first in the Wedding Days and Honeymoons series of new stories for voice reading
by Grisostomo
The stories in the series are generally presented as skits for voice
reading, narrating, or storytelling. For a lone reader of the story, it may be
engaging at the beginning to imagine reading in two women's voices; but as the story
progresses this becomes unimportant, and readers may let the story guide them in making
natural choices.
(35 minutes : 6,250 words.)
Since the morning was good and Jim had the time, he decided to do it now. It had bothered him last night how beautiful Caroline had looked by the sea, walking unsandaled on the sand under the waxing gibbous moon. But Young Woman on the Boardwalk now failed to portray how the nuzzling wind had redrawn her dress, and her colors in daylight would need to change too. The shade of red Jim had used was not right, and the yellows would necessarily adapt. She was all wrong, yet the wedding day had arrived like clockwork even so, and Jim had wept over the misfortune. But in the morning a new vision filtered the light that strew his room with the dawn over the Atlantic—sparkling, clear, and illuminate. He could set up on the hotel balcony and be done in an hour, the paint would seem dry in time, and their wedding would be perfect again, like Caroline.
She emerged from the bride’s compound at the opposite end of the venue from behind a topiary shaped—as she had said yesterday—like the head of Frankenstein’s bride. “Oh, what a monster!” she had exclaimed reflexively. Her appreciation of abstract shape, so unusual in a businesswoman, was what had first impressed him. She was businesslike in everything she did: her jokes were efficient, her smiles concise, her reprimands correct although not always right, and her compliments were matter of fact. This did not make her too serious, it made her intelligible, which Jim appreciated.
“You won’t look like her, dear,” Claire was saying, soothing Caroline’s doubts about the monstrous bride. “You’ll glow like sunshine on the sea, attracting every eye.”
“But I don’t want to be attractive. I don’t want to be here. If every girl dreams of her wedding, I’ve never been a girl. Jim wants me to do it. He wants me on display like one of his pictures.”
“How unfortunate you are in your husband!”
“I know, la, la, la! But if I am to feature at a wedding, I would rather marry myself.”
“That’s too near the truth, a lot of people would say.”
“Stop it. What I mean is, I don’t want to be wed; I want to do the wedding.”
“You are doing the wedding, missy.”
“I want to perform it, to make it happen, like el Padre.”
“It’s true, you are more a priestess than he is a priest, but he has his place and the bride has hers. You don’t have to do anything, just march in and stand there.”
“You aren’t listening, are you? If I can’t be el Padre, maybe I could trade places with Natalie.”
“La! She thinks so.”
“La! Men love Natalie because she does what they say, but at least she’s always doing it.”
“Ho, ho, ho! But you know, Caroline, Nat has a habit of getting what she wants. Oh, look! Isn’t that Jim on the balcony? He’s got his easel up, and his admirers are hanging on. That’s good publicity; it’ll help sales.”
Caroline averted her eyes from her bridesmaid’s. “How is the art gallery doing, dear Claire?”
Claire responded likewise. “I had to draw on my line of credit to make rent this month. I need another artist that’s profitable like Jim.”
“He won’t let you down.”
“Yes, but I am using him up by now to rent a better space. I need another artist.”
“You’ll sell what he’s working on right now and bank it.”
But Claire’s eyes dropped again, and Caroline noticed. “What’s wrong? Do your troubles go deeper than that?”
“Young Woman on the Boardwalk is not for sale, it’s a gift for someone.”
“Oh, I see. You mean that it’s for me.”
“I’m not supposed to tell; it’s a surprise. But surely, you know the young woman is you.”
“I know, although it seems odd. But just because it’s me doesn’t mean you can’t sell it.”
“He won’t do it.”
“I’ll tell him that he may.”
“You won’t! You aren’t supposed to know. Its a wedding gift that he intends for eternity.”
“For eternity? Is it really that good?”
“He intends it to be.”
“But is it something special?”
“It may be his best work.”
“Is it worth more than all the rest? Is it exceptional in that way? Will it grow his clientele and reputation?” Caroline frowned because Claire made no response. “Is it important to the gallery? Is it as important as that? Oh, bestie—it will have to be sold! Let’s go tell him right now.”
