And he would be, soon enough. Coyote looked ahead to winning his Raven back, and that made it easy to smile.
“By giving you the rings I’ll prove to myself that I’m the bigger man. And seeing you marry him will be absolute proof that it’s over between us. It’ll give me closure. If I don’t see it for myself I’ll always wonder.”
Rook extracted an endless list of promises, demanding sincere assurance he wouldn’t sabotage the wedding. But she never made him promise not to work his own magic into the design of the rings.
Raven didn’t let it come up.
*** *** ***
To say Bishop was surprised when Fin asked him to perform the ceremony would be putting it mildly. Fin remembered Bishop getting ordained to perform his sister’s wedding and wondered if he could “really perform real weddings.” Bishop assured Fin he could, all the while wondering what the punch line would be.
Belatedly realizing Fin wasn’t joking, Bishop felt honored. And rushed. The ceremony was to take place the next day, Friday the 13th. The happy couple insisted the date didn’t matter, that they’d already used up all their bad luck. The three of them were now discussing the details of the ceremony over Chinese take-out at Cinemopolis, specifically the guest list.
Rook downed the remainder of her beer in one gulp. “Not my mom, that’s for sure. She’d jinx it.”
Bishop and Fin quirked eyebrows.
“She’s on her seventh husband.” Rook tossed her empty onto the pile with the others. “Unless, of course, there’ve been recent developments. She doesn’t approve of my relationship choices, so we don’t talk much these days.”
Both men said, “Shit.”
“Yeah. It’s embarrassing. Fucking ridiculous. What it comes down to is: I don’t want her at our wedding.” Rook looked defiantly at Bishop. “And no, I don’t want my dad there either.”
Rook opened another beer. After several swallows she took a deep breath, then looked sheepishly up at Fin and Bishop.
“Sorry.” She smiled weakly. “Issues.”
“Just proves you’re human,” Bishop said.
“I can think of at least one household item who would be prepared to debate that assertion,” said Fin.
Rook laughed, her eyes and Fin’s dancing to the beat of a private joke. She looked at Bishop and turned grave. Fin took her hands as she spoke. “I don’t want to be Brook Brandymoon anymore. My name has always changed according to my mother’s whims. Reflected her egregious choices. I want a name I have some say in. I want to be Rook Tanner.”
“You are,” intoned Fin. They looked at each other again, and kissed. It started as a peck, a discreet thing rehearsed between lovers for use in public, but they immediately forgot Bishop was there. Soul kissing, nuzzling. Resting upon each other, cheek-to-cheek. Holding hands. Bishop watched politely, or at least as politely as one can stare at an oblivious couple necking within arm’s reach.
They stopped kissing with obvious reluctance but not a hint of embarrassment. Bishop wondered if they could jump right back into the discussion.
“What about siblings? Rook?”
She sighed. “I have an older half-brother and a younger half-sister. Wouldn’t miss either one. Goes double for the temporary siblings. I lost count of them.”
Bishop turned to Fin. “You don’t want Kyle.”
“Sadly, he left no forwarding address. I wish him well, in hopes he’ll have less reason to come back.”
Everyone clinked cans.
Fin looked at the metal ceiling of the projection booth. “Brad and Melissa can read about it in the newspaper. The only family I want there isn’t going to be.” He looked at Rook. “Willow.”
“Your mother.” Rook’s voice was gentle.
Bishop felt a mixture of emotions. Sympathetic sadness for his friend, and a kind of pride. Fin’s mom had always been a forbidden topic. Lurking behind these noble feelings were pangs of jealousy. Rook was the reason Fin could be this open, this strong about a painful subject. She was replacing Bishop in Fin’s cosmos. Probably healthy for all three of them.
Fin became quiet, and Rook stroked his temple. He closed his eyes, tightly then more tranquilly. “Sorry,” he said. Looking at Bishop, he said, “I momentarily forgot my cool demeanor of slacker detachment.” He glanced at Rook and added, “Issues.”
She grinned.
“So, Bish,” Fin resumed, “do you have an entry for our dysfunctional family awards?”
