by Ashley Pullo
“It’s a really boring story.” He smiles, but I can sense his reservation in revealing any details.
“Have you told any other girlfriends?” I inquire.
“No one has ever asked,” he responds.
“Then tell me a story. Imagery, emotion, humor . . . I want it all!” I snuggle into him as the sun rests on the horizon with a purplish hue invading the crystal blue water.
“It was the summer of 1989, late July perhaps. The gang and I . . .” I jab him in the side but he continues anyway. “. . . it’s completely true except we were more of a preppy posse than a gang. That summer, a nearby theater was converted into a Dollar Movie Theater and we would ride our bikes there almost every afternoon for the air conditioning and crappy old movies. We hated the movie choices, and then finally, the theater showed something that wasn’t black and white, but we couldn’t see it because it was rated R. We made plans for weeks to get Tango’s older brother, Bravo to sneak us in the side door.”
“What movie?” I interrupt.
“Stand by Me. We planned Operation Matinee like we were robbing a bank. I had already seen the movie when Dad rented it from Blockbuster but I was still excited about sneaking into an R-rated film. You have to realize, I was a different kid before my dad died. I was chubby, and tried very hard to hide behind my embarrassment by making jokes or orchestrating pranks. I was a class clown and the initiator of devious acts because it was much easier to make people laugh than letting them see how miserable I actually felt.
“So after we successfully saw the movie, we rode our bikes to the 7-11 parking lot to try and buy cigarettes. After several failed attempts, we bought some Twizzlers and rode our bikes home for our dinner curfews. When we reached my house, I asked the guys if they wanted to have a sleepover in the backyard and toast marshmallows on my dad’s camping grill. Of course there were some fat jokes made about me wanting to eat all the time but we all agreed we would camp out, Stand by Me-style.
“Tango was the first to arrive with his sleeping bag, a deck of cards and a Playboy magazine. The Parker twins turned up offering bug spray, flashlights and graham crackers. The last to arrive was Specs because he had to watch Quantum Leap . . . Specs was a big time nerd and we only allowed him to hang out with us because his parents had a pool. So Dad set up the small grill for us, Mom left a cooler with water and Capri Sun and then they left us alone. We roasted marshmallows, pretended to enjoy porn, attempted some ghost stories and gave each other Indian burns until our arm hair dissolved. When it was really dark, I told them a fake story about a house a few blocks away that had a guard dog with robotic legs and was being tested for NASA. God, it was such a lame story, but the guys must have been bored because we decided to check it out. I didn’t really know where to take them, so we just wandered along my street telling dirty jokes and throwing rocks. After half an hour of going nowhere, one of the twins started picking on me, calling me a liar and all sorts of cruel fat remarks. The others joined in and I totally flipped . . . even nerdy Specs was laughing at me.
“I couldn’t control my emotions, I was crying, I was screaming and I was punching the shit out of Tango. I had never felt so out of control and hopeless. Luckily, a neighborhood patrol car flashed its lights and we scattered. We were darting in and out yards just trying to make it back to my house without getting caught. It was dark, I was fat and I misjudged a four foot chain linked fence. Specs, Tango and the twins ran faster than me and they had already hopped my neighbor’s fence before I could even talk myself out of it and just use the gate. I was able to get both legs over, but then got caught on a jagged piece of wire. Tango shined his flashlight on my shorts to see if the pocket was hung and as soon as the light hit my leg it was obvious it wasn’t just my pocket.
“There was blood everywhere. The fence had ripped my shorts then pierced my hip like a fishhook. I could stand on my toes without completely tearing off the flesh, but it was pretty sick and I was petrified. Specs used his MacGyver-watching skills to turn a water hose into a step stool so I would have something to stand on. Tango got my parents and the twins got their shit and ran home. I was crying in agony. I was angry. I was embarrassed. I had miscalculated that fence. I had overestimated my self-control. I had misjudged my friends and I was never letting it happen again.
“Several hundred stitches, tubes of Vitamin E and a month without a pool will do something to a kid. I spent the rest of the summer playing soccer with my dad or under an oak tree in my backyard planning my awkward return to middle school. A few months later my dad died in that car crash and my strategy became obvious . . . I would protect myself by protecting my emotions.”
