“Then why have it during the biggest time of the year?” Please, Malcolm likes media attention; he likes to be in the news, that much is obvious. The recent YouTube videos of him hugging old ladies, attending rap concerts and spending quality time with his future stepson, prove that he likes the positive press. He wants to be seen … but only on his terms. That’s why he’s tried to shut me up.
“Everyone will be here for the watch party; it doesn’t make sense to make them all fly back in town for the wedding.” Dena shrugs.
“Well, the bells are a romantic touch.” I drift my eyes out of a window and look at Boston in autumn. It’s a beautiful sight, almost ethereal. “Such a beautiful time of year for Malcolm to arrange a wedding.” I blow on my tea.
“There you go.” Dena shakes her head.
“What?”
“You’re romanticizing Malcolm and Danielle’s relationship again. Didn’t your therapist tell you to stop doing that?”
“All I said was that the bells are romantic, it was a nice touch on his part.” The news informed Boston that the city would hear church bells chiming all day. The chiming would be coming from both St. Michael’s Catholic Church, the church that the Rouge’s attend, and St. Paul’s Catholic Church, the church that the Blairs attend. They were sounding their steeple bells at the top of each hour in celebration of Danielle and Malcolm’s impending marriage tonight. The news reported that Malcolm arranged top of the hour bell chiming for their churches here in Boston, the steeple bells of the church at St. Bernadette’s Boarding School and those of St. Mark’s Catholic Church in Baton Rouge, the homeland of the Rouges. “It’s a sweet touch for Malcolm to arrange church bells to ring at the same time all over the country.”
“Four bells, Laura. Just four bells.”
“It’s romantic.” I say before taking a sip of my tea. Dena rolls her eyes and shakes her head again. “Well, it is!”
“They’re not perfect, they have their problems. Every couple in the world has problems.”
“Well their marriage will certainly be more romantic than mine.”
“What are you talking about? Your wedding was positively breathtaking.”
“Then wait until tonight.” I take another sip of my tea.
“Oh Laura, just stop it.”
My father was livid that the media found out about my ‘moods’ and therefore has refused to talk to me since last December. He claims that if I hadn’t of acted silly last Christmas, he wouldn’t have to devote so much of his campaign to mental health awareness. He refused to pay for my wedding. So Malcolm did.
Malcolm arranged for me to marry Lorenzo Gallo, a member of the up and coming Gallo family in Maryland. They’re new money. I’ll admit that Loren (as I call him) and I have some things in common. He’s average height, slim and has nice dimples. He’s also Italian, as am I, so we cook spaghetti together, own a small vineyard and he’s teaching me how to speak Italian. I’ll admit, I’ve been slow to warm with him but he’s been patient with me. He hasn’t even required me to sleep with him yet and we’ve been married since March. He’s kind. He’s nice-looking. He’s funny. He’s using me. Loren needed to marry into a more established politico family in order to get any further in his career as a State Senator. But I’m using him too. He has a lot of money and I need money. I also needed a husband and eventually I’ll need kids. But we don’t mention that. I don’t mind being around him and I’ve actually caught myself looking at my watch around the time that he’s due home from work. Of course, he’s a lawyer. His family is huge and loud and we all live next door to each other. We drink wine, make our pasta sauce from scratch, bake bread in the oven and talk really loud. Laura Rossi-Gallo is very Italian now. She did not become Danish.
The marriage contract and pre-nup that Malcolm drew up protected me from hurt and harm. He actually played hardball with the Gallo family: You’re marrying a Rossi, don’t worry about that clause over there, just sign the damn papers. I come out on top if I ever decide to leave Loren or if Loren decides to leave me. 60/40 is what will be awarded to us; I get 60% of everything and Loren gets 40%. That’s practically unheard of since Loren is the one who’s walking into the marriage with money and I’m just walking in with my last name. But in the end, Malcolm told them that I’d get 60% or Loren wouldn’t get a bride. In the end, Loren wanted a bride more than he wanted to keep his money. My marriage to Loren is safe but it isn’t romantic. There were no church bells ringing during my wedding day. It’s Danielle who has church bells ringing for her.
“I think there will always be a part of me that–”
“Laura, we’re not going to talk about Malcolm.” Dena gives me her stern look. “That part of your life is over.”