“Some of my cousins married each other. Second cousins, mind you, but still.”
“I’m afraid that doesn’t top an Evil Half-Twin, but thanks for playing.”
Bishop regarded Rook. “I guess we give him this award?”
“Well, Kyle is tough to beat,” said Rook.
“But...” Fin waited alertly.
“But... Mom met Number Five because I was dating his son, so while they were married I was sleeping with my stepbrother for a while.” Rook showed off, pincering a clump of fried rice with her chopsticks and popping it into her mouth with a flourish.
Fin said, “I think we should invite him to the wedding.”
Rook quickly replied, “No, you don’t.”
Fin grinned. Bishop interjected, “So, do we have a winner?”
“My entry,” said Rook, “despite its piquant whiff of scandal, pales beside a ripe dung heap like Kyle. Fin takes it.”
“Which all translates to no family at the ceremony,” Bishop said. “Just us.”
“And Marcus,” said Fin.
“Marcus?” Bishop exclaimed.
“He’s going to give us tattoo wedding rings,” said Rook. “Besides, we need a witness, right?”
Bishop shook his head in amazement.
“He’s cool with it. Rook talked to him,” explained Fin. “We think it will help him understand we’re serious.”
Bishop hoped they were right. “I’m a firm believer in letting people make their own decisions,” he said, “and their own mistakes. But I don’t like to actively participate in making those mistakes.”
Rook and Fin nodded at Bishop and smiled at one another.
“Before I can agree to wed you, I need to know why you want me to,” Bishop declared, hoping to get on to the next topic before the couple forgot he was there again. They turned to him, and Fin spoke.
“Because you’re my best friend. And you’ll let us do it the way we want.”
“I meant, why do you want to get married? You share a pretty low opinion of marriage as an institution, and you’ve both come from very bad examples of how families operate. So, why?”
Rook considered for a moment. “It never occurred to me such a question existed. It’s the kind of thing you know way down deep, below words. It’s hard to explain.”
“Take your time.”
Rook continued, “I guess it seems, from the outside, like we’re jumping to do the conventional thing. Like we want society’s approval of us as a couple. But, it’s the fact that we are willing to jump through these hoops. It’s a statement. No — not a statement. A sacrifice. We don’t care if society approves of our bond, but the bond is more important than our individualistic ideals. So, we’ll do the conventional thing, but not in the conventional manner.” Rook looked at Fin quizzically. “At least that’s the way I see it.”
Fin put his arm around her waist and pulled her onto his lap. He moved her hair aside so he could nibble her ear. They both started giggling and Fin moved down her neck.
Bishop said. “What about you, Fin?”
“Ditto,” came the muffled response.
“Nope. You can do better than that.”
With a sigh, the lovers slid back to their previous positions. As Fin spoke, Rook kissed his fingers.
“I do agree with Rook. Who wouldn’t?”
“Good boy,” Rook cooed.
“I mean, being together, forever, is all that matters. That’s the ideal of marriage. We’re idealists. It’s sensible to marry the woman I love. That’s what marriage is for.”
<
br /> “More than that,” Rook added, snaking her arms around Fin’s neck, “all through time, while people have married and done their thing, it’s been leading up to us. Ours is the reason marriages exist.”
“So, by ceremonially sacrificing a bit of your idealistic freedom, and creating something eternal and beautiful, you will be, in effect, fulfilling the destiny of connubial arrangements.” Bishop paused. “Did I miss anything?”
“When we’re together, I am complete,” Fin said.
“Making it official is a way of protecting us. No one will dare to pull us apart.”
They faced each other, Rook straddling Fin’s lap. They began kissing again.
“Okay, you pass,” Bishop said. “Run to your subterranean love-nest before I have to dare to pull you apart.”
Fin carried Rook out the door, kissing her.
*** *** ***
The buzz of the tattoo needle filled the small room. Fin sat beside Rook on the edge of Bishop’s bed. Marcus sat on a stool while he worked on Rook’s left hand, having finished Fin’s already. Bishop sat cross-legged on a large pillow. Vesuvius undulated beside him on the floor. Incense burning on the windowsill lent the proceedings the scent of spice cookies baking in an opium den. Their one nod to tradition was Rook’s white dress, in actuality a nylon slip with a lacy bodice that she picked up at Goodwill for a quarter.