“Chloe, it was one random day in my life as an eleven-year-old kid. Nothing more.” He smiles slightly, but his eyes are heavy and sad.
I move in front of him, tears rolling down my face and I can’t help but think that the scar that I find extremely sexy is actually a symbol of his pain. He looks at me nervously, like he’s revealed too much but I love him and it will never be enough. I cup my hands in the cool water and pour it over his head as he closes his eyes. He pulls me into him tightly and I rest my ear over his heart, counting the beats to his beautifully delicate rhythm.
During the middle of the night, hours after our romantic dinner on the beach and two rounds of sweaty passionate sex, I watch Adam sleep peacefully next to me. I quietly raise the sheet to peek at his hip and he jerks ever so slightly. The window lets in a soft light from the moon and his scarred skin appears silky and vulnerable. I lovingly run my finger over the smooth surface and trace the outline of the jagged edge until I eventually fall asleep.
The Wedding
May 2006
Holy crap, I’m getting married in eighteen hours. Marrying Adam is the easy part, it’s the schedule of activities and the little issue with me getting easily annoyed by people consuming my private time. I planned my perfect wedding in one afternoon while sipping coffee in the corner of Starbucks, but then Mom hired a wedding planner to elevate my perfect wedding into The Perfect Wedding.
I imagined an outdoor ceremony, possibly in a garden surrounded by blue hydrangeas and creamy yellow accents. My thirty guests would dine under a large tent with intimate bistro seating and a live French chanteuse. The space would be illuminated with a vintage chandelier and large globed lights hung from end to end. I wanted to serve steak frites and a wide assortment of imported beers. I also planned to have my favorite French bakery, Le Beurre, set up inside the tent just like their shop in SoHo to prepare croissants and pastries during dinner. I debated on having a local artist draw silhouettes and caricatures, but decided against it not wanting . . . a theme.
The theme of The Perfect Wedding is Brooklyn in Watercolor. The perfect ceremony will be held outside under the Brooklyn Bridge at the historic River Café. Cocktail hour will showcase wines from New York vineyards and delicate little cheeses. The one hundred and fifty guests will then be moved into the picturesque reception room over-looking the East River and the spectacular views of the Manhattan skyline. Roses will be the prominent flower, showcased in every shade of pink and white and pinned to anything standing still. All of the fabric will be metallic gray silk, pale gray crepe or charcoal gray lace. There will be one live instrumental band and a roaming violinist. Large silver candelabras with cascading crystals will adorn the long rectangular dining tables, in which the guests will dine on five courses of contemporary American cuisine. There will be an open bar with wine and cocktails and some strange aperitif that smells like cologne. A local artist was commissioned to design vintage New York postcards that will serve as the seating assignments and every couple will receive a 5 x 7 watercolor of the Brooklyn Bridge. It all sounds perfect, just not my perfect.
I’m staying the night in a bridal suite at the Brooklyn Marriott with Natalie because we have to be up by seven a.m. to start hair and makeup. I left Nat in the hotel bar almost two hours ago and I’m beginning to think she has found her plus one. At this point, I c
an’t sleep and tossing and turning in the oversized king bed only intensifies my anxiety. Will The Perfect Wedding meet everyone’s expectations and better yet, will I have enough self-control to not lash out at the first person to annoy me? It’s times like this when I need Adam to reassure me that everything’s okay and that nobody really cares about the table linens. I stare at the phone thinking I will just call him to say goodnight and then it rings.
“Hello?” I say after the first ring.
“Chloe, oh my god you’re still awake? Listen, I’m staying with Jack from the bar tonight, but I will be back in the room before you open your pretty green eyes. Okay?” Natalie is rushing me off the phone excitedly.
“Of course Nat, be safe, love you!”
“Love you, too! Bye.” We hang up and I lay on my back watching the blinking smoke detector and wondering if it means anything. The phone rings again and I assume she needs a favor . . . or condoms.
“Yes?” I say reluctantly.
“Hi,” answers Adam.
“Hi, I was thinking about you. How was bachelor party number two?” I ask playfully.