“That won’t be necessary, Care. You’re not supposed to know. He’s really excited about it, so, why spoil the surprise? You’ll pick a fight when he says that you can’t, and I’ll be caught in the middle. Do you want to ruin the wedding? What kind of monstrosity are you?”
“A little more drama than necessary, queen. I only said, he could help out a little. What’s wrong with that? Oh, well, I don’t have to say anything.”
“That’s good, Caroline. I want to be certain that I’m getting through to you.”
“Registered! Come on, let’s go up and say hi.”
Claire eyed the bride with suspicion. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. He shouldn’t see you before the wedding. It’s bad luck.”
“Ridiculous! No one thinks that way any more. We walked together on the beach after midnight last night for an hour. It was beautiful. So, it’s too late for this morning. And I don’t believe that nonsense about seeing the bride.”
“So, why are you wearing a blue ribbon that you borrowed from me?”
“To bring good luck, not to avert bad. And it isn’t bad if the bride and groom see each other before the wedding.”
“Oh, yes, it is. Mine saw me before ours.”
“La! Egads, you may have a point. Oh, come on, let’s go. He’ll see me at breakfast anyway.”
(Bounding onto the balcony)
“Hello, everybody. Hello, darling. It’s us!”
(Rising and enlarging to block Caroline’s view)
“Hello, sweetheart,” said Jim. “What are you doing? We’re not supposed to see each other before the wedding.”
“Oh, pish. Get out of the way. Do you think the painting will smear if I look at it?”
“It might.”
“It’s that shrewish expression of yours, Caroline,” laughed one of the men already present.
“Do you think that’s funny, Tom?” queried his wife.
“Well, . . .”
“I just want to see it,” said Caroline.
“And she’s the boss,” suggested Tom.
“Hee, hee, hee” responded everyone there.
“Won’t you wait, my dearest, until I show it to you?” queried Jim.
“I would—if we were in private,” answered Caroline.
A tenuous pause ensued while Jim considered this.
“Yes, then, alright,” he gave in.
Someone applauded in the silence.
“The young woman is in wet colors,” was Caroline’s appraisal. “Is she this morning’s work?”
“She is my life’s work.”
“How sweet! I hope everyone treats her with respect.”
“I’ll drink to that,” said Tom, downing his mimosa.
“Let’s go, Tom,” said his wife.
(Exit all but Caroline, Jim, and Claire)
“She is beautiful this morning,” and “How do you do so much with bare lines and colors?” Claire and Caroline remarked simultaneously.
“I revise incessantly,” pined Jim.
“How do you know when to stop?”
“When I’m happy and stay that way.”
“Are you staying happy now?”
“Perfectly,” he said, leaning in for a kiss. “I may never paint again.”
Caroline offered the groom one corner of her mouth.
“She is very beautiful, darling. I don’t know anyone that beautiful, actually. Who could she be?”
“I’m going to clean up now, Care. If I touch you, you might smudge.”
“Bye,” and “See you at breakfast,” came the replies.
Jim had gone ten paces when he thought to collect his paints. He turned on his heels and headed back to the balcony.
“Do you think it really is for eternity?” he overheard Caroline say.
“I think it’s for quite a while,” replied Claire.
“I can never tell.”
“I know you can’t. You are always indifferent to his work. And Jim’s so good with form, too, he makes it express. And exceptional with colors. If you swatched these colors onto the wall people would say, ‘they’re beautiful; they are beauty.’”
“Oh, yes, she’s beautiful. I see it. But she’s just form and color. There’s no significance to her. There has to be meaningfulness to make her lovely, which is so much more than beautiful. When Jim does humans there’s no humanity. They’re so formal. I can’t love them.”
“Lots of people do. You should try harder.”
Caroline examined the young woman in a businesslike way but soon gave up. “It’s no use,” she said, “I just don’t.”
