by J. J. Murray
“You’re getting married dressed like that?” the reporter asked.
“Yes,” Lauren said. “What’s your point?”
“No point,” the reporter said. “Just wondering, um, why.”
“It is so good to wonder, isn’t it?” Lauren asked. “And it’s a wonderful day.”
Another reporter blocked the entrance. “Think about what you’re doing!”
“You better think about what you’re doing,” Lauren said. “You’re blocking a public entrance. I think you can be arrested for that.”
The reporter stepped aside as cameras whirred.
“Lauren, Lauren, do you have to get married?” a reporter shouted.
“Yes, I do,” Lauren said, her lips forming a pout. “And I need to tell you all why.”
Here we go, Patrick thought. Here comes some drama. I hope I don’t laugh.
The reporters quieted down considerably.
“Give me some room here,” Lauren said. “This is going to be one of my longer answers.”
It was so quiet, Patrick could hear his stomach growl. I shouldn’t have let her eat both Pop-Tarts. I have to assert myself more around her, especially with breakfast foods.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Lauren said. “I have some very serious news.”
She is really milking this, Patrick thought. Those digital cameras have to be out of memory by now.
“I have to get married because . . .” She sighed and covered her face with her hands. She dropped her hands, and her lower lip began to quiver. “I have to get married because . . . because I’m in love.” She laughed loudly, and the first row of photographers leaned away from her. “The end.” She looked up at Patrick. “How was that?” she whispered.
“I liked it,” Patrick whispered. “The lip quivering thing was most effective.”
“Yeah?” She bit her lower lip. “How’s this?”
“Very sexy,” Patrick whispered.
“There has to be more to it than that,” a reporter said.
“You don’t marry a nobody for no real reason.”
“Love is the best reason,” Lauren said. “And Patrick isn’t a nobody, and he never will be a nobody. He is everything I could ever even hope to want.”
“What do you think of all this?” a reporter asked Patrick.
“Does it really matter to you what I think?” Patrick asked.
The reporter rolled his eyes. “Oh yes,” he said. “It matters a lot what you think.”
Patrick stared him down. They all want me to go off. These people are waiting for me to cause an incident. This is how they make the news. This is how they get paid ridiculous sums of money. They want to push me over the edge, but I’m not going to give them the satisfaction. “I think . . . that we’re going to go inside and get a marriage license.” He held the door for Lauren, and they entered the building.
In the city clerk’s office on the second floor, they met Jarrell, who babbled at them when he wasn’t taking their picture with his phone.
“I am so glad I waited to go on break,” Jarrell said. “You two kept me waiting so long! I knew you were coming today. What took you so long?” He handed them the certificate of marriage form. “Please write as neatly as you can.”
“So you can take a picture of it, huh?” Lauren said.
“You know it,” Jarrell said. “A man has to make some extra money around here, right? They’ll never pay me enough for what I do here.”
Patrick watched as Lauren filled out her side of the form, listing her full name, her birth name, and her surname after marriage. Lauren Elizabeth Esposito?
“Are you sure?” he whispered.
“I am taking you and your name,” Lauren said. “I don’t need a stage name when the world’s a stage and you’re the only one I want to play with.”
Next to “usual occupation,” Lauren wrote, “Handywoman,” and next to “type of industry or business,” she wrote, “Buildings maintenance.”
“Are you sure about that?” Patrick whispered.
“Yes,” Lauren said. “And now I am no longer legally an actress. It’s official.” She filled out her parents’ information and handed him the form. “Your turn.”
He filled out the form and left his father’s name and information blank. Instead of “handyman,” he wrote, “Buildings maintenance supervisor.”
After they showed Jarrell their birth certificates and IDs and paid a forty-dollar fee, Jarrell signed the form.
“Can we go get married now?” Lauren asked.
“You have to wait twenty-four hours, honey,” Jarrell said.
“There’s a waiting period?” Lauren asked. “I didn’t know there was a waiting period. That’s so strange.”
