by Jack Baran
“You’d be getting married for the third time.”
A handsome, biracial couple takes their turn down the aisle. Bobby picks up the narrative. “The groom’s parents. She’s a successful Ashville realtor and he’s a tenured professor at the University of North Carolina.”
Pete’s focus remains on Barbara’s liberated neck and the adjacent earlobes he loved to nibble.
Eight teal groomsmen, fraternity brothers forever, escort the bridesmaids in matching strapless blue chiffon, positioning them decorously on the bride’s side of the aisle, then take positions on the groom’s side.
“The groom, Jeff Johnson.” Bobby again.
Jeff, 5:5, exchanges low fives with his taller groomsmen, steps under the canopy to face the holy fathers. The music swells and the wedding guests ooh and ahh as an adorable little girl scatters rose petals.
“Somebody’s niece.” Bobby smiles softly. “A real cutie.”
Finally the string quartet plays the Wedding March. Here comes the bride on the arm of her dad.
“Bill Gasparian, Allstate insurance claims adjuster,” whispers Bobby somewhat jealous.
Bill beams with pride as he escorts his daughter down the aisle. Priscilla is a raven-haired beauty in a creamy satin gown.
“DK, she bought it used online,” Bobby says with pride, “saved more than a thousand dollars.”
Pete marvels at Priscilla’s resemblance to her biological father. He glances at his friend, kvelling beside him.
Father delivers daughter to the husband-to-be and takes a seat in the front row but not before throwing Bobby a fraternal wink. Priscilla is four inches taller than Jeff, who clearly loves to see his bride-to-be in the spotlight.
Pete’s attention returns to Barbara’s neck, his lips are magnetically drawn to kiss it.
“Don’t.”
“Hush, you’ll disrupt the wedding.” His lips linger; she melts.
The ceremony begins with the Orthodox priest intoning in deep Armenian over the bowed heads of the kneeling couple.
“The height difference is insurmountable,” Pete whispers in Barbara’s ear.
She giggles. “It’s their first marriage.”
“Starter.”
She takes his hand. “Maybe they’ll get it right.”
The rabbi chants in Hebrew.
“You were a beautiful bride,” Pete whispers.
“I was three months pregnant.”
The minister begins his version of the marriage vows.
“You hated the honeymoon restaurant I chose.”
“Moose steak clashed with my vegetarian leanings.”
“A path you abandoned shortly after.”
“For the baby.”
Priscilla and Jeff stare into each other’s eyes, pledge to bear one another’s weaknesses, grow with each other’s strengths, forgive one another’s failings, in sickness and health, for richer or poorer, till death do part. Repeat after me, I do, I do, with this ring I thee wed, in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, I now pronounce you man and wife, break the glass and kiss the bride.
Bobby is crying, David is crying, Barbara is crying, Pete is too cynical to believe these two young people are mating for life. He imagines a new anniversary tradition based on cumulative years, multiple partners. For instance, he was married three times: nine plus three plus twenty-three equals thirty-five years. If he marries Cleo, in five years they can celebrate a fortieth wedding anniversary, throw a big party, invite everyone.
Jeff kisses Priscilla deeply. The string quartet jumps into a soulful version of “Love, Love, Love” as pairs of white doves are released and soap bubbles float in the twilight. Good vibes radiate among the guests. Pete wants to take Barbara in his arms and kiss her, but David manages to maneuver between them. He’s saved from behaving badly by his vibrating cell phone, Annabeth calling. He walks away from the happy scene. “Hey Bethy.”
“Daddy, I am totally nervous. Everything is so LA out here.”
“You were born in Santa Monica, raised in the Palisades, you’re a California girl.”
“I talked to Jackson, he said he missed me. I was going to tell him I didn’t want to be involved with anyone right now, but instead said I love you.”
“Do you?”
“I don’t know.”
“When I met your mother I was down, down, down on love but sparks flew and I knew.”
“I’m confused.”
“Enjoy how you feel.”
“Thanks dad. Any tips for tomorrow?”
