“Oh, all right, why not? After all it is a Brinkmeyer family tradition,” Allison said, the effects of the champagne making her feel more farm girl than social aristocrat. She stepped out of her uncomfortable shoes. Her sister tossed her a pair of white rolled up footies from down the line. It just missed skimming the top of Mrs. Jones newly dressed hair as Allison reached up and caught it. She steadied herself on Frank’s shoulder as she put her socks on.
“Hello, Mr. Jones. How good to see you again. Excuse me for a moment,” Allison said to Mrs. Jones’ husband as she pulled the heel of the footie in place. Seeing that the dignified Mr. Jones had observed what she was doing and not pausing too long to consider social protocol, Allison felt compelled, either by the champagne or the baffled look on Mr. Jones’ face, to explain to him what she was doing. “It’s a Brinkmeyer tradition. All us women take our shoes off and put on socks at weddings–you know, for the dance.” She glanced at Frank who looked a little worried until Mr. Jones showed his approval by laughing heartily and making some comment to Frank about what a delightful and spirited young bride he had.
“Why, thank you, Mr. Jones. How sweet of you to say that. Thank you for coming,” she said in an affected manner as she extended her hand, which he took and kissed. Everything was going so wonderfully, so beautifully. That’s what Allison was thinking at that moment. She was thinking that she needn’t worry again about these aristocrats and how she might fit in. She had won them over. And that’s when it happened.
Like any sudden unexpected event, it produced that terrible inevitable surge of adrenaline that Allison would always relive to some degree each time she remembered. There was Vicky standing right there in front of them. Allison thought it strange that every time she recalled this incident the first thing she remembered thinking was how nice Vicky looked; or rather, how nice she would have looked had she not been so obviously drunk. She noticed the nice dress and shoes, the accessories that matched, the purse, the earrings and necklace–stylish and tasteful. Her hair and makeup had probably looked very nice when she started out, before the alcohol gave it that disheveled look of drooping disarray. She hadn’t just thrown something on. This outfit had been carefully planned and thought out in advance. But where did she come from and what was she doing here? She certainly wasn’t on the guest list.
“Why, Frank and Allison, my dear old friends,” she said with an undertone of viciousness in her voice.
“What are you doing here, Vicky?” Frank said. His countenance quickly transformed from joyful to shocked disbelief to the tautness of a restrained outrage. Allison hated seeing him that way. She hated what was happening. She wished she could push a button, somewhere, somehow and make it stop. But she couldn’t stop it. She could only brace herself for whatever catastrophe would inevitably follow; like someone right before that moment of impact in a fall or accident. She could tense every muscle; she could cry out for help; she could close her eyes, but she couldn’t stop this pending collision with calamity.
“What am I doing here?” Vicky repeated her voice coarse and saturated with the effects of liquor. “Well, Francis darlin’, you know I wouldn’t miss this happy occasion for the world? Why I’m just as happy for you two as a pig in shit! I couldn’t wait in line to see you. I had to hightail it right up here. Right here and now, I did. Of course, I had to push a couple of rich old geezers out of the way to get to y’all but I made it.”
Allison was vaguely aware of some sort of commotion occurring just out of her peripheral field of vision immediately before she saw Vicky. She then realized Vicky had in fact cut through the receiving line and probably did push some people out of the way. There was a low murmur of discontent mixed with alarm coming from some of the wedding guests who waited in line just behind Vicky. Allison’s head was reeling. What should they do? Should they politely ask her to leave or staunchly and firmly throw her out? But what then if she should become angry and make a scene–an even bigger scene than the one she was already beginning to create? She didn’t have an answer and from the look on Frank’s face, neither did he.
“You just can’t imagine how overjoyed I was to see the engagement announcement in the paper,” Vicky continued. “I thought, I can hardly wait, but for some reason I never got an invitation. Imagine that! I know it must’ve been an oversight or mix up of some kind. I’m sure you’d want me to come. Why, if you didn’t want all your friends to come celebrate you wouldn’t have made such a big fuss about it and had your name splashed all over the social page like you did. But then Allison couldn’t do it any other way. Could you, honey?