I nod, she’s right.
That night last December, when I went to Italiano’s to talk to Danielle, I waited outside for a half hour, only to discover that Malcolm had snuck her out of Italiano’s. I knew right then and there that he found out about me somehow. The last words I heard, before I ran in absolute terror back to my hotel, was Listen, they’re gone. They’re not here and they didn’t say goodbye. I tried. Malcolm was onto me. I went into my suite to find Dena still asleep with Evan sleeping nearby. I went into the bedroom, committed to staying up all night. I just knew Malcolm would be coming for me. I had my bags packed to get out of town the next morning. But I took a Lithium to settle my nerves and fell asleep. The rest is history.
I was taken to a Boston psych ward where I stayed for seventy-two hours. While I was there, Malcolm emptied my PO Box, safe deposit box and even went back to my burned home to see if there was anything salvageable. I actually slept the entire time I was in the psych ward. Guess how surprised I was when I opened my eyes and saw Malcolm standing by my bed, looking out of a window. On the bedside table next to me were four golden ladies. They were dark, some were burned but he had salvaged four gymnastics trophies. Either he or Lola may have burned my house down but at least he saved some of my trophies. (Everyone says Lola burned it down, I think Malcolm did it but no one has proof.) He’s been coming here checking on you for three days, I heard a nurse say from the side of me. Malcolm turned around and didn’t say a word. He promptly walked out once he saw that I had recovered from that overdose. I was released from the hospital and remained a prisoner of sorts in my parent’s home. The next time I saw him, I was in my father’s study, signing a marriage contract and pre-nup in front of him. He was now my lawyer. My mother informed me that the marriage and move to Maryland would be beneficial for both families and if my father was elected president, she’d be nearby in DC. What did I have to lose?
“I can’t believe that I’m going to see him tonight.” I say.
“And everything will be fine.” Dena raises an eyebrow at me over her tea cup.
“His wedding will be the closure I need.”
“It will be. And we’ll smile and hug and talk to each other while fixing stray pieces of each other’s hair. And the cameras will get it all and comment on how lovely we get along.” Dena gives me a fake, peppy smile. I nod my head in understanding. Tonight, I’m going to see Malcolm again and he’ll be a married man.
Malcolm
9:30 p.m.
“How long am I expected to stay here?” Jon walks up to me and asks. He looks hot under the collar. That’s understandable; the ballroom is filled with Republicans, feminists, conservative Democrats, Danes and French-speaking Creoles. Not exactly Jon and Marla’s crowd.
“We need you to stay all night, that was the deal you made with Red. You stay all night and Nicky spends the night at your place on Christmas Eve.” I say, giving him an ‘I’m about to tell Red on you’ look.
“Look, they took pictures, I gave an interview, I said my congrats, I’m done.”
“I’m having fun, Jon.” Marla says as she tightens her arm around his.
“Marla’s having fun Jon.” I say as I wink at her. She smiles. Jon glares at me.
“It’s a new crowd.” She looks around th
e ballroom that’s filled with tuxedos, ball gowns, crystal, candles, waiters in tuxes, a jazz band with a jazz girl singing, ice sculptures, piles of food, bottles of wine, hundreds of scotch glasses, senators, governors, congressmen, mayors, the current president of the United States, the Vice President, and of course lawyers and lawyers and more lawyers. After all, this is Boston, everyone’s a lawyer.
“I’m tired of answering questions, I’m tired of taking pictures and I’m tired of wearing this damn tie.” Jon says. Jon’s complaining but he really is being a good sport. He hates me, everyone knows that, yet he’s here pretending to be supportive. He’s become the hot topic on the Boston scene with his new tech firm and the Fortune 500 clients he’s acquiring. His firm is bringing big money into Boston so the media is intrigued with him. Add the fact that his ex-wife is now with me and his popularity has soared. Jon unfortunately isn’t one who likes attention but he’s handling tonight with style. I heard him outside an hour ago giving an interview:
“Danielle knows how to pick ‘em”, He smiled at the interviewer, “so I’m sure she and Blair will enjoy their marriage. And no, there are no hard feelings between Blair and me. We’re two men who happen, uh happened, to love the same woman. Happens every day.”
