THAT MAN: The Wedding Story

by L'Amour, Nelle

  Helen glanced down at her diamond-studded watch. “Come, let’s join the others for dinner. Everyone should be here by now.”

  The Bernsteins’ weekly Shabbat dinner was about to begin. I couldn’t wait to tell my parents as well as Blake’s that we’d finally decided on a wedding date. Having planned for my wedding since the day I was born, my mom was going to be over the moon.

  Shabbat dinner at the Bernsteins’ house always had a special meaning for me. It was where I got an eyeful of Blake’s super-sized cock for the first time. I’d accidentally walked into an unlocked bathroom where he was jerking off. I’d watched him come all over his hand. I was mortified, but now both Blake and I could laugh about it. The unforgettable memory, however, always made me very horny during Shabbat. And the same with Blake, though I wasn’t sure if it was for the same reason. Always, in the middle of devouring Grandma’s famous matzo soup, he’d reach for my hand, discreetly slip it under the table, and press it on the heated bulge between his legs. Tonight was no different. I could feel it throbbing. With my parents here, I wished for once he’d “unbig” himself to use the word he’d invented.

  Most of the usual suspects were gathered around the elegantly set dining room table—a daz-zling spec­tac­le of fine china, crystal, and silver. Joining Blake’s parents…his feisty sex-crazed Grandma, who I adored, and his older sister, Marcy the gynecologist, who I hadn’t gotten to know well. She and Blake were not particularly close. Missing, however, were her seven-year-old twin sons, who were home with strep, and Matt, her husband. Or rather ex-husband. Soon after Blake and I’d returned from France last Spring, a big family scandal had erupted. Marcy had discovered Matt, also a gyno, fucking one of their patients—a voluptuous blond starlet named Kristie who happened to be one of Blake’s former hook-ups. Right in the Beverly Hills office the two of them shared. On the examining table, no less. Well, to make a long story short…Marcy got the practice, the house, and custody of the twins, and Matt got Kristie, whom he was planning on marrying. I’d wanted to reach out to Marcy—having gone through a not that dissimilar life-changing break-up with my ex-fiancé, Bradley. But the unspoken estrangement between Blake and his sister made it difficult. I did, however, admire the grace with which Marcy had handled her ex’s affair. The asshat! And she now seemed more focused on her two children, who also seemed to be handling the break-up remarkably well. However, it did put a little damper on my happiness, and I sometimes felt bad when others in the family gloated over my engagement to Blake when her own marriage had gone down the drain.

  As was customary in the Bernstein household, my mother, the female guest of honor, was asked by Blake’s father to light the Shabbat candles. My darling Blake helped her do it. More memories of our first night together rushed into my head…his arms around fire-phobic me as I futilely lit one match after another. My mom got it on the first try and welcomed Shabbat into our lives. Shabbat, I had learned, was the symbolic union of man and woman, of God taking his bride. What a perfect time to announce our wedding date, though butterflies fluttered in my stomach. Setting a date made it so real. Blake and I were finally going to get married. I shot him a quick glance, soaking in his handsome profile. I could stare at him forever with that perfect outline of stubble and sexy mop of unkempt hair. He felt my eyes on him and shot back a flirtatious smile. The littlest smile could make desire pour through me like warm honey.

  Over Blake’s mother’s delicious brisket, we made small talk, the Bernsteins mostly asking my parents about their stay in LA. Shortly, their housekeeper Rosa began to clear the table, making room for coffee and dessert.

  “Oh, please let me help.” My mother leapt out of her chair with her plate and my dad’s along with their cutlery in her hands.

  “Meg, darling,” said Blake’s mother coolly. “Please sit down. There’s no need.”

  My mom shot me an awkward glance. I nodded, indicating for her to acquiesce. Rosa immediately took the plates and silverware from her, and my mother hesitantly sat down. Bewilderment flickered in her eyes.