“Well, you finally made it into the big league. Finally hooked you a big fish this time, didn’t ya Allie ol’ girl? Of course, you still need a little work on refining them social graces. I saw you take your shoes off and put them socks on there a minute ago. You can take the girl outta the country but you just can’t take the country outta the girl, now can ya? Frank here ought to be able to help you with that. He’s an expert at making a silk purse out of a sow’s ear. Ain’t ya, Frank? He’ll teach you everything you need to know about being a lady. You might wanna start by taking them socks off and putting your shoes back on. You just gotta learn how to smile and be charming in spite of your aching feet. If you wanna be a really good rich lady you gotta learn how to hide your feelings. You gotta learn how to be a real phony. But then you’re a fast learner, Allison, I’m sure you’ll catch on. I never could quite get it, myself, so Frank had to pass me over for a better student. Right Frank? But then again, Frank didn’t teach me everything. I taught him a thing or two. Didn’t I Francis, honey? Let me give you a few little pointers about what he likes in bed.”
“All right that’s enough, Vicky,” Frank interrupted tersely. “I’m going to tell you this as politely as I can. Please leave. You were not invited. If you will not leave of your own free will I will see to it that you are escorted out,” Frank said with the utmost civility and restraint.
“Escorted? Ain’t it funny how you can make the worst possible thing sound so proper? Still throwing your weight around, I see. Still trying to get me kicked outta places where I don’t belong. Remember when you tried to get me kicked outta Camelot?”
In the meantime, Tim, who was one of the groomsmen, and Sally both stepped out of their places in the receiving line and situated themselves on either side of Vicky. They stood there like sentries, each of them waiting for a signal from either Frank or Allison to take Vicky by the arm and bodily remove her.
“Well, well, if it isn’t the old Camelot gang! We got everyone here but Barb. Where is that ugly ol’ dyke anyway?”
“C’mon Vicky, let’s get some fresh air,” said Tim who had taken a hold of Vicky’s arm.
“Would you like me to drive you home, honey?” said Sally, her voice surprisingly tender with concern.
“Get your fucking hands off of me,” Vicky said wrestling her arms away from their grasps. Then almost as quickly as she lost her composure she regained it again. “Forgive me, I owe you each a quarter,” she said in a sickly sweet tone with a forced smile so pathetic as to evoke pity and disgust in equal portions.
“I’ll go,” she said squaring her shoulders and regaining what little dignity was left. “No need to show me to the door. I believe I can find it myself,” she said, overly conscious of enunciating each word just so. Sally and Tim let go of her. She began to move toward the door, her head held high, her steps overly deliberate in some distorted effort to restore her wounded pride.
Allison and Frank grabbed one another’s hands and squeezed tight, and Allison began to feel the first slight wave of relief, like one beginning to awaken from a nightmare and realizing all the terror just experienced moments before was over a mere shadow, a vapor and nothing real at all. After all, only a few guests had taken notice of the unpleasant disruption and had already chalked it off as the antics of a party guest who’d had a little too much to drink. You had to expect something like this at such social occasions. There was always someone who
couldn’t hold their liquor. Frank was making apologies to the people in line behind Vicky. It was all right. They were smoothing it over. All’s well that end’s well, Allison thought.
“We better not let her drive home like this,” Sally said to them.
“Sally’s right, you know,” Tim said to Allison and Frank. “If she leaves here and drives her car into a ditch, you could be liable.”
“Do whatever you have to do,” said Frank.
Sally and Tim hurried off toward Vicky who was still making her way toward the foyer in that drunken manner of pseudo dignity. They reached her just before she exited the large dining area.
Allison watched as much as she was able in between guests who continued to greet her. She saw from across the room as Sally and Tim approached Vicky and spoke to her in hushed tones of discretion. She couldn’t make out the words but she could tell from their manner and gesture that they were trying to reason with her. It was the voice of reason trying to break through like static on a too distant radio station, a voice which most drunks can’t tune into. She watched as Sally and Tim reached out to Vicky with hands intended to help. She watched as Vicky pushed them away. She saw all too clearly what was happening in that awful moment. Sally and Tim’s condescension had added another gash to Vicky’s already wounded pride. She watched helplessly as the events of the next few moments unfolded before her in slow motion. She found herself back in the bad dream again, afflicted with that common paralysis which so often accompanies nightmares.
