***
8
Wedding Bells
Seven more lectures across the United States, two in Europe, three stints at the Supercollider in Texas, a dozen articles in scientific publications—all in addition to his regular teaching post at Caltech—kept Alec in good form. He didn’t have time for any sport, let alone for his beloved but oh... so time-consuming sailing, but he hoped all this would settle down once Suzy moved to California permanently.
The scientific establishment would never accuse Alec of playing the same tune, of marching to the same piper. After all, this was their specialty. There have been rare moments when Alec thought he was sinking into the comfortable embrace of scholastic stagnation. He suspected that he was on the verge of becoming brain-dead. To new ideas, that is. He would never admit it to himself, let alone anyone else, even Suzy, that Sandra was the one and only source of every original idea that ever crossed his mind.
And Sandra was dead. Dead and buried.
He should know. He was the judge, jury and the undertaker.
Surely, it was by sheer coincidence that, to the degree that he’d succeeded in dismissing Sandra from his mind, his joints began, once again, to ossify—to stiffen, to say the least. Particularly in the morning, getting out of bed was becoming a problem. He had to lie still for a while, and will blood into his extremities. And it wasn’t just the joints of his limbs. His brain, too, was starting to feel fossilized, as though sluggish deposits were forming up there, somewhere.
He decided to do more exercise, and dismissed the matter from his mind. Life was too good to miss. “A few hard games of tennis and I’ll be as good as new”, he assured himself. Only there simply was no time for tennis. Or for any other exercise. Not at that moment. And frankly, he was a bit too stiff, already.
On the other hand, after only six or seven months of the lecture tours, Alec had already learned to repeat the same beaten track, to avoid phrases which might be too controversial, hypotheses which might offend the academia.
He was becoming one of them.
Only that he would not admit, even to himself. Not outside of rare moments of weakness. Or were they moments of remaining strength? On the last lecture tour Dr. McBride wasn’t there to hold a rod and a staff, to give him comfort. To guide him. And the Press? The Press was euphoric. They were finally beginning to understand what, the now famous, Dr. Alexander Baldwin was talking about.
Or so they thought.
Once again, Alec was becoming angry.
Of course, in Alec’s chosen profession everything was only as permanent as the next academic year. Not only because he might be replaced by a fresh, possibly cheaper, budding genius, but because he might have to move, in search of better opportunities for the development of his ideas, of his mind. Or both. Or just simply to advance his career. And by now his Information Theory was making headlines across three continents.
Dr. Alexander Baldwin was an up-and-coming scientist in great demand.
Academia had finally accepted that he was not yet another crank trying to marry the Occident with the Orient in some sort of Cosmic Quantum Consciousness concoction. The little game he and Des had played at UCLA died a natural death. After making headlines for a couple of weeks in the back pages of the local, and some not so local, press, it hadn’t been mentioned since. On the other hand at Caltech he’d became an overnight sensation. On that account, Dr. McBride had been right.
“You’ve got to act like an aging Hollywood she-starr. It matterrs not if they talk ‘bout you well or badly, the imporrrtant thing is that they talk!”
And they certainly talked.
For better or for worse, Alec became the new resident celebrity. He was invited everywhere, by everyone, all the time. Obviously, the vast majority of engagements he refused due to lack of time, previous commitments, and an array of the usual excuses. But one invitation he didn’t refuse. It was addressed to Dr. Alexander Baldwin, Ph.D., NP. Before he even noticed a Canadian stamp, he’d guessed immediately what the envelope contained. He’d just been invited to his own wedding. The next day his joy was heightened even further when he met Desmond McBride in the corridor.
“So y’rre tying the knot, lad, arre’ye? ‘Bout time, if I may say so. ‘Tis a gorrrgeous lassie that Susan of y’rrs. Gorrgeous indeed!”
Dr. Desmond McBride had been invited also.
The following morning, for some reason, Alec’s aches and pains subsided to an unexpected degree. As did his fluctuating anger.