“C’mon, you know that was just an excuse for the other guys to have fun. I miss you.”
“I miss you too, but after tomorrow you won’t be able to get rid of me.”
“That’s true. You will officially be mine . . . Chloe, I need to see you.” I can’t tell if he’s drunk or tired but either way he sounds desperate.
“You know we aren’t allowed to see each other before the ceremony, it’s the traditional custom.” I answer him firmly.
“Then let’s start our own tradition. I’m coming up.” Adam’s desperation changes to a sober demand.
“You’re here?” But there is no answer.
A few minutes later there is a knock at the door. I don’t believe in superstitious wedding myths but I’m not sure I can handle seeing Adam right now. I grab my white satin “bride” robe and tie it loosely over my Metallica t-shirt. I lean against the door and he knocks again, loudly.
“Chloe, I need to see you. Open up.” His voice is harsh and gritty and I’m actually a little worried by his abnormal behavior. I open the door not wanting him to bang on it all night and his large frame appears meek and exhausted, with one arm behind his back and the other perched high in the doorway, supporting his limp body. His hair is tousled and his shirt’s buttons don’t line up and there is an icky stain on the sleeve. His head is dropped to his chest and I can only imagine what his face looks like.
“Adam! What the hell?” I start to close the heavy door but he forcefully stops it with his brute strength, making a loud smack that frightens me. I stand motionless as he lifts his handsome face to meet my eyes. He’s smiling like the Cheshire cat and he gives me a little wink with perfectly sharp eyes. He’s not drunk, just mean.
Adam whips around his arm that’s been hiding behind his back to present me with a potted blue hydrangea and a King Size Kit Kat. He pushes me back with his body until I bump into the sofa.
“Chloe LeGrange, are you actually wearing a robe with rhinestones?” He runs his finger over the bedazzled crown sewn on my chest.
“Yes, I am! I have the matching slippers as well . . .” I blush at my tacky apparel but Natalie has been in charge of all things cheese.
“Are we alone?” Adam places the gorgeous flower on the table by the sofa and opens the Kit Kat, breaking off a piece and eating it.
“Yep, Natalie found a friend. Mom, Aunt Judy and the bridesmaids will be here at seven and Nat better be sober and showered.” I watch his mouth take a bite of the chocolate wafer and holy shit, he’s sexy! I want a piece of both.
“Seven? How long does it take to get dressed?” He shoves the remainder of the chocolate in his mouth and rests against the back of the sofa.
“I know, right? Your Mom is taking bridal suite photos around noon, and then we have wedding party photos under the bridge, the ceremony, more photos, cocktail hour and the dinner reception before we can . . . undress.”
“And what about tonight . . . can we put premarital sex on the schedule?” Adam runs his hand up my thigh and smiles wildly as he discovers my surprise wedding wax.
“Ha ha! You should go home, Adam. We have an exhausting day ahead of us and I need sleep . . . unless you want to go to Atlantic City to get married tonight . . . only kidding!” Am I?
“Don’t worry, babe. I’m leaving.” Adam rests his hands on my shoulders and presses his forehead against mine.
“Promise me you will stop worrying about what everyone else thinks of our wedding. Prepare for tomorrow like it’s a theatrical performance on a stage. It’s like a lawyer conference for me, smiling and shaking hands, just doing my thing.” He kisses my forehead then brushes his lips against mine. “Our time will come Chloe and everything before that will be memories.” He kisses my forehead again and walks out the door.
I break off a piece of the Kit Kat while admiring the vivid blue petals of my hydrangea and notice a little card below one of the leaves with a hand written note from Adam.
Roses suck.
Adam
Natalie wakes me up at six a.m. completely showered and sober, and at that moment I realize she really does love me.
“Get up girl . . . it’s your wedding day!” Natalie pulls me up and then plops on the bed beside me.
“Our moms are bringing breakfast and I was given strict instructions to make sure you eat and drink plenty of water. There is nothing lamer than a bride passing out in the middle of the ceremony. Now scoot, into the shower you go!” Natalie pushes me off the bed and drags me into the bathroom.
