The groom approached me, smiling and enthusiastic. "Hi, where are you from?" he said.

I looked up and drew

a blank, swallowing my tequila. "Uh, Tennessee." "So am I! Well, back home anyway. Not here in Mexico.
You here on vacation or business?" "Just here to take pictures." The groom threw his arm around my
shoulders. "Yeeeah," his voice was drawn out. "I'm just here to marry Bridget." He caught himself, processing
what he just said, frowned, and pushed my shoulder roughly. "Ah, Bridget, that's Elise. She's my better half.
Didn't I just say that? What's your name again?" I looked at my little black book, hoping he would take the hint
and stop talking. "Carly. Carly Moreland." "Carly Moreland! I love it, Carly. Reminds me of this charming
chica, Carly Morello. Cute gal; teach her about the camera and all sorts of things." I looked at him, confused.
"What camera?" He grinned broadly and grabbed my shoulder, squeezing. "You know, the camera I used to
take those pictures of you. Of course! I remember! Now all I have to do is find her and show her some of my
photographs. Some of my great pictures, I tell you. Finally got around to giving them some credit." He took his
arm from around my shoulders and waved over at a pretty young woman in a strapless red dress. "Hey, sweetie!
Over here!" She had long curly blonde hair and was pretty with lipstick, rouge, and eye shadow. We all
watched, waiting to see what she'd do. "Oh, that's just one of my bridesmaid's dresses." The bride-to-be looked
me up and down, balling her hands. "Bridesmaid dress? Gib!" She looked at the groom. "Gibby? That's not
very flattering." "Ah," the groom caught himself, "It's not my fault, it's probably that babe's fault. I'm sorry,
babe." The bride who was about two inches taller than the groom, looked at me with a critical eye, sizing up my
dress and shoes and my long brown hair and light green eyes. "It's fine, Carly." The groom looked at her and
over at me. "Oh, good. I'm glad.