbly, staring at the gold tool that skirted the tables, and allowed him to lead us to a table in the middle of the room.

“Alessandria!” Rian and Annette were running toward me before I could sit, and I met them halfway, eyebrows raised. Rian shifted nervously and asked, “You finished the song?” One week after tour ended, Rian had called Annette to write a father-daughter dance song for Kara and her dad. Annette, in turn, asked Patrick, who had somehow passed the duty onto me. He said it would be good for me to get out of my writing comfort zone, and of course, he had been right.

I nodded, “Yeah, I wrote the lyrics and Patrick put music to it and Annette’s going to learn it tonight.” She nodded to the drummer as I said this, but he didn’t look convinced. I fiddled with the buttons on my cell phone for a moment, pulling up my notebook, and showed it to him, “Want to read it?”

“Yeah, thanks,” he said with a happy sigh, taking my phone and skimming the lyrics. Finally, he handed them back with a smile, “Well, kid, it’s true what they say; you’re a good writer.” I thanked him and, with his excusal, finally made my way back to the table where Patrick and Dacian were having a thumb war, and I wrapped my arms around Patrick’s shoulders in a little hug.

He smiled at me, pressing a quick kiss to my cheek, “Rian wanted to read the song, I bet?”

I nodded, “He liked it. I hope Kara does, too.”

“She will,” he said, nodding with certainty, “It’s a great song.”

“Mommy,” Dacian asked, never taking his eyes away from his thumb as it wrestled with Patrick’s, “When I grow up and get married, will you write me a song?”

I nodded, giving him a soft smile, “Mhm. And when you start school, and when you graduate, and on your birthdays, and when you get jobs, and when you go to college. Every time I’m proud of you.”

He giggled at this, “So, always?”

“You know me so well,” I laughed, kissing the top of his head, “I’m always proud of my baby.”

Patrick nudged me with his elbow and gestured toward the entryway, and I turned to watch as a yellow-clad woman stepped into the museum lobby, followed closely by Gabe and Cass. After a brief moment and then a painful jaw-drop, I realized it was Erica and I almost screamed. She quickly met my gaze across the room and walked over to me--in black stockings and yellow flats, I might add--and fell into the seat next to mine in a rather unladylike fashion. Yep, definitely Erica. “Ric, you look so pretty!” She groaned and flipped me off, tossing her purse--I say again: her purse!--onto the table and crossing her arms over her chest. “Aw, why so grumpy, pretty lady?”

“Probably has something to do with me,” Gabe said with a happy smirk, sitting down next to my friend. “I kept complimenting her, and apparently she doesn’t like that.”

“No,” I agreed with a shake of my head, “She doesn’t.”

He smiled at me and reached across Erica to give me a half-hug, “You look really nice tonight, too, Alessandria.”

“Thanks, Gabe; you look spiffy.” I gave Erica a look and added, “See how I took that compliment?”

She scoffed and rolled her eyes, “That’s different; you actually do look nice; I look like the lemon Tom DeLonge rejected.”

I sighed and shoved her, almost knocking her out of her chair. “Grow up and face it, Ric; you’re a pretty girl.”

“I hate you.”

“Too bad, because I love you.”

There was a loud clinking that rang out over the growing roar of voices, and everyone stopped to look at one of the tables in the middle of the room, just a few away from us. An elderly woman with short brown hair, shot through with gray, put down a champagne glass and smoothed her hands over the skirt of her dress. “Excuse me, everyone, may I have your attention?” All those not already in a seat quickly moved to find one and silenced, watching the woman as she smiled proudly. “I am Leslie Diakoulas; I’m the mother of the bride,” she put her hand on her daughter’s shoulder lovingly, “And I just wanted to say welcome; it’s so wonderful to see you all here. Dinner will be served shortly, and then we’d like to invite anyone with words to say to do so tonight, because--unfortunately--only the wedding party will be afforded the opportunity during the reception tomorrow.”

Even for those like me, who didn’t know Kara or her parents that well, knew the reason for this rule: Drunk band boys. I wouldn’t want them giving speeches at my wedding reception either. And wow, how many times had I thought about my own wedding today?

“That being said,” Leslie told us with a smile, picking up her glass again, “I hope you all enjoy the meal.” A moment later, a dozen or so of the wait staff came out with…sandwiches? Six-inch subs on various breads that looked like they’d just been delivered from Subway. I glanced over at the table the Diakoulases and Dawsons were sitting, and they were all laughing. Subway and champagne; yep, it sounded like something anyone who associated with All Time Low could pull.