Jim recoiled from her remark as from an electric shock. He spun to leave unnoticed and discovered el Padre at his shoulder. How long had he been there? Jim walked by but the priest kept up, saying, “Hold on, Jimbo. Let me speak with you a moment. You run like you’ve seen a ghost!”
“Seen and heard,” said Jim, stopping so short that el Padre bumped him. “What was it you heard?” the priest inquisitioned.
“What you heard, too, I’m sure. My wife dislikes my painting.”
“Not dislikes—cannot love.”
“I prefer her disdain, and in this case I will think what I like.”
“Where are you going?”
“Away!”
“You need to calm down. You will need to be smooth in church. Oh, my. He doesn’t look smooth. Hah! I knew they would need me, and here I am. I wonder if he’ll turn up at breakfast?”
Off the balcony Jim found the beach he and Caroline had walked last night. What a difference the morning made! The breathless, eager moon was now displaced by the rising storm of day. He was enraged. She had been lying to him the whole time, and he felt the wound. Three weeks painting the young woman and the original hated her. Oh, the humanity! Could he trust her? Did she love him? Was she capable of love? Did he know her? Was she all business after all?
The best man, Rick, walked onto the beach. Damn him—he was innocent of it all.
“Hello, there, my master-no-longer of his own domain. Drawing your last breath of freedom from the fresh air? Not to worry. I’ve come to make sure the wedding rings are duly exchanged.” He patted his pants pocket.
“Blast you to hell.”
“What?”
“To hell with you. Don’t bring my wedding along in your pocket.”
“Isn’t that what I’m supposed to do?”
“You’re supposed to do whatever I say, best man. Or, at least, somebody should.”
“Has Caroline ruffled your feathers?”
“She is the mistress of rufflery. Why should I want anything to do with her?”
“Well, to start with, why don’t you tell Rick all about it?”
“She judges my painting. She— judges my—painting. The gall is unimagineable. No one may conceive it. Does she know who I am? And Claire tolerates her on my behalf. Can you imagine? The bitch justifies me to my bride. That’s a fine court of opinion. How did the world get so turned around. What makes them think they may think whatever they want about me.”
“People think what they like, generally.”
“Generally, I don’t care. But today, specifically on this day, I do. I mean, I don’t. I won’t. I have no intention of going through with it.”
“Through with what? Be precise.”
“The wedding. I will not marry a woman that despises me.”
“I missed where she despises you, Jimmy.”
“Man, she despises my soul. She dissed Young Woman on the Boardwalk.”
“Does it matter so much?”
“Man, it’s everything. Everything I am is in that painting, and it’s for her. I give it to her like I do myself. There is no difference. It’s where I express myself perfectly. You know that.”
“Where are you going?”
“To wash the paint off my hands. I need to think. I’ll see you around sometime, maybe.”
“Oh, come on, Jim. We’re supposed to be at breakfast.”
“Oh, come on, Rick. I don’t care.”
(Exit)
From the beach onto the balcony into the lobby and to the right was the dining room, where two large tables near the kitchen were reserved for Caroline and Jim. The wedding party was there: Caroline, Claire, the two other bridesmaids, Caroline’s mom, Jim’s second and third groomsmen, his mom and dad, the caterer, the baker, the florist, Natalie the organist, the hairdresser, friends, brothers, sisters, cousins, and el Padre. Someone was singing: Hullaballoo, hullaballoo, the wedding has come and Caroline will too!
Caroline smiled benignly. She felt happy and in charge. If she waved her hand someone would do her bidding; so, she waved it all the time, partially quelling her qualms over being the main attraction at a wedding.
“Waiter, coffee!” she called to the caterer, who was serving breakfast gratis as a gift to his friends and had placed a tray with coffee and water beside Caroline. He ran over to pour, and she said to him, “Alfred, it’s going splendidly.”
“Of course, sugar,” he said while sweetening her cup, “because we love you. But where’s Jim? He should be here to keep your tyranny in check.”
“He’s cleaning up. He got oils on his hands.”
“I heard he finished the young woman this morning. I didn’t believe he’d be done on time. I saw her a few days ago, though, and she already looked just like you.”
“How could you tell?”