  God bless my mom. I loved her so much. She was such a good soul. Honestly, there wasn’t a mean bone in her whole body. While Helen might chair lots of charities and foundations, my mother embodied charitable giving. Or should I say, living? She gave alms to the poor, never missed making meals for the homeless on holidays, and opened her door to anyone in need of a bed. Her whole life was about the needs of others, and foremost, those of my dad and mine. Blake’s father was grooming him to one day be the head of Conquest Broadcasting, and I’d have to adjust to that role. In my heart, I wanted to always be like my mom. Humble. Giving. Caring. And genuine. True to my roots. And one day, like her, I wanted to be a great mom.

  Blake’s grandma hurled me out of my thoughts. “So, bubala, vhen are you and my Blakela gonna get married?” Always the same question at around glass number three of wine.

  I swallowed hard while Blake broke into his dazzling smile. Under the table, he squeezed my hand that was resting on his erection.

  “Funny, you should ask, Grandma. Jennifer and I have exciting news.”

  My heart hammered. My mother’s face was already lighting up. Blake continued.

  “We’ve set a wedding date. Saturday, December twentieth.”

  A rapid-fire chain reaction was set off.

  “Oy! I should only live so long!” moaned Blake’s grandma, pouring glass number four. “Zei gezunt.”

  “Mazel tov,” exclaimed Blake’s father at the head of the table, raising his wine glass.

  Blake’s sister threw her arms up in the air. “Great. The same day as Matt’s wedding to bubblehead. Now I have an excuse not to attend.”

  I didn’t appreciate her mouthful of sarcasm, but she was probably hurting. Blake shot her a dirty look.

  My mother, oblivious to Marcy’s off-color remark, had tears in her eyes. “Oh honey, that’s wonderful. I’ll call Father Murphy tomorrow to reserve the parish.”

  Helen’s eyes grew as wide as they could. She’d definitely had one too many doses of Botox. Her harrumph silenced everyone.

  “Meg, darling, there’s no way we can have the wedding in Idaho. Or is it Iowa? I always get those two states mixed up. Regardless, at that time of year, the weather can be atrocious. I can’t have our guests flying in those risky conditions.”

  Shit. I hadn’t even thought of the weather factor when I’d agreed to Blake’s date. But Helen was right. It could be blizzarding in the Northwest. With the airports shut down. And even the West Coast weather was volatile at that time of the year.

  My stunned mother didn’t blink an eye while Helen continued. “And as you can imagine, we have a plethora of guests to invite.”

  “How many?” ventured my father, showing no emotion.

  “At least a thousand. Maybe more.”

  A thousand?

  “I see.” My pensive father pressed his lips thin while my poor mother gaped in shock. She seemed to be getting smaller and smaller in her chair. There was no way my parents could accommodate or afford a wedding of that magnitude. Why hadn’t I thought things through? Her lifelong dream of making me a wedding had just left the planet. The look of defeat on her face was gutting me.

  Finally, she built up the courage to say something. “Well, at least, Helen, let me help you plan it. I’m very handy, right Harold?” My mother, always looking for the good in the bad, turned to my father for moral support.

  Helen responded before my father could say a word. “Puh-lease, Meg. Don’t even think about it. With the wedding date so close, we can’t afford any mistakes. Enid will handle everything.”

  “Enid?” I asked meekly.

  “My mother’s event planner,” replied Blake flatly.

  “Enid Shmeenid,” chimed in tipsy Grandma. “Bubala, you and my Blakela should go to Vegas and elope.”

  “That’s what Matt and I did,” said Marcy, getting in her two cents.

  Helen pursed her mouth; clearly, Marcy’s elopement was a sore s
ubject. She set her fierce gaze on Blake. “Blake, darling, we will have nothing of the sort. This is going to be the wedding of the century.”

  I hadn’t even started to prep for the wedding and I was feeling all stressed out. My chest was tight. I met my mom’s sunken eyes and then connected with my dad’s. He wore a look of resignation.

  Helen called out to the family housekeeper. “Rosa, please get me my phone.”

  Jumping at her beck and call, the uniformed Rubenesque woman scuttled out of the dining room and returned promptly with Helen’s cell phone. Silently, she set it on the table and went back to cleaning up.

  My eyes stayed on my future mother-in-law as she picked up the phone with her perfectly manicured hand and tapped the screen with a long red-lacquered nail. Putting it to her diamond-studded ear, she twitched a small smile, indicating her call had gone through.

