by Ashley Pullo
Adam’s right, it’s just like any other performance. I walk the aisle overhearing excited gasps of “amazing” and “gorgeous” and I’m somewhat distracted by the violinist of an extremely small stature, but I ignore everyone around me to focus on the one thing that matters.
Adam smiles at me and gives me a quick little wink, knowing that I would be the only one looking at him. He looks divine in his pale gray suit and soft pink tie. Most people would be completely washed out in this lifeless color scheme but his face is so intense and alive that he could make a brown sack look distinguished. We lock eyes as I come toward him, and I immediately feel at ease with every decision that has led me to this point . . . the move to Manhattan, the blind date, Brooklyn . . .
The wedding officiant has a wonderful radio voice, powerful and sincere. Adam and I exchange traditional vows of honoring and obeying until we die, place identical platinum bands on each other’s hand as a token of our promise and press our lips together for the obligatory display of affection.
“Ladies and gentleman, I would like to introduce Mr. and Mrs. Ford!” The officiant opens his arms and presents us to the world. The violinist resumes playing and the hired photographer kneels below us taking a series of awkward shots. I give a little wave to Mom and Dad who are applauding with glee and look around at the bountiful guests that appear pleased with the ceremony.
Adam wraps his arm around my waist as I glance at Nancy sitting sweetly with her camera in her lap and a small tissue in her hand. She nods at me with a sense of relief and I totally know what she means. Adam smiles at the guests then presses his mouth so tightly against my ear that his breath causes a vibrating pulse to shoot down my bare back.
“Are you wearing panties?” Before I can even process what he said he releases his mouth from my ear and gives an outstretched wave and a plastic smile to the oblivious audience.
We spend most of the cocktail party with our bridal party in a private room exchanging funny stories and keeping David away from the bar. He only recently turned twenty-one and we’re not quite sure he has the self-control to be around the never-ending flow of alcohol. Adam’s other two groomsmen, Pete and Anthony, take turns telling crazy stories about their days in college. It’s a well-known fact that they openly compete for the one-night attention of Natalie, but surprisingly, she’s held her ground with them on many occasions. Piper is relentlessly trying to gather information from David about their Vegas trip a few months ago and the subsequent bachelor party last night. I’m not sure why she cares, but she’s always been a little bit of a pervert. I do find a little pleasure however, in David commenting that Adam left early last night to go to bed. Nancy joins us with a glass of Long Island wine and her Polaroid camera to take some very, very candid photos.
The reception area is a twilight rendering of a spring night, as if Monet expertly stroked hues of gray and pink with a giant paintbrush. The long dining tables are draped in pale gray linens and silver overlays. Large candelabras tower over the pewter place settings and roses in every shade of pale pink fill in any empty space. The guests are taking their seats admiring the vintage postcards while Adam and I wait behind a large stained glass door for our grand entrance. He holds my pinky and tilts his head so that it rests on top of mine but when the door swings open he grabs my hand and lifts it dramatically while plastering on a charming smile.
Our first dance is to a random song we picked from a hat one night after a few too many hard ciders. He spins me around and gives me a little dip to satisfy the expectations of our guests and then I move to the customary father-daughter dance to one of Dad’s favorite songs, Daddy Sang Bass.
The River Café isn’t just an awesome venue in a prime location, it has one of the most coveted menus in New York City. I look forward to dining with my guests over five courses of delicious cuisine while enjoying the spectacular view of the Manhattan skyline, but it’s been a long day and I’m counting the minutes until we are allowed to leave. Natalie stands elegantly and clangs her crystal goblet with a spoon as a wedding staffer hands her a cordless microphone. Oh . . . dear . . . god . . . even Adam holds his breath. Why, oh why did I not make Natalie rehearse her toast?
“Good evening.” Natalie confidently smiles at the guests and motions to the panoramic view of downtown.