“I mean, like you in his eyes,” said Alfred, sitting beside her in the chair that was allotted for Jim. “It’s amazing how much beauty he sees in your face and figure.”
“Servers ought not insult the bride. Do you think he sees me that way really?”
“Are you asking whether you are anything more than the icon of his inner ideal? I think most men are in love with their ideal. It’s a matter of sustaining the illusion. We call it ‘romance.’”
“You’re wrong. He thinks I’m beautiful all the way.”
“Which will make it so much worse when the illusion explodes.”
“You’re evil. I don’t know why I tolerate you.”
“It’s the sympathy in our natures, young woman,” he said. Alfred then got up to return to his guests, so, Caroline waved him away.
“Where’s Jim?” asked Jim’s mom.
“Cleaning his hands. I don’t know, Rick didn’t make the table either. He abandoned poor Claire to solitude, and now the baker is flirting with her.”
“He’s missing out. His dad and I are off to see the lighthouse now. Tell him where we are when he arrives.”
“When next you see me, I’ll be his bride, mom.”
“You were his bride the moment he saw you, Care.”
Caroline did not wave them away; she gave them a wayfarer’s smile. They were all well on their way by now.
(Exit many)
The crowd had considerably thinned and the coffee was cold. Only the wedding professionals and a half dozen stragglers greeted the best man when he entered the dining room.
(Enter Rick)
“If you’ve come to say sorry, Claire won’t listen to you, Rick,” said Caroline.
“To tell the truth, Caroline, Claire isn’t the woman most on my mind.”
“Obviously.”
“Llisten, quietly. Claire, you come over here too. What did you guys say to Jim?”
“We haven’t seen him, so, we haven’t said anything.”
“The odds of that being true are less than Musk reaching Mars. What did you say about his young woman?”
“We told him she was beautiful.”
“Did you say it in a way that you knew he wouldn’t believe?”
“No. Do you ask it because you think we are devious?”
“La! That’s a relief. It’s all a misunderstanding, then.”
“I think we understood you quite well, actually.”
“So do I,” said Claire, distracted by the baker.
“Somehow, Jim thinks you two dissed his painting. He’s upset.”
“Oh, I know what happened. Jim didn’t want Caroline to see the painting, but she made him show it to her. I warned her, but Caroline’s pig-headed.”
“Is that all it was? I guess she was a bit highhanded in her manner?”
“Jim stood to block her view and she pushed him away. Everyone laughed but it wasn’t that funny,” said the baker.
“Baker, you weren’t even there.”
“I heard it from Tom.”
“Jim thought the young woman was a surprise, and we all pretended that she was, you know.”
“It ruffled his feathers.”
“He’ll get over it.”
“He said you judged him, you had no right to, you were a poor court of opinion, and Claire was a bitch.”
“A bitch?”
“A quote.”
“La! And you think I’m pig-headed.”
“He thinks you hate the young woman.”
“He said I’m a bitch?”
“He said you hate his soul.”
“His soul?”
“Yes, you hate his soul.”
“Not hates—dislikes and disdains” was an aside. Everyone stopped dead. Of course—this explained everything!
“El Padre, what have you been up to?”
“I only ever intend your good.”
“But what have you done?”
“I overheard Caroline say, she doesn’t love Jim.”
“When pig’s fly. I never said that!”
“I phrased it the way Jim heard it when you said that you don’t love his young woman."
“La! Oh, damn it. A discordant note. Did Jim overhear that?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?”
“I saw him hear it.”
(Exit Natalie)
“La! And you said nothing, el Padre?”
“I went after him.”
“No one saw you.”
“He got away.”
“From where?”
“From the balcony.”
“And onto the beach!” said Rick, “and then—oh, my.”
“Oh, my,” said they all.
El Padre was the only one that had seen Natalie slip away. He, too, left unobserved but could not locate her in the lobby, took a guess, and followed her onto the balcony. She was standing at the steps overlooking the beach, although Jim wasn’t there.
“What are you looking for?” el Padre asked her.
“Jim.”
“What if you had found him?”
“I would have walked his way.”