After I dry myself off and lather my skin I put on my tacky robe and join the other ladies in the living area. Mom and Aunt Judy are both wearing sweat suits with pearl necklaces and high heels, obviously changing into their gowns later. My other two bridesmaids, Piper and Evie are my childhood friends from Toronto and apparently were forced to wear the hot pink version of my rhinestone robe. Nancy is seated elegantly at the small table wearing a stunning sleeveless chiffon gown in the palest blue imaginable. Her dark hair is pulled tightly into a bun with a small white flower, and she beams proudly at me when I enter the room.
“Chloe! Sit down and have some breakfast!” Aunt Judy pulls out a chair for me and prepares a plate of fruit and tiny muffins while gossiping about family members.
The hair and makeup team are setting up in the corner as Natalie leans down to whisper in my ear, “Chloe, how would you like my hair?” Wow, that’s the nicest gesture she’s made . . . this day is going to be fantastic.
While Mom and Aunt Judy are receiving their final touches and Nancy is busy taking photographs, I survey my girls by making them practice walking the aisle. Adam and I opted not to have a dress rehearsal because to us, rehearsing is a fake attempt at making something real. I have faith the girls can manage a twenty-foot walk down the aisle and fifteen minutes of smiling during our short and sweet ceremony.
I was worried that the bridesmaids would appear too drab and zombie-ish with the bottom layer being pewter silk and the overlay a charcoal lace, but they look beautiful in their tea-length vintage dresses. They each have their hair in a low, loose bun and their makeup is subtle with a pop of cherry-red lipstick. I let them choose their own jewelry from a trunk of antique bobbles left to me by my grandmother. I envisioned they would layer different pieces and textures, but they did a phenomenal job at keeping it romantic and understated.
The hairdresser is sweeping my hair into a loose side bun so that my back will remain bare. The makeup artist has somehow managed to make my big green eyes look smoky and sultry and she plumped up my red lips like Jessica Rabbit. Now all that’s left is my dress . . .
Even though Mom and the wedding planner share the responsibility of the wedding details, my dress is my cherished treasure. I bought it on my own, with a vision in my mind and the feeling of perfection as soon as the silk and satin caressed my body. I knew if Nat or Mom had anything to do wi
th the shopping process that they would convince me to find something more form fitting to highlight my large chest and curvy hips. But goddamn it, if I can’t have my French chanteuse performing during the reception then I will be the star . . . find me a grand piano and I will gladly torch the night away.
Nat helps me into the long ivory gown, careful not to get it caught on my hair clip. The front hangs beautifully with a V-shaped neckline folding softly over my chest. There is a modest seam below the folds that slightly emphasizes the indent of my waist. The back dramatically sweeps into a loose cascade of satin crepe stopping at the top of my waist and exposing my entire back. After four alterations and six weeks of cross-fitness training, the silk molds to my hips and curves like an expensive glove. I carefully had the alterations department add an additional crepe lining so that I may forgo the undergarments. This dress is a romantic love story on its own, but I’m the lucky character that gets to wear it.
“Jesus, Chloe! Adam’s going to wanna fuck ya in that dress.” Natalie is quite impressed with my gown choice, but her jarring remark just made me blush bright red in embarrassment.
“Natalie!” Aunt Judy shoots her the evil eye and purses her lips. Nancy must sense my horror because she lowers her camera and smiles compassionately.
“Chloe, you’re perfection.” As soon as Nancy speaks, she lifts her camera to capture my reaction of her approval. I’m getting married!
I should give Mom her credit because the ceremony has evolved from my Starbucks-induced French movie to a pastel-washed elegant painting. The weather is a perfect seventy-three degrees and the yellow sun is softly hiding behind the iconic steel structure. There are only enough seats for fifty guests so the small garden area has been transformed into an overflow of spirited guests. I’m standing with Dad as Piper, Evie and Nat do an excellent march down the pink, rose petal-lined aisle. They look stunning and all the guests ogle at their remarkably beautiful dresses, contrasting against the watery spring landscape. Dad squeezes my hand and I’m expecting one of his goofy remarks, but instead he takes my hand to his mouth and kisses it. On cue, the white jacketed wedding staff that has been hiding me, dramatically pulls apart like a white stage curtain . . . show time!