“For those of you that don’t know me, I’m Natalie LeGrange, the identical cousin to the bride. Growing up like sisters, we had plenty of time to talk about our hopes and fears, question life’s mysteries and plan our future as pop stars and models. So around the age of thirteen, I decided to keep a journal . . . let’s read a few of those entries, shall we?” Natalie holds up a battered but ornately decorated spiral notebook with a puff-painted flower and several cut out photos of the New Kids on the Block. I remember her writing in this notebook and this has the potential of record-level embarrassment.
“Chloe and Natalie’s Book of Life. July 16, 1991, Chloe gets a real bra!” Yep, this is bad. Natalie gives Adam a flirtatious wink and continues.
“September 22, 1992, I copied Chloe’s math homework and we both got Cs. December 1, 1995, Chloe and I have a huge fight over Green Day . . . she says they’re crap, I love them. Silent treatment will ensue. March 17, 1996, Chloe and I used fake IDs to get wasted in a pub. July 31, 1996, I can’t believe I’m moving to Connecticut without my best friend! October 31, 1999, I kissed Chloe’s boyfriend at a Halloween party. February 12, 2001, Chloe kissed my boyfriend at a concert. April 25, 2003, Chloe moves to NYC, finally! May 15, 2003, we need rent money. May 16, 2003, Uncle Martin sends $500 and we buy booze, sushi and shoes. July 4, 2003, Chloe has a hot night with a Portuguese guy on Fire Island. August 16, 2003, Chloe will marry Adam Ford and she owes me a purse.” She holds up the notebook to show the guests that there are no more entries, quietly places it on the table and raises her glass.
“To Chloe and Adam . . . their story has just begun.”
Natalie sits down next to me and I grab her hand under the table squeezing it in appreciation. David stands from his seat holding a crumpled piece of paper and breathing heavily into the microphone. Shit, why didn’t Adam and I consider who would be giving toasts?
“Hello . . . I’m David Ford and like Natalie, I, too kept a journal of everything my brother ever said . . .” He unfolds the paper as everyone laughs in delight at his light-hearted humor.
“Shut up. Leave me alone. I’m telling Mom. Straws are for sissies. Stop smiling. Get out of my room. Don’t tell Mom. Your cleats stink. Always have a condom. Green Day blows. Give me ten bucks. No way. Don’t stay in Buffalo. Are you an idiot? I want you to meet Chloe!” David shoves the paper in his pocket and flashes his megawatt smile as he raises his empty glass.
“To Adam and Chloe . . . and no more journal entries.”
After the brilliant toasts, Adam and I are escorted outside by the hired photographer to take more photos. We do artistic poses in the garden with the twinkling bridge in the background. We’re positioned apart from each other and instructed to stare off at nothing particular. I keep thinking of those Calvin Klein Obsession commercials from the ’80s, the ones where the actors looked scared and depressed. We move inside to cut the grayish cake with edible pearls and then pretend to cut it again for the photographer. Oh how I wish we had the chocolate croissants from Le Beurre . . .
At midnight, the guests congregate near the entrance to the River Café as Adam whisks me through the crowd avoiding the rose-colored confetti. Whose idea was that? I kiss Mom and Dad, kiss Nancy on the cheek, hug and kiss the entire bridal party then turn dramatically to blow a kiss to the wedding guests. Adam laughs and waves as he pulls me into the limousine to spend our wedding night in the place where we started.
Once inside the lush interior of the limousine, Adam puts his arm around me and squeezes tightly. His other hand runs up my silky thigh and he smirks, his eyes tired, but his mouth full of lust.
“And?” He asks.
“No,” I smile.
My Fav
orite Pick
March 2005
I can’t find it. The lucky pick I’ve had since my very first guitar lesson has been stolen. Someone has broken into our apartment and stolen my lucky pick.
“Babe, what are you doing?” Adam is standing behind me as I rummage through the kitchen cabinets and dig through the trashcan.
“I’m looking for my lucky pick. I have a show in two days and I need that pick.” I slam the refrigerator door and drop to the floor to look underneath.
“Yes, but why are you looking in the kitchen?” Adam pulls me up from the floor and closes one of the drawers.
“I don’t know . . . people always look in random places when they lose something.” I look under the sink and Adam joins me in the search.
