“Sydney, you do realize this is blackmail.”
She stepped closer to me, her eyes narrowed and her jaw clenched. “You wouldn’t want your family to find out about your little secret, would you?”
My first thought was that I had to protect my baby, then I realized she was referring to my sexuality. “Why are you doing this, Sydney? You were a decent person at one time.”
“That person is gone. You can blame yourself for that. Walking around like a god who can just point his finger and people will fall in line.”
I felt a surge of anger at hearing one of Daniel’s accusations spewing out of her mouth. If I hadn’t taken it from him, I sure as hell wasn’t taking it from her.
“Do you know why I give you money, Sydney? Because I feel sorry for you. Your parents never cared enough about you to let you do what you want. Or maybe they knew just how third-rate your talent is and didn’t want you to make the family image as garish as your paintings. The one person who ever admired you was Sheila, and you repaid her by stealing her boyfriend and gloating about it. As for me, I don’t blame you for making every minute of our marriage miserable. You couldn’t help it that you were born without a soul, much less a cock.” She flinched, but I couldn’t stop myself. “As for not using the brain, heart, and spine that you do have, I should never have subsidized that. You’re right. I am to blame. You’ve gotten your last payment from me.”
“If you think that I won’t tell—”
I held up a hand to silence her, looking past her into the accessories department. She whipped her head around to see the cluster of employees and customers who gaped at us, obviously drawn by my raised voice.
“Go ahead,” I said. “Tell them.” When she looked back at me, trying to see if I was bluffing, I loudly said, “Attention, Drayden’s shoppers. I’m gay!”
A mother put her hands over her daughter’s ears and led her away, and an elderly man turned to the woman with him and said, “Who’s Ray?”
“Not Ray. Gay.”
“Oh, Gay. Nice woman. I thought she died.”
The rest of the group laughed nervously when I did, except for one man in front, who asked, “Are you single?”
“Uh, I think he’s her husband,” one of the employees said.
“Figures,” he whined, turning away. “The hottest gay men are always straight.”
When the group dispersed, I looked at a shell-shocked Sydney and said, “Tell whoever you want. My parents, your parents, the whole goddamned town can know I’m gay. I really don’t care.”
I was exhilarated as I strode back to my rental car, but when I unlocked the door, I was hit by the magnitude of what I’d done. I felt like my knees were going to buckle, and I quickly slid into my seat, trying to assess my reaction. Then I smiled. I could hear myself telling the story to Daniel, and I knew what he’d say: But how did you feel, Blaine?
I felt scared and anxious and . . . free. I didn’t feel regret. I felt a strange sense of power.
I was struck by a flash of brilliance. My muddled ideas about work fell into place. I knew what the concept for the men’s line from Lillith Allure would be: an entire line based on the ruling male gods of mythology—Zeus, Osiris, Thor. I was so excited that I needed to get back to Adam’s to write it all out. I looked back at the store window, where Sydney remained as motionless as a mannequin next to the papier-mâché tree.
“Thanks, Sydney,” I said as I sped out of the parking lot.
When I turned into the driveway at Adam and Jeremy’s house and stopped at the security checkpoint, I was momentarily blinded by flashes from cameras when the lurking reporters rushed to my car. They were pushed aside by two of the security guards, who didn’t have to use much force when the reporters realized it was only me. One of the security guards tapped on my window. I lowered it and said, “Hi. Can I get through, please?”
“We’ll need to see your ID, sir,” he said stonily.
“It’s me, Blaine Dunhill. I’ve driven through here twice since I got here this morning, and you were on duty both times,” I said.
“That may be, sir, but I’ll still need to see your ID,” he insisted.
“I’ll bet Thor never had these problems,” I muttered as I fished my wallet out of my back pocket.
When I finally reached the house, I found a note from Jeremy letting me know that Josh had called while I was out. I returned his call, and he gave me an address where I was supposed to be the next day.
“Just meet me there. I’ll fill you in then. I hate to be rude, but I’ve got a ton of things to do,” Josh said.
“That’s okay,” I assured him.