Alec flew to Montreal a week before Christmas to give Suzy a hand. Some months after the event, Suzy told him that nothing had hindered her in the preparations as much as his presence. His constant insistence on helping laid an extra burden on her. But everything went off without a hitch. The wedding ceremony was conducted in the small, interdenominational chapel, with just her parents, Alicia, Desmond McBride, three of Suzy’s brothers and some old school friends—one of whom brought her husband, and, of course, Pete. About fourteen people.
Pete was Alec’s old school buddy.
They saw each other about twice a year, plus a few extra times during the holidays, to play tennis and down a few Molsons or Labbatts for old time’s sake. At the time when Alec lived with his parents, Pete had lived next door. Alec moved on, Pete stayed behind. He married early, ‘had to’, as they say, and was a proud father of a two-year-old son. He worked at the Municipal Library, hoping to make Chief Librarian when his boss retired. Peter did not pretend to be a smart guy, ‘like you, Alec’, but he was by far the best-read fellow Alec had ever met. Pete ate books for breakfast, lunch, supper, and a couple for in-between snacks. He was definitely in the right profession. And… he could still beat Alec at tennis. But only just. That was, of course, before Alec’s joints begun to stiffen up.
Pete’s parents and his wife had also been invited, but they were all out of town. It was the first holiday they’d taken together since the baby was born. They deserved it.
All in all, in addition to the young couple and the vicar, there were fourteen guests. The vicar was Suzy’s mother choice, a kindly old man who’d married her and John, some thirty-two years ago. Suzy insisted, and Alec heartily concurred, that a wedding is a private occasion, an event to be shared only with the very closest friends. It was a matter of declaring one’s love for each other and asking the closest friends to bear witness to that love. As the Normans had moved to Kingston, some years ago, they agreed to have the small reception in Alicia’s house. Alicia, needless to say, was overjoyed.
“So many new memories...” she cooed. “Just wonderful. Just wonderful!”
Suzy was anything but a hostess committed to staying in the kitchen. She could perform marvels when she chose, but not for sixteen people. She called the Ritz-Carlton and arranged to have a feast delivered to the Baldwin address, together with two waiters and all the plates, glasses and other paraphernalia needed for the reception. There would be no washing up on her wedding day. Not even one fork.
But first there was Xmas. The five of them, the parents and the hosts, sat down to Christmas dinner in Suzy and Alec’s apartment. It was to be their last meal there. Tomorrow, the various pieces of furniture would be disposed of, in various directions. Whatever they were not taking with them, which was almost nothing, Suzy got rid of in good time. Their best furniture would go into long-term storage, most of what remained she hoped to get rid of at a garage sale, while the rest was scheduled to be picked up by the Salvation Army. Suzy’d made arrangements to hand over the keys to the apartment before the end of the month, and their wedding was scheduled for the 31st. They would start the New Year as Mr. & Mrs. Baldwin.
“As Dr. & Mrs.,” she corrected her mother proudly.
For their last days in Montreal, Alec and Suzy would move in with Alicia. However, there was not enough room for all of them in one house. The Normans would have all their meals at the Baldwins, but, since Pete’s wife and parents were conveniently away, they would sleep next door.
&nbs
p; There was nothing particularly special about the Christmas dinner, except that it carried overtones of the Last Supper––a little out of season. It couldn’t be helped. Alec came to Montreal not just to get married, but also to see his mother, and Suzy, of course, wanted to spend a few days with her parents before moving to Los Angeles. When all was said and done, this Christmas implied an atmosphere not so much of a reunion, as of a farewell party. And then, there was something else missing, and not just Alec’s father. Suzy put her finger on it.
“After all is said and done,” she said, “after the traditional, all too often stereotyped, wishes have been exchanged, there is still something missing. I think we all know what it is.”
The smiling faced turned toward her expectantly.
“What’s missing are little children,” Suzy continued. “What is missing is seeing the candlelight dancing in their eyes, wide open eyes filled with the uncertain yet avid expectancy of what gifts the wrapping paper was hiding. It has always been their day. Their holiday. Christmas is really a celebration of the smallest amongst us. And without them, something is missing.”
