“A house and a wife?” he said. “Okay, I’ll play along--tell me about my new house and my new wife.”
“The house I’m not sure about yet,” Vickie said, “but your new wife’s name is Mary-Jo and I can tell you right now, she’s a knockout--a for-real Pam Anderson.”
“Heh-heh-heh-heh-heh. And I suppose this beautiful woman is going to walk in here any minute and propose to me.”
“See for yourself,” Vickie said. “That’s her right there, coming through the door.”
Chapter 17
Mary-Jo’s fast fresh appearance triggered an eerie silence across the barroom as every male eye fell under the hypnotic dazzle of her abundant sensuality. She slid into the booth opposite Dalk and Vickie and for a moment it seemed as though one could hear the slamming of the doors of hope in a couple of dozen boozed-up cops’ hearts as they realized she was taken.
As there was no protocol for the first meeting among equals insofar as arranged marriages were concerned, nobody said anything for what seemed an eternity. Vickie sat twirling a mini-braid through her fingers. Dalk sat dumbly, like a deer caught in the headlights of Mary-Jo’s beauty. Mary-Jo, the trained salesperson of the three, and probably used to difficult psychic encounters where a lot was at stake, took a deep breath and entered the water first.
“I’m going to openly speak my mind,” she said. “And I hope what I have to say doesn’t put up any boundaries between us. First of all, Dalk, hello. My name is Mary-Jo. I’ve been thinking about our first meeting all afternoon, wondering what you’d be like, and what I’d say, and what you’d say to what I’d say, and I went through a lot of anxiety. I wondered if I’d come off looking foolish because we wouldn’t be on the same wavelength or whatever.”
“Excuse me,” Vickie said. “But did you find a house?”
Mary-Jo’s face brightened. “I got you a fabulous Tudor-style on Hill Street, a few blocks from the beach,” she said. “We chartered a helicopter and courier'd all the documents for the necessary signatures, and I even bribed a friend of mine at the County who recorded the transaction for us an hour ago. A friend of mine from the Design Center is over there now, setting the place up. By tomorrow morning, the house will be completely furnished and stocked with every imaginable amenity. As we speak, the moving company is packing up everything at your old place and getting ready to transfer Dalk’s personal belongings to the Hill Street property.”
“What?” Dalk said. “You bought me a house? I’m moving to Santa Monica?”
Mary-Jo nodded, and pulled out a handful of pictures of the house and a key ring holding a dozen keys. “The house is yours,” she said, sliding the keys over to Dalk. “We can go over and see it tonight if you like.”
Vickie flipped quickly through the pictures. “Check it out,” she said to Dalk.
Dalk flipped through the pictures. “This is my new house?” he said.
“For life,” Vickie said. “There’s even a trust account to pay all the taxes, insurance and any upkeep you’ll need done. Since you have no taste, I even had Mary-Jo furnish it for you.”
Dalk hugged Vickie gently, the tears streaming from his eyes. “I’m completely stunned,” he said.
“It’s about time you were stunned by something,” Vickie said.
“If I’m not careful,” he said, “this may turn out to be the greatest day of my sorry life.”
“Mary-Jo, I need your help,” Vickie said.
“Anything,” Mary-Jo said.
“I’m getting married tonight at midnight,” Vickie said. “My fiancé’s going in for a bypass in the morning. It’ll be our last chance to tie the knot for awhile. Dalk’s filling in as best man, but I’d consider it a huge favor if you’d be my maid of honor.”
“Oh my gosh, of course I will,” she said.
“Thank you,” Vickie said. “Help me out of the booth,” she said to Dalk. “I’m going to the powder room. When I get back, we’ve got to clear out of here and make tracks for the wedding site.”
Mary-Jo looked at Dalk. “Blast,” she said. “I had this all planned, but when I walked in and saw you sitting there, the whole thing flew right out of my mind.”
“Don’t feel bad,” Dalk said. “At least you had some time to think about my sister’s crazy idea. I learned of your existence about five minutes ago. Vickie made the announcement about you, and the next thing I knew, you were coming through the door. I feel a little embarrassed. Hey, look--I know I’m out of your league--we can drop the whole thing after the wedding if you want to.”