“Don’t oversell. Just turn on the music, turn up the volume, and get out of the way; the Sidewinders will do the rest.” Pete hangs up, can’t believe she asked for his advice.
Drinks and appetizers are being served on the patio. Families intermingle, sampling baba ganoush on pita, skewers of barbecue chicken, and little Armenian meatballs with raisins and roasted pine nuts. Groomsmen pour glasses of champagne for thirsty bridesmaids. The room is buzzing.
Pete, enjoying an Armenian meatball, slices through the crowd on the way to a table spread with platters of mini knishes and pigs in a blanket but can’t get past Bobby who is holding forth to Soong Lee, Barbara and David who has his arm possessively around his ex.
“So, he says.” Bobby imitates Pete. “I’m carrying an extra bag, you’re light, take mine.” Bobby pauses, leaving space for a laugh that he gets. “He doesn’t ask, or say please. It’s a statement of fact and he doesn’t even know me.” Pause, more laughter. “I don’t want to cause a scene so I do what the big guy says. Turns out he sits next to me and we’re in for a 36 hour flight because we get stranded in Gander, Newfoundland when our plane needs repairs.”
Pete has heard his friend tell this story a hundred times. “Bobby, everyone knows how we met.”
“I don’t,” says Soong Lee.
“Me neither,” lies David.
“En Francais,” Pete suggests. “Pour un changement.” Another thing Pete likes to do with his friend is speak foreign languages they may or may not know.
Without missing a beat, Bobby continues in exaggerated faux French. A gifted mimic, he uses lots of body language and hand gestures to describe meeting two Swedish girls in a bar at the Gander airport.
The story of meeting Bobby on an NYU charter flight to Europe is actually true. Pete, the unsophisticated sociology major from the Bronx campus, was standing in front of him on the check-in line. The charismatic film student from Washington Square stood out in a crowd: that’s why Pete saddled him with an extra suitcase. In those days you flew to Europe via a short stop in Newfoundland to refuel. When their plane required emergency servicing, they were stuck overnight. Pete was shadowing Bobby when he made a move on two Swedish girls, Greta and Turid, also stranded. They had uncomplicated smiles, pale blue eyes, white skin and straw hair. Bobby was angling for a threesome but Pete included himself in. The girls were carrying a bunch of hash to sell in the States. They ended up in a hotel room smoking a spliff laced with Lebanese Gold from Baalbek. Turid chose him. Greta kissed Bobby. The two couples fucked side by side in a big bed, the girls, on top, holding hands as they rode the boys into the sunset. In the morning, Bobby took a Polaroid of Greta and Turid staring directly at the camera, comfortable in their nakedness. For Pete, sex had always been a grudging campaign of desire. The girls he had known were programmed to resist. The Swedish girls were dreams come true. Bobby fell in love with Greta and wrote long passionate love letters to her from all over Europe, hoping to see her again. “Ascend with me to paradise,” he wrote, “I hold out my hand.” She replied, “Get lost.” Turid gave Pete a cutting of blond pubic hair that he still had somewhere. Sharing that experience forever sealed his friendship with Bobby.
Pete drifts over to the bar and orders a double shot of bourbon, easy on the rocks, marveling at the persistence of sexual memories. The Swedish girls’ Polaroid - long legs, small breasts and cherry nipples – is page one of Bobby’s Girlfriends, a secret photo album chronicling his frie
nd’s sexual history. Pete is one of the privileged few to have feasted on this celebration of conquest, luminaries included. The variety of women and the breadth of their display, including naked pictures of his three wives, are impressive.
Pete enjoys another Armenian meatball and samples the excellent baba ganoush. His mother hated to cook and until Samantha he thought good food was only available in restaurants. Sam introduced him to coq au vin, roast leg of lamb and roasted vegetables, trifles rich with fruit, double cream and liquor. What great meals they had in their tiny apartment, friends around the oak table, rocking music on the stereo, and frequent eruptions of dancing.
