….
Regal glanced at his wrist watch: [8:55] PM.
The wedding vows at the stone chapel had finished nearly an hour ago.
But down the road, at the small family-owned Italian banquet hall Jordan had reserved for the night, the reception dinner was in full swing.
Rock took a smooth right turn onto a tree-lined avenue and pulled the SUV to the stop near a warmly lit brick building.
A hand-painted sign out front read:
–Luigi's Ristorante & Banquet Room–
Through the wide front windows, the soft yellow glow of string lights lit up red and white checkered tablecloths, plates piled high with spaghetti, and about seventy guests laughing over carafes of house red wine.
"I will stay with the car, Boss." Rock rumbled from the front seat, putting the Suburban into park. "Nobody followed us."
"Thanks, Rock."
Regal nodded and stepped out, turned around, and helped Gwendolyn down to the sidewalk.
Right behind them, the rear door opened, and two figures stepped out onto the pavement.
Ross Oakley adjusted the lapels of his tuxedo, inhaling deeply with approval. "Well, what do you know? It actually smells good instead of room spray and ego."
Stephen Hawking Sr. remarked, smoothing his cuffs as he stepped beside him. "Try not to frighten any ladies with your table manners."
"Watch yourself, Stephen." Ross scoffed. "I was charming roomfuls of women while you were still rehearsing your lines in a mirror."
Gwendolyn stifled a laugh, smoothing down her gown.
"Should we get it?"
Regal pushed the front door open, and a little brass bell jingled overhead.
The immediate aroma of roasted garlic, marinara sauce, and warm bakery bread hit them.
The room was loud with classic Italian swing music and the lively chatter of neighborhood families, local shopkeepers, and delivery drivers.
At first, nobody noticed them slip through the entryway.
Up at the modest head table near the back, Jordan sat wearing a plain, slightly stiff charcoal suit.
And beside him sat Martha, a warm, round-faced woman, dressed in an understated lace wedding dress, laughing happily as Jordan poured her a glass of cider.
A few feet away sat a circular table filled with older men in denim jackets and vests.
Jordan's longtime drinking buddies from the neighborhood bar.
Regal, Gwendolyn, Ross, and Stephen walked quietly down the side aisle toward the head table.
As they passed a table of cousins, a young man stopped cutting his chicken mid-slice.
He stared at Regal, then shifted his gaze to Gwendolyn before looking slightly higher, where his eyes settled first on the weathered, commanding face of Stephen Hawking Sr. and finally on the unmistakable, bearded features of Ross Oakley.
His fork slipped from his fingers and clattered loudly against his plate.
"Wait..." the young man whispered, his eyes bulging. "Is that...?"
His mother shushed him. "Don't stare, Anthony."
"Ma! Check them out! That's... that's the guy who made John Wick! And that's... Holy shit, that's Dumbledore!" A quiet ripple began spreading across the tables; heads started turning, conversations dropped off mid-sentence.
Over at the bar-buddies' table, a burly mechanic named Sal was in the middle of laughing, pointing a breadstick at Jordan–
"Come on, Jordan! You really expected us to buy that story? You said the Seraphsail kid was sitting in the front row! We saw the telecast at the bar before coming here! He just won Best Picture at the Golden Gobles!"
"I told you he was busy, you loudmouth."
Jordan grunted back, waving a dismissive hand, though a small flicker of disappointment touched the back of his eyes.
"Seems like despite your warning, Boss, I still managed to pick a suit that outshines the groom... my bad, I guess." a calm, familiar voice remarked from directly behind them.
?!Jordan froze.
The entire head table went completely silent, and Jordan slowly turned his head around.
Standing right beside his chair was Regal Seraphsail, and beside him stood Gwendolyn, looking utterly elegant and offering a warm smile.
"Kid...?" Jordan stammered, grabbing the edge of the table as he pushed himself to his feet. "What... how the hell are you here? You were on a stage forty minutes ago!"
"Didn't I already give you my word that I would be here?" Regal said softly, stepping forward and wrapping his old boss in a firm embrace. "And I don't break promises."
Jordan stood frozen for a second before his hands clamped down hard on Regal's back, giving him two emotional thumps. When Jordan pulled away, his eyes were visibly watery, though he immediately cleared his throat and rubbed his nose to cover it up.
"Walking out on the biggest party in Hollywood just to show up at a pasta joint in Glendale?" Jordan muttered, his voice thick with emotion.
"I like the pasta here better." Regal replied dryly. He gave a small grin and stepped slightly to the side–
"Besides, I brought a couple of wedding crashers who were desperate for an excuse to escape the Beverly Hilton too."
Jordan blinked, turning his head toward the space behind Regal; and the breath completely evaporated from his lungs.
Standing right there, smiling down at him was Stephen Hawking Sr.
"Good evening, Jordan." Stephen greeted him, his voice carrying that cultured, unmistakable resonance that had dominated the silver screen for four decades. "It's good to see you again. I believe it's been a while since you served me instant noodles in your store?"
Jordan's knees nearly buckled.
The hardened convenience store manager, who had dealt with late-night drunks and shoplifters without blinking an eye, stood completely paralyzed.
"M-Mr. Hawking...?" Jordan croaked, his voice cracking like a schoolboy's.
"I am ashamed to have arrived empty-handed at an uninvited event, but when Regal informed me that you were getting married tonight, I couldn't resist stopping by to offer my congratulations in person." Stephen said warmly, extending his hand. "You look very sharp."
Before Jordan could even recover enough brain function to shake Stephen's hand, another imposing figure stepped forward.
Ross looked Jordan dead in the eye and extended a large, ringed hand. "Ross Oakley. Congratulations on the nuptials, Mr. Groom. You picked a marvelous evening to escape that dreadful awards circus."
