“What about Vicky?” Allison looked at Sally in earnest and the room hung with sudden heaviness.
“Don’t worry sweetie, Vicky’s been taken care of,” said Sally.
“What does that mean?” said Allison.
“The management was able to keep her restrained until the police got here,” Sally said reluctantly.
“The police? You mean the police were here?”
“Don’t worry, they didn’t have their sirens on or anything. You didn’t know they were here and neither did anyone else.”
Allison buried her head in her hands. She had such fond feelings for Vicky. Vicky was her first real friend after she moved back to Lamasco. She was her true friend. Allison was always the first to defend Vicky when everyone else put her down. But now as she sat there with her head in her hands, taking in the events of the day, the only thing she could feel toward Vicky was hatred. Vicky knew good and well that she and Frank never deceived her. It was Vicky who chose to break up with Frank and leave Camelot. She was the one who left and cut herself off from everyone, and it wasn’t until six months later that she and Frank got together. So how could she stand up there and make herself out to be the poor pitiful victim? How could she willfully and contemptuously humiliate them like that? The fact that she was drunk and might regret the whole thing tomorrow was no excuse. But then that was always Vicky’s excuse. The more she thought about it the more she burned inside with a sensation like a flame, flickering up from her solar plexus straight through her esophagus and stopping at a deep smoldering knot in her throat, then burning back down again. She hated Vicky.
“Listen honey,” her mother said, gently removing Allison’s hands from her face then turning her chin toward her so she could look her in the eye. “Forget about what happened out there. Remember what this day is really all about. Remember what happened at the church. You married the man you love. You’re married now.”
“That’s right. Reverend Whitman told us last night not to worry about anything that might go wrong today. He said that all we needed was the bride and groom, two witnesses, and someone to preside and we’d still married, no matter what else went wrong,” said Allison.
“Reverend Whitman is right. It’s not really about today, sweetheart. It’s about what happens after today. I wish somehow your father and I had managed to remember that.” Allison’s mother gave a quick look around at the other women and they stepped away; all except Paula, whose hand her mother grabbed as she began to walk away, beckoning her back, inviting her in on the conversation.
“Listen up girls,” she continued. “Marriage is not one long smooth road. Paula, you’ve been married a few years. You’re learning.” Paula nodded.
“Mom, I know that. I’m not sixteen anymore. But what does that have to do with anything?” Allison said.
“Just hear me out. There are plenty of bumps along the way in married life, lots of hardships, and you’ve got to work them out together. If you don’t you’ll end up like your Dad and me, and believe me you don’t want to go through a divorce if you don’t have to. So what I’m trying to say is you start today. You smooth this little bump in the road out together. Work it out together. Go to Frank. Somehow you’ve got to have a little time alone together to talk about this and get it all worked out before you leave. Don’t leave here tonight with this still weighing on you. Work it all out. Then you can leave here today happy.”
Allison looked through her tears into her mother’s eyes, which also brimmed with tears. She saw all the pain and all the truth there and she loved her mother at that moment, despite all the conflict they’d ever had, she loved her as she’d never loved her before. She embraced her. Soon her sister Paula fell into the embrace also and together the three of them lingered for a time with their arms around each other.
It was all arranged, Frank and Allison would meet back in the coat check room so no one would see them and have a private meeting to talk about what happened. They had to go through the foyer to get to the coat check room, but it was all right, they almost had the mess cleaned up by then. Frank and Allison watched as some of the clean up crew, consisting of the club management and wait staff, as well as a few of the heartier bridal party members, attempted to get the tree back into its stand. Then they all set about trimming what was left of the ornaments and tinsel. They shooed the bride and groom away before they had a chance to offer help. So off Frank and Allison went, hand in hand to the coat check room like two children who’d been reprimanded for being in the way.
For once Allison didn’t mind being in a small claustrophobic space. It felt like the only safe place to be right now. They went back toward the corner, back into the small space as far as they could without actually being in the coats. Allison touched the long sleeve of a beautiful brown mink full length coat. She didn’t know why exactly. She wasn’t one to handle something that belonged to somebody else without their permission. She ran the soft fur against her cheek. It smelled like expensive French perfume and somehow it made all her cares evaporate for a moment.
“Do you want me to get you one like that?” Frank said, shaking Allison out of her reverie.
“What? I don’t know. Someday maybe.”
“I don’t know why I asked that. It was kind of a stupid thing to say at a time like this. Guess I’m just avoiding the real heart of the matter here.”
“And I don’t know why I’m standing here fondling another woman’s coat. Same reason I guess.” At that moment they embraced each other fast and hard. “I will not cry again. I will not cry again.” Allison’s words came out muffled as she spoke them into his chest.
“I’m sorry, Allison. I’m so sorry.”
“I don’t know why you should be apologizing. It’s not your fault.” Even as Allison spoke these words she understood full well why he apologized; and if she lingered on that thought too long it might ignite that flame of anger again. It wasn’t logical for him to shoulder any of the blame, yet somehow part of the responsibility did fall to him. She understood why he and Vicky became lovers, even encouraged it. The love affair occurred before, while she and Kent were still together. So why was she suddenly jealous?