“I’m at my future in-laws’ house. Sheila’s back in raving lunatic mode. And Nora is worse,” he said.
“Sheila’s mother? I can’t believe that. Mrs. Meyers is always such a calm woman.”
“That’s just it,” Josh said. “She’s a nervous wreck, worrying constantly, and keeps knocking things over or dropping anything in her hands. She’s like the eye of a hurricane. On the outside, she’s cool as a cucumber. But she leaves mass destruction in her wake.” I laughed, but was left with dead air after he said, “Shit. I gotta go. Nora just walked by with a crystal punch bowl.”
The next day I arrived at the appointed address to find Josh and Jake waiting for me in front of a building downtown.
“Look!” Jake exclaimed, pointing at me. “It’s your best man.”
Josh was on his cell phone and finished up his call while Jake gave me a bear hug. “It’s not a crisis, Sheila. I swear. It’ll be fine . . . Okay. I’ll see you soon,” Josh said. He flipped his phone closed, and said, “It’s another crisis. Sheila and Nora were at a fitting for the wedding dress. Apparently, Nora somehow managed to rip out an entire seam in the dress. They’re not sure if it can be mended in time. Is it too late to elope?”
“Yes,” I said, patting him on the shoulder. Josh rested his head on my shoulder and sighed audibly. “This will all be over in a few days. Then you can whisk that lovely bride of yours away to . . .”
“Los Angeles,” Josh said.
“What kind of honeymoon is that?” I asked.
“It’s only for a day or two. I have a shoot I couldn’t reschedule. And Sheila has a screen test.” Jake and I quickly glanced at each other, but before we could question him, Josh added, “I can’t say what it’s about, so don’t ask.”
“Okay. Where are we? What are we doing here?” I asked instead.
“Isn’t this one of those places where they have estate sales?” Jake asked.
“Yes. One of your mother’s friends has a friend whose husband died, and this is where most of the estate ended up. Nora’s friend has it on good authority that there are several vintage tuxedos inside.”
“Cool. When the reporters ask me who I’m wearing, I can say, ‘Urban Legend,’ ” I said.
“It’s a retro-chic wedding,” Josh said, “and none of the vintage shops here had anything from the forties. We’ve got reproductions as a backup, but Sheila insists it’s better if we can find the real thing.”
“Hey, guys. Hope I’m not too late,” Daniel said, walking up to us from the street. His sudden appearance startled me, even though I knew he was one of Josh’s groomsmen. It was completely logical that he’d be there to find a tuxedo, but seeing him caught me off guard and made me feel vulnerable. He brushed his fine blond hair off his forehead in a harried manner, and said, “I can’t believe I never realized that my stupid driver’s license had expired. Talk about humiliating. For two weeks, I’ve been at the mercy of my sisters, or my parents, to drive me around. Being back here without a car is just like sixteen all over again.”
The sound of a horn made us all turn around, and we saw Gwendy pulling away from the curb in her Jeep. We all waved, except for Daniel, who flipped up his middle finger at her. She returned the gesture, thrusting her hand through the sunroof and waving it frantically as she drove away.
“That’s my kind of woman,” Jake
said.
“She could’ve joined us,” I said.
“She’s pissed off because she had to pick me up and drive me over here on her lunch break,” Daniel said. “Bitch.”
Inside the store, we met the manager, who’d set aside fifteen different suits and tuxedos, ten of which were said to be from the forties. We took his word for it and took turns trying on the formal wear in a room off the showroom. Josh and I had the hardest time of it, as his arms were longer than most of the jackets’, and mine were big. But we finally found suits that were big enough to be scaled down to our size.
“You boys lucked out,” the manager assured us. “Most authentic articles of clothing from that time period are considerably small.”
“It’s a good thing we’re not wearing hats, Blaine,” Jake said, nudging me with his elbow. “You’d be hard pressed to find one that would fit that big melon head of yours.”
“Hats!” the manager exclaimed. “I think we have some upstairs. Excuse me.”