This was true for all except Alec. His eyes were shining, as though he’d just unwrapped the biggest, brightest, most wonderful present of his young life.
“You’ve done it again,” Suzy smiled with sudden understanding.
“What have I done, sweetheart?”
“You’ve peek-a-boo’d again.”
But there was no anger or annoyance in her eyes. Just understanding. Suzy smiled because quite suddenly she knew exactly what Sandra was doing.
***
“I do,” Alec said in a firm, steady voice.
He’d had plenty of practice. He’d said it a dozen times on the airplane, and a dozen more times after he got to Montreal. “I do,” he had repeated sipping his Scotch at his tiny bachelor’s party. “You bet your life!” he’d tried for size. “Most certainleah,” he’d affirmed, mimicking his father’s British accent. “Arrr!” he’d pictured Desmond McBride by his side in a tartan kilt.
“I do,” he repeated, as if making sure he’d been heard.
The vicar nodded with a slight smile.
“And you, Suzanna Joanna Norman, do you....”
I wish he’d get on with it, she thought. Of course, I do. Would I be here otherwise? What does he think I am doing all decked out in white, pulling my stomach in to fit into mother’s dress that is half my size?
“I do!” she almost shouted.
She was afraid that if she held her breath any longer, the dress would give way. “Gotch ya!” she purred under her breath for only Alec to hear. “I gotch ya and I’m gonna keep ya. And I love ya.”
“You may kiss the bride!” the vicar announced.
“You betcha!” Alec was already at it.
And for an instant there, it seemed as though he was kissing her for the very first time.
The reception was an unmitigated success.
It wasn’t as though the young Baldwins wanted to get away quickly to hit the sack. After living together, on and off, for what Alicia once stated ‘practically all their lives’, they loved being surrounded by friends. This was as good as it got. His mother, the Normans, Sue’s two brothers (one couldn’t come due to a case of stomach flue), her three friends, all the way back from schooldays, Professor McBride, and last but certainly not least, his old buddy, Pete. The vicar excused himself after one glass of Champagne. He, the poor fellow, was no prude, but he had... a funeral to attend to. Only Suzy knew this and she didn’t share her knowledge. Not even with her mother.
After hors d’oeuvres, the Ritz served Chateaubriand, and all sorts of side dishes Alec couldn’t even pronounce. They ate and they drank, and they laughed and there were the usual speeches, and more speeches, all funny, all with a tinge of sadness, as good speeches at a wedding should be.
And then came the first bombshell.
Suzy, who contrived to open the zip at the side of her dress without anyone noticing it, took a deep breath and got up holding her flute.
“My friends,” she announced, for which she got a well-deserved applause. “If there were one stranger here, or even the wonderful vicar, I would be of two minds about sharing this news with you. But,” she looked to her left, her right and behind her, “we are all alone!” Another applause.
“What is it darling?” Alec was as curious as anyone.
“I should not be telling you this without first speaking to my lover, my husband, to the father...” John Norman looked up, “...to the father of my child. Our child.”
And before the news penetrated Alec’s scull, she raised her glass and said, “Ladies and gentlemen, I offer a toast to Alec Baldwin the Third.”
Alec found himself as close to fainting as he’d ever been.
Peter was grinning allover; Alicia’s and Joan’s eyes and mouths had never been opened wider. But it was Desmond McBride whose voice rose above all others.
“Alexanderrrr Baldwin the Thirrrd!” he announced and downed his glass in a single gulp.
The others followed.
And then they all spoke at once. When? When is it... when is he due? Are you all right? Shouldn’t you sit down? You mustn’t drink, dear. Not any more. John managed to get close enough to his daughter to whisper, “I love you, my pet.” Joan was by far the most excited. Did you see the doctor? Are you sure? How…?
“How?” Suzy repeated in disbelief, “don’t you know how, mother?”
Luckily nobody asked ‘who’?
