by Parnell Hall
“Sure you can.”
“I’m his ex-wife. It would be wholly inappropriate.”
“No, it would be a wonderful gesture, healing the rift, and making amends.”
Sherry’s eyes blazed. “Making amends?”
Cora leaped to Sherry’s rescue. “Well, she can’t do it. She can’t be your maid of honor. She’s gonna be mine.”
“I don’t think it’s an exclusive position,” Dennis observed with a grin.
“Of course it isn’t,” Brenda said. “Come on, Sherry. I need your blessing.”
“What’s your wedding date, Brenda?” Cora asked.
“Saturday!” Brenda bubbled. “I’m to be a June bride! We’re getting married next Saturday! June 12!”
Cora shook her head. “Same as mine. You see, it won’t work. You’ll just have to get someone else.”
Raymond Harstein’s mouth fell open at this announcement. Aaron and Sherry looked at each other.
Dennis frowned. “You’re getting married next Saturday?”
“Yes, we are,” Cora cooed. She squeezed Raymond’s cheeks, partly as a gesture of affection, and partly to make sure he didn’t protest. “So I’m afraid Sherry’s going to be busy.”
“But we need Sherry, don’t we, honey?” Brenda urged her intended bridegroom.
Dennis ignored Brenda completely, having zeroed in on Cora as his biggest obstacle. “Okay. So here’s what we do. We make it a double wedding. That way Sherry can be there.” He turned to Raymond Harstein III. “You wouldn’t mind sharing, would you?”
Raymond, still reeling from the news his wedding was to take place the very next weekend, said, “Not at all. Ow,” he added, as Cora kicked him in the shin.
Dennis took no notice. “Perfect. Then it’s settled. We’ll have a double wedding, and Sherry can be maid of honor for both.”
“Where’s your wedding going to be, Brenda?” Cora asked.
“St. Patrick’s Cathedral.” Brenda’s eyes were bright.
“In Manhattan?”
“Of course.”
“What a shame.” Cora tried not to look smug, but she was practically beaming with mendacious glee. “Our wedding’s going to be here in Bakerhaven. Too bad. A double wedding is a wonderful idea, and we’d have been delighted to do it, but it simply won’t work. But do give us the address, and we’ll be sure to send a gift.”
“You’re getting married here?” Dennis made it sound like slumming.
“We like it here,” Cora told him. To her chagrin, she realized she was making a conscious effort not to sound defensive.
“Well, why not?” Dennis said airily. “If you can, we can. Whaddya say, Brenda? You wouldn’t mind getting married in the country, would you? Let’s move our wedding here.”
“Do you mean it?” Brenda’s mouth was open.
“If your folks can stand the shock. I know it’s short notice, but what the hell. We’re not that far from the city. The wedding party can drive up.”
“Yeah, but we’ll have to notify them,” Brenda said. “You know how many people my mom invited?”
As Brenda and Dennis discussed the logistics of moving their wedding, Sherry’s heart sank. This was the last thing in the world she wanted. But what could she do about it? She could refuse to be maid of honor, but she really couldn’t tell Brenda and Dennis where and when they could get married. And if it was the same time as Cora’s wedding, how could she not be there?
Dennis grabbed Brenda, gave her a squeeze. “Oh, boy,” he declared. “This is going to be great.”
Cora knew better.
As far as her niece was concerned, it was the worst thing that could have happened.
3
RAYMOND HARSTEIN III PATTED THE COUCH BESIDE HIM. “Come and sit down.”
“I don’t want to sit down,” Cora snapped. “Sorry, sorry,” she instantly amended. “I’m touchy, I’m irritable, I want a cigarette.”
“Chew the gum.”
“I hate the gum. I hate the patch. I hate pills, psychotherapy, twelve-step programs, support groups. I want to suck smoke into my lungs. That’s what I like, that’s what I want, that’s what I crave. A huge puff of foul, noxious, carcinogenic smoke. Is that too much to ask?”
“You’re doing quite well.”
