by Tara Brent
Jimmy goes to Sebastian, who tells him that Michelle and Seb have written their own vows. He even recites them. At length. In full. But who will pronounce them? Gee, better ask Michelle, or her mom and dad.
Dr. Annette Miller-Conroy tells Jimmy she and hubby were on a research voyage until last week. She didn’t arrange for any minister, or judge, or anyone.
Maybe Dr. Conroy, the father? Jimmy is praying himself now.
So he asks Michelle’s dad and gets a fifteen minute dissertation about Thomas Aquinas, the Apocrypha, a little bit of Talmudic wisdom. Finally, the bottom line. “Why would I call in some charlatan to mutter a bunch of mumbo-jumbo?” Turns out Dr. Conroy is a lifelong atheist.
He could have lead with that...
Before I burn any bridges with the family, I go after Igor first. I beat around the bush a little. Do the Okoyes attend church on a regular basis? No. How about Easter? Christmas? Not that he can recall, no. Rosh Hashanah? Krishna’s birthday? But as far as Marcel knows, not a single Okoye has ever expressed the slightest interest in, or taken part in, religion. Ever.
Maybe Igor’s wrong. I’m hoping, like, maybe Igor always takes Sundays off. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t know...
Sure. And maybe he sleeps in a coffin and flies around like a bat.
But I have to hope he doesn’t know what he’s talking about.
Anyway, I move on. “Hi, Mom,” I say, starting my next interrogation. “Hey, I’m just wondering. Did Cici mention whether the ceremony will be non-denominational?”
“Not to me. Why?”
“Oh, just curious. You don’t know whether the... uh... the whoever is going to conduct the ceremony has gotten here yet?”
“Why would you ask me?”
“No reason. Only, the photographer was asking,” I add, to cover my butt.
“I wouldn’t have any idea,” she says. And because she’s Mom, it’s only natural (for her) to jump right to the worst case scenario. “Why? Nobody’s having second thoughts, I hope!”
“Oh, no. Nothing like that.” Except for me. I’m a second thought. My first thought was to jump in a dinghy and start rowing for Hawaii. Now, my second thought is just jumping off Coronado Bridge. “Do you know where I might find Cici, by the way?”
“Oh, Kira, dear, she’s putting on the war paint, and getting dressed.”
Now, I head into the Master Bedroom Wing (the term ‘Master Suite’ wouldn’t quite do it justice). Before I can locate Cici, I run into The Man Himself. When I ask him, Dr. Joseph Okoye rumbles out a warm chuckle. As if the very notion of him bothering to know about something so mundane is beneath consideration. “I really don’t do much of the ‘social planning’. That’s my wife’s department.” So, no luck here either.
Finally, I walk that last mile to the gas chamber – or actually, Cici’s dressing room complex. I fear the answer long before I ask the question. Or start to fudge around it, anyway.
“Would you happen to know whether the ceremony will include any liturgical material?”
“Beg pardon, dear?”
“I don’t want to be caught up short if there need to be...” What? Think fast! “Hymn books. Or yarmulkes. Maybe a Sweat Lodge?”
“Kira. You must get that sense of humor from your mom.”
“I was just going to give...” Him? Her? Stick with gender neutral. “Give them a call. Do you have a number for... them?”
“Me? Why, no. Don’t you?”
“I must have it somewhere.”
“Well, don’t worry. Whoever you brought in, I’m sure they’ll do a great job.” She frowned at her reflection. “Do you think I went overboard with the foundation?”
“Oh, no,” I tell her. I almost add It’s very lifelike, but I manage to suppress saying that out loud. Instead, I tell her how lovely she looks, and what a wonderful day it will be. God, I can lie with the best of them.
At first, as I try to wind my way back from the Master Wing, I wish I could use the GPS on my phone. Because now, with time running out, I am totally lost. I don’t know how many bedrooms I pass. I’m just about to duck inside one for a good cry, when I heard Blake’s voice.
“Kira? What’s wrong?”
“Hmmm. Oh, nothing much. What could go wrong?”
