Diary of a Mad Bride
Page 15
STEPHEN
I didn’t necessarily mean between us.
ME
Oh. Well, nothing’s wrong.
STEPHEN
Then why have you called me thirteen times today?
ME
No reason. I just want you to know I love you. Very much. More than any other man in the entire world.
STEPHEN
Is it “that” time of the month?
ME
No!
STEPHEN
Then tell me what’s going on. If our marriage is going to work we’ll have to learn to communicate.
Clearly something’s bothering you.
ME
Ah—
STEPHEN
Wait a minute. I know what this is about.
ME
You do?!
STEPHEN
This is about sleeping arrangements, isn’t it?
ME
Ohmygod! It’s meaningless. I swear!
STEPHEN
Amy, relax. If I’d known that my not sleeping over would upset you this much, I never would have done it.
ME
Huh?
STEPHEN
I just wanted a few nights of solid sleep without you tossing and turning every twenty minutes. But forget it. It’s not worth putting you through all this agony.
ME
Ooh. Yeah. The agony.
STEPHEN
I’ll just start sleeping over again.
ME
Great. Wait. No! I’m still having trouble sleeping.
Let’s wait until I figure things out.
march 14th
What am I going to do? The last thing I want is to have sex dreams about other guys while I’m in bed with Stephen.
Ewwwee.
After months of insomnia and praying for sleep I’m now terrified to close my eyes lest some silken ex-lover suddenly appears. What if these dreams never stop? Do Stephen and I sleep separately for the rest of our lives? Do I buy twin beds? That means new sheets. Sheets are expensive!
march 15th
Last night it was Jonas. The abstract-expressionist. He was working with oils and I was his canvas. He didn’t stop working until he got it right. Really right. And to think I was upset by those dreams where I forgot to invite my mother to the wedding. Those were Disney productions compared to these EXTRAVAGANZAS OF THE FLESH!
Needless to say, Barry was the last person I wanted to see when I arrived at the office. “Are your articles ready? The Division meeting’s in less than ten minutes and we still have to distribute your proofs.”
I couldn’t take it. “Bite me, Barry! Just bite me!” The entire office went silent. Even Barry was speechless.
I think it’s time to seek help.
march 16th
I’m calling Mandy and Anita. Somewhere between yin and yang there must be a voice of reason. Or at least knowledge of how to procure strong pharmaceutical drugs without a prescription.
march 17th
I convened an emergency meeting at Frutto di Sole.
ME
There’s something important I need to talk about. But first you have to swear that you won’t repeat a word of this conversation.
MANDY
Sounds exciting. Is that why you’ve gone incognito?
ME
What?
MANDY
Your outfit. The quiet black suit, the silk scarf wrapped around your neck, the dark sunglasses. Hello! Amy, we’re indoors.
ANITA
You don’t like it? I think it’s sexy. Very Sophia Loren.32
ME
That’s great. Now will you both shut up and swear to secrecy so I can get on with it?33
ANITA
I swear.
MANDY
So do I.
ME
This means total secrecy. No telling your hairdresser or coworkers, no matter how much they plead. And under no circumstances may you ever mention this to your significant other.
MANDY
I assume you’re referring to Jon.34
ME
Yes.
MANDY
And exactly what do you have against Jon?
ME
Nothing.35 It’s just a formality. Now swear.
MANDY
I swear. But this better be good.
I hunched down and lowered my voice. You never know who could be listening.
ME
I’ve been having sex dreams about old boyfriends.
MANDY
That’s horrible!
ANITA
Are you kidding? That’s great!
ME
Anita, I’m getting married in three months. I’m not supposed to be having sex dreams about other men. What am I going to do?
ANITA
You’re going to sleep as much as humanly possible. Just because you’re getting married doesn’t mean you shut your mind off. And these dreams don’t mean you don’t love Stephen. After all, haven’t you agreed to subjugate your entire existence to him on June 22nd?
MANDY
Oh, please. Amy’s right to be worried. It’s a dangerous thing when a woman dreams about having sex in a sauna with a man other than her husband.
ME
Who said anything about a sauna?
MANDY
Oh…Well, I was just illustrating what type of sex dream a person might have were she dreaming on a fairly regular basis about adulterous encounters.
ME
I see.
ANITA
I can’t believe you guys are being so puritanical about this.
MANDY
It’s not puritanical. It’s practical. You can’t fully give yourself to one man when you’re dreaming about another.
ANITA
But dreams are harmless. Besides, maybe those dreams weren’t really about sex. Maybe they were a symbolic gesture. A way of saying good-bye to past lovers.
MANDY
I never thought about that!36
ME
Terrific. But how many times do I have to say good-bye?
* * *
32 Sophia Loren? Sure, she’s stunning and classy, but she’s like 110 now. At least cut me a break and stay in my century. Isabelle Adjani, anyone?
33 Does everyone have friends like this? Here I am with two of my closest friends and they’re more interested in my “look” than my state of mind. If a friend of yours showed up to a restaurant dressed like a spy, wouldn’t you be more concerned about her mental health than whether or not it’s a viable fashion alternative? Can’t anyone see I’m dyin’ here?!
34 Well, duh.
35 Nothing we can talk about.
36 Why does she sound so relieved?
march 18th—3 A.M.
I had another sex dream. About JON.
And I was into it. Now, in addition to being unfaithful, I’m desperate!
Yuck!
march 18th
My first dress fitting with Katrina. She’s straightened and cropped the sleeves to a three-quarter length, which has eliminated all traces of Godspell.
But I still look like Nellie Olsen after a nasty tumble down a well.
Katrina kept shaking her head mournfully as if the situation were terminal. You’d think for $500 she’d have a better bedside manner.
I’m finally beginning to understand why the Moonies opt for massive group weddings. No caterer, no band, no bridesmaids. And in a group of a thousand brides, who’s going to notice your dress?
march 20th
My day was going so well. I’d only had a brief sex dream about my eleventh-grade boyfriend, Denny, found a florist, and gotten a compliment on my June story ideas from Mr. Spaulding. Then Barry opened his mouth. “So what type of invitations are you sending out? Modern or traditional?”
The kind that doesn’t have your name on it, Barry. Poor moron. Like getting rid of me is going to be that easy. One day she got married, and Poof! She was gone. I wish he’d give it a rest.
“You mean you haven’t ordered them?”
“Nope.”
“But you’re getting married in three months and two days.37 When my friend Denise got married she ordered her invitations months in advance. And F.Y.I.—they were stunning. Dusty rose, thirty-two-thousand linen-bond paper printed with apple-red ink and tissue inserts. I’d be happy to get the printer’s name and number if you’d like.”
Great. And how about pushing me into oncoming traffic while you’re at it. “Thanks but no thanks, Barry. I’ll be fine.”
Or will I? Maybe Barry was onto something.38
I immediately called Mandy, who flipped out. “What do you mean you haven’t ordered your invitations? Didn’t you read Chapter Thirty-four of Beautiful Bride?”
“I started to skim around Thirty-one.”
“This is your wedding! You can’t skim. There’s no skimming in matrimony!”
I was a basket case for the rest of the day. What had I done? Here I thought the scales of bridal calamity had finally balanced out. Maybe all wasn’t great, but at least it was placid. And now this.
I ran home after work and turned to Chapter Thirty-four. The more I read the quicker my pulse raced. According to BB, invitations must be sent out approximately six weeks before the wedding: not so far in advance that people forget, but early enough for them to clear their schedule. Add to that an average of two months to print invitations, make the necessary corrections, address and mail them. Six weeks plus two months. At this rate, my wedding invitations have to be ordered last week!
The apocalypse must be near—because Barry was right.
* * *
37 Not that he’s counting.
38 Quick! Someone smack me. Next I’ll be saying Jon’s a Rhodes scholar.
march 21st
Panicked about our invitation dilemma, I decided to call Stephen at work. It was only 5 P.M. but he’d been working since seven in the morning and I could tell he was tired and distracted. So it was no surprise when instead of offering some advice he lamely suggested I ask my mother for help.
Pass the buck much, Stevie?
march 21st—10:30 P.M.
Although I’d been civil to Stephen during our earlier ph one call I felt bad about all the hostile things I’d said in my head. After all, he’s been working like a dog. Of course he’s distracted. I decided to call him at home and tell him how much I love him. Between his late nights at the office, my being overwhelmed with wedding details, and our current separate sleeping arrangements, we’d barely seen each other this month.
But Stephen wasn’t home. So I called his office.
After six rings he finally answered the phone. But before I could say “hello” I heard Louise giggling in the background. It was almost midnight and they’d been in that office together since 7 A.M. What the hell was she giggling about?
Unable to come up with an acceptable answer, I hung up.
march 22nd—1 A.M.
I can’t get Louise’s damn giggling out of my head. She was too pleased. Like a kid sneaking an extra slice of cake when no one was looking.
Well, it better not be my cake that Louise is munching on! Wait a minute! How can I even think this way? Stephen and I are about to get married. Shouldn’t I trust him implicitly?
march 22nd—2 A.M.
MANDY
I can’t believe you’re calling me at two in the morning.
ME
If it makes you feel any better, I called Anita first but she hung up on me.
MANDY
Actually that makes this even more annoying.
ME
Sorry, but it’s an emergency.
MANDY
No, it’s not. You heard some woman giggling. They’ve been working for a thousand hours. She was probably just giddy from exhaustion. Like me. Tee-hee, tee-hee, tee-hee. See? I’m giddy from exhaustion too.
ME
Come on, Mandy. What if my sex dreams have driven Stephen away?
MANDY
Did you tell him about them?
ME
Of course not. But what if he sensed them?
MANDY
Listen to me, Amy. Men sense almost nothing. It’s their best and worst trait. Now go to bed. I’ll tell you when it’s time to worry.
march 22nd
Against my better judgment I took Mandy’s advice. Twice. First, I decided not to worry about Stephen and Louise. Although I did ask him to start sleeping over again. And for the record, he was very pleased.