“Tell me about it,” Jarrell said. “Once you have the license to possess a handgun in this state, there’s no specific waiting period for purchasing a handgun, and yet you have to wait twenty-four hours to get married.”
“That makes no sense!” Lauren cried. “Patrick, what are we going to do?”
She won’t want to wait, Patrick thought. It’s not in her nature.
“We can say our vows anytime we want, can’t we?” Lauren said. “It’s a free country. We could say them right here if we wanted to.”
Jarrell whipped out his phone. “Oh, please do.” He hit several buttons. “Talk fast. I don’t have a lot of memory on this phone. I knew I should have upgraded last month. Can you do your vows in fifteen seconds?”
“We’re not saying them here,” Patrick whispered.
“We can say our vows today and have someone official sign it later, right?” Lauren asked Jarrell.
“Sure,” Jarrell said. “Let me know when you’re starting.”
“We’re not starting,” Patrick said. “Father Giovanni can sign it next week.” He looked from Jarrell to Lauren. “Let’s find a nice park.”
Lauren smiled. “Isn’t there one across the street? It looked nice.”
“Yes, Columbus Park is okay, but it’s so small.” We could go to Adam Yauch Park, named after the “No Sleep till Brooklyn” Beastie Boy, but it’s a couple miles away—and we can’t make Lauren wait. We need to be married close by in Boerum Hill. Boerum Park. That’s where we’ll go. “I have a better idea.”
“Okay,” Lauren said then fluttered her eyes at Jarrell. “We’re getting married in a park.”
“Which one?” Jarrell asked.
“A nearby one,” Patrick said.
“Oh, that’s helpful,” Jarrell said. “Could you give me a hint?”
“I could,” Patrick said. He shrugged. “Boerum Park.”
Jarrell grimaced. “You’re kidding.”
“It’s where I’m from,” Patrick said.
Lauren hugged Patrick. “It’s a beautiful day to be married in a park.”
“That’s no park, honey,” Jarrell said. “It’s a vacant lot.”
“It’s a playground,” Patrick said.
“A playground!” Lauren smiled. “A playground sounds perfect.”
57
“Lauren! Lauren!”
“Are you really getting married today?”
“Where are you going now?”
“To our wedding in Boerum Park,” Lauren said as she and Patrick edged through the crowd of reporters and photographers.
“Isn’t that near the Gowanus Houses?” a reporter asked.
Patrick nodded.
Lauren gripped his hand tightly. We might even get some privacy there. “Good choice.”
“Why aren’t you getting married in a church?”
“Hey, buddy, you look Catholic. Are you Catholic? He’s Italian. He has to be Catholic.”
“Where’s the bridal party? Are they waiting for you?”
“Who’s going to be your maid of honor, Lauren?”
“Yeah, who’s going to be the best man? Aren’t all your friends dead or in jail?”
The media, once again, have no clue, Lauren thought.
News crews in vans c
rept alongside the throng of photographers surrounding them as they walked down Court Street to Warren Street. When they arrived at Boerum Park, they found it packed with children who were having a massive snowball fight, nearly as much snow in the air as there was on the ground.
We’re getting married in a snowball fight, Lauren thought. This is great!
She packed a snowball and fired it toward the photographers. Within moments, the children around them started pelting the reporters with snowballs.
Lauren pulled one little boy aside. “What’s your name?”
“Darius,” the boy said.
“Darius, I need you and your friends to protect us from those evil people over there,” Lauren said, pointing at the photographers. “They are trying to ruin our lives. Do you think you could do that?”
Darius nodded. “Sure. But why?”
“We’re getting married here in a few minutes,” Lauren said.
Darius’s eyes popped. “You’re getting married . . . here?”
“Yep,” Lauren said. “Make lots of snowballs, and if any of them get too close to us during our wedding, you nail them.”
“And we won’t get in trouble?” Darius asked.
“Nope,” Lauren said. “You’ll also get on TV.”