“Babe, we have to go soon . . . how about first thing in the morning we continue the search and rescue with a fresh perspective?” He smiles sweetly and holds out his arms.
“Okay, I guess if it was a lucky pick I would have a record deal by now.” We grab our jackets from the living room and head out the door into the cool, spring night.
I admittedly hate basketball. It’s more of an auditory repulsion than the actual sport, but attending a Knicks game is last on my list of things to do in NYC. Nat’s new boyfriend has tickets to his investment firm’s corporate box, and she invited me, Adam and Pete to join her under the instruction to make her look good. The box seats are pretty awesome but the intolerable noise of those squeaky size fifteen sneakers and the sporadic bouncing of the ball makes my ears bleed.
“Chloe, isn’t Mark gorgeous?” Natalie whispers.
“He’s very handsome, Nat. And it was very sweet of you to invite Pete . . .” I raise my eyebrows and she lifts her shoulders, shrugging in shame. “I wasn’t aware that you had moved to the impress-and-make-him-jealous stage of your relationship . . .”
“Chloe, just be cool, eh. I really like him . . . Hey! Did Adam reveal his big news, yet?” Her face lights up in excitement. I glance at Adam chatting with the other guys and waving his arms dramatically telling a story.
“He’s going to propose, ya know. Wow, how will Private Ford propose to someone like you?” She’s obviously happy with her sarcastic wit and romantic imagination but she has a point.
“He wants to take me to dinner tomorrow night. Nat, you know as well as I do that Private Ford will not get down on one knee in a restaurant full of people . . . he’s not proposing.” I answer without conviction. Adam and I have recently talked about marriage but I highly doubt he will partake in any sort of big production. We’ll probably just elope.
“Oh . . .” Natalie looks perplexed.
“Nat? What’s going on?” I glance at Adam again and this time he’s staring at me.
“Look, I promised I wouldn’t say anything . . . I went to Tiffany’s with him a few weeks ago. He already had a ring picked out but I guess he wanted to make certain. That’s all I’m going to say.” Natalie jumps up from her seat and glides seductively toward the group of men. Oh my god . . . he’s going to propose at dinner tomorrow night.
I can’t concentrate on anything during the remainder of the basketball game and I’m positive I look like a bobble head, nodding and smiling in agreement. At one point, Nat pulls me aside and tells me to snap out of it or we’ll both be in trouble. After the game is over, I convince Adam that I don’t feel well and I can’t go out for drinks with Nat and Mark. The truth is, I can’t keep pretending that I don’t know my life is about to change.
When we return to our apartment I go straight to bed and Adam hovers behind me concerned and sympathetic.
“Babe, are you okay?” He rubs my back and I give him a half-smile not wanting to worry him any further. I have no idea what he’s thinking so I use the only excuse I know that is pure kryptonite to even the strongest man.
“I have cramps.”
Adam is meeting me at Hatsuhana Sushi near his office and it’s been a real pain in my ass to get to Midtown on a Friday night. When I left our apartment I looked fantastic in my purple satin dress and expensive salon blowout, but after forty-five minutes in a stinky cab driving through rain, my hair is frizzy and my dress is wrinkled. I run into the restaurant not wanting to get completely drenched, but nearly get smothered by the flock of people gathered in the small waiting area. I don’t see Adam anywhere so I check in with the hostess and wait at the bar.
The décor is modern but the atmosphere is like an IKEA cafeteria . . . blonde wood, strange lighting and dull upholstery. I order a Kirin Light and observe the annoying group of people next to me, clearly celebrating an office birthday. I spot Adam’s tall figure coming toward me with a radiant smile and relaxed shoulders. He reaches in to kiss me and I’m overwhelmed by the smell of alcohol scorching my nostrils.
“Hey babe.” Adam kisses my check. “You look amazing!”
“Ya been drinking?” I ask as he’s motioning to the bartender.
“Yeah, I had drinks with some of the partners after work . . . look, our table’s ready!” He grabs our beers and leads me to a small table for two, next to another small table for two, so close that the four of us could share a tempura appetizer.