“It’s just... You look like you lost your best friend.”
“No. I just lost my mind. No biggie.” And then, the water works swing into action. Which pisses me off. I hate to cry. It’s so... girly. Luckily, it’s just one tear, which I’m able to wipe away quickly.
But not quick enough. Blake sees it...
And beginning at this moment, I see a different man than I have seen before. A kinder, gentler man. A sensitive man. Who reaches out and holds me. Not in the way he had held me before. That was all heat, and need, and joy. This is different. It’s comfort. It’s acceptance. I want to think it might even be love. “Whatever it is, you know you can tell me. You can count on me. Please, tell me what’s wrong.”
He listens. He holds my hand. He doesn’t try to fix it. He just lets me pour it all out. When I finish, those Goddamn tears are running out of my disobedient eyes again.
He puts a gentle hand on my head, lightly brushing it across my ear. As upset as I am, he looks to be that calm. The whole world is caving in on me, and he doesn’t seem to mind in the least how deep and hard I am fucking the goat. It doesn’t matter what I may have done wrong. It does not make me one molecule less to him.
“Listen to me. This means nothing, in the overall scheme.”
“Oh, my God. How can you say that?”
“Did anyone ask you to provide a preacher?”
“No, but—”
“Is it your job?”
“Not... usually.”
“Ever?”
“Not so far.”
“But you’ve only been doing this for... what? How long?”
“Twelve years, give or take.”
“Okay. So I know how terrible this feels. I really do, believe me. When it comes to disappointing my family? Or the entire world at large? Baby, you’re not even in my league.”
“That’s not true.”
“It’s indisputable. You think you ‘fucked the goat’ here? I have an entire herd. They tremble in fear at the very mention of my name.”
“That’s nice of you to say, but this is my fault.”
“I don’t see it that way. In fact, I think you rustled one of my goats.”
“What does that mean?”
“That it’s my fault. For the past two weeks, you have been doing an amazing, incredibly fantastic job. With no lead time, and no chance to use your usual resources, but you pulled all of this together. And what have I done?”
“You don’t have to do anything, that’s my job.”
“Which I’ve made almost impossible. All I’ve bothered to think about is how much I want to fuck you. Or fly you off to Hawaii. Or drag you into the tent by the pool. Or, just be with you.”
“For the record? The tent was my idea.”
“I’ve been the biggest distraction I could possibly be. And why? Because I’m a selfish, immature man-child. Because I take what I want, and don’t give all that much thought to anyone else.”
“That’s not true. That’s not how I see you at all.”
“Because it’s not what I’ve chosen to show you. Before, I never really cared much what anyone thought. Then you came along...” I know, it sounds pretty romantic. But God did I need to hear it. “That changed everything. I do care what you think. Very much. And that’s why I’ve tried to... be a better man. A man you deserve.”
“You’re too hard on yourself.”
“I’m too easy on myself. And you are too. All you ever asked of me is that I don’t follow my dick around wherever it leads me.”
“I follow it.”
“No promises, no demands. And something else... Something that means so much to me, I can’t tell you.”
“What are— I don’t know what you mean.”
“Have you ever wished for... all this?” He waves his in a sweeping gesture that takes in this little slice of Shangri La he calls home. Or, summer home. “...This world, this wealth, this power to have anything you want, any time, day or night?”
“Well... not really.”
“Exactly. You don’t want anything just handed to you. You are too strong, too proud. They say respect has to be earned. That’s not true. Anyone with enough power and influence can buy respect. But no one can buy what you have: Self Respect. That’s a whole different thing. It can only come from inside. It means everything you do, day in and day out, you do your best. Meet every challenge, every bump in the road. You are incredible, Kira, and I...”
I put my hand over his mouth. “Whatever you are about to say, please wait.” Because I know what he’s going to say. And he thinks he means it.
“Why?”