“How did you feel when you saw me walk in?” she said. “Disappointed?”
“I’ll give it to you straight,” Dalk said. “When I first saw you, my mouth dried up completely. I felt like a schoolkid who discovers he has a crush on his homeroom teacher.”
“But you said you felt embarrassed. Why?”
“I hate to admit this,” Dalk said, “but before you walked in, I was making fun of Vickie’s announcement that she’d found me a wife. I was mocking her. I asked her if a beautiful woman was going to walk in and propose to me--I was teasing her about it, but suddenly there you were and it hit me hard. I had the crazy thought that my jest was about to come true, that you were going to walk up and ask me to marry you, and I was going to say yes.”
“You mean, you wouldn’t have minded having me, a total stranger, walk right up to you and propose?”
“It does sound crazy, and not a little sexist,” Dalk said, “but when I saw you, I had this hope come over me that somehow my sister had really and truly found me a wife.”
Mary-Jo smiled.
“Ohhh,” Dalk said. “Your smile is unbelievable--it moved my insides around.”
“I had a moment of doubt outside the door,” Mary-Jo said. “You know, the feeling that when it came right down to it, was this going to turn into another pickup in a bar? At that point, I almost didn’t come in.”
“What kept you going?” Dalk said.
“I figured where was the harm?” Mary-Jo said. “But when I saw you, I, too, was moved--excessively.” She blinked hard, the beginnings of tears sparkling in her wide green eyes. “This can’t be happening,” she said. “The truth is, I’d kind of gotten used to my life the way it was--not exactly a joy every day, nor an adventure, but it was bearable.”
“Go on,” Dalk said hoarsely.
“I’m 35 years old,” she said. “I guess I’d gotten used to the idea that I couldn’t have my dreams. The pain of getting used to that is brutal--but one adjusts. Of course, the spark goes out inside--that’s the price.”
“Yes,” Dalk said. “It’s like they take away the good things one-by-one until finally you’re left with the feeling that it’s not worth trying anymore.”
“Look at me,” Mary-Jo said. “My hands are shaking. Have I made a dreadful fool of myself by coming here?”
Neither one spoke. She was gazing intently into his face, her own face fragile and pained, as though about to collapse.
“Bartender!” Dalk yelled. “Champagne--make it your best!”
His shout silenced the room, as though everybody was in on the deal and had good money riding on the outcome. The champagne was uncorked and poured for them. It was an inspired moment, and dangerous, the kind where you either made the curve or sailed off the cliff. Dalk took her trembling hands into his own and looked deeply into the eyes of this woman whom, he knew, every man in the place would gladly give their eye teeth for.
“Ask me,” he said.
“I can’t,” she said. “I’m scared.”
In his eyes blazed a stubborn defiance. “Forget the rules, baby,” he said. “Ask me!”
“Stand up, Dalk,” she said. He did, and she closed the gap, bringing her classic softness against his primal roughness.
“Marry me,” she whispered.
“Yes!” he hissed, pulling her close and kissing her lips, her neck and finally her hands, as the room exploded with cheers and shouts.
Vickie appeared b
eside them and they pulled her into their epiphany, acknowledging her vision which set them on a journey too deep for words, a journey to a place beyond the grandeur of thoughts and judgment, a place which promised guileless days and long, thundering nights.
Chapter 18
“I used to hate the rain,” Vickie said, “but all that’s changed for me now. Too bad it took a killer tumor to get me tuned in to the beauty of falling water and neon lights.”
“There’s something about rain,” Mary-Jo said, “that seems to speak to our feelings and our imaginations--it’s like, when it rains, it makes it seem like anything is possible.”
The wet stuff had been pelting down in big flat soaking drops when they’d stepped outside into the Lamplighter parking lot to begin the journey southward to West L.A. for the midnight ceremony. This unexpected arrival of the unseasonable shower was a reminder that nature still existed in Los Angeles, despite attempts by the colonists to stamp it into oblivion under endless tons of concrete and asphalt. Vickie, in caravan, joined in the limo by Mary-Jo, the stretch black Lincoln followed closely by Dalk in his new silver roadster, found the sudden appearance of the storm stirring something primitive in her.
