by Jill Kargman
A few weeks later, I connected with Kiki’s closest friend from college, Eliza, to throw her an over-the-top girls’ bachelorette party, per Kiki’s request. It would be tiny: Me, Eliza, Kiki’s awesome cousins Marina and Lauren from L.A., and her two gay best friends, Stan and Andy, whom Kiki called “Standy.” Eliza and I labored to get the itinerary just right, and the night before the wedding, in lieu of a rehearsal dinner, we gathered in Kiki’s apartment (which had basically become just a clothes locker since she’d met Lyle) to kick off our friend’s last twenty-four hours as a single gal. I couldn’t believe she was getting remarried. She’d been split from Hal for two years and yet the whole unraveling all seemed so recent. But because her marriage to my ex-brother-in-law had been so difficult and so dead for so long, I knew she was ready for the real thing, despite her original claims to have wanted sexy romps with young studs.
Just then, the gang burst in the door and Stan shrieked.
“Girl, are you trying to have guys try and do you tonight?” he asked. “ ’Cause they will be all over you like hair on a weasel.”
“Hey, I’ll be married, not dead! Ain’t no crime to turn some heads while I’m still unattached, right?” Kiki joked, excited for her romp on the town. “So what’s on the naughty agenda?” she asked, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
“Well,” said Eliza, shooting me a look, “First we thought we’d have some COCKtails ...”
We went in the kitchen and I almost dropped the tray I was laughing so hard. It was filled with Andy’s attempt to knock off Rosa Mexicano’s orgasmic frozen pomegranate margarita. But in each was a straw with a penis head at the top with a hole that you suck through.
“AHHHH!” screamed Kiki when we emerged with the cock-topped cocktails. “NO WAY!”
We all died laughing, Stan turned up some vintage Madonna, and Andy took out a shopping bag from Ricky’s filled with X-rated adornments.
“Okay, girls,” said Andy. “As we all know, any good virgin bride must have a veil . . .”
He produced a long white tulle veil with flowers at the top. It looked like any other veil except that it had about fifty little plastic penises sewn all over it.
“That is hy-fucking-sterical,” Kiki snorted between sips of her indecent beverage.
Kiki’s cousins could not contain themselves; they were riotous hyenas, though the dick veil may have thrown semiprim Marina for a loop. We gathered the gang and headed downstairs where our vehicle awaited us; we had booked the Party Hen—a mobile trailer that was covered entirely in feathers with a giant chicken head on the front. It was a rager on wheels. We climbed in and the interior had a disco globe, couches, and a full bar.
“We can just drive around and pick up cuties as we go!” screamed Andy, blissing out.
“Talk about Mobile Party Unit!” said Stan. “I feel like we’re rappers. This is awesome.”
We all piled in and took off, cruising downtown to Tortilla Flats, a restaurant where everyone got hammered and chowed quesadillas, and then rolled on to karaoke at Winnie’s in Chinatown. Everywhere we went people howled laughing as Kiki walked by with her dick-covered tulle. Between drunken Koreans singing unintelligible lyrics, we took turns belting out vintage Bon Jovi and Springsteen, and Stan made us do shots, which I never have been able to do. At about 11:00, we went to Culture Club, the eighties cheesefest. It was packed with hordes including two rival bachelorette bashes, and we all danced up a storm. In the middle of “Safety Dance” I noticed wasted Kiki start to cry.
“What’s wrong, Keeks?” I yelled over the music.
“I just—”
Everyone else started to notice her welling eyes.
“I just love you guys so much!” she cried. We all encircled her and hugged and then danced as a gang of football players in a group huddle, faces to the floor, loving our bride and loving the night.
At 12:45, the Hen lay us all home like eggs dropped all over the city, and I got in bed and stared at the ceiling. Despite my fun twentysomething-esque night on the town, over the disco ball and mobile party there hung a little shadow. It grew to a gray little cloud that didn’t rain, but certainly hung ominously over my yelps of “Cheers!” Over my best Pat Benatar pipes, it cast a subtle pall of fear. I couldn’t believe I would have to summon the strength to see Elliot again, but it was upon me the next day and I’d have to armor up. As I’d sung into the crowded bar, Love is a battlefield. I hugged the pillow, remembering when it was him beside me in that very bed, and drifted off to sleep.
46
Husband: I was a fool when I married you! Wife: Yes, dear, but I was in love and didn’t notice.
The next morning was a frenzy of getting ready, putting Miles in his new little suit, and speeding downtown to the venue, the restaurant Chanterelle, where Lyle had taken Kiki to dinner on their first formal date. As we pulled up I felt happy to have Miles as my little coat of armor, but was so nervous I could hardly move as we stepped into the restaurant and looked around at the gathering group of friends and family. I saw a beautiful older woman with incredible green eyes hug Lyle—clearly his mom. I gulped as I surveyