by Elise Sax
“I heard that the utility terrorism is just the beginning,” the pedicurist announced. “I was doing Margie’s nails this morning for the wedding, and she said the dictator has threatened all kinds of things.”
“What kind of things?” I asked, thinking about my wedding.
“Margie said he’s threatening ‘mayhem.’ That’s bad,” the pedicurist announced as she put my feet in a tub of water.
“This town is mayhem,” Ruth grunted.
“These damned ancient hairstyling tools,” Bird complained. “At least my diet is perfect for this power outage. Raw food diet. One of the good things about it is that I don’t need electricity to eat.” She dropped the tongs on the floor and swore in exasperation. When she leaned over to retrieve them, she farted. “But the diet isn’t perfect,” she added and farted again.
I was buffed and polished, and my hair looked like I was a fairy princess after Bird got done with me. After I thanked her, Bird left to get ready for the wedding herself. As she left, Lucy walked in. She was wearing a chenille robe, and she was carrying her dress in a garment bag.
“I’m thinking cool thoughts, darlin’,” she said. “I refuse to sweat. Lucy Smythe does not sweat, do you hear me?”
“Absolutely.”
The three of us went upstairs to my bedroom. Lucy and Bridget got dressed, but I was still waiting for Dave from Dave’s Dry Cleaning and Tackle shop to arrive with my dress. Once Lucy was dressed, she gave me a light hug.
“You’re going to be the belle of the ball, darlin’,” she told me. “I can’t say much more because I’ll start crying and my makeup will be ruined. But this is good. You’re doing the right thing. You’re going to be very happy.”
“I think so, too,” Bridget said. “Spencer’s a wonderful man, even if he refuses to implement my suggestions for changes to his holding cell.”
My grandmother stood in the doorway, and Lucy and Bridget took that as their cue to leave. “We’ll see you there,” Lucy said, and they left.
“You look beautiful, Grandma,” I told her.
She was wearing a tasteful white suit that fit her perfectly. “It’s a little loose, but it’ll do. I’m so happy to see you married today, dolly. It’s going to be perfect.”
“It is?”
“Oh, yes. It’s going to be the ceremony that you want.”
Downstairs, the door opened and closed. “Zelda, should I come up?” a man called.
“Yes, we’re ready for you,” she called back. “Here comes the dress,” she told me and smiled. “Don’t be afraid.”
I was afraid. What if I didn’t want to say yes to the dress? It was too late to back down, now.
Dave walked into the room, holding a large garment bag. “Hardest thing I’ve ever done,” he said. “The beading alone took me weeks to deal with.”
“But it’s done now, and it’s perfect,” my grandmother assured me.
Dave unzipped the gown and hung it on a portable rod. “I looked into it, Zelda,” he said. “It’s worth a fortune. The Met would love to have it in its collection.”
The dress was an Edwardian ivory-colored gown with light blue beading and the most stunning lacework I had ever seen. “The tailor to the Czarina of Russia immigrated to the United States in 1901 and found himself in Cannes,” Grandma explained. “My great-grandmother was at least sixty years old by then and a widow, but she knew a good thing when she saw it. He might have been a tailor, but he was her prince. He made the gown for her wedding with, as you can tell, a lot of love.”
“It’s exquisite,” I breathed.
Dave took a deep breath and exhaled. “I’m so relieved,” he said.
My grandmother shooed him out and closed the door. “Here we go.” She helped me get into the dress, and I looked at myself in the mirror. It fit perfectly, just as my grandmother had promised.
“I’m beautiful,” I said.
“Don’t cry.”
“I’m like an actress in a period movie. I’m like a princess.”
“Like a czarina. Here, you’ll need these.” She gave me a pair of long, light blue gloves that went above my elbows. “These I got new.”
“Thank you,” I croaked.
“Don’t cry. We have some time before you can cry.”