Bishop had been talking for more than half an hour about love and its cross-cultural importance, traditions, legends, lore, manifestations and beauty. Fin felt uncharacteristically content and alert.
Several minutes later Marcus indicated he was done and sat back to watch with an amused expression, his arms folded across his chest and his boots on the stool. Bishop wove the final thread back into the verbal tapestry of his marriage benediction and fell silent.
Fin looked at his left hand, at Rook’s, and into her eyes. When he’d first seen her, her eyes reminded him of snow and shadow. They were much warmer now, like tropical waters. She smiled and Fin knew they were doing the right thing.
Sinking to one knee, he held the tattoo needle the way he’d been shown, and completed the circle around her slender finger as he pledged his love, devotion, support and protection. Marcus handed Rook the other needle, and she completed Fin’s ring and made her pledge.
Bishop said, “By the power vested in me by the Natural Order, and certain legal entities, I now pronounce you Husband and Wife. Congratulations. Now kiss.”
*** *** ***
After anointing the wedding bands with antiseptic ointment and signing the papers to make it legal, Marcus left.
Fin and Rook lit a joint and passed it around. “We didn’t get a cake,” Rook explained.
Lounging on Bishop’s bed with Fin she felt perfectly content. She concentrated on Fin, the feel of his body next to hers, the smell of him, the sound of his breathing, his gentle thrumming in her head. Her eyelids drifted closed.
Rook saw herself in a long, heavy dress of black and white, many layered, regal. A crown rested light upon her brow and she stood alone by the edge of a flat, gray lake. To her right was a small, oval table, waist high and glossy ebony with mother of pearl and ivory inlaid inside the lipped edge. The six legs of the table were twisted copper, green with age. The air hung dank and still. Her feet were cold. Wiggling her bare toes, she felt the damp, rough grass.
When she looked back at the table she noticed a small velvet bag, black on one side, white on the other, drawn with a braided silk cord. She cupped her hands and breathed on them, then rubbed them together to warm them. Her wedding ring had healed, and there was a similar one on her right ring finger, still raw.
Once her hands were warmed, she reached into the bag and pulled out its contents, a single silver coin, large enough to fill the palm of her hand. Slippery smooth and brutally cold, it drew heat from her hands as she turned it over and over to examine it. On each side was the likeness of a knight’s head. Similar, but not identical. One side shone bright in the dim sunlight, the other, dark with tarnish, glinted dully.
She tucked the velvet bag into her sash and contemplated the coin a moment longer. There were neither words nor numbers, just the two faces. The crown on her head felt heavy now, but she knew she couldn’t remove it, could not abdicate. The coin was drawing all the heat from her fingers, her hands. It would rob her of all warmth if she held it much longer, would kill her, and when she fell it would land on the table and the decision would be made. Heads, or heads? Rook was unable to make the decision, but it was her destiny, so with numb fingers she stood the coin on edge and spun it.
The coin twirled on the table’s glassy surface. As Rook held her breath and watched, awaiting the decision, the two knights melded into one regal face, complete with crown. Rook gasped. She couldn’t let a choice be made of one or the other. It must be both.
The spinning coin started to slow. Rook dropped to her knees by the table, grasping it to steady herself and getting her gown muddy and wet. She blew at the coin in a desperate attempt to keep it spinning, but knew she couldn’t continue for long. She grew colder as the coin began to wobble.
***
Rook’s head cleared and she wanted to get Fin alone. Being an understanding sort, Bishop kicked them out of his room and wished them a happy wedding night.
As all newly married couples are wont to do, the two of them spent the walk back to the bomb shelter where they planned to honeymoon calling each other Mister and Missus and Husband and Wife and marveling at the newness and wonder of it all.
As Rook’s wedding gift to Fin she finally pierced his right nipple, and placed the silver hoop from her navel in it.