“I wish I could get out and walk across the mountains in the rain tonight,” Vickie said. “I know a cave hidden by a waterfall in the Santa Monica mountains below the Bel Air hills where one can sit inside with a fire and be dry even in the heaviest deluge. For so long, I haven’t felt really alive. Perhaps I went into hiding when my husband, Jack, died two years ago. I’m beginning to realize how much his sudden death disconnected me from my life. When I first received the news, I left my body. It’s like, for the past two years, I’ve been watching myself go through the motions. But this morning, when Mulroney proposed, I somehow found my way back, re-entered my own life, and now I’m living again, the way I used to. Except for the pain, I mean.”
“Are you scared of the pain?” Mary-Jo said.
“I’m a wimp,” Vickie said. “I’m staying stoked on painkillers so I don’t have to face it. As a matter of fact, they’re wearing off.” She fished out a long neck Corona from the tiny car fridge.
“Can you uncap this for me?” she said to Mary-Jo. “My grip is too weak. I need the beer to help me swallow my pain medication.”
Mary-Jo performed the cap excision with a deft twist and handed over the brew. Vickie palmed three of Mulroney’s potent caps and downed them swiftly, estimating, as she did so the number of remaining caps to be at about seventy-five--enough for a few days more.
“This is no time to be weak and timid,” Mary-Jo said. “We’re almost at the epicenter of your life, here--in a few short hours, you’ll be walking down the aisle.”
“I know,” Vickie said. “I guess this untimely rain reminded me that the marriage is happening in less than ideal circumstances--I mean, Mulroney and I, we’re not exactly Gable and Lombard. More like Malden and Milder, to be exact.”
“Your life isn’t a movie,” Mary-Jo said. “It’s real life. That’s where the beauty lies. I guess you don’t realize this, but I think you’re being awfully strong. I’ve been drawing from your strength since the moment I met you. You’re going for it, and not holding anything back. That’s why I walked up to Dalk and asked him to marry me. It was an act of strength. That’s not the way I’ve handled things in the past, but after meeting you, I knew it was the only way. Besides, I’m tired of being alone. Everybody thinks that if you’ve got looks and money, life is a big playground, but the truth is, my life was turning into endless nights staying up late reading romance novels and having my cat be my best friend.”
“Life is short,” Vickie said. “You’ve got to go for it while it can be got. My priest threw me for a loop earlier, though--he thinks I lack compassion. He thinks everything I’m doing, I’m not really doing for others, but for myself.”
“What difference does it make?” Mary-Jo said. “Besides, priests are celibate--their lives are devoted to others. What do they know about marriage?”
“Probably a lot more than anyone realizes,” Vickie said.
The limo swiftly flowed up the Santa Monica mountains overpass, the high trajectory allowing them a surreal view of the rain-glazed, shapeless amebic mass of monotonous tract homes which blanketed the Valley floor, a morph pleasing to the eyes and souls of the two newly-engaged women.
“I’ve spent my whole life down there in that Valley,” Vickie said. “But until today, all I’ve ever done is live there--I never thought about it one way or another. I merely accepted it. But yesterday, when I quit kidding myself about the cancer, I realized that everything I am now, everything I used to be, everything I was planning to become--all that was over forever. When I got that through my skull, I starting thinking about who I was and it terrified me because I realized I had no idea.”
“That must have come as quite a shock,” Mary-Jo said.
“It did,” Vickie said. “But tonight, seeing this rain coming down, it suddenly hit me--it doesn’t matter who I am. I’m me--selfish or not, lacking in compassion or not, I’m a woman who’s getting married at midnight.”
“I think I understand what you’re saying,” Mary-Jo said. “You’re saying that you’re not getting married because you’re dying soon, or because you need somebody to hold on to--you’re getting married to better experience being who you are right now--a woman who’s let go of everything and is free to feel the passion and power of her universe without limits.”
“Being alive is an awesome thing,” Vickie said. “It’s actually the only thing. So why, then, in a city of ten million souls, the only ones who’re really alive are the ones who’re dying?”
“It’s diabolical,” Mary-Jo said.