“To what end?”
“That he might speak to me.”
“To what end?”
“Lord, you do persist with your questions. To whatever end he chose.”
“Taking a few hints from you.”
“I don’t work that way.”
“So, to you its just work. When the deal is done, you say, ‘I got mine.’”
“I never get what I want, actually, although people say I do.”
“You have that reputation.”
“It’s not the reputation I want.”
“What do you want, Natalie.”
“It’s none of your business, preacher.”
“I am not a preacher, I am a priest.”
“Sure, you are. They would turn you out of orders except they’re ticklish about sacraments being indivisible.”
“Indellible, you mean.”
“I mean, you can’t get divorced. I want me some of that.”
“Is that what you want?”
“Men can’t be trusted, so, I have to be sure about the guy.”
“So, you are giving them all a try?”
“Oh, shut up, el Padre. Stay away, and leave me alone.”
Natalie headed up the hill toward the church to warm up the organ. Rick then came onto the balcony and saw el Padre there.
“Is Jim around?”
“He barely escaped, I suppose.”
“I have to round him up and calm him down so we can dress for the ceremony.”
“Perhaps he is already at it. Perhaps the place to look is in his room.”
“Right. I’ll try it.”
Jim was, in fact, ‘at it,’ showered, and sitting in a chair in his underclothes when Rick unlocked the door and walked into the room. The drink in his hand had soothed him but not relieved his mind, Young Woman on the Boardwalk sat in an opposite chair, and Jim was eyeing her suspiciously as though waiting for her to say something that he wouldn’t like.
“We’ll have to fix that face,” Rick said matter of factly.
“Her face is fine.”
“I didn’t mean hers. Jimbo, I’m not certain that you know what’s real, the way you look at her.”
“I look because she’s beautiful, Rick.”
“But don’t you think it might be a waste of your time?”
“Never.”
“And I suppose she talks back to you?”
“Of course.”
“What does she say?”
“What are you talking about?”
“I want to know what you talk about.”
“Well, right now, we aren’t speaking to one another.”
“You’ve upset her?”
“She upset me.”
“Her too?”
“Who too? Claire too? Do you mean, Claire?”
“What does Claire have to do with it?
“Claire was there.”
“Where did she go?”
“I don’t know. She was there when I left.”
“What the fuck are you talking ab—Oh, my god. La! You mean what Caroline said this morning.”
“I did at first, but now I mean Claire.”
“You see, I thought—never mind. Look, Jim, I know Caroline insulted your young woman, but is it really that important?”
“I spent weeks making her right; Caroline’s painterly image. It’s not as easy as you think. And then she said she didn’t like it. She doesn’t like how I see her. She doesn’t like how I see things, apparently. It’s like we look at two different worlds.”
“I don’t understand you. It must be an artist thing.”
“Of course, it’s an artist thing. And I was going to present it to her, the big surprise at our wedding reception. My god! The look of disappointment that would have crossed her face. I can see it now, the professional smile that she uses to mask what she’s thinking. She could never have pulled it off. Everyone would see, she doesn’t like my work, she disdains my point of view. I would have looked silly, and my young woman would have been ridiculous. It’s my best work. And I’m thinking—what does she like about me, if not that? Do I even want to know what she thinks? Suppose I don’t like it. I mean, it is possible.”
“Jim, she likes you about you.”
“La! Man, what does that mean? Because I don’t think it means anything. ‘She likes me about me.’ You know what? I can show her what I love about her, for real. It’s this!”
“Jim, that’s a painting.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“Yeah, and about that. Caroline, you know, she—”
“She what? Man, you be careful what you say next.”
“Yeah, well, I’m gonna say nothin’. It’s obvious that you love Caroline, and she loves you too. So, let’s just get you dressed and to the alter.”
“Nell will be here to do my hair in a minute. I can’t get dressed until after that.”
“That’s good. It will give me time to get dressed before you do.”
By then Nell had finished doing Caroline’s hair, so, Claire was already dressed and was helping Caroline.
“Once you’re ready, Care,” said Claire, “I’ll zip over to find Rick and make sure Jim is alright.”