Vicky pushed Tim and Sally away. Because of her drunken state it was more like a shooing than a shove, not nearly forcefully enough to actually drive them back, but enough to draw attention. Then came the awful angry and inebriated wail of Vicky’s voice crying out loudly over the din of the string quartet and the chit-chat of the party guests. Suddenly everyone was aware of the upheaval taking place in this small area of the room.
“Fuck you! You never gave a shit about what happened to me when I was your neighbor, so now you’re suddenly concerned!?” Sally approached her with that marked look of concern and said something. Vicky responded by giving Sally a sloppy shove. Then she turned, grabbed an abandoned glass of champagne from a nearby table, pulled a vacant chair recklessly around and stood on top of it. She stuck two fingers in her mouth and let out a shrill whistle.
“Attention everybody!” she yelled out, and to Allison and Frank’s horror, she did indeed have everyone’s attention even the string quartet who had stopped playing. “I’d like to propose a toast to the bride and groom,” she said raising the champagne glass as she swayed to and fro on top of the chair. “To Allison and Frank, my favorite ex-friend and my favorite ex-lover. You’re still my favorites, even though you went behind my back and deceived me and ditched me for each another. Even though Allison, you’re a bossy bitch, and Frank, you’re a lousy lay…”
“All right, that’s enough, Vicky.” The insult was quickly interrupted by Tim, but not quickly enough. The words still made it out, leaving Allison stunned like a swift unexpected slap across the face. Tim reached up to take Vicky’s arm in his grasp. He put his other arm around her waist and practically lifted her off the chair. She was just drunk enough to come down without much effort on Tim’s part, but not before she got one final dig in. She downed the champagne and hurled the empty glass across the room. It crashed against the wall with a nerve pinching shatter that went all through Allison in that awful moment. Then another loud crash was heard as Vicky pulled a tablecloth off a nearby table, sending silverware, china plates, and glasses crashing to the ground. Allison strained to see what was going on at the other end of the room but was shielded by well meaning bridal party members and guests who suddenly emerged with looks of concern and offers of false reassurances. As far as she could tell Vicky was being forcibly removed. Another loud din from out in the foyer caused the crowd to jump with alarm as a steady murmur of shocked exclamations rippled through the room. The next few minutes were indeed a blinding blur as Frank attempted to make his way toward the door but was restrained by some of the groomsmen. Frank’s brother, Tony, who seemed suddenly sober, ran out to investigate. He returned a short time later at which point Allison was only vaguely aware of her mother, sister, and Mildred Diefendorf hovering about her, shushing her, and patting her hands. Tony carefully closed the great double doors that led out into the foyer behind him in an obvious attempt to shield remaining bridal party members and guests from whatever it was that was going on out there. Suddenly he had a microphone in his hand and he was making an announcement.
“It’s all right, everyone. The situation’s being taken care of. There’s nothing to worry about. It seems that one of the guests just had a little too much to drink. Let’s resume our celebration,” Tony said with a smile befitting the polished politician who is quite expert at smoothing over a crisis in the public’s eye.
The string quartet resumed playing Mozart’s Eine Kleine Nachtmusik which made Allison feel even more nervous and dizzy than she already did. Her mother, Paula, and Mildred seeing her state of shock and dismay, led her as quickly as possible out of the reception hall and into the ladies room where Allison could have some space to collect herself. Guests, out of polite pity, stepped aside and said nothing, mostly just ignoring her as she was led away from the crowd. Once they got her back to the ladies lounge and seated her in a comfortable chair, Sally who’d returned from the frontline appeared on the scene with a glass of champagne which she tried to coax Allison to drink.
“No, I don’t want it,” Allison protested as her mother blotted her damp cheeks with a tissue and Paula rubbed her shoulders. “It will just make me emotional and cry even more.”