“This city looks alive, but it’s really dead,” Vickie said. “I think it’s because of the rain. The founding dunderheads of L.A. tried to conquer the rain when they paved the river it used to flow into. But they didn’t conquer it. Instead, they wound up forcing us to live in a huge outdoor prison and we all lost our souls in the attempt.”
“That’s why you want to walk across the mountains in the rain,” Mary-Jo said. “Because it will help you to find your soul again.”
“If I had the strength,” Vickie said, “I’d have the limo drop me off at Mulholland Drive and I’d plunge into those wild, fresh mountains and join the mountain lions right now. If I had the strength.”
“You’d keep Mulroney waiting,” Mary-Jo said.
“He’d understand completely,” Vickie said. “With Mulroney and me, there’s no strings attached, no hidden agenda, nothing I have to do to earn his love. It’s like what we have, no death can take away. That’s why I immediately accepted when he proposed. I saw it as the first step to experiencing as much life as I possibly could for as long as I could--no matter what. You can call that being selfish if you want, but I’m going for it.”
“I guess I can say the same for myself,” Mary-Jo said. “I must confess that because I’m not dying, I don’t have the total freedom you’re speaking of. But I want to marry Dalk for selfish reasons. One big reason is I want to be a Mommy. I want to have a child--before it’s too late for me. And you were right when you said Dalk can’t resist my beauty--I hope I’m not guilty of using my beauty to control him.”
“He needs to be controlled--you’re doing him a big favor. And Dalk will give you children. Your time is coming. It started tonight. You’d lost your way, but tonight you found it again. You’ve learned life’s most important lesson--any time that isn’t spent on love is wasted time.”
“And I have you to thank, Vickie,” Mary-Jo said. The two exchanged a hug.
The limo, on its journey to the staging ramp for the launching of marital bliss, wasted no time as it sped into the UCLA Medical Center parking complex and docked beside a brightly lit trailer. Dalk pulled the roadster in beside the limo and, as if to herald the arrival of the love caravan, the rain increased to a deafening crescendo on the vehicle roofs. The torrent vanished
as suddenly as it arrived, leaving in its wake an eerie silence. Vickie, Mary-Jo, and Dalk stepped from their rides as the trailer door opened, framing Dee, Vickie’s former gown salesperson now turned quickie wedding coordinator.
“We’re ready for you people,” Dee said. She directed Mary-Jo and Dalk to an assistant who led them towards the Medical Center before personally steering Vickie up the steps into the trailer.
“I needn’t tell you we don’t have much time,” Dee said. “While we’re putting you together, I’ve got a decorating crew finishing up inside the chapel. I’ve got our tailors set up in an empty room in the Medical Center down the hall from the chapel. She’ll be waiting to fit your gown. She’s already been over to see Mulroney. I should warn you, you may not recognize Mulroney when you see him all decked out in his new tux. Our theme is gold, so we’ve got him in a gold-sequined outfit--he shines like the sun.”
As they entered the trailer, Dee’s beauty team approached Vickie.
“This is Vito,” Dee said, “L.C.'s premier hair stylist to the stars, and Scotia--Vito’s assistant.”
“I’m overwhelmed,” Vickie said. “I don’t know what to think.”
“Save it,” Dee said. “We don’t have time for emotions or thinking. For the next ninety minutes, it’s going to be nothing but action. I’m going to guarantee you perfection itself. When you walk down the aisle in your Flower of Ireland bridal gown, it’s going to be as a goddess. But perfection doesn’t just happen. We’ve got a lot of work to do. And we have to hurry. Time is tight.”
“Isn’t it, though?”
The inside of the trailer was more like the inside of somebody’s swank yacht, with its hand-crafted interior amenities of polished woods, heavy Persian rugs, recessed lighting, antiques and cut glass bowls of fruit and flowers all working together in a sensual oozing of understated class. Classical music, Beethoven’s Ninth, blended perfectly in spirit with the colorful hiss of flames from a clever gas fireplace encased in a flamboyant Italianate marble mantle festooned with cherubs and grapes, the entire affair dutifully guarded by a couple of life-size ceramic Dalmatians.
A Small Matter Page 9