While he ran off, Daniel emerged from the room we’d commandeered for our fittings. He was tugging at the cuffs of an Arrow collar shirt, arranging them just so under his tuxedo jacket. He said, “I wish we had cufflinks, so I’d know how this will look on the big day.”
Daniel’s tuxedo fit his lean physique perfectly. His shaggy blond hair graced the collar of his silver shirt and black jacket. Daniel’s penchant for the latest trend in clothing often caused him to look like he’d stepped out of a fashion magazine or department store catalog. On him, the vintage tuxedo looked like it was new and about to be revived on a Paris runway as the hot look for fall.
He caught me looking at him and said, “With a couple of alterations, that tux will look great on you, Blaine.”
“You don’t look so shabby yourself,” I offered, wishing I could be alone with him.
Daniel dropped his eyes and blushed momentarily before turning to a mirror alongside Jake, who was frowning at his reflection.
“I look like an undertaker,” Jake said.
Josh’s cell phone rang again and, judging from his side of the conversation, it was Sheila.
“Don’t worry. I think we’re done here . . . Yes, we all found tuxes . . . Mine? It’s real sharp. It has tails . . . No, tails. Not quails. Why would I have quails? Where are you? I can hear that you’re outside. I mean, where are you going now?”
The door to the showroom burst open and Sheila walked in, still talking on her cell phone. “I’m here. I ditched Mother,” she said, walking toward us. “She managed to somehow set a display on fire at the flower shop. Don’t ask. I didn’t even want to know how she did it. So I sent her home.” She stood in front of us, still holding her phone to her ear, and said, “Oh, you guys look so good! I think I’m gonna cry. Josh, your pants need hemming.”
Sheila dropped to her knees and began fussing with Josh’s pant legs, cursing when her cell phone slid from between her ear and shoulder.
“Sheila, breathe,” Josh ordered, pulling her up by her shoulders.
Jake leaned toward my ear and said, “She’s losing it.”
I almost had to agree. While Daniel retrieved Sheila’s cell phone and flipped it shut to disconnect the call, Josh began speaking to her in a calm, soothing voice about how everything was under control. Now that we had our tuxedos, all we had to do was get them altered, walk through the rehearsal for the wedding, attend the rehearsal dinner, then show up for the actual ceremony.
“I’ll make sure nothing goes wrong, Sheila,” he assured her. “All I need for you to do is relax and enjoy yourself. From here on out, it’s a piece of cake.”
“The cake!” Sheila shrieked. She grabbed her phone from Daniel and began punching in numbers.
“Bad choice of words, man,” Jake said to Josh.
After Sheila checked on the cake, which we learned was the third time that day, Josh dropped five thousand dollars on our tuxedos. I wondered how much it would’ve cost if we’d taken the hats the manager offered, too. We visited a tailor on our way home, leaving our tuxedos to be altered. Sheila went that far with us, then left for the florist with Daniel before he and I could talk.
I was equally frustrated in my attempt to meet with my nephew, who sent a short e-mail to explain that his family would be on a trip until the day before the wedding, when I knew I’d be too busy to see him.
A few nights later, I got a call from Gretchen, who’d just checked in at the Hampton Inn.
“I’m fine,” she said when I asked how she and the baby were feeling. “I’m not thrilled about this forties theme wedding, though. Do you know what women wore in the 1940s, Blaine?”
“Not really. What?”
“Very fitted waists, that’s what. Fabric was rationed then, so all the women wore these tiny outfits and dresses.”
“As I learned a few days ago, that’s because they were tiny people back then. So what are you wearing during the ceremony?”
“Sheila’s only stipulation for her bridal party was for us to wear purple dresses in the dreaded forties style,” Gretchen explained. “I briefly considered showing up in a purple zoot suit, but knew that wouldn’t go over too well. My assistant found a fabulous vintage shop in the garment district, and they had a purple dress that I bought. I had to have it let out a lot, though, which is so embarrassing. But it has these cute little sleeves that cover my upper arms. As it is, I’ll look like an eggplant.”
“I think Josh said that Jake is your escort. He thinks he looks like an undertaker, so you’ll be a great match.”