“I’m jumping out of my skin. Did you see me at dinner? I thought I was going to throttle that damn Brenda.”
“Her? I thought the ex-husband was the problem.”
“Yeah, but we know he’s a schmuck. She’s the real stab in the back.”
“Why? Sherry wants him out of her life. He’s getting married again. Why isn’t that a good thing?”
“He’s marrying her best friend. That puts him back in her life. It’s creepy. Hell, it’s damn near incestuous.”
“It can’t be all that bad.”
“Raymond, you have to either stop contradicting me, or let me have a cigarette,” Cora snarled.
“Now, now, dear, you’re doing absolutely great.”
Cora shuddered, told herself for the umpteenth time that giving up drinking and smoking was good for her. After all, she’d done worse things for former husbands. She couldn’t recall exactly what, but surely she had. “Raymond, sweetheart,” she said as she sat next to him on the couch, “could you be a dear and make me a nice cup of tea?”
“With honey and lemon?”
“Yes, with honey and lemon.”
“Of course. You just relax, my love, and I’ll bring it to you.”
Cora relaxed on the couch until Raymond went into the kitchen. Then she jumped up, grabbed her floppy drawstring purse, scurried on little cat feet to the front door, eased it open, and slipped out.
Raymond Harstein III’s modest rental house was in what in Bakerhaven passed for a housing development. The houses were small and close together. The couple on the porch swing next door smiled and waved.
Cora’s wave back was perfunctory. The neighbors were an old hippie couple, he bald-headed and bearded, with a fringe of long hair, and she a tie-dyed waif in wire-rimmed glasses and fat braids. Either or both often sported love beads. The VW microbus in their driveway had a roof rack on top, a bicycle on the back, and was painted in colors so psychedelic it set your teeth on edge.
Cora fished her cigarettes from her purse, whipped out a lighter, and fired one up. She puffed on it anxiously, inhaling huge clouds of smoke into her lungs, then expelling them almost violently, so as to suck in more. In approximately thirty seconds she had consumed half the cigarette. She stamped it out, hurled the butt into the bushes, swept the tobacco and ash off the porch with her foot.
Cora pulled out a small plastic bottle of Listerine, took a huge gulp, gargled, and spat into the bushes. She whipped out a breath spray, and squirted it into her mouth. Jamming it back in her purse, she noticed the hippie couple rocking up and down in ill-suppressed glee at her antics. The thin cigarette they had been passing back and forth must not have been tobacco. She had clearly blown their minds.
Cora muttered something she hoped the hippie couple wouldn’t hear, opened the door, eased it shut, tiptoed across the room, and flung herself down on the couch just as Raymond Harstein III glided through the kitchen door bearing a cup of tea.
“Here you are, my dear. This will fix you right up. My, you look a little flushed. Are you sure you’re feeling well?”
“I’m not feeling well,” Cora said. “I told you I wasn’t feeling well.”
Raymond’s nose twitched, and he frowned ever so slightly.
Cora couldn’t tell if he was smelling tobacco or Listerine. “Would you like a breath mint?” she ad-libbed, fumbling in her purse. “Not that you need one, mind. They’re just so refreshing. Here, have one and let me sip my tea.”
Raymond accepted the mint. “You were saying, dear? About your niece?”
Cora slurped tea. “Ow. Hot. I was saying this wedding is a kick in the face. I was saying it shouldn’t be happening at all, but if it is happening, it certainly shouldn�
��t be happening in Bakerhaven. You really have to be more aware of my signals, dear.”
“You were trying to signal me?”
“Did you think I was trying to kick a hole in your shin?”
“No, but the message wasn’t entirely clear. We should agree on some sort of code, like one kick means invite them to join us, two kicks means get rid of them.”
“Couldn’t you tell from Sherry’s body language?”
“Frankly, I was desperately trying to read yours. Unfortunately, it was in Swahili.”
Cora giggled in spite of herself. “Stop humoring me.”
“I’m not humoring you, my love.”
“See that you don’t. This is a serious matter. This guy Dennis is dangerous. The problem is, he seems so nice nobody really believes it.”