“No, you won’t. You will stay by me. Am I supposed to walk to the church by myself?”
“But Rick said Jim’s pretty upset. Don’t you want to know what you’ll be walking into when you walk down the aisle?”
“Dear god, Claire. I know what I’m walking into.”
“That’s what everyone says. But Rick said, Jim was pretty upset.”
“Why does everyone say that? I thought you guys were our friends.”
“We are, honey.”
“But you don’t know us. I know Jim. He doesn’t care what I think about his painting. It was a shock, I know, but he’ll just laugh it off. He doesn’t care what I think about his young woman. He’s in love with me, and I’m the one that’s beautiful.”
“That’s only the way he sees you.”
“What the hell do you mean by that?”
“Nothing. I didn’t mean anything. What I meant was, love is an illusory thing.”
“No, it isn’t. I’m not an illusion.”
“No, but in a guy’s mind it’s different. You gotta maintain appearances.”
“I’m not gonna let myself get outta shape. La, la! At least, not right away.”
“La, la, la! Caroline, look at you in your wedding dress. See how pretty you are. Like an angel princess, and that’s an illusion. That’s the romance of love, and its illusory. You gotta watch it, you gotta make sure it stays true.”
“You’re saying, I’ve burst the illusion?”
“Not burst—deflated a little. I just want to make sure it’s all pumped up when you walk down the aisle.”
“When I walk down the aisle I’ll be his angel, don’t worry about that.”
Claire gave Caroline a kiss. “That’s my Care,” she said. “Always right!”
By then Nell had finished Jim’s hair and was brushing up the final touches ringing the collar of his tuxedo. She told him that Caroline looked radiant. Jim looked grim.
“Look, Jim, I gotta say something,” said Nell. “Everyone knows you are upset with Care, but you got no cause. She’s the real thing.”
“Everyone knows, do they? What does everyone know?”
“La! I think I may have spoken out of turn. It’s just that at breakfast, Rick said—”
“Man, what did you say?”
“Stop calling me ‘man.’ I’m the best man. And what did I say that isn’t true? Look at you. You—are—upset.”
“And now, best man, everyone in church is going to be on notice to see whether I am.”
“Yeah, and I tried to tell you we got to fix your face. Nell sees it. You got to stay smooth, man.”
“You know what, I’m outta here. See you in church, maybe.”
Jim took the elevator straight to hell—I mean, to the hotel lobby. He strode through a bell hop and out onto the balcony. “Damn,” he exclaimed, “why does the calm blue sea look so fucking annoying.” “Does it, really?” said Tom, who was standing there tidying a mimosa he had spilled on his jacket and tie. “Jimmie, are you OK? You look furious.” “Tom, will you mind your own business?” “Well . . . I guess I’ll go find my wife.” “Well, do that, then,” said Jim, who without a place to go headed down the path leading to the church. It led across the beach to the monstrous topiary bride. “Fuck her,” said Jim, scratching the hand that he whipped across its needles.
“Me?” said the florist, whose name was Jill, carrying flowers to the dining room in preparation for the reception. A rose dropped onto the wooden path and was crushed underfoot.
“Oh!” she cried. “Jim, I know you are upset but do you have to be violent?”
“I’m not upset. Why does everybody keep saying that?” Jim stared Jill out of countenance when she made no reply, then started to climb the hill.
El Padre was at the top near the church gate sitting on a bench that looked out on guests arriving early. “Don’t worry,” said Jim, holding his hand out to the priest as a stop sign to speaking, “I am smooth.” He abjured the functionary and sought sanctuary in the church but instead found Alfred the caterer, the baker, half a dozen acquaintances, and some people he did not know standing outside the narthex and adoring the morning sun from high above the ocean. They whispered to each other and looked at him sideways. So, Jim broke to the left down a dirt path that went to a little wood and to the graveyard at the back of the church.
There, the grounds sloped downward so that he was soon out of sight of everything except the nearest gravestones. He sat on one and began a regretful soliloquy.