The entire dining room had stopped breathing.
Sal, Frank, and the rest of the bar buddies were sitting with their mouths hanging wide open, breadsticks frozen halfway to their faces. Sal's beer mug was tilted so far that foam was dripping down his knuckle, completely unnoticed.
Jordan slowly turned his head toward the bar table, his gaze moving from Sal to Frank.
Then, Jordan puffed out his chest, pointed a shaking but thoroughly triumphant finger directly at them, and roared at the top of his lungs:
"WELL?!" Jordan barked. "WHAT DID I TELL YOU, YOU LOUDMOUTH GOATS?! WHO'S MAKING UP STORIES NOW?!"
The entire restaurant erupted into a thunderous roar of laughter and cheers.
Sal scrambled to swallow his mouthful of beer, turning bright red as he raised his hands in utter defeat. "I surrender! I surrender, Jordan! Holy mother of God... that's Dumbledore... and Stephen Hawking Sr!"
….
The missing piece is an introduction of Martha to Gwendolyn, since Jordan introduces Martha to Regal, Stephen, and Ross, but Gwendolyn is also sitting at the table.
The banquet staff immediately went into a state of frantic, excited overdrive.
The manager and three line cooks practically sprinted across the floor, dragging four wooden chairs to the head table, nearly tripping over each other as they set down extra silverware, linen napkins, four steaming platters of fettuccine Alfredo, warm bread, and two vintage carafes of Chianti.
Regal sat beside Jordan, while Gwendolyn took the seat next to Martha, leaving Stephen Hawking Sr. and Ross Oakley to settle comfortably into the seats opposite them, looking entirely at home.
"Jordan, this is Gwendolyn." Regal introduced, smiling warmly. "Gwen, this is Jordan, my old boss."
"It's wonderful to finally meet you, Jordan." Gwendolyn said, extending her hand. "Regal talks about you all the time."
"Don't believe a word he says, ma'am." Jordan scoffed playfully, though his chest was practically bursting with pride. "He was the worst midnight stocker I ever hired. Constantly scribbling movie scenes on the backs of cardboard boxes."
Regal let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head.
Gwendolyn smiled, clearly amused by the story, while Martha gave Jordan an affectionate look that suggested she had heard plenty of similar stories before.
Jordan caught her expression and chuckled under his breath.
"Actually, before I keep embarrassing the kid..." He turned toward Martha and gently pulled his bride closer, his grin widening. "Regal, Mr. Hawking, Mr. Oakley... this is Martha. The only woman crazy enough to put up with me."
"Congratulations, Martha." Regal smiled, shaking her hand warmly.
"Thank you, Regal." Martha beamed, her eyes sparkling with tears of joy–
"And thank you, gentlemen, for honoring us like this. Jordan has been pacing by the front door all week wondering if Regal would make it. He pretended he didn't care, but he was checking his watch every five minutes tonight."
"I was not!" Jordan barked defensively, his neck turning crimson, sending Stephen Sr. and Ross into hearty chuckles.
"Pay him no mind, my dear." Ross Oakley chuckled, buttering a piece of bread with gusto. "Men of our generation are notoriously terrible at admitting when our hearts are touched. Now, please tell me these meatballs are homemade."
"Handmade this morning, Mr. Oakley." Martha replied warmly.
Ross nodded, taking a bite and closing his eyes in bliss. "Infinitely superb."
Regal raised an eyebrow, glancing at Jordan. "Keeping that 'superb' comment in mind, are you sure you're talking about the meatballs? Or are you talking about yourself when you say men can't admit when their hearts are touched?"
It was honestly the first time Regal had ever seen this side of Ross.
He couldn't help staring for a moment, almost caught off guard by how openly warm and playful the usually grumpy man could be.
"Shut up."
….
For the next hour, they enjoyed their peaceful time.
Stephen Hawking Sr. chatted with Jordan about how much East Hollywood had changed over the decades, reminiscing about classic movie theaters that used to line Western Avenue.
Ross Oakley happily debated the mechanics at the next table about transmission repair, proving surprisingly knowledgeable about old American muscle cars.
Regal sat beside Jordan, eating bread, listening to stories about how Jordan had accidentally set off the bakery's smoke alarms while trying to help Martha bake sourdough, and laughing like he hadn't laughed in months.
Before they cut the cake, Regal stood up and tapped his fork against the side of his water glass.
The dining room went completely quiet as all seventy guests turned to look at him. Stephen and Ross set down their wine glasses, watching the young director with quiet respect.
"I won't take up much of your time." Regal said, holding his wine glass up, his voice carrying clearly across the room–
"A lot of people think success in this town is about luck, talent, or ambition. But the truth is, nobody gets anywhere alone. Five years ago, I was an ignorant dropout kid with no money, connections, and a head full of impossible dreams.
"Jordan gave me a job when nobody else would, let me eat day-old hot dogs when my bank account was empty, and even paid my rent out of his own pocket when I was one day away from being kicked out onto the street."
Jordan looked down at his napkin, his jaw trembling slightly.
"He used to tell me every night that marriage was a trap, and love was just a clever trick to get your pension." Regal said with a wide grin, drawing a huge roar of laughter from the family tables. "But looking at him tonight, standing there with Martha, I think he finally figured out what life is actually about..."
"To Jordan and Martha. May you have a long, loud, and happy life together."
"Hear, hear!" Ross Oakley boomed, standing and raising his glass high.
"To Jordan and Martha!" Stephen Hawking Sr. added with a warm smile, raising his glass alongside Gwendolyn.
.
….
[To be continued…]
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