“Weird,” Darius said.
Patrick towered over Darius. “But fun.” He knelt and whispered into Darius’s ear.
Darius smiled broadly. “You got it.”
Lauren pulled Patrick aside. “What are they going to do?”
“We need a wedding party,” Patrick whispered. “Only this one will be an armed and dangerous wedding party.”
While Patrick and Lauren stood in the middle of a snow-covered basketball court, Darius organized about a dozen children who made mounds of snowballs in a rough circle around them. As soon as the children were in place, they held up snowballs, turned, and faced the photographers, who jockeyed for position behind a black metal fence.
Several of the children held a snowball in each hand.
While the kids pelted any photographer stupid enough to come near the basketball court, and cameras rolled and other photographers snapped away from a somewhat safe distance behind the fence, Patrick set his tool bag down and took Lauren’s hands in his.
“Here we are.”
“Yes,” Lauren said. “Here we are. Center court in a playground.” She looked around. “This is a happening church.”
“Ladies first,” Patrick said.
I don’t know whether to laugh, cry, or scream! Lauren thought. This is insane! Oh, his hands are so sweaty. Wait. My hands are sweaty. Our hands are sweaty. He’s as nervous as I am. I guess that’s a good sign.
“Are you at a loss for words?” Patrick asked.
Yes! “In a wedding, the man goes first.”
“I never want to be first in our marriage,” Patrick said.
“Are you starting your vows?” Lauren asked.
“No,” Patrick said.
“Oh,” Lauren said. “I thought you were. Use that line. I like it.”
“Lauren, I never want to be first in our marriage,” Patrick said.
“Neither do I,” Lauren said.
“I am content to be last,” Patrick said.
“So am I,” Lauren said. “And that way our love will last.”
“Nice turn of phrase,” Patrick said.
“I do have some skills,” Lauren said. “Keep going.”
“Lauren, I want you to be the first person I see in the morning and the last person I see every night for the rest of my life,” Patrick said.
“So do I,” Lauren said. Oh, this scene is going nowhere. All I’m doing is agreeing with him. “Let’s not do vows. Why don’t we have a conversation instead of making vows?”
“Isn’t that what we’ve been having from the very beginning?” Patrick asked.
“Well, yes,” Lauren said.
“So we’ve been making our vows all along, huh?”
She hugged him. “You say the most amazing things.” She stepped back and smiled. “I love you so much.”
“I love you, too,” Patrick said.
“I love everything about you, but I really love your hands,” Lauren said. “They’re strong, and they’re steady. My feet have never felt better.”
“I love your eyes,” Patrick said. “I can never get tired of looking into your eyes.”
“My hands are getting stronger, aren’t they?” Lauren asked.
“True, but your eyes are the strongest part of you,” Patrick said. “They have the strength to hold me all night long.”
He’s good at this. “I like your voice, too. It’s deep and strong and so sexy.”
“I love it when you whisper,” Patrick whispered.
Lauren shivered. “Not in front of the children,” she whispered. “And I can’t wait to have children.”
“Neither can I,” Patrick said.
“You’re very good in bed,” Lauren whispered.
Patrick looked at the kids surrounding them. “Thank you,” he whispered, “but you’re the reason. You bring out the best in me.”
“At least three times a day, okay?” Lauren laughed. “I want to kiss you and start our honeymoon right now.”
Patrick wiggled his left hand. “I need a ring first. You’re already wearing yours.”
“And I will never remove it.” Lauren pulled Patrick’s ring from a coveralls pocket and slid it onto his finger. “Now can we start our honeymoon?”
Patrick lifted her high in the air before bringing her face close to his. He kissed her tenderly. “Our honeymoon has officially begun.”
This man, this moment, this scene, Lauren thought. This is love. “I now know what real love is.”
“What is it?”
“Love is feeling absolutely weightless and helpless in someone else’s arms and not being afraid,” Lauren said. “And as long as one of us has his feet on the ground, I know it will last.”