Bobby once turned up with an astonishing girl from acting class whom he was mad about. Pete desperately tried to impress her and when she started to show some interest, Bobby ushered her out. Samantha was humiliated by his behavior. After the divorce, Bobby took revenge for that evening by sleeping with Sam. The girl from acting class later won an Academy Award and merited several pages in Bobby’s photo album. Years later, Pete ran in to her on the arm of Warren Beatty at a Hollywood party. She didn’t remember him at all.
Pete sips his drink, staring at Barbara who looks bored. She was a better cook than Samantha, adventurous, loved to try different recipes from Alice Waters to Madhur Jaffrey. Pete ate organic everything long before it was fashionable. Barbara’s stews were grass fed, her grains biblical. He especially loved her beet, walnut and watercress salad and the roast chicken with oranges and pears. Simplicity, harmony, and an element of surprise were the hallmarks of her cooking. Near the end, she closed the kitchen.
“I thought you stopped drinking?” Barbara stands next to him.
“This is a special occasion.”
“Order me a Bloody Mary.”
“Remember the summer that’s all we drank?”
“Always with the memories.”
“I don’t want to lose them.”
“Pete, you have to let go of the past.”
“I’m trying to.” He hands her the Bloody Mary. “I love the color of your dress.” They touch glasses.
“To marriage,” she says.
“May it last.”
“Forever.”
They drink.
“I was thinking.” He looks directly into her eyes.
She doesn’t turn away. “About marriage?”
“About what a great cook you were and how nothing can replace the time we had together.”
“More memories.”
“Have you reopened the kitchen?”
“David and I eat out mostly, we’re in an ethnic phase, currently South Indian in the Valley.”
“You take him to that rib joint we loved near Leimert Park?”
“I never take him to one of our places.”
“How can you be with him?”
“He takes me seriously and respects what I do.”
“How does he fit in with the shrink crowd?”
“David is a very sensitive man. You underestimate him.”
“And the sex is good?”
“He’s not obsessed and insecure like you.” She turns and walks away.
Pete orders another drink.
CHAPTER 23
Pete sits at his assigned table next to Soong Lee who is taking David’s pulse while across the floral centerpiece, Barbara listens to the four men of God swapping stories about faith. From time to time she looks up and directs a wry smile at Pete who sips his drink. A short bearded man seated next to him thoughtfully observes their byplay.
The lights in the hall dim. A large screen has been set up and a documentary style video about the newlyweds begins. The music is romantic, the images sentimental. It begins with a montage of cute baby photos of Priscilla and Jeff, followed by parallel home movie snippets intercut of the two kids growing up, segueing to the lovebirds goofing around on an empty beach, arms linked around a Palm Tree. The video climaxes with Priscilla and Jeff bungee jumping off the Rio Grande Bridge.
A perfect metaphor for marriage, Pete thinks as the lights come up and the newlyweds make a grand entrance to the strains of the original version of “Love Will Keep Us Together,” the evening’s theme.
Everyone cheers and claps.
The rabbi yells, “Mazel Tov!” The Armenian priest intones in a deep voice. The Baptist minister tosses in a rhythmic, “Amen.” The monsignor makes the sign of the cross, blesses the newlyweds in Latin as Priscilla and Jeff step on to the dance floor. They’ve practiced, but there’s still awkwardness, she being taller and something of a klutz. Hubby doesn’t notice, so in love is he. When Jeff dances with his mother-in-law and Priscilla with her father-in-law, it’s a signal for the rest of the guests to join in.
Pete watches Barbara and the putz dance. Are they a good fit? He turns to the bearded man. “That’s my ex-wife and my agent, they’re an item.”
“You in show business?”
“Used to be.”
“Exciting life.”
“Not as exciting as marriage, that was a roller coaster ride.”
“Never been, too many issues to work out.”
“I tried three times.”
“Children?”
“A daughter, with her.”
“I saw you talking before. I sense there’s still a spark between you.”
“You could see that?”
The man nods knowingly. “Have you tried to work out your differences?”