Jon happens to be a terrible interviewer but I’m sure Boston got the message. Also, he didn’t just do this so that Nicky will wake up in his condo on Christmas morning. I know that he did this for Red’s sake, since the media was giving her grief about her ex-husband, questioning if we were a friendly bunch. The fight in New York came up … which I knew it would. So he came as an apology to Red; you gotta give it to Jon. He’s attending the reception of a woman that I know he still loves. I’m sure this is harder than he’s making it look. Don’t get me wrong, I still don’t like him, but his respect level is raised a notch in my book.
Not to mention that he never revealed his legitimate copy of the divorce decree. I don’t have to like him but I respect him.
“Jon, come on.” Marla says with a smile. It’s a shame a nice girl like Marla fell for such a dick like Jon.
“This shit is irritating.” He says as he walks away from me, dragging Marla by the hand behind him.
I wonder if Jon and I will ever be anything more than tolerable of each other.
I look around the ballroom and I have to admit that my mother and Red organized this all pretty good. The scene is moody and dark, just like Red wanted. … I just may need night vision goggles, I heard Jasmine say to Marlon as he waltzed her past me. That’s another one who will never like me. Jasmine. I wouldn’t put it past her and Jon to be planning my murder. I should be keeping an eye on those two.
Every heavy hitter in the nation is here right now. King Wynston and Queen Angie are giving royal waves as we speak. Jacob’s mother is looking at my mother and then turning to whisper into my uncle’s ear. He’s giving her a ‘yes dear, I know, I’ve heard this all before’ look. Jax and Elise are networking with a crowd they wouldn’t normally find themselves in and from what I hear Jax has picked up a few clients. The crew is mingling, dispersed in the crowd, probably smiling wide, linking arms and acting united. As they should be. Well, that is everyone besides Jacob and Winnie but that’s another story. I see that Rena and Matt are at the bar, laughing with each other, clinking their scotch glasses together. Nicky’s with Ralphie and Evan flipping on the dance floor. But the question is, where is Red?
“Looking for me?” And here she is. I turn and see my wife standing there, leaning her head back to look me in the face, a sly ass grin on her face. Did you notice that I said my wife? Yeah, I’ll be one of those people who use wife and husband instead of given names. I’ll even say that to people who have known us for years, like our parents. Listen, I’m excited here. I married the girl from St. Bernadette’s library. The one who put her earphones in her ears when I was talking too loud. The one who stood up to leave because she couldn’t study in peace. The one that I watched walk away while I was sitting with Fern. (By the way, Fern and her family are here too. She made eye contact and then winked, I winked back and then Red gave me ‘the eye’. I think you know what I’m capable of.)
“You’re up to something.” I say to her as I pull her to me, ease her body against mine and then lean down to kiss her. She, Winnie and Jacob’s sisters have been snickering amongst each other all night. I’m pretty sure it’s over the fact that both Jacob and his new arch enemy Demetrius Westlake is here. It’s a long story about those two; trust me you don’t want to hear it.
“Am not.” She says against my lips. We do a slow dance to the band playing Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered, the jazz girl sounding a lot like Ella Fitzgerald.
He's a fool and don't I know it
But a fool can have his charms
I'm in love and don't I show it
Like a babe in arms
“She can sing.” I say to Red before leaning over to kiss her on her neck.
“She can.”
The wedding was small. Just my crew, Red’s crew, minus Jon, our parents, grandparents, Jasmine’s parents, Jacob and Nat’s families, a few aunts and uncles and cousins, Nicky’s godparents, Rossi, Eva and that was it. We wanted it small and intimate and private so we held it in the office of Danielle’s priest, Father Harper. As a reminder, he’s the one who saw the naked pictures of Danielle and me. Those pictures still make me laugh.
“Damn, I love you Red.”
“You’ve made that quite clear.” She says as she looks up at me through her lashes. A decade of cherry blossoms and birthday cards. A year of fights, lovemaking, cross-country chases, and document forgery. She’s burned down my house, tried to kill my ex-girlfriend, kicked me out a bar and was toasting with a man who I had just fought on the streets of New York. And still, here I am, twirling her ass around on this damn dance floor. If my love for Red isn’t clear by now, it never will be.