“Just tell me you don’t love her anymore.”
“I can’t believe you’re even asking that. Good God, Allison it’s our wedding day! I took vows with you, not her. “
“I know, but sometimes I can’t help think you were just on the rebound from her when we got together. It was so soon afterward. It’s only been a year since the two of you broke up. Now here you are married. Don’t you think that’s soon? Are you sure I wasn’t just some handy way of getting over her?”
“That’s not true,” Frank said with that firm set jaw and serious expression that signaled anger.
“Please don’t get mad, Frank. We can’t fight on the first day of our marriage. I just have to ask you one more question. Promise you won’t get mad. I just have to know and then I’ll drop the whole thing completely. I’ll never bring it up again. I promise.”
“Shoot.”
“Did you really love her, or were you just using her?” Allison regretted asking it as soon as the words left her mouth. It was a no win question. If he said he really did love her then she would always wonder if something still remained. If he said he was just using her then she could never really respect or trust him. “I’m sorry it was a stupid question. You don’t have to answer it. Forget I ever asked it.”
“I thought I already answered that question back when we first started. I thought we resolved this one. But just to recap I’ll answer it again.”
“You don’t have to,” Allison said.
“Look, I’m not afraid to answer the question. I was infatuated with her. I thought I was in love with her. I realize now it wasn’t really love.
“So what about you and Kent?” Frank said. “I could ask the same thing about you. You were with him a lot longer than I was with Vicky. Were you on the rebound from him?”
“You kno
w the answer to that. You know I was over him ages before we actually broke up. I was just too chicken to end it. I’m sorry. Now I’m the one apologizing. There I go, making a mountain out of a mole hill again. This is so asinine. I can’t believe we’re having this conversation on our wedding day. Are we a couple of idiots or what?” With that one comment, Allison had successfully turned the tide of their dialogue. They now stood there in this small room against the backdrop of all these coats which smelled like the cold outdoors of winter, both of them conscious of their frailties and the frailties of the other. The relief of finally standing so honest before one another with no pretenses left caused them both to drop their tensed up shoulders and exhale a great mutual sigh of amusement which turned into laughter as they stood there and shook their head at themselves and one another.
“Hey, speaking of Kent, he’s in there right now. He’s waiting for us to come back so he can propose a toast,” said Frank.
“Very funny! You are kidding, right?”
“God, I hope so.” And together they laughed, embraced and kissed one another.
“I’m sorry,” said Frank.
“I’m sorry, too.”
“So I guess we’ve had our first fight,” said Frank holding her tight.
“We weren’t fighting. We were processing.”
“Right. Processing.”
Just then Sally stuck her head around the corner. Her face looked comical and alarmed and it startled the couple then made them laugh.
“Are you two about ready?” Sally said. “They’ve been holding dinner for you. If we don’t eat soon we’re going to have some really drunk people on our hands.”
“Oh, no, we don’t need anymore of that,” said Frank.
“Shall I tell them you’re coming?” asked Sally.
“Well, what do you think?” said Frank turning to Allison. “Are we ready to go out there and brave the crowd?”
“I’m ready…except,” said Allison staring down at her feet which she was aware felt a little too snug, warm, and comfortable. There were her white cotton footies peaking out from under her gown. “Where are my shoes? I took them off in the receiving line. Sally, do you know where my shoes are?”
“I have no idea. Don’t worry, we’ll look for them later. C’mon guys, hurry up!”
“All right then, let’s go,” Allison said slipping her hand into Frank’s. Sally scurried off ahead of them to throw open the double doors which had been closed since the incident occurred.
“Oh, my God,” said Allison as they stepped out into the foyer. “It’s Charlie Brown’s Christmas tree.” They both laughed at the sight of the skinny evergreen which now looked even skinnier and seemed to have shrunk in stature. It was much more sparse and bare since most of the ornaments were either damaged or broken. It looked as if it had been decorated haphazardly, by a child perhaps who lost interest halfway through the project. Oddly, however, the tree was no longer crooked in the stand but now stood erect in all its awkward starkness.
Sally, Tim, and Frank’s brother Tony stood right at the entrance of the reception hall. “All right, let’s try this again,” said Tony into the microphone. “Presenting Mr. and Mrs. Frank Hamilton.”
All the guests were standing at their chairs ready to be seated for dinner. Everyone applauded vigorously, with all their hearts, as if they were welcoming back refugees or perhaps heroes returning home from a war. What a difference from the first time they entered the room and were presented as man and wife. The battle weary bride and groom looked at one another. “Déjà vu,” Allison said and they kissed.
The remainder of the reception was indeed a blinding blur, but happily, one without further incident. Frank whispered dance instructions to Allison during their first dance as husband and wife. “One-two-three, one-two-three. All right Al, long strides back.” All the guests were awed by their dancing abilities.
Allison’s shoes were never found. It snowed later that evening, just a little, just flurries, just enough to wash away what had been and restore lost faith.