The limo drove my grandmother and me far up into the mountains, further than I had ever gone. The road wound up, first left, then right, and there was dense forest on either side of the road. The limo driver took it slow on the curves so that we wouldn’t crash. Twenty-five minutes later, we arrived at the top of a mountain to a grassy plateau. A large, blue double-door was set up outside, blocking my view.
The driver opened my door and helped me out. My grandmother smoothed out my dress. My old match, Belinda Womble, handed me a bouquet. “Don’t worry. They’re not poisonous,” she told me. Belinda had a love of poisonous flowers, which had gotten her into trouble a few months before.
“They’re beautiful,” I said.
“Don’t cry yet,” Grandma whispered.
The sound of violins filled the air. They were followed by more instruments and then a woman’s beautiful voice, singing in Italian.
“It’s Audra MacDonald singing with the Los Angeles Philharmonic,” my grandmother informed me, taking my arm. “Esa-Pekka Salonen owed me one.”
The double doors opened, and we walked forward, arm-in-arm, as Audra sang, and the L.A. Philharmonic played. We walked toward an elaborate canopy that was covered in ivy and flowers. The canopy was surrounded by a circle of chairs in rows. There wasn’t an empty seat. The entire town had shown up. I recognized most of them, and I couldn’t help but wave to many of them.
As I passed Remington, he winked at me and nodded. I felt myself blush immediately. Meryl waved at me, and Bird pointed at my hair and gave the okay signal with her fingers. Even Darth Vader had shown up.
But the guests didn’t hold my attention. Not after I saw Spencer.
He was standing under the canopy with a very old rabbi. He wiped at his eyes, which were focused on me.
“No best man or maid of honor,” Grandma told me, as we walked up the aisle. “I thought it would be better that way. The rabbi married your grandfather and me. It took some doing to track him down, but he was tickled pink to do the ceremony. Here we are.”
My grandmother kissed me, and Spencer held out his hand for me. I took it.
“Are you kidding me?” he said, gently, as I took my place next to him.
That’s when I started to cry.
Audra stopped singing, and the symphony stopped playing. Spencer kissed my gloved hands. I was having an out-of-body experience, like this wasn’t happening to me but to another woman in a gorgeous dress, marrying a handsome man in an Armani suit.
“Pinky, look at me,” Spencer said, quietly. We locked eyes. He searched my face, as if he was memorizing every plane and every angle. “You are my everything,” he said, finally, not in planned vows but an impromptu declaration of his love for me before the wedding ceremony began in front of everyone.
Including his mother.
“I’ll tell you a secret,” he continued. “I don’t deserve you. I don’t deserve any part of you. If I have your heart, it’s because I stole it, ruthlessly. I’ve known you for a year, and during that time, I’ve plotted and planned and done everything in my power to make you give me a chance. And to my great surprise and my infinite joy, you did. I’ve built you a house, and it’s not enough. Everything I am and ever will be, I share with you, and it’s not enough. I will love you until I grow old and turn to dust. But it won’t be enough. How could I ever be enough when you are everything, and I am just a man?”
My tears streamed down my face, and he wiped them away with a handkerchief.
“So, here under the sky and in front of everyone, I give to you body and soul and let it be known that Spencer Bolton loves Gladys Burger and always will.”
“I love you, too, Spencer,” I declared and hugged him tight. “But don’t cal
l me Gladys,” I whispered in his ear.
The rest of the ceremony went by in a cloud of hormones, and I didn’t come to until Spencer kissed me and broke the glass under his foot. The L.A. Philharmonic played while we ate lunch, which had been brought in from San Diego. We sat at long tables. I sat next to Spencer. His mother was at my right hand, and Grandma and my mother were at Spencer’s left.
“I’m so happy for you,” my mother told me and dabbed at her eyes.
“I make good banana bread,” Spencer’s mother told me. “I’ll send you a banana bread. Would you like that?”
“I love banana bread,” I said.
“I’ll send you one. And a sour cream cake, too.”
“You’re in,” Peter mouthed in my direction and gave me the thumbs up.