  “Enid, darling, Blake and his fiancée are getting married on December twentieth.” She paused briefly, listening to the voice on the other end. “Yes, that would be wonderful if you could get the save the dates out this weekend. And yes, I’ll get you the names of the McCoys’ guests. I’m sure there won’t be too many. And don’t forget to book Rabbi Silverstein…and yes, that would be divine if you got the announcement into this Sunday’s New York Times. MWAH, darling!” And with that, she ended the call.

  My parents and I exchanged a nervous glance. I twisted my engagement ring. Reality set in like a crashing meteor. News flash: the wedding of the century had landed.

  Chapter 4

  Blake

  After dropping her hushed parents off at The Beverly Hills Hotel, Jen and I drove back to my condo in tense silence. Following our announcement, the Jewish issue had come up again. Since we’d been engaged, we’d talked about it on and off, never coming to any resolution. Though they were secular Jews, both my parents wanted Jen to consider converting. For the sake of the children being their main bone of contention.

  “Jewish Shmewish,” my grandma had growled, with a dismissive flick of her wrists. “The only thing she needs to know is the vay to a Jewish man’s shmekel is through his stomach. Learn how to be a good cook,” she’d advised Jennifer.

  Grandma’s words had put a small smile on Jen’s face. They had also turned it as red as beet soup. I loved my grandma, and you know what, she was right. Well, at least partially. Yes, I had a hearty appetite. But my cock had an appetite of its own, and my tiger knew damn well how to satisfy that. No one sucked me off better than Jen or could bring me to mind-blowing fulfillment while buried deep inside her ravenous pussy. She knew how to cook my cock to perfection.

  I broke the silence. “Jen, we’ve gone over this. You don’t have to convert if you don’t want to. There’s really no pressure.”

  She sucked in a short breath, a sexy sound that always turned me on. “It’s not that, baby. It’s the wedding.”

  “It’s going to be spectacular.”

  “It’s going to be a spectacle. And it’s going to cost a fortune.”

  I made a sharp turn onto Wilshire Boulevard and picked up speed. I put the top of my Porsche up so we didn’t have to shout above the whipping wind.

  “Don’t worry. My parents are going to pay for everything.”

  She turned to face me. Her eyes flared. “Blake, you don’t understand. My parents were counting on making me a wedding. In their own backyard. Especially my mom. Didn’t you see the expression on her face when your mother broke the news about that Enid lady?”

  The truth, I wasn’t really paying attention. While my mother’s best friend Enid had planned all of my mother’s philanthropic events and was indeed the most sought after party planner in town, I wasn’t that keen on her planning something that was personally mine. Though she’d stayed close to my mother, she’d distanced herself from me. Our encounters were always cordial but cold. She carried a silent grudge. And time had not erased it.

  I kept my feelings about Enid to myself. What Jennifer didn’t know wouldn’t hurt. I responded.

  “Baby, you don’t understand. My parents are like royalty in this town. They have a social obligation to put on a show and invite every Tom, Dick, and Harry they know.”

  “Well, your sister didn’t have a big wedding.” Her tone was confrontational.

  “Marcy pissed my parents off. But she didn’t care. I do. Part of my job is to make my parents look good.”

  Another thick wave of silence rolled over us as we neared my condo. Finally, as I pulled into the circular driveway of the majestic high-rise building, she cupped her slender fingers over my hand that was clutching the stick. I shifted into park and met her gaze. If anger had filled her eyes, it had dissipated.

  “Baby, I’m sorry. I think maybe I overreacted. I’ve had this image in my mind of what my wedding would be like—it just wasn’t a big flashy Hollywood one. But I get where you’re coming from. And I don’t want to let down your parents…or you.”

  Fuck, I loved her. And once we were upstairs in my apartment, I was going to show her just how much. The grateful kiss I smacked on her lips wasn’t enough.

  Chapter 5

  Jennifer

  After yummy morning sex with Blake, I rolled out of bed, took a shower, and got dressed. Jeans, sneakers, and my favorite USC sweatshirt. I was taking my parents to the airport.