And then Alec took Suzy in his arms. He didn’t say anything. He just held her. And suddenly there was total silence. Only slight whimpers come from the two mothers, and a single though powerful thunder from John, clearing his inner tubes.
“Ah... what a lucky couple,” Desmond mused half-aloud. “Theirr whole life beforre them. And just look what a marrrvelous starrt they got...” And the Professor wiped a wee tear from his own eyes.
Slowly things returned to normal, or as normal as any wedding can get. They all returned to their seats. The plates were cleared and eventually the dessert was served. It was then that Pete was unanimously delegated to open the presents.
And the party went on, hour after hour. People changed seats, exchanged conversational partners, even those who had never met before, by now, became friends. Not just acquaintances but real friends. They learned so much about each other that they began caring what was happening in each other’s life. Even Suzy’s brothers, who had virtually become strangers to their own family, seemed to recover the family fervour. They chatted with and embraced almost everyone, particularly Suzy’s old school-friends, and promised to keep henceforth in close touch.
This was more than a wedding. This was a veritable love-fest. They were celebrating marriage, succession, the future, the dreams to come, the unfulfilled but yet to be realized desires, the possibilities.... And by some miracle of the occasion, they all seemed deeply convinced that virtually nothing was impossible, nothing was beyond any one of them, if they really wanted to succeed.
“And you should’ve seen their faces when I told them about the chewing gum!” Alec was recounting his UCLA prank to the flushed faces around him. “If I hadn’t been the speaker, I would have burst out laughing myself!”
Quite true, Alec thought, while Desmond picked up the story. But why is it, he wondered, that people keep searching for the elusive fountain of life in some imaginary mystery, like ‘Quantum Buddhism’ or some ‘Quantum Consciousness’, rather than attempting to create it, or at least find it in their everyday life? And just for a moment he recalled the facility that once had been his, the facility to visit the Home Planet, a state of mind wherein he created virtually any reality at will. This strange ability of his had suddenly stopped. For a long time he couldn’t figure out why. Now, suddenly, like a bolt out of the blue, it came to him.
Some five, six, or even ten years ago, he had needed to reassert his creative spirit. Then, when he started studying physics, for the firs
t time in his life he began doing exactly what he wanted. He began studying the subject of his dreams, in a way, an inner reality. He no longer poured over curricula set by others ‘for his own good’. And even as he made his dreams a reality, right here and now, the doors to the Home Planet had closed. Forever? He doubted it. Ever is such a long time... But for as long as his creative spirit was sated with his creative will, there was no need for other realities. And then a tentative cloud hovered at the edge of his mind as though trying not to be seen. “Am I still as creative as I once was?” he asked himself.
“...and then I signed them with Alec’s own name! I didn’t even attempt to copy his signaturre. I just wrrote it in big, fat letterrs, like a five-yearr-old. It was obviously a forrgery. Alec could have always denied it, orr, if it suited him, to say that it was his. A win/win situation. Ha, ha!”
A short applause and more ha-has followed. Des McBride was having fun. He told stories, a number of them connected with Alec. Most of the time he kept the party in stitches. Alec’s brief departure into his past went unnoticed. Except for Suzy, of course. She spotted his far away look immediately. She also noticed when ‘he’d come back’.
“Still love me?” she asked.
“I am living my dreams, darling. Thanks to you.”
Their hands met under the table.
Alec was grateful to the Professor for entertaining his guests. The news that he was about to become a father was only now beginning to catch up with him. He was overjoyed and scared out of his wits. Simultaneously. He could just imagine sailing with his son at the helm of their new boat. We’ll have to get one, he thought. Bigger than the old O’Day 27. Much bigger. Bigger than the 37, too! Or maybe he’ll enjoy a good game of tennis? He could teach him the AB, a service he developed as a lad. It worked pretty well on Pete, even now. He could teach him that. And swimming. He could teach him to swim like a fish. And so could Sue. The three of them could out-swim any other trio, anywhere. He felt sure of that. If only my joints didn’t hurt so...
Alexander: [Alexander Trilogy Book Two] Page 11