“What about your feet?” Patrick asked.
“Oh, I’m sure I’ll put them down every now and then.” She kissed him again. “Hello, Mr. Esposito.”
“Hello, Mrs. Esposito.”
As Patrick returned Lauren gently to the ground and picked up his tool bag, the children showered them with snow. He took Lauren’s hand, and they walked out of the park and then directly through the throng of reporters and photographers as more snow rained down.
“What did you say to each other?”
“What were your vows?”
“Do you know those kids?”
“Did you plan all this?”
“Weren’t there any churches that would marry you?”
“Is this for real?”
“What’s his ring made of?”
“Do you think the mayor could do more to remove snow from this part of Brooklyn?”
“Couldn’t you afford a real wedding?”
Patrick stopped on the snowy sidewalk, turned, and faced the reporters and photographers. “What you just witnessed was and is real.”
“We couldn’t hear your vows,” a reporter said. “What’d you say?”
“You weren’t supposed to hear them,” Patrick said.
“What did you say?”
“Come on, have a heart, buddy!”
Patrick sighed. “It was a personal conversation, one that will continue for the rest of our lives. You wouldn’t understand any of it anyway.”
“Tell us what you said!” a reporter shouted.
What foolishness! Lauren thought. “It is none of your business, so hush.”
The reporter hushed, but only for a moment. He moved away from the crowd and approached Darius. “Hey, kid. Yeah, you. Did you hear what they said to each other? I’ll give you a dollar if you tell me. . . .”
A buck? Lauren thought. Is he crazy? He’ll need at least twenty bucks each for those kids.
“Where are you two going on your honeymoon?” a photographer asked.
Lauren smiled at Patrick.
“Yes. Where are we going? And please don’t say St. Louis.”
“I thought St. Louis worked out rather nicely,” Patrick said.
Lauren blushed. “Well, yes, it did, but . . .”
“How about . . . D.C.?” Patrick said.
Lauren smiled. “That’d be perfect!” Lauren faced the reporters and photographers. “We are going to Washington, D.C.”
“D.C.? What’s in D.C.?” a reporter asked.
“The White House, the Capitol Building, the Smithsonian . . .” Lauren rolled her eyes.
“No. Why go to D.C. for your honeymoon?” the reporter asked. “It’s not very romantic.”
“We’re going to D.C. to see my mama,” Lauren said. She turned to Patrick. “I want to take the bus again.”
“We could take the train,” Patrick said. “It’ll be quicker.”
“You’re not taking her someplace exotic and warm?” a photographer asked.
“I keep her warm,” Patrick said.
Patrick’s phone buzzed. He swung it to his ear and listened for a moment. “Be right there.”
“Baltic again?” Lauren asked.
“Bergen,” Patrick said. “Mrs. Moczydlowska.”
“You’re going on a service call? Now?” The reporter shook his head. “You just got married!”
“So it’s a working marriage,” Lauren said. “I think more marriages would last if more spouses worked together, don’t you?”
“You are so very wise,” Patrick said.
“You’re rubbing off on me,” Lauren said.
During the two-block walk to Bergen, Patrick called Lauren “Mrs. Lauren Elizabeth Jimmerson Esposito,” and Lauren called him “Paulie.” They answered none of the dozens of questions flying around them, most of them concerning the composition and cost of Patrick’s ring.
Mrs. Moczydlowska opened her door as they came up the stairs. “Hurry,” she said, motioning with a chubby hand.
They hurried.
“It is the leak under the kitchen sink again,” Mrs. Moczydlowska said.
Patrick took a wrench from his tool bag, opened the cabinet under the sink, and went to work.
“How are you today, Mrs. Moczydlowska?” Lauren asked. I hope I said her name right.
“I am fine,” Mrs. Moczydlowska said. She pointed at a wrapped gift on the kitchen table, a simple white envelope on top. “A wedding gift for you and Patrick.”