Fin closed his eyes while he played his bass and quietly sang Rook his first song. After exchanging gifts, they spent the remainder of the night making love and sleeping cradled in one another’s arms.
Chapter Seventeen
LIMOUSINE
Party tonight (Saturday) at Sanderson Park.
Kegs and a variety of chemically interesting party favors arrive at 8:00 and you should, too. Bring libations or victuals to share. Or more party favors.
Nicotine plays at 9:00, and probably again later. Unless the cops show up.
Come meet my new wife! Her name’s Rook and she’s awesome.
email invitation to Fin and Rook Tanner’s wedding reception
Pay dirt.
“A signal has been identified as this ‘Fin Tanner.’ He dropped out before a geographic fix could be obtained, but he’s in the Webster area.”
Kyle sat up straighter, then slouched a little to conceal his eagerness. “Let me hear it.”
The technician, Rodriguez, placed a laptop on Kyle’s desk and tapped a few keys. “I assigned several of the newer guys to scan through the recent archives, listening for keywords. We’re running out of storage and we hope to purge the system of the unnecessary information. One of the grunts found this. I’m afraid there’s not much. It starts with ambient noise, but shortly we get this exchange.”
Rodriguez tapped one more key and Kyle heard:
“Mr Tanner? Hello. I’m Leaf. I’m very happy, and honored, to meet you.”
Who the hell would be honored to meet Fin? Or call him Mr Tanner? Must be a different Tanner. Fin’s tinny voice assaulted his ears.
“What do you want?”
“We want you, actually. You are very special,” said the other guy.
A crackle of static interrupted, followed by several seconds of feedback. The guy talking to Fin cut back in, “—elling predestination here, Mr Tanner. That’s superstition. But like many superstitions, it grows from a hidden truth. Our actions are part of a larger pattern, and free will is limited.”
Kyle was bored with this guy already. It was time for him to say something important or shut up. Instead of doing either, he said, “Would you say I was talking about fate if I predicted this pebble will fall to the street when I drop it?”
“Wow. You’re good,” Fin said.
The man s
ighed. “Humor me.”
“I am the pebble. I g—”
Rodriguez said, “Unfortunately that’s all.”
The maddeningly inconsequential snippet revealed nothing of Fin’s plans or whereabouts. ‘I am the pebble’? What the fuck did that mean?
“With his frequency isolated,” Rodriguez continued, “we’re searching the archives to see what else we have.”
“Good,” said Kyle. “What about the girl?”
“If they’re together, we’ll be able to determine her frequency. Then we can begin a search for her, too.”
“I want to hear anything with her voice on it.”
They were still in Webster, his brother and this woman. They could not be allowed to slip away. After ordering his men into civilian garb to prepare for reconnaissance work, Kyle told his driver to get him to Webster.
The techs in Donner sent updates at regular intervals. He listened to each recording with interest, though they lacked anything concrete to base a plan on. When he got his first fresh taste of Rook, his tongue quivered where she’d bitten him. He listened again.
She said, “I had a family emergency, Roger.”
“Yeah, well you still should have called!”
“I think you’ll stop yelling after you read the story. It’s great stuff.”
Roger made some harrumphing noises. There were several moments of relative silence then Kyle heard a grudging chuckle. More laughter. Roger said, “I don’t know where you come up with this shit. Dream control. Fanatical alumni sports fans. It’s vintage Brandy Moon.”
“Thanks.”
“It doesn’t excuse your unprofessional behavior.”
“Can it, Roger. You can print it, or not. I don’t care. Give me my check if you’re gonna use it though. I lost my other job.”
“I’ll print it.”
“Thanks.”
“For your next assignment—”
“I have to go now. You wouldn’t believe me if I told you why.”
“Now, don’t get all cr—”
Kyle shivered. Her voice went right to his groin. She sounded sultry and playful when she said, ‘You wouldn’t believe me if I told you why.’ And the way she disrespected her boss. Delicious. She was strong. She didn’t take anybody’s shit.
Miss Brandymoon's Device: a novel of sex, nanotech, and a sentient lava lamp (Divided Man Book 1) Page 21