I've sinned a lot, I'm mean a lot
But I'm like sweet seventeen a lot
Bewitched, bothered and bewildered - am I
There was candle light only in Father Harper’s office; the only music was the sound of St. Michael’s steeple bells chiming in the distance for the fifteen minutes it took to officiate the nuptials. Nicky was the only other person in our wedding party, he was my best man. He had on a mini tux and everything, he looked so funny. It was perfect. The reception was the grand affair that my mother wanted it to be. There are hundreds of people packed in here, all wanting a picture with Red and me so show the media. See, they invited me, look at the picture, there I am.
I’ve won over Red’s family with my ability to speak French (though Red’s still teaching me Creole French). I never knew this but French is all the Rouges and Herberts speak when they’re together. (Herbert, pronounced Ur-Bear, is Red’s maternal family line.) Needless to say, Jon’s been having a rough time with them all night as they’ve been speaking with me in a language that he doesn’t understand. I can’t believe that he had been with Danielle since she was seventeen and had never attempted to learn the preferred language of her family. The Rouges and Herberts are close and have joint gatherings every April in Baton Rouge, how in the hell did Jon survive his weekend visits there? They’re a lively bunch; ranging in color from cocoa brown to lighter than me. Half of them have red hair, the others have sandy brown or black hair. Some of their eyes look like Red’s, just a shade lighter than the average brown. Some of them have green eyes, some have hazel, the others have dark brown and a few of them have grey and blue. All the white conservatives here can’t take their eyes off of them, can’t believe they all look so different. They can’t believe that they’re all varying shades of brown.
Oh and I’ve also been told the legend of Gramps, the Bullshitter and the Poker Tournament. For the life of me, I still can’t understand what that had to do with me last Christmas. I have to make a mental note to ask Red about that later.
My family, the Blairs and the Saxons (my mother’s side of the family) are hands
down in love with Red. She’s impressed them with her knowledge of Danish history, Viking conquests and hygee, a term that normally only a true Dane would be able to understand and live by. But Red, a black woman, gets it. Needless to say, she’s charmed them.
But through it all the main attraction tonight is Red. She’s the very reason we’re all here right now. For the sake of not ‘pulling a Cadence’ (which is what we all call each other now, when we’re acting like suckers for love) I’ll just sum up what I feel for Red in one word. Inexplicable.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen her look as beautiful as she does right now. The women were right; all of Vera Wang’s wedding dresses have human names. Red’s is called Joelle. I know this because it’s all my mother has been talking about for the past two days. The dress is named Joelle. But you better not go online looking for her! She kept warning me. Then why tell me the damn name? From what I heard, it wasn’t white. It was black. Appropriate enough for a woman who’s marrying a Blair. To see her in it now, I’m glad I resisted the temptation of investigating Joelle. It felt more gratifying to see Red in it, walking towards me, knowing that she’d stop right in front of me. Mine.
“Red Rouge-Blair.” I say as I spin her around.
“Really Malcolm?” I laugh, reach up and tighten her arms around my neck. “I’m not going anywhere.” She says as she looks up at me through her lashes. She does that shit on purpose. She knows I like it.
“Just making sure.” I wrap my arms around her waist again. And then that’s when I see her. Laura. She’s at the bar with her husband. He’s smiling, leaning in her ear, whispering something, but her eyes are on me. She raises her glass of water to me and gives me a nod. Congratulations. I nod back to her and then cut my eyes to Red again.
Laura and I have never mentioned the diary. I have it in my possession, locked in a safe in my office. We’ve also never mentioned the picture.
The picture. It was taken years ago, when Jacob was seeing both Winnie and Jasmine full time, without either of them knowing. The picture was innocent, in a way. You have to remember, Jacob was twenty-four and Jasmine was twenty-two when it was taken. So it was also extremely childish. It was taken when Jacob was in his third year of law school. He was sitting in a chair at his desk, Jasmine was straddling him. They took the picture for fun and since Jacob was holding the camera, the only thing visible was them from the waist, up. But that was enough. Jacob was making one of those ‘gritty’ faces, eyes squinted, mean mugging the camera. Jasmine was making one of those innocent faces; a hand on her cheek, her eyes in the air, her mouth open. Their faces weren’t the problem. There were three problems:
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