  “Jen, let me come with you. Or at least, let me get them a town car.”

  I gave my beautiful bedhead a peck on his forehead. “That’s sweet of you, baby, but a limo is so not their style. Plus, I want to spend some time alone with them before they leave.”

  “Just be prepared to spend some time alone with me when you get back,” Blake responded, ducking under the covers. “Quality time.”

  “Or do you mean quantity time?” I teased, his big dick filling my head. And in my mind’s eye, my pussy too.

  “Both,” I heard him laugh as I waltzed out the door.

  The Beverly Hills Hotel where Mom and Dad were staying was not far from Blake’s condo. With no traffic on Wilshire, I got there in fifteen minutes. A feat by Los Angeles standards. I didn’t even have to valet my Kia. My punctual parents were already waiting for me at the curbside when I pulled up to the entrance. Amongst the throng of trendy guests dressed in the latest designer fashions, my parents, in their simple conservative attire, stood out like a sore thumb.

  “Did you guys have breakfast?” I asked as I drove down Sunset.

  “No, dear,” said my mother. “I thought your dad and I could catch a bite at the airport.”

  With light traffic and time to kill, I decided to take my parents to The Farmer’s Market on Fairfax. An old tourist attraction adjacent to The Grove shopping mall, it was a hubbub for tourists from Middle America. I thought after all the Bernsteins’ fancy wining and dining they would like something down to earth. Something that reminded them of home. And reminded me of home. Old-fashioned DuPar’s diner fit the bill.

  We settled into a booth, me facing my parents. All of us ordered good old sunny side up eggs, hash browns, and bacon. Plus OJ and coffee.

  “We had such a lovely stay here, darling,” said my mother over coffee.

  “The Bernsteins are fine people,” added my father.

  “Mom, are you really okay with Helen planning the entire wedding?” The crestfallen expression on her face when she heard the news was etched in my brain.

  “Yes, darling. They have so many people to invite. We could never accommodate them in our backyard. Nor could we afford the cost.”

  “But, Mom, Dad. You’ve wanted to make me a wedding your entire life.”

  “No, honey,” said my father. “We’ve wanted only to make you happy our entire life. With the money we’ve saved for your wedding, we may do something else we’ve always wanted to do.”

  My eyes grew wide as did my mom’s.

  “What would that be, dear?” she asked.

  “Sail to Europe on the Queen Mary.”

  My mother’s eyes melted into my dad’s. “O
h, Lordy! Could we really?”

  “As soon as Jennifer and Blake tie the knot, I’m booking two first-class tickets.”

  Clapping her hand to her wide-open mouth, my mother let out a loud gasp.

  I was brimming with happiness. My parents deserved this trip. In a way, Blake and his family were making it possible for them.

  While I wanted to treat them to breakfast, my father reached for the check right away. It would be an insult to offer. My father was a mensch to use one of the Yiddish words I’d learned from Grandma. While waiting for the change (he had paid in cash), his eyes searched mine.

  “Jennie, I want to ask you something.”

  “Shoot, Dad.”

  “Are you going to convert to Judaism?”

  My mother looked at me unblinkingly; her faith and family traditions were so important to her. My stomach tightened. “I don’t know. Right now, I can’t fathom the idea of giving up Christmas and Easter.”

  My mother’s expression relaxed as I continued. “Blake and I have discussed it. He’s cool with that as long as we celebrate the Jewish holidays too and our kids have bar mitzvahs. I told him I want Father Murphy to officiate our wedding along with their rabbi.”

  My mother’s eyes lit up. “That would be wonderful, darling. I think Father Murphy would really appreciate that. He’s known you since you were a little girl and is such a close family friend.”

  My father nodded with approval. I was thrilled this decision pleased my parents so much. I made a mental note to discuss this with Enid, the wedding planner. But the discussion about Judaism wasn’t over.

  “Mom, Dad. I want to be honest with you. Down the line, I may decide to become Jewish. Would you be okay with that?”

  My father smiled at me warmly and then clasped my hands in his. “Jennie, you must always know that both your mother and I are okay with anything that makes our little girl happy.”