“Because I’ve been to a thousand weddings. I’ve seen how the drug of love infects almost every couple there. It’s a fantastic high, but it’s a confection. It’s chocolate and sugar, and all the sweet longings in every heart. But it’s not magic. It’s illusion. The willing suspension of disbelief. It’s as wild and intense as seeing your home team win a Super Bowl. I think. With the fucking Chargers, I never actually found out.”
“I think we drifted a little bit there.”
“The point is, we’ve been swimming in an ocean of lust, and taking deep breaths of romance. Enjoying a tasty dish of emotional dynamite. But let’s see what happens when this ride plays out, before saying what it all means.”
“I hear what you’re saying, but I know what I feel.”
“Good. Hang on to it. That’s what I’m doing. Hanging on for dear life.”
“All right. I promise to get through this hurricane first.”
“Well, it might not be a very long wait. Considering the goat fucking situation and all.”
“Stop it. We are going to make this day work. I promise.”
“I don’t see how.”
“Me neither, but I just know we will.”
Chapter 19: Herding Goats
By now, an armada of vans is arriving. Guests dressed to the nines pouring out. Dodging the Mercedes and Rolls and Lincoln Town Cars disgorging the people too important to accept easy transportation. Dispensing keys and dire warnings to the racing valet parking crew. You just know these are the kind who would go ballistic over the tiniest smudge, and think nothing of hitting up some poor schmo making $20K annual (if he’s lucky) to cough up five grand to have their Benz dealer concierge service buff it out.
They flow around the zen garden. Meander down the flagstone path past the roses and dahlias, and a forest of orchids. Ushers and staff direct them to the seats, for the impending ceremony.
Jimmy is holding my hands, looking me in the eye, and shaking like a leaf.
“What are we going to do?” he manages to mumble through his trembling lips.
“Give Billy Goat Gruff the best night of his life, I guess.”
“Oh, Kira. I’m so sorry. It’s my fault.”
“Cut that shit out. The buck stops here. With me.”
“No, but I mean, I never should have talked you into taking this monumental goat fuck in the first place. You knew it would be impossible, but I pushed. That’s on me.”
“And I thank you for the push.”
“Now, everything is ruined.”
“Everything? Even Harold?”
“You mean before he stands up there as Best Man, with his old friend, who not to mention is also his boss, is left twisting in the wind with his thumb up his ass? Or after?”
“Never count us out.”
“How can you say that?”
I look back over my shoulder. Blake is still back inside, making his pitch to his brother. “Because. I believe in magic.”
“And I believe in tar and feathers.”
The music picks up now. Hundreds of conversations grow hushed. Heads turn. All waiting for that first look at the glowing bride. Her elegant father will start walking her down the aisle any moment now. The aisle that leads to the spot where the sacred vows will be exchanged. There’s a sweeping, U-shaped trellis behind it, festooned with a thousand flowers, reds and golds, azure blues, royal purples, vivid yellows, swirls of orange and pink and delicate shades of white. It is beautiful, magical stage where two lives will pledge to live as one.
You know. That spot where the preacher should be.
But isn’t.
“How can you look so calm?”
So I tell Jimmy about the meeting Blake and I had with Michelle and Sebastian ten minutes ago...
Michelle walks into the TV Room positively radiant. Followed by Seb and his brother. Oh, God. Did I mention how incredibly fuckable Blake looks in his tuxedo? As if I don’t have enough good memories of this room already.
But this is no time for distractions. We have a sales job to close on.
As he walks in, Seb gets his first gander at Michelle. It stops him so dead in his tracks that Blake bumps into him from behind, hard enough to consider a whiplash lawsuit. But clearly, Seb doesn’t feel a thing. He’s too gaga over the ethereal vision of Michelle in her wedding gown. And it’s a stunning vision indeed. An almost holy beauty.
“Stop staring, you goof,” Michelle tells. “You’re not allowed to see me now. Not until the ceremony.”
“Right,” he agrees. “I’m not even here.”
“Neither am I.” Michelle turns to Blake now. “So? Why are we not here?”
As Blake succinctly lays out the situation, I wait for the explosion. I listen for the patter of little goat hooves. I wonder if my passport is up to date.