Pete hangs his head. “I deserved my walking papers.”
“Forgiveness makes us better human beings.”
“She found another man.”
“Your agent.”
“The putz.”
“Why does he still represent you?”
“David is a very good agent. What do you do?”
“I’m a therapist but I write children’s songs on the side, play guitar. Think David would be interested in me?”
“Possibly.” Time to refresh his drink. Pete stands.
“Perhaps I might facilitate a conversation between you and your ex?”
Pete shakes his head in disbelief. “What could you possibly know about marriage? Work out your own issues before giving advice.”
Pete takes his drink outside to check in on the ballgame on his phone. The Yanks scored a run in the bottom of the second, another in the third, and are up 2-0. He takes a roach from a matchbox, lights up and watches the dancers inside. David and Barbara definitely don’t go together.
“I need a hit of that.” Bobby has found him.
“You said before….”
“Fuck what I said before, my daughter just got married and I feel very emotional.”
“Yankees 2-0.” Pete hands him the roach. “I’ve been married three times and each time I said ‘I do,’ I meant it. I really did. I certainly was madly in love with Samantha and Barbara.”
“You once told me Heidi was the love of your life.”
“On the day we married I felt that way, but the moment passed quickly and it ended badly. They all ended badly”
“You were immature. Soong Lee and I are ready.”
“She said yes?”
Bobby nods. “I want you to be my best man.”
“O Wise One, why did you get away with everything and I got away with nothing?”
Bobby slips into his guru persona. “My son, you were a married man who cheated on his wife. Marriage is sacred. An unmarried man can not cheat on his wife.”
“But you encouraged me.”
Bobby puts his hand on Pete’s shoulder. “It was a test that you failed.”
Back inside, guests finish their salad as a videographer captures the newlyweds circulating among the tables. Pete follows Bobby toward Jeff and Priscilla who are hugging friends and posing with family. Mr. Confidence is tongue-tied in his biological daughter’s presence. She hugs him. Bobby stutters, “I’m so happy for you.”
The groom may be short, but he has a powerful handshake. “I used to do my homework watching your show, Mr. Fields.”
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br /> “Pete here was the man responsible.”
“Wow!” The groom is impressed. “Nasty, you?”
Priscilla holds out her hand, another impressive grip. “What does responsible mean exactly?”
“The concept, the characters were mine, but a lot of people wrote on it.”
“He created the show, the man is a genius.”
“I got lucky.”
“We have this incredible idea for a reality TV series set in a wireless store.”
“That’s what we do.”
The videographer zooms in tighter.
“Sell cells,” quips Pete.
Jeff grins. “He gets it, hon.”
“We’re calling it, Wireless.”
Pete is uncomfortable as the videographer swings to him for a reaction. “You guys have great chemistry.”
“We met at the store. Cell phone salespeople lead adventurous lives.”
“I proposed on the Gorge Bridge before we jumped.”
“We’re thrill seekers.” Priscilla playfully jabs Jeff in the ribs.
The groom turns to the video camera. “It was amazing to leap into space with Priscilla.”
“The ultimate rush.”
The videographer moves closer.
“And we’re both Pisces,” Jeff confides to the camera.
“Wireless!” Priscilla proclaims and gives Jeff a big kiss - great moment. The video director cuts, time to move on. “Really nice meeting you.” Priscilla hugs Pete, so does Jeff.
“The guy at our table with my ex-wife is the man you need to talk to.”
Bobby jumps at the opportunity to be useful. “David, our agent, let me introduce you.”
But Jeff persists with Pete. “After we get back from the honeymoon, can I give you a call, kick around some ideas?”
Pete is about to ask why would I want to do that, but Bobby interrupts. “He would love to.”
“I’d love to,” says Pete, shifting gears.
Priscilla hugs Bobby again. He blushes as the music starts up and the newlyweds return to the dance floor.
Pete sits down to eat his salad, grumbling under his breath, “I don’t give a shit about Reality TV.”