Chapter Twelve
Jax
Marty told me there wasn’t any live music necessary for the actual ceremony, so on the day of the wedding, I ducked out of work early and headed straight to the reception hall. I figured I could tune my guitar and get a sense of the space.
The guys were wondering why I was heading out early, so I rattled off something about meeting with a client before I told Jake to lock up. The venue for the reception was massive. It could’ve easily fit 400 people, and I started to wonder how big this wedding was actually going to be. For two hours’ worth of music, $4,000 is steep, so I made sure to pace out my set just to make sure I could fill the time allotted.
Then, I just waited.
One by one, people started trickling in. I was definitely excited about seeing Marty again; she was the maid of honor, so I knew she’d be announced into the room a bit later, and that’s when I realized there was no D.J. to call out the introductions.
“I was told to give this to you,” a random woman said. She handed me a card with a few names on it, and there was a note scrawled on the back in handwriting I recognized instantly.
Jax. I’m so sorry to spring this on you. Announcing our names is easy. The bridesmaids will go first, just announce them in order. Same with the groomsmen, from top to bottom. Then the bride and groom. -Em
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t suddenly a little nervous; I sure as hell didn’t want to botch the wedding party’s names as they came in. But, one by one, I saw the bridesmaids line up in the hallway, and the chattering in the reception hall had grown to a dull roar.
“Fuck…it’s now or never,” I breathed to myself before clearing my throat.
“Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention, please. It’s time to introduce the wedding party! Give a warm welcome to the first bridesmaid, Alyssa Stockhart!”
A young woman came out dancing, and I soon began to rattle off the names of the rest of the party. Clara McCloud came next, Rebecca Jones was third, and then the name I’d been waiting to utter all night appeared on the list.
“And last, but most certainly not least, the maid of honor, Marty Leoni!”
She twirled down the little entryway and into the middle of the floor and my heart leapt from my chest. The skirt of her bright red, strapless dress fluttered out with every spin her body made, and the smile that spread across her face made my heart physically ache with happiness. She looked fucking amazing, and I had a hard time concentrating on the groomsmen’s names because I kept wanting to dart my eyes back to her.
And then, I saw her sit down at a table next to a man who she leaned in very closely to. He put his arm around her and smiled broadly, and I felt my jaw clench when I watched his hand descend on top of her knee. After seeing the smug smile plastered on his face, and I knew right then and there that he was a fucking snake.
I felt a surge of protection ricochet in my gut, and every single part of me wanted to jump from that stage and rip Marty away from the prick so everyone in this damn hall knew exactly who she belonged to.
But, I had a job to do, so I started strumming the chords of my first song of the night and paid no attention to the happy family members dancing on the floor.
After everything that had happened between us over the last few days—after the dates and the kiss, and even what I shared with her about my mother—she had the audacity to ask me to play for a reception she was bringing some other dude to.
Maybe the city had changed Marty.
Maybe she wasn’t the Marty I’d fallen in love with in high school.
I continued on with my set and glanced over at Marty and that pompous piece of shit from time to time, and I couldn't help but notice that they weren’t dancing. He never asked her to dance, and she never offered. They simply sat and talked, and every once in a while, they would turn their attention towards me. Once, I caught Marty pointing at me while the man nodded his head, but I had to stop paying attention to them because I was starting to lose track of my place.
An hour into my set, my fingers were beginning to throb and my throat was getting sore, and right then, I noticed Marty move out of the corner of my eye. I darted my eyes over and watched both her and the douchebag stand up, and they both shook hands before he buttoned his coat. He looked straight at me and shoved his hands into his pockets, and Marty started making her way back to the sound booth with her phone in her hand. Thank god, this thing was almost over, and I’d have $4,000 more in the bank.
Which meant I’d be able to pay off mom’s last oncologist bill much sooner than I’d planned.
My eyes followed the movement of Marty’s body, and I watched her fiddle with some cords before she looked at me and smiled brightly. When she whirled her finger in the air, I cadenced out of my song and stood up. People from the dance floor clapped and cheered, and Marty motioned for me to take a bow before I got off stage. I nodded my head, blew a kiss to the newly-wedded bride, and slung my guitar over my shoulder before I got off the stage and weaved my way towards Marty.