“This is one time I’m insisting you drink, dear,” her mother said. So Allison took the glass, held her breath and downed the champagne as she would a vile tasting but necessary medicine. Someone handed her a glass of water, which felt cool, refreshing, and somehow quieting as she swallowed it.
“You get all your crying out, honey, and I’ll redo your makeup,” Sally said, her bright, wide, almost comical face much closer to Allison’s (in true Sally fashion) than what propriety allows. “It’s all over and we can laugh about it now.”
“I don’t know, dear. It may be a little soon for that,” said Allison’s mother.
“Are you sure it’s all right? Are the guests all right? Was anyone hurt?” Allison asked.
The women jumped in with reassurances of, “Everyone’s fine. No one was hurt, etc…”
“All right, enough, you’ve got to tell me what happened out in the hallway. What was that horrible crash we heard? Where is Vicky now? Come on Sally you have to tell me. Please,” she begged as she squeezed Sally’s hand with an insistence that would not let go until she acquiesced. Sally looked to Allison’s mother for permission to speak. She shook her head at Sally in silent disapproval.
“Okay, if you must know,” Sally proceeded despite the lack of consent from all of Allison’s female relatives. “Vicky knocked over the Christmas tree.”
“Oh, my God,” said Allison with a sensation of sickness rising from her feet to the top of her head. “I think I’m going to throw up.” Mildred said, “shh dear,” and patted her hand. Allison’s mother stuck a cold rag on the back of her neck and Paula and Sally discussed among themselves which of them should go out and fetch another glass of champagne for the ailing victim.
“I don’t want anymore champagne, and Mom get that cold cloth off of me. And Mildred…” Allison pulled her hand away from Mildred. “Please stop that!” She shot Mildred an angry glance. She wanted to slap her as hard as she could with the same hand she’d been patting. For some reason she wanted to take it all out on poor Mildred, as if the whole thing were somehow her fault. For one insane moment Allison wished Mildred had her basket of eggs draped over her wrist so she could grab it and smash it over her head. It was a short lived moment. She caught herself and apologized, first to Mildred then to the other ladies.
“It’s all right, it’s all right. Perfectly understandable,” the chorus of reassurance and ready forgiveness rang out.
“It really is all right,” Sally, who had stuck her head out a moment ago to inquire about damage control. “They’re cleaning the mess up right now. Most of the guests have no idea what happened out there. The doors to the foyer are closed. When they open them again no one will see a thing.”
“Including no Christmas tree,” Allison said.
“Don’t worry, they can prop what’s left of it up in the corner. No one will ever suspect a thing. We’ll just keep those doors closed and no one will know what’s going on out there. Unless of course there’s a fire between now and then and everyone suddenly has to clear out. Oh, well, people will just have to mind all the branches on the floor and be sure to step over them.”
“Well, one thing’s for sure, nobody’s going to forget this wedding any time soon,” Paula said. “Believe me, honey, the guests are lapping up so much booze at that open bar they won’t remember a thing about this tomorrow.”
“Oh, please don’t tell me that,” said Allison. “That’s all I need is the dread fear of somebody else hopping up on a table to make another inappropriate toast.”
“Let’s hope we have no more ugly scenes. Your father’s ready to go home and get his rifle,” said Allison’s mother. “But you know, honey, something good has actually come out of all this. Your father and Phil Hamilton have become allies. They’re standing by the front door smoking cigars and drinking brandy and discussing what they ought to do about this whole thing.”
“Dad’s drinking brandy?”
“Well, no, he’s drinking beer actually. But you should’ve seen them, puffing on those cigars and discussing whether or not they should call in the National Guard to surround the parking lot. ”
“Nothing like a crisis to bring people together,” said Sally. “You got your Southern Indiana hoosiers, then all of Frank’s family; the Philadelphia blue bloods, the Connecticut suburban set, and some of Frank’s Italian relatives to really jazz things up a bit. Everyone’s suddenly friends with everyone else. I wager this goes down as the funnest wedding this town has ever seen.”
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