Next to me, Erica leaned back to the table behind us, where Jack and Kal were sitting, “Psst, Barakat.” He looked away from the tray of subs he’d been trying to decide between questioningly. “Are we really having Subway and champagne?” He nodded excitedly and turned back, grabbing a Spicy Italian and handing it to Kal before grabbing one for himself. That being said, the designer met my eyes and shrugged, “Well, I like Subway.”

Erica

Two six-inch subs, over a dozen toasts, and almost an entire bottle of champagne later, I was feeling warm inside. Everyone was smiling and laughing and drinking, and my head was swimming in blissful incoherency. I wasn’t drunk, and I knew what was going on, but there was a pleasant fuzziness around the edges that took away all the nerves and feelings of self-doubt I’d had were gone and forgotten. Next to me, Gabe was munching on his fourth sandwich and third glass of champagne, laughing at the hair-brained speech Gaskarth--also tipsy--was reciting. We hadn’t talked much over the course of the dinner, but I’d felt his eyes burning a hole through me the entire time; that’s probably how I’d managed to take down a bottle of Gremillet by myself.

“All right,” Leslie said with a tight smile as Gaskarth dropped back into his seat, almost falling out of it. “I see that most of you have finished your dinner. Unfortunately, we have to steal the bride and groom away for the night; they have an early day tomorrow. But I invite you all to stay here and enjoy yourselves, if you like; we reserved the museum until two in the morning. Goodbye!” There was a chorus of goodbyes and many waving hands as the bride and groom--as well as their parents and the rest of the wedding party--stood to leave. As soon as they were out the door, all hell broke loose.

“I got beer!” Someone I didn’t recognize proclaimed, standing up on a chair and slamming his fists against his chest like a gorilla. There was an eruption of cheers as people started standing and moving around, helping themselves to stronger drinks and more food, and music started from somewhere.

Alessandria put her hand on my arm and said, “Hey, I gotta get DJ out of here before it gets any crazier. Call me when you get back to the hotel?” I nodded, and she copied the motion, “Thanks. Love you.”

“Love you back,” I told her, leaning across to give Dacian a little kiss on the cheek, then shook Patrick’s hand before waving goodbye to them.

Once they were gone, Gabe leaned in and said in my ear, “You know what’s weird?”

I shivered a little, but hoped he wouldn’t notice, though I’m sure he did. “What?”

“Hearing you tell someone you love them.”

“Oh, not this again,” I rolled my eyes, “Gabe, I’m not a heartless bitch--”

“I know,” he cut me off with a laugh, “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to offend you. I just mean, it’s nice; I like seeing you so open with people.” I blushed a little, reaching across him to take his glass of champagne in my hand and drinking the rest of its contents down. Gabe raised his eyebrows and smirked, then asked, “You want to get out of here before the cops show up?”

I stared at him, knowing I should refuse, but the alcohol in my system brought out my daring and I gave him a grin, “Sounds good.”

Alessandria

Dacian was fast asleep in the backseat of the SUV by the time we got back to the house with Annette and Gaskarth, and Patrick opened the guest room door for me as I carried my son in my arms, stepping gently so as not to wake him. I laid him down on the bed and Patrick started unlacing his shoes, then went to the dresser and quietly opened it, handing me a pair of flannel pajamas. He grabbed a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt as well before excusing himself to the bathroom, and I changed my son’s clothes, then my own. By the time Patrick came back, I was brushing my hair back into a long ponytail and wiping away my make-up. My boyfriend picked up my discarded dress from the floor, running his fingers over it with a soft smile.

“It really is a pretty dress,” he told me, “I like it.”

I took it from him and folded it over my arm until it was a little square, then shoved it into my duffel bag. “Thanks,” I told him quietly, standing back up. As soon as I did, I was in his arms, turned so that my chest was touching his, and his forehead was against mine.

“Then again,” he whispered, tugging on the end of my ponytail, “You’re always beautiful.”

I chuckled and kissed him quickly, “I know it might be a little vain, but I really like hearing you say that.”

He laughed too, lacing his fingers with mine but not moving away even an inch, “Oh yeah? Well how about this one…” There was a long pause as his smile fell but his eyes still bore into mine, sparkling. “I love you.”

My breath caught in my throat and didn’t immediately pick up again; I felt literally frozen. Just a block of ice standing stupidly in the middle of a bedroom, except for I wasn’t cold. Quite the contrary, every part of my was radiating with warmth. Warmth for him, and the future those three little words promised. I should have seen them coming--should have had some kind of game plan for their arrival--but I didn’t. “Alessandria,” he said after a moment, “Are you--is it too soon? I should have waited, right?” He shook his head at himself, and I began to panic; I didn’t want this to cause a riff between us. I didn’t want to scare him away.

“It’s not too soon,” I told him, smiling. “I think…I think I feel the same, but I don’t have much experience in this area. Can I just, maybe, have a little more time? To figure it out for sure, I mean.”