“If you tell me, I believe it.”
“That’s exactly what I mean by humoring me. I don’t want you to believe it just because I tell you. I want you to consider the facts and come to an independent conclusion.”
“Did I really agree to marry you?”
“That’s not exactly the best phrasing.”
Raymond’s eyes twinkled. “That one was deliberate.”
“I know, dear. I’m just distracted. What are we going to do about this damn wedding?”
“That’s not how I would have phrased that, either.”
“Not ours. Theirs. Raymond, we gotta do something.”
“You want me to stop their wedding?”
“No, but we could at least divorce it from ours.”
“How? Tell ’em we thought it over and we wanna have our own ceremony?”
“I don’t think so.”
“I was sure you wouldn’t. It’s way too straightforward.”
Cora looked at him sharply, but his eyes were still twinkling. “You’re a wicked man,” she scolded, melting. “A wicked, wicked man.”
“And you love it,” Raymond told her, enfolding her in his arms. “That’s amazing.”
“What?”
“With a smoker. Even when you quit, the smell of tobacco still lingers.”
“I suppose it does take time,” Cora murmured. “Raymond, what are we going to do about this other wedding?”
“Think we should try to bust them up?”
“Sherry’s fragile. That jerk beat her. Repeatedly. Not that she was a doormat. She fought back. But he was stronger. And, yes, she asked for help. She called the police, they’d come arrest him, he’d get out, come after her again. Dennis is a very sick man. And Brenda is Sherry’s best friend.”
Cora sighed. “Poor Sherry. This has to be tearing her apart.”
4
BRENDA RAN HER FINGER AROUND THE EDGE OF THE BUTCHER-BLOCK table in the center of the kitchen, and side-spied up at her best friend.
“Sherry, I swear I never fooled around with Dennis when you were married. Or in college. I barely knew him in college. I don’t know how it happened. The band would crash in my loft when they came through town. We just . . . clicked.”
“Sit down. I’ll make you some coffee.”
“I don’t need coffee,” Brenda said.
“I don’t, either,” Sherry agreed. “I just like making it. Gives me something to do. Keeps me calm.”
“Coffee makes you jittery.”
“It’s decaf. And you don’t have to drink it.”
Brenda frowned, but sat at the kitchen table. The large, eat-in kitchen was one of the prime selling points of the modest prefab house, and Sherry was more comfortable entertaining visitors there than in the living room.
“Can’t you just be happy for me?” Brenda asked.
“I’m happy for you. At least, I’d like to be happy for you. Brenda, you know what that man did to me.”
“He’s changed.”
Sherry began measuring coffee into the filter of her automatic-drip coffeemaker. She didn’t say a word.
“Sherry, don’t be like that. Just look at him. Can’t you see he’s changed?”
“I see he’s changed his shirt.”
“Sherry . . .”
Sherry slammed the coffeemaker shut, switched it on. She turned to her friend. “Brenda. I’m trying to cut you as much slack as I can. If there’s any way this works for you, fine. I’m happy for you. And I understand you needed to come here and tell me about it. You didn’t need to bring him, but what’s done is done. But there are limits. You want me to stand up and smile at your wedding like I think it’s a good thing. How can you ask me that?”
“I know. It seemed a little much to me too.”
Sherry’s eyes widened. “It’s his idea?”
“Don’t say it like that.” Brenda sounded defensive in spite of herself. “Dennis knows how close we are, and he knows what he did to you. Don’t you think he wants to make amends?”
Sherry sat at the table across from her friend, took hold of her hands. “Brenda, I would never do anything to hurt you, and I don’t want to hurt you now. I’m your friend, and I have to talk to you as a friend. Dennis is a sweet-talking guy. He could charm the birds down from the trees. He could sell ice to the Eskimos. He could even make a foolish girl believe he wasn’t going to hit her anymore.”
“Sherry—”
“No. Don’t argue with me. I’m not arguing with you. I’m just telling you something. I know it won’t do any good, but I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t say it.”