“Babe, are you feeling okay?” His eyes are concerned but his mouth remains turned up in a boyish smile.
“Yep, I’m fine.” I smile politely and open the sushi menu to cover my face.
“Spicy yellowtail . . . what else?” Adam’s finger grazes the top of my menu then pushes it down to expose my dumbfounded face. We never have awkward moments but right now my skin is crawling in uncomfortable disappointment.
“Chloe, I’ve known for a few weeks now but I wanted to wait for the perfect moment to tell you.” Adam places his hand over mine and I sink into painful despair. I can’t believe he made me come to Midtown in the pouring rain, to a crowded sushi restaurant, for a proposal over a couple of beers and a yellowtail. This isn’t us. I try my best to smile enthusiastically as the waitress stands behind Adam with a tray of warm towels.
“Hello, welcome to Hatsuhana. Are you ready to order?” She plops a towel on my plate and takes a small pad from her apron.
“Everything looks great! Can you give us a few more minutes to decide?” Adam smiles politely and the waitress apathetically nods and walks away.
“Chloe, our life is about to change. Everything you’ve wanted . . . more time together, more security, more shoes.” Adam reaches inside his jacket pocket with a heartfelt smile and I suddenly feel ignorant for ever believing he was different from other conventional men. I shudder when he opens my palm . . . but then I feel a sharp paper edge being placed in my hand. I stare at the familiar ivory business card with black and gold lettering and sigh in relief. He’s not proposing over sushi and beer with the rest of Hatsuhana to gawk at my fake excitement, Adam made partner!
“Adam, shit, you did it! You’ve worked so hard for this . . . but what does this mean exactly?” I stare at his beautiful new business card and I relax.
“What it means is that I won’t be working eighty hour weeks trying to bill hours. I bring in new clients, babysit junior attorneys and assist with jury selections whenever I’m needed. I was late meeting you tonight because some partners took me out to celebrate, but I promise, work will never make me late for you again.” He takes my hand in his and gives me one of his sexy little winks, the ones reserved just for me.
“Adam, I would love the yellowtail!”
Adam and I wake up early to run the bridge before our brunch date with Natalie and Mark. We normally like to run at a very fast pace the mile toward Downtown and then on the return we slow our pace to chat and take in the beautiful view of Brooklyn. It’s a gorgeous April morning after that horrible downpour last night and I love the way everything has little drops of yesterday sparkling in the present. On our southbound return, Adam stops abruptly in the middle of the bridge and grabs my hand.
“Chloe, wait a second.” I’m confused, he doesn’t look even slightly winded and he runs almost every da
y so this jog back to Brooklyn shouldn’t require a stop in the middle of the bridge.
“Sometimes I forget to tell you how beautiful you are . . . and Chloe . . .” Adam lowers to one knee right in the middle of the bridge. The early morning commuters honk as they pass us and a few joggers stop near us to watch. I’m faint and a little sick . . . this is happening. It’s such a beautiful morning full of fresh hope breaking on the horizon and I would follow this man anywh— . . . he smiles naughtily then lowers his head to survey my sneaker.
“Your shoe’s untied.” Adam hastily ties the laces then stands up giving me a sexy wink and a cocky smirk.
“Shall we?” he asks.
“Yes,” I say nonchalantly, not wanting to lose the battle of playful discourse. I dart past Adam, smiling mischievously and run as fast as I can toward the end of the bridge. Eventually, Adam’s dark hair and orange sneakers zip by me, brushing my arm and making me tingle. He turns to jog backwards for a few feet, smiling arrogantly and waving me toward him, and then he spins back around and I follow him to Brooklyn.
We meet Natalie and Mark for brunch in TriBeCa near my old apartment. Since I moved out last year, she’s had to get a real job and replace me with another roommate to be able to afford such an expensive location, but Nat believes that living in Manhattan is an investment in her future . . . more so than four years of college.
“So?” Natalie’s eyes light up as she studies my naked hand.
“No. Can we drop it?” I move my hand under the table and she frowns. Adam and Mark return with Bloody Caesars and Mimosas as I give Natalie another stern look of cease and desist.