“Should I be married? What’s the use of an empty institution? Why betroth two souls when no one is sure they have one? I examine myself and see no soul but a random brain, random in its neurons, random in its lobes, confounded and convoluted in its cortex. If I’m so uncertain of mine, what may I know of hers?
“Half of people are divorced more than once and the rest are divorced at least that much. What’s the use of the bulge in Rick’s pocket where he keeps our unwed rings? They symbolize forever what lasts not a day. Half my friends keep broken rings in their closets and in their drawers and the others have pawned them. Caroline, Caroline, what’s the use of a wedding? The custom that should bind us has become a wanton, institutional liberty.
“I want not liberty but haven. The idea I painted as a present to you, but it was all a misunderstanding. Look at these gravestones: beloved husbands, beloved wives—the misunderstandings carved in stone, the realities lying beneath. They died hating one another. We grow to hate one another. We expose the other’s lies and stand by our own. I hate you, Caroline, for having made me love you. I hate what you have hidden from me, the truth you knew I could not stand and, so, would not show me. But it’s out before you intended and just in time. I see the truth, I know the truth, and I do not want this terrible thing!”
The church bell tolled. 11 am! Wedding time. Everyone was suddenly expecting him. He imagined their open faces and Caroline in the dress he had never seen her wear. The customary responses took hold and Jim started to run, leaping graves and bursting into tears. He was late, he had let everyone down, and oh! how hurt he was.
“Where is he?” said Care with something more than her executive concern. She expected the best man to know, but Rick stood in the church vestibule absent the groom. Defensively, he looked beseechingly at Claire but the bridesmaid had linked arms with the bride; he was friendless.
“The last thing Jim said,” replied the best man, “was, ‘See you in church, maybe.’”
“‘Maybe!’” said Claire with outrageous eyes. “What the hell did he mean by ‘maybe?’”
“He meant what it means, I suppose.”
“But he’s getting married!”
“Stop bickering, you two. He’s gotten emotional.”
“He’s not an emotional man.”
“You are wrong, as you may see,” Caroline dictated. “He gets emotional, and the best man is supposed to beware of it.”
“What should I do?”
“Go tell Natalie there has been a delay and to fill the interval with music.”
“I’ll do that,” said el Padre, listening from the hall outside the vestibule door.
“Alright. Then, Rick, Jim was last seen walking toward the graveyard. Go look for him but be back in five minutes. Claire, go tell the procession to wait in the narthex and to stay calm. Make sure they will, then come back to me. I don’t want to see anyone just now.”
(Exit)
Caroline had thought solitude would give her strength, but instead she felt alone. How had things gotten so out of control? Why had she thought she would be happy this day?
Care was not often unhappy and had been so for barely five minutes. She usually dealt like a manager with such troubles but felt a partial uncertainty at the moment. There were stairs to take from the vestibule to the basement, and Caroline went down. She didn’t want to see anyone, not even Claire. A small doubt had distracted her.
What had happened to Jim? Usually he was considerate, yet he had left her unguarded. What was bothering him? That stupid painting? It couldn’t possibly be that.
There was a crash above that came from the offices that stood to one side of the church. Jim had entered the buildings that way to avoid being seen. The direct way to the vestibule went through the basement, and immediately, he came bounding downstairs to where Care was waiting.
She took two running steps across the room toward him, met a defiant expression, and got angry.
“Where, sir, have you been?”
“I’m here now.”
“May I know why?”
“For the formalities.”
“Is that what you call them?”
“Weddings are formal things, Care, rather like my paintings.”
She took aim at that. “There is nothing more informative than a wedding.”
“But I am here for the formality. People are waiting.”
“You left me waiting here.”
“I forgot the time.”
“You forgot me.”
“A mere formality.”
That made her gasp, which was shocking to see.
“I am here to marry you, Care, after all,” said Jim. The phrasing bespoke an opportunity to call it off. Caroline did not flinch. “Well, that’s a good boy, then. See you upstairs.” She dashed up and out to join the procession.
Jim did not dash. He climbed little by little to the vestibule where Rick had been listening. “Jim, what are you doing?”
“I’m getting married.”