“Whatever. I found a shawl to wear, and I think we’ll be carrying flowers, so maybe people won’t notice my stomach,” Gretchen said.
“We’ll find out tomorrow at the rehearsal,” I said. “Are you bored? Do you want me to come keep you company?”
“No,” she said quickly. “I’m going right to bed. I mean, thanks, but I’ m—”
“Going to bed,” I finished for her, wondering why she sounded so flustered.
When several different cars started driving through the security post at the end of the driveway the next day, the reporters began to suspect that the wedding day was drawing near. While Adam greeted his guests as they arrived for the rehearsal, Jeremy and I stood on the front steps with a pair of binoculars, watching the security team as they tried to push the reporters back.
“They’re relentless,” Jeremy observed. “They just don’t give up. Uh-oh.”
“What?” I asked.
“They’re all on cell phones. I suspect they’re calling for reinforcements. I’m going to call the security company and make sure we can handle it if more reporters show up today. Just in case.”
“I wonder where Lola Listeria is,” I mused. “Everywhere I go, I expect her to jump out at me with that shocking red hair. But I haven’t even seen her hanging around the entrance to this place.”
“Maybe the Manhattan Star-Gazette doesn’t have a big enough budget to send her here,” Jeremy said. “Judging from the way she fabricates stories, she doesn’t actually go to the events she writes about.”
“Maybe,” I said, feeling a twinge of anxiety. I would’ve preferred to have the enemy where I could see her.
When Jeremy went inside, I walked around to the back of the house, where Adam was directing people to park their cars on a side lawn. Jake waved to me as he got out of his car and walked around to the trunk. He unlocked it, and Sheila and Josh crawled out.
“Good grief,” I said to them. “Don’t you think that’s a bit drastic?”
“It was kind of fun,” Josh said.
“Like sneaking into a drive-in,” Sheila said with a laugh. Gretchen arrived next and enveloped me in her arms after she parked her rental car. “Is it over yet?”
“Sorry,” I said. “Not yet.”
“You look great,” she said.
“I’ve been sleeping a lot better,” I said, realizing that it was true. It had been a while since the Daniel voice-over kept me awake at night. Maybe because th
e real Daniel and I were talking again.
Gretchen drew back from me, and my eyes quickly scanned her body. She was wearing a blue Scotch plaid flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and a pair of faded blue jeans. The outfit cleverly concealed her stomach, and I was certain nobody would suspect that she was pregnant.
Gretchen must have noticed my scrutiny, because she said in a low voice, “Blaine, I’m not even four months pregnant. I may think I look puffy, but I doubt anyone else will.”
“You’re right. I’m just being paranoid,” I said.
“I know we agreed not to let the cat out of the bag until after Sheila’s wedding, but you’re making me think you don’t want anyone to ever know about it. Are you ashamed or something?” she asked huffily.
“No,” I said immediately. “That’s not it at all. Your stomach may not be showing, but your hormones sure are. Let’s go inside, okay?”
Just as I put my arm around her shoulders to lead her inside, another car pulled up the driveway and off to the side lawn. We watched as Nora and William Meyers got out of their car and waved to us. Sheila’s friend from high school, Patricia Hunt, emerged from the backseat and strode toward me with outstretched arms.
“Blaine Dunhill, is that you?” she shrieked, and before I knew it, my face was smothered in big, frizzy brown hair. She hadn’t changed at all since high school. Her heart-shaped face was obscured by a pair of horn-rimmed glasses. She still wore beat-up Converse All Stars and a cardigan sweater over her denim overalls. Patricia released me and continued, “I haven’t seen you in years! You look amazing. Is this your wife? Hi, I’m Patti.”
Gretchen shook Patti’s hand and said, “Hello, I’m Gretchen Schmidt. I’m a lesbian.”
“You are? Well, I guess you two aren’t married, huh?” Patti said and broke into a gale of laughter, punctuated at the end with a loud snort. “I’m going to find Sheila. I’ll see you both later,” she said and walked briskly to the house.
Gretchen gave me a dry look and said, “This is why I hate weddings, Blaine. I don’t ever want to have to do this again.”
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