“So?” Michelle says, as if Blake just told her there was lint behind the couch. (Even though, to my recollection, the last time we were in here, we weren’t looking for dust bunnies.)
“What’s the big deal?” echoes Seb.
“The big deal?” I am dumbfounded. How can they take this so lightly? “There are almost a thousand people waiting out there.”
“And they’re going to have a great time,” Seb answers.
His bride adds “Once we get this dog and pony show out of the way, tonight we are going to Par-Taaaay!” And I have to admit, Michelle does a pretty fair Sinbad impression.
Seb nods to Blake. “You know, it was Mom’s idea to have this big shindig in the first place,” he says. “I thought it all sounded pretty lame.”
“No shit, Sherlock,” sayeth the maiden of his dreams.
And then Michelle turns to me and takes my hand. “But I have to say, when I saw how much you were putting into this three ring circus? I have to admit I was a little blown away. You are amazing, Kira. This is going to be sooooo awesome.”
I am going to have to rethink my expectations of what brilliant scientists are like outside the laboratory. Or else, find out what designer drugs they are concocting in there, and get me some.
“She’s right, Kira,” Seb tells me. “But what really makes me happy is him.” Seb hooks a thumb at his older brother. “I never thought I’d live to see it. But whatever you’ve done to him, keep it up.”
Michelle is nodding to that. “I hate to admit this, Blake, but until Kira showed up, all I could think about was what shit will Blake get up to. I was afraid you’d find a way to make yourself the center of attention with some five alarm scandal. And that it would be all anyone would remember about my wedding.”
“Don’t count me out,” Blake says. “The day is young.”
“Right. Like you’d do anything to screw Kira up,” Seb scoffed. “Bro, I see how you look at her.” Seb beams at Michelle, as he adds. “I know that look. You are signed, sealed, delivered. Just like I am.”
“Aww, Sweetie,” Michelle says.
“You know it’s true, Doctor Conroy,” he says to his bride.
“Same back at you, Doctor Okoye,” she replies.
While they stand there making Goo-goo eyes, I try to get this little
confab back on track. “I’m very flattered and all that,” I say. “But that may change, when you walk down that aisle, and there’s nobody to pronounce you Mrs. Doctor and Mr. Doctor?”
Seb shrugs. Turns to Blake. “Why don’t you do it?”
“Yeah,” Michelle pipes in. “That would be fantastic. It’s just screams Family, doesn’t it?” She directs that part in my direction.
“Michelle, you’re too young to remember when I flunked out of Seminary School,” says Blake.
“Actually, that was Prep School,” Seb corrects. “Choate, was it?”
“Andover,” Blake replies.
“No. I’m sure it was Choate.”
“Well, okay, the first time. I wasn’t counting that.”
I look at my handsome, poised man. So distinguished. So commanding in his very presence. And I realize, Seb is right. He really is different than the playboy I shoved into the pool. And I have to admit I feel pretty good about that.
Not to mention he knows what to do with that magnificent tool of his. So I say, “You know something? That’s not a bad idea.”
“Wait a minute.” Blake looks taken aback. Now that’s a look I’ve never seen before. “I don’t know the first thing about playing preacher. I don’t even have the costume. And nobody who knows me is going to fall for that.”
“They don’t have to,” I say. Because something comes to me in a flash of (if I may say typical) genius.
“Then what am I supposed to say up there?”
“I’m thinking this: You say how perfect these two are for each other. And just riff on that for a minute. Then you say, ‘They’re so in love, it’s no surprise to me they couldn’t wait for today. So, they—”
“They eloped! Right?” Blake is way ahead of me now.
“Exactly. They ran off to the County Courthouse, and got married already.”
“So, everybody should just have a great time, and celebrate that these two beautiful people, and blah blah blah. Cut to the shrimp cocktails.”
I turn to Michelle. “What do you think?”
I’m expecting a high five. Only, she has a look on her face halfway between disappointment and pissed. And she is boring that evil eye look into Sebastian – not me. What gives?