Second, I went to Mandy’s printers.
Berington Stationers is located just around the corner from Tiffany’s. It’s filled with “sales associates” seated in Louis the Schmooey chairs behind Louis the Schmooey desks. Each desktop is oddly devoid of any office supplies, save a single pad of linen paper embossed with the store’s name. The sales associates, all of whom are women, wear conservative blue dresses and a single strand of pearls.
The woman I dealt with was so uptight and brittle I was afraid she’d snap in two. Ms. Handel must have sensed I wasn’t the typical Berington customer, because during our five-minute conversation she mentioned six times that Berington uses only the highest quality paper and engraving, both of which are quite “precious.” Read: expensive. Or more likely: overpriced.
Disgusted by her wealthier-than-thou attitude, and horrified to discover that her attempts to shame me were in fact working, I thoughtfully shook my head and sighed. “I’ll have my driver bring my secretary over tomorrow morning. She’ll give you the necessary details and choose the paper.” Uncertain as to how to reply, Ms. Handel cagily asked for my name and phone number—ostensibly to schedule an appointment for the following day.
I happily complied. “Miss Astrid Rockefeller, 555-5633.”
My one regret upon leaving Berington Stationer’s was that I wouldn’t see Ms. Handel’s face when she called the Leather Fetishists Chat Line.39
* * *
39 Yes, I have the Leather Fetishists Chat Line number committed to memory. It has something to do with a college dorm room, day-old pizza, and the guy who delivered it—but that’s all I’ll ever admit to.
march 23rd—1:45 A.M.
Anthony the inventor. I’d forgotten how good he looked wet.
march 23 rd
Stephen may actually have a case against the city.
According to Larry, the pothole Stephen tripped on is six months overdue for repair. It’s a clear example of municipal negligence. They’re filing a complaint next week. Terrific. Now he’ll never deal with the band issue.
march 24th
I can’t stop thinking about that rhinestone comb at the Bridal Building. It would look great alongside Lucy’s enamel barrette. Except I’ll have to find some twelve-year-old to buy it for me. How nuts is that? It’s like some cosmic payback for all those high school years I spent convincing adults to buy me beer.
march 25th
After briefly deciding to use my free time to make my own wedding invitations with a computer, I remembered that I have no free time. So I went to Bunny’s Printing Emporium in Chinatown. I chose Bunny’s based on her well-worded advertisement in the Yellow Pages—“Nice, Speedy, Cheap.” Located between a dumpling house and a porn shop, Bunny’s was about as far from Berington Stationers as you could get. Anywhere from sixty to seventy-five years old, Bunny herself stood behind the counter, dressed in a nylon jogging suit. Her overflowing ashtray and the garbage can filled with Budweiser empties revealed that she smoked almost as much as she drank.
Stranded on a deserted island without food, Bunny would have Ms. Handel for lunch, then pick her teeth clean with the remains.
After listening to Bunny’s tale about how her printing shop was there “long before the Chinks came to town,” I explained my desperate situation. It turns out that in addition to being racist Bunny is also fully knowledgeable about her industry. Willing to inform and ready to haggle, Bunny provided me wit
h a quick education about wedding invitations, which boils down to:
Colored paper, illustrated designs, special enclosures, calligraphy, and engraving all cost more.
I settled on a medium weight, cream-colored paper, thermal printing, and standard R.S.V.P. enclosures. I personally would address the envelopes, using my laser printer at work. On Bunny’s advice the invitation’s distinctive touch would come from its clever wording. As Bunny reminded me, “Talk is cheap.”
march 26th
Stephen’s grandparents sent me a present. Although the gesture was incredibly thoughtful I suspect Mrs. Brockton hasn’t bonded with my decision to keep my maiden name. The present was a throw pillow with the name “Mrs. Stephen Stewart” embroidered on both sides.
Now I don’t have a new identity. I have no identity.
march 29th
I asked Anita to use her twelve-year-old niece, Molly, as a front and buy the hair comb from Mrs. Cho at the Bridal Building.
Sure, it would mean Anita taking the train out to Queens. But she’s my best friend. I’d do it for her. And Molly lives in Queens. So it really could be viewed as a nice family outing for the two of them.
Besides, I NEED that hair comb.
After I begged and pleaded she finally gave me a halfhearted “yes.” Which was fine, since she also gave me a handful of sleeping pills that she’d pirated from the health editor at Teen Flair.
march 30th
Anita’s sleeping pills knocked me out cold. Not a sex dream in sight. Unfortunately they also left me groggy and gullible.
When my mother asked how the wedding plans were going—Why wasn’t the florist coming to see the site? Why wasn’t the caterer coming to see the kitchen?—I actually answered her. Honestly. I told her I was having trouble finding a caterer. That our florist was dragging his feet. But that I did have a photographer and as soon as he got a break from chasing fires, knifings, and shoot-outs he’d surely stop by to say hi.