He laughed, like this was the silliest question in the world. He pulled me close to his chest and held me in a tight hug, “Of course. There’s absolutely no rush.”

“Thankyou,” I whispered. “But, in the meantime, I don’t mind you telling me, you know.”

“Telling you what?”

“That you love me,” I clarified.

“Oh,” he said into my hair, his fingers trailing a line down my back, “Don’t think you could stop me if you tried. I love you,” he said again, and I closed my eyes, wishing I could just melt into him. I felt so at home in his arms.

Erica

“I’m hopeless!” I proclaimed, throwing my head back and glaring up at the stars, “Goddammit! Where did you even learn how to do this?”

“From Nanette Himmelfarb, the Rabbi’s daughter, at the Scarsdale Jewish Community Center,” Gabe mumbled, rubbing his foot where I’d gracelessly stomped on it.

I blinked, “You really just said that, didn’t you?”

“Focus,” he told me, putting his foot back on the ground, and holding out his arms. I groaned and grumbled, but took a step forward no less, sliding one hand over his shoulder and clasping the other with his. After leaving the museum, we’d quickly found that we had nowhere to go. We weren’t quite ready to go back to the hotel, but we didn’t want to go somewhere and eat or drink, as we’d both (mainly me) already had our fill of that. That’s how we’d ended up in the little park a few blocks away and, after swinging for a little while, I’d confessed that I didn’t know how to dance formally. And Gabe had decided to teach me. Needless to say, it was going swell.

“Now, remember,” he said, holding my waist firmly, sending little waves of electricity through my body that I had been trying to ignore, “Count. 1, 2-3, 1, 2-3, 1, 2-3. Got it?” I nodded feebly, sure that, no, I didn’t have it, but I went with it anyway. He gave me a look and took one step forward with his right foot, and I took a step back with mine. “And 1, 2-3,” he counted aloud as we did the steps, and I said the numbers in my head as well. “1, 2-3, 1, 2-3 1, 2-3. Good, good,” he smiled as I successfully managed to do the steps along with him. “I’m going to spin you now, okay? It’s really easy; just let my arm lead you and then come back to the starting position. Keep your count, though, so you know where I am.”

“Wait, wha--” Before I had the chance to ask, his arm was already arching over my head, leading me into a controlled twirl. I tried to keep the mental count, but I lost it as I stepped back into him, and I stumbled a little. I felt him let out a loud, breathless grunt when my elbow collided harshly with his stomach, and he let go of me to sink down to the ground. “Oh my god!” I gasped, kneeling, “I’m sorry; are you okay?” He didn’t say anything, holding his gut, and I ran a hand through my hair, “I told you I couldn’t do this.”

He coughed and shook his head, “No, it’s fine.” His voice was raspy, but there was a hint of amusement to it. “It just surprised me. You just need to remember to tuck your elbow in until you’re ready to put your arm back on my shoulder, and keep your count; don’t get intimidated by it. Let’s go again.”

I put my hand on his shoulders, making him look at me, “Are you sure you’re okay?”

He didn’t say anything now. He just stared at me, brown eyes impossibly dark in the unnaturally bright moonlight, and his face was missing his usual smirk. Unconsciously, I licked my lips and felt my pulse quicken; was he going to kiss me again? God, I hoped so. I hoped he’d do it now, when I still had the champagne in my system and wouldn’t let nerves hold me back. Any other time, I’d be too timid, and I knew it.

As if reading my thoughts, he reached out and touched my face, “Erica, I really want to kiss you again.” I blushed, feeling my body tense and relax at the same time, ready and waiting. “But I’m not going to.”

“What?” I demanded, a little too quickly. “I mean…I mean, what?”

He laughed, standing back up and pulling me along with him. “You’ve been drinking, and it wouldn’t feel right.”

“I’m not drunk,” I defended.

“I know, but…” He shrugged, “You know, I’ve never even been tipsy any of the times we kissed? I really like that; two sober people kissing each other. Does that make sense?” It did, though my mouth couldn’t describe it. Two sober people kissing was a pure, unmuddled display of emotion for one another. There was no alcohol creating feelings and desires that weren’t there, or amplifying just the most basic of carnal needs. It was real, and it meant something.

I teetered a little on my feet, touched and overwhelmed by the sweetness and sincerity of his words, and swallowed despite the sandpaper roughness in my throat. “Okay,” I finally said, holding out my arms, “I’ve got the count down, I think; let’s try that fucking spin again.”

He smiled, “Of course. Oh, and Ric?” I looked up at him curiously, and he said, “You’re still going to be my date to the wedding tomorrow, right?”

I nodded, “Yeah, why?”

“Don’t drink too much at the reception.”

My heart almost exploded in my chest.