Spencer and I ate for a few minutes, and then we made the rounds. The mayor was sitting next to Ruth, who looked like she wanted to stab him in the face with her fork. “Who the hell brings a donkey to a wedding?” she demanded.
“Dulcinea isn’t at the wedding,” the mayor insisted. “She’s in a comfortably aerated trailer behind my rented truck in the parking area.”
“Lunatic,” Ruth said.
“You don’t expect me to leave her unattended when there’re donkey stealers in this town, do you?” he asked. “Besides, Gladie, I’ve taken it on myself to put the gifts in the back of my truck. Zelda had them out on a table, but I didn’t think that was safe.”
“My grandmother’s antique tea set is with those gifts, and if something happens to it, I’ll kill you,” Ruth warned the mayor.
“You gave me your grandmother’s antique tea set?” I asked her.
Ruth looked down at her food. “You can use it for coffee, too,” she muttered.
“How’s it going?” Harry asked at another table. “Your eye looks good. I thought you would have a shiner.”
Spencer touched his side. “I think I have two broken ribs, but your hangover cure worked wonders.”
“One ounce of Tabasco and a salami sandwich works every time,” Harry said, happily. “Not grocery store salami. The good kind of salami from Chicago. The kind you dry for weeks, hanging from the ceiling. Legs, you look good enough to eat. Even better than a salami. By the way, Lucy and I gave you two a honeymoon cruise. The tickets are in an envelope in the moron mayor’s truck.”
“A cruise?” I asked. “I’ve never been on a cruise.”
I hugged Harry, and I was surprised when he blushed. “It’s nothing. A friend of a friend gave me the tickets, and I’m just passing it on. Nothing to make a big deal about. I think we gave you a toaster, too.”
Most of the guests wanted to tell me what they had given us for our wedding. I had made out like a bandit, and I couldn’t wait to get home and open the gifts.
“What’re you doing about that dictator?” Meryl demanded when we stopped by her table. “I heard he was responsible for the power outage, and he’s skipped town.”
“I’ve got Margie on it,” Spencer told her. “But if he’s skipped town, I’ll hand it over to the FBI.”
After we made our rounds, we sat back down. The champagne was flowing freely, and Bridget and Lucy had pushed their way next to me to tell me how gorgeous I was. Spencer and Peter were in deep conversation about the best way to kill a man with their bare hands and toasting each other with champagne. A waiter refilled their glasses. He looked familiar, but I couldn’t place him, which wasn’t new. I came in contact with a lot of people in my job, but I wasn’t good at names and faces.
After a few hours, the party wound down. The symphony went back to Los Angeles, and it was time for Spencer and me to leave and move into our dream house. Spencer’s father clinked his spoon against his glass and asked the crowd to be quiet so that the bride and groom could say a few words.
“You first, Spencer,” I said.
“Okay,” he said and then his eyes rolled back in his head, and he passed out onto his plate.
“Peter, what’s wrong with Spencer?” his father asked.
“Don’t worry,” Peter said and then his eyes rolled back in his head, and he passed out onto his plate, too.
I froze in place, waiting for the domino effect of the rest of the guests to fall onto their plates, but it ended with Spencer and Peter.
“What’s going on?” Spencer’s mother demanded.
“Mayhem!” shouted the waiter.
That’s when I recognized him. He wasn’t in his usual uniform, so he looked different, but it was him. It was the dictator.
With surprising speed and strength, he threw Spencer over his shoulder. “I roofied them!” he announced with glee and ran away with my husband.
CHAPTER 18
Easy come. Easy go. Pass it on, bubbeleh.
Lesson 138, Matchmaking advice from your
Grandma Zelda
“What’s with this town?” Spencer’s father asked, as we watched Spencer fade into the distance on the shoulder of his lunatic kidnapper.
“I think it’s called small-town charm,” Lucy said.
“I think it’s called the Bermuda Triangle of crazy,” Spencer’s mother said.
“I think it’s called the deterioration of labor rights and civil responsibility,” Bridget said.