“Not like this. Shake yourself out of it.”
“I agreed to do it, so, I will.”
El Padre came in from the nave with the other groomsmen. “Jim, you look a mess. Let me wipe away those tears. The congregation’s getting anxious, and Natalie’s playing funeral music. I’ll ask her to pick up the tempo, I’ll walk to the alter, then the groomsmen will come out, followed by you.” The priest paused for a moment. “That is, if you are genuinely willing.”
“Never more,” said Jim.
“Oh, god,” said the priest. He headed for the alter.
Natalie took the musical instruction from el Padre without comment. The program called for Te Deum: Prelude, so, she started in on Here comes the bride. A shriek came from the narthex. “What the hell is that!” was distinctly Caroline’s voice.
“Charpentier, not Wagner,” mouthed el Padre.
“WTF,” mouthed the best man.
“Natalie, please do it right,” said Jim.
Natalie didn’t bother to resolve to Bflat, she hung the church on the natural E, threw the Wedding March aside, high, far, and fluttering to the floor, and commenced a respectable job on the greater fanfare. Walking down the aisle, the bridesmaids were perturbed, Caroline wore a businesslike smile, and no one believed it. El Padre worked his way quickly to the “do you” part of the rite. Jim had looked straight ahead the whole time and, when facing Caroline at the necessary moment, looked directly over her head.
“James, do you take this woman, Caroline, for your lawful wife?”
“I do,” said he, and then added, now looking intently at his bride, “but I hate you.”
El Padre lowered his prayerbook. “Caroline,” he said quizically, “Is that an acceptable response?”
“Certainly,” said Caroline, some affection forcing its way through her smile, “it’s fine.”
“What a rotten priest,” said Natalie.
“What God joins together, no one may put asunder.”
“Does that even count?” was the common question there.
Jim felt better in the morning. Caroline was not in the room when he awakened, the state of their closet indicating that she had dressed and packed for their departure on honeymoon. He did, too, and elevatored to the dining room, finding her this morning where she had waited for him yesterday, near the kitchen. The great tables were parted today into the little ones they had then comprised, and she poured her own coffee now, strangely appearing no less commanding in this mild attitude, and circumspectly ascertaining that he sought her out while ostensibly pretending not to see.
He approached and dropped to one knee. “Caroline, will you marry me?” he said.
“I thought I had.”
“There was a slight irregularity in the manner of my consent, so, I thought I should offer to give it again.”
“Probably unnecessary. Let’s wait and see.”
Jim sat at her right hand, from where he could keep their several lefts in view. Their rings were now wed and wore a gratifyingly enduring appearance, at least for the meanwhile.
“Caroline, this wonderful debacle of ours has left me with a problem.”
“Only one?”
“Two, perhaps. First, it bothers me that you don’t like my paintings. You don’t like my style.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Because you said you do not love them.”
“An entirely different matter. How many people, actually, do love your style?”
“I don’t know. Hundreds or thousands, I suppose.”
“How many of those do you love?”
“There’s Claire; none beyond that.”
“You see, art does not make love. Lovers do not pair that way; they are more artificial. I appreciate your paintings, as you well know, especially since you paint me so beautifully.” She wound her right hand into her hair and threw her head back in a flattering way. “To tell the truth, I am a little curious about that. Why do you think I’m beautiful?”
“Because you are.”
She disentangled her fingers and let them fondle his ring. “You see, sweetheart, I think you mean it. Alfred thinks I am merely the icon of your beautiful ideal, but I think the young woman is an icon of me. You paint what you see. I count on it, I really do, and I hope you will always see it, because I intend it to be there always.”
“All you have to do is never change.”
“La! How silly you are.”
“Even so, there is my second concern.”
“What is it?”
“How will I keep your esteem? I want to be admired too. I want you to look especially on me, and I want to deserve it. You don’t like my painting, so, what should I do?”
“To understand that,” said Caroline, “you will have to paint me again.”
“Of course!” said Jim, seeing at last. “Old Woman on the Boardwalk!”
“La!” said Caroline.
Processional: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=feRoY6nqTiQ