2006
Chapter 31
November 2006
Vicky
The November wind sent brown leaves skidding across grey concrete, scraping as they went. Vicky’s ear was close enough to the ground to hear the scraping noise. The sky above was the same light grey color as the concrete below, or at least it had been until just now when Vicky became aware of the light around her growing dimmer. She turned her head slightly, trying to look up at the sky but her neck hurt so she only got as far as the back of the bus stop bench where she lay. She was face to face with Carrie Cameron and Joe Duff from the WIKY Carrie and Joe morning show, whose pictures alongside the radio call letters, were plastered all in red and black on the back of the corner bench. Carrie was smiling big, and a juvenile urge to black out one of her teeth with a marker overtook Vicky as she cackled and muttered, “Then she’d look like me.”
She was aware of what was going on today and these clear moments were her worst. “Fool, fuck-up, failure,” she muttered aloud to herself. The one good thing about being a drunk was that she had lost all self-consciousness. She could lie on a park bench in the middle of downtown Lamasco with matted hair and dirty smelly old clothes as she talked to herself and not care what other people thought. It was freeing in a way, to have lost her pride. There were moments when she was aware, truly aware of someone’s eyes on her. She’d turn to meet the eyes of the passerby but a glance was all she ever got. Just a glance, just long enough to see the disdain, or fear, the discomfort, or pity; but then the stranger on the street would turn quickly and awkwardly away again, lest the gaze be held any longer. The only thing she cared about in those moments was evoking enough pity to get a handout.
The diminishing light made her wonder what time it was. The only way she had of knowing came from the clock on the old courthouse. She forgot to count how many times it chimed on the hour when last it chimed. She felt a raindrop hit her hand, then another hit a wisp of hair on the side of her head very near her ear. It rolled down her face. “Tears from my ears,” she said. Then another raindrop, then another; Vicky watched them hit the concrete one after another through the break between the back of the bus stop bench and its seat, until they were falling in rapid succession, dampening the brown leaves on the ground. The wind blew again but this time the leaves were too wet to blow away and instead clung stubbornly to the sidewalk. Vicky shivered. She pulled the soggy sweater she was wearing tighter.
Vicky remembered that cold November day when her grandmother died. She clutched the only thing she had left of her grandmother, the key to her hope chest on the chain around her neck. Thoughts of her grandma still made Vicky cry. Her tears fell sideways across the bridge of her nose and down her temples, mixing with the rain as she lay there on that bus stop bench in the fetal position. Perhaps today was even the anniversary of her grandma’s death, she couldn’t be for certain, but at any rate it was close. And Vicky wondered, what of all those who had nothing to live for during the upcoming Christmas holidays and nothing to come back to life for in the spring? What of all those countless number? Now she knew how they felt because she was one of them. “Another winter ahead. Lord have mercy on my soul,” she said to the unresponsive and still smiling gigantic face of Carrie Cameron.
The bells in the old courthouse began to chime. One-two-three-four-five. Five o’clock. A few people filing out of office buildings at the stroke of five passed by the bench like specters. It was time to sit up and try to beg some money. She had resorted to a cardboard sign lately which read, “Homeless. Please help. God bless you.” One of the transients at the center who’d spent a good deal of time in Chicago said you did better if you employed a sense of humor. He had a sign that said, “Why lie? I need a beer.” He soon found out that that kind of sense of humor worked better in the big cities than here in Lamasco, where people tended not to appreciate it.
One by one the people emerged from the buildings and passed by her benc
h. She looked at her cardboard sign under the bench. She wondered if she’d written her message with a permanent marker. She didn’t know for sure. If not the letters were likely to run in the rain. Oh, well, it didn’t matter anyhow, she thought as she held her sign up and didn’t even bother to check if the rain was causing her letters to run.
People walked past her, going out of their way not to look. She had heard it tell somewhere, who knows where, perhaps her grandma, that when people go out of their way to ignore you, they really ain’t ignoring you at all. Who cares, she thought, if one, just one poor sucker would only look on her with pity and give her some money.
Some people with umbrellas came and stood around the bus stop bench. She could tell they wanted to sit down. She scooted over but nobody wanted to sit next to her. The bench was wet by now, giving the waiting people even less incentive to sit down. But still they were perturbed, as if somehow her presence there was a reminder of all the things that went wrong in their lives that day. It was so like Lamasco folks to hold her in silent contempt rather than to say anything to her about hogging the bench. It was just their way, and the way of most Midwesterners to seethe inside instead of openly confronting the matter. Oh, well, this was her bench, so screw them! “Screw them all!” she muttered out loud, just loud enough that someone might hear her, but not too loud so they would definitely hear her.
And then it hit her. All at once a realization descended upon her in a moment of clarity stronger than anything she’d felt in a long time, and she saw the foolishness of it all. Why was she doing this? Here she was begging for just enough money to get some booze and maybe a bite of food. It wasn’t so much the degradation of it all (although it was that too) as it was the futility. She needed booze to survive as much if not more than she needed a morsel of food. So what if she got enough money to get these things? She’d just have to go back out again tomorrow and do the same. And for what? It didn’t matter anymore. It was getting too hard, just too hard to scrounge up enough money to survive from day to day. She didn’t have the energy to do it anymore.
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