Remington was the first to jump into action, running after Spencer and the dictator.
“He’s taking my truck!” the mayor yelled. “My Dulcinea!”
“My grandmother’s antique tea set!” Ruth yelled.
It was a free-for-all. A good portion of the wedding party ran after Spencer to save him on what is supposed to be the happiest day of his life. Another portion of the guests ran after their wedding gifts. And another portion ran for no particular reason.
In hindsight, it would have been a much better outcome if they had all let Remington handle it on his own. But we didn’t let him handle it on his own. The dictator stole the mayor’s truck, and before Remington could get to his car and chase after Spencer, the mayor stole Remington’s car.
“That’s an official police vehicle!” Remington shouted.
“Don’t worry, Dulcinea! Daddy’s coming for you!” the mayor yelled and peeled out in the direction of his stolen truck.
Ruth jumped into her car and drove after them.
It was mayhem. One car after another peeled out and drove after Spencer and his kidnapper at a high speed.
“My husband! I’ve been married for three hours!” I moaned.
A Nissan Altima stopped in front of me, and the window opened. It was Matilda. She had managed to get her car back, and I wondered how the rest of her hunting had gone. “I’ll go after him,” she announced. “I’ve got your back, Gladie!”
“What about me? Aren’t you going to take me?” I called, but she was already gone. “My husband’s been kidnapped!” I yelled and stomped my foot on the dirt parking area.
“Come with me!” my mother yelled. She had Grandma, Spencer’s mother Lily, and Bridget with her.
“I’ll get him,” Uncle Harry announced. “Come on, Lucy.” They hopped into his Bentley and drove away.
“What about me? What about me?” I moaned.
My mother grabbed my hand. “Come on. I’ll take you.”
Grandma, Bridget, Lily, and I followed her to the pot bus. “Rev up this marijuana behemoth, and let’s get my baby boy,” Lily demanded.
“I’ll show you how it’s done,” my mother announced and started the motor. As soon as the engine turned over, she peeled out of the parking area and hit the winding path like a maniac.
“How’s Peter?” I asked Lily.
“Okay. He’s coming around a little. James is with him. Can you make this go faster, Luann?”
I sat in the first row of seats and held on tight. The lavender mood lighting wasn’t reducing the stress level. Ahead of us, car after car was running off the road into the forests. My mother wasn’t kidding about knowing how to drive the bus. She took each hairpin turn like a professional racecar driver.
“So, this is how I die,” Lily said. “Gladie, before we die, I want you to know that I’m happy to have you as my daughter-in-law. I’m lucky to have you. Had you, I mean.”
“This isn’t how you die,” my grandmother told her. “I know how you die, and this isn’t it.”
“Ohhhhh!” we yelled in unison, as my mother took another turn, and we were thrown to the right.
“This is very exciting,” Bridget said. “It’s like an action movie with an all-female cast of heroes. If we live through this, I’m going to write to all of the major Hollywood studios and remind them of the sad lack of good parts for women.”
“We’re heading into town,” I said. “We survived the mountain!”
“Hold on tight, dolly,” Grandma said.
“Uh oh, Bridget said. “That doesn’t sound good.”
“The madman is heading for the Historic District,” my mother announced.
“Don’t let him out of your sight,” I urged her.
“Don’t worry. He’s easy to spot. There are two cop cars heading right for him.”
Sure enough, Spencer’s police force had gotten word of his kidnapping and were zeroing in on the mayor’s truck. The bus’s height was great for seeing ahead of us.
“Look, they’ve got him cornered,” Spencer’s mother said.
“No, he’s turning onto Zelda’s street,” Bridget said.
There was a squeal of rubber, and the truck turned just in time to miss the squad cars. “Holy cow, the donkey,” Bridget said, pointing.
The well-aerated donkey trailer’s hitch freed itself from the truck, and it rolled off the street into a front yard. The mayor braked hard, and tried to turn, presumably to get to his beloved donkey, but Ruth was right behind him and rammed him hard.