“Fine. You’ve said it. You’re off the hook.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Sherry, Dennis only hit you when he was drunk.”
“That makes it better?”
“He’s stopped drinking.”
“He’s in AA?”
“No. He just stopped.”
“Since when?”
“Since a while.”
“How long’s a while?”
“Sherry, look at him. It’s not just the drinking. He cleaned up his act. He quit the band. He got himself straight.”
“What’s he doing for cash?”
“My father offered him a job.”
“In the textile industry? What does Dennis know about textiles?”
“Dad’s gonna train him as a salesman. You said yourself, it’s the one thing Dennis can do.”
“And Dennis agreed to give up the band and sell sheets and towels?”
“I think years of earning no money wore him down.”
“Brenda, you wanna marry Dennis, I can’t stop you. But staying here, having the wedding here, that’s cuckoo stuff.”
“I know,” Brenda said. “What about Cora? What’s happening there?”
Sherry paused a moment before giving in to the change of subject. “I don’t know. This guy moved into town and swept her right off her feet.”
“Who is he?”
“Raymond Harstein III.”
“Who’s Raymond Harstein II?”
“That’s the question. According to Raymond, he comes from San Diego, but I can’t find any record of any Raymond Harstein living there.”
“You investigated him?”
“I don’t want Cora getting in over her head.”
“You think she would?”
“It’s all she ever does.”
Sherry and Brenda laughed.
Sherry shook her head. “I was thinking back to some of Cora’s past disasters, trying to figure out which husband I liked the best. All things considered, I think it was Larry.”
“Larry? Who’s Larry?”
“One of Cora’s husbands. Though I’m not sure if she counts him. She married him in a drunken stupor. The marriage was annulled the next day.”
“On what grounds?”
“He had another wife living. Something trivial like that. Anyway, he wasn’t around long enough to become annoying.”
“So you haven’t been able to find out anything about this Harstein guy?”
“Not a thing.”
“Why don’t you let that cute reporter do it? Give him a reason to tal
k to you instead of that Playmate of the Month.”
“Who?”
“Miss Calendar Girl posing as an attorney. Where’d she come from?”
“Local girl.”
“Really? They grow ’em big around here.”
“Yeah.” Sherry grimaced. “Brenda, you can’t stay.”
“Sherry . . .”
“And you don’t wanna stay. And neither does Dennis. It’s just a whim. He saw me, he saw Cora, he said, ‘Gee, isn’t it like old times, why don’t we all get married together?’ But it’s a stupid idea. As soon as he has time to think it over, he’ll realize that.”
Brenda’s smile faltered. “I suppose.”
“No supposing about it. He’ll come to his senses, and if he doesn’t, you’ll straighten him out.”
“I’ll straighten Dennis out?”
Sherry leaned in. “Brenda. If you’re afraid to do that, doesn’t it tell you something?”
“I’m not afraid to do that,” Brenda snapped. “My God, you can twist everything around!”
“Twist everything?” Sherry was offended. “I wasn’t aware I was twisting anything.”
“That’s not what I mean, of course,” Brenda relented. “But you have to admit you’re not exactly rational where Dennis is concerned.”
Sherry was stunned. “Excuse me?”
“What he did was wrong. I’m not denying that. But people can change. And you just won’t accept that. You’re the one in denial.”
“I’m in denial? Brenda, you can sit there and tell me I’m in denial?”
“Sherry . . .”
“No. I do not need some two-bit psychological analysis culled from Vogue to tell me how I feel. It took a court order to get rid of Dennis. It took moving and leaving no forwarding address to get rid of him. He still calls me up when he gets drunk.”
“He’s not drinking.”
“He will.”
Brenda sprang to her feet. “Well, isn’t that great? Isn’t that how you back me up? You wish me well, but how do you really feel?”
“I feel hurt. I feel betrayed.”
“Betrayed? Now you’re saying I betrayed you?”
“Not you. Him.”
“Oh, come on. Dennis is betraying you by marrying me?”
“That’s not what I mean.”
“It sure sounds like it.”