But on the way, the dick with his hands jammed into his pockets reached out and grabbed my forearm.
“You have an extraordinary talent, young man,” he smiled.
“Uh, thanks, man.”
“Jax,” Marty panted, “this is Jerry Bolderman.”
I froze as I recognized the name instantly from reading Rolling Stone. The most famous music producer in New York City at the time, who could literally take no-talent hack-jobs and turn them into the biggest worldwide sensations, was grabbing my arm.
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Bolderman,” I said before I wrenched my arm from his grasp and offered him my hand. He shook it with a strong grip, meeting my eyes and nodding his head, and when I looked over at Marty, he dropped my hand and slipped his arm around her waist.
And it made my blood fucking boil.
“Enough, Jerry,” Marty scolded before she slid over towards me.
“Can’t fault a guy for trying, huh, Jax?” he asked.
“I can,” I replied.
“Jax, Jerry enjoyed your set,” Marty interrupted.
“You have a look women would drop their panties for. You’re in shape, you’ve got tattoos, and you sing with the vulnerability of a wounded animal.”
“Thanks…” I trailed off.
“But when you went to sing, I was reminded of why Marty has the reputation she has,” Jerry said. “I met her last year at a meeting she arranged with me. We had our first awkward encounter there—”
“He thought I was a woman he had requested,” Marty interjected.
I couldn’t help but smirk a bit at how that scenario must’ve played out.
“But once Marty put me in my place, she brought me Lacy Jay.”
“You discovered Lacy Jay?” I asked as I quickly panned my gaze over to her. Lacy Jay was the hottest indie artist back then, and she’d already booked her first national tour after dropping only one album.
“It’s what solidified Marty’s name in the music production world,” Jerry added. “She called me up late Friday night and told me about some hot new act I needed to see, but she said the only way I’d get to see him was if I came to this wedding reception.”
“And…?” Marty prodded.
“And I’d love to talk with you about cutting a few tracks to see how you’d do in the market,” Jerry smiled.
I felt Marty squeeze my arm in delight, but my mind was whirling too much to process her touch. The most prominent music producer on the East Coast wanted me to record under his label.
I started thinking about what this could possibly mean: I might be able to stop pulling nineteen-hour days between the garage and the club. I could do something I actually enjoyed on the side to save up for my mom’s treatments. I could use the reputation and exposure to promote the garage for the guys and pay them even more for what they do.
This could change everything for me, and it was all thanks to Marty.
“Sounds like a great idea,” I smiled.
“Perfect!” Marty squealed, clapping her hands. “Why don’t you go sit down with him, Jax? I need to go check on Marianne.”
Jerry and I headed over to a small table in the corner and hammered out the details of how this would work. I’d fly to the city next week with some of the songs I’d written, I’d demo them live for Jerry and a few other people he kept on his payroll, and they would choose three of the songs to revise as necessary and record. All in all, he said it would’ve only been a two-day affair, and that I wouldn’t get much sleep. Then, it was all a matter of releasing the tracks to various radio stations to see if I could garner any fans. If I could, we’d sell those three tracks as a preview for a full album, and if I couldn’t, no harm no foul.
“I have a good feeling we can make something of you,” Jerry said sincerely before he stood up. “I’ll get Marty the details for your journey and she can forward you the information. Your plane ticket will be waiting at the airport kiosk, so you won’t have to print anything out.”
“Thank you so much for this opportunity, Mr. Bolderman,” I said.
“For god’s sake, call me Jerry.”
I shook his hand before I watched him turn and walk out of the reception hall, and that’s when Marty came rushing over and quickly slipped her hand into mine.
“So, how did it go? Are you going to New York? Are you recording? When are you going to be there? I could see if I could—”
I cupped my hand behind her head and stopped her rambling by pulling her in for a kiss. I had no idea how I’d show her just how grateful I was, but in that moment, the only thing I wanted to do was taste the lips of the most beautiful woman in the reception hall that night. I felt her body meld into mine before she slipped her arms around my waist, and when I finally released her lips and nuzzled my nose against hers, I watched her eyes lazily flutter open.
“Dance with me,” I murmured.
And I wrapped my arms around her in that dark corner and slowly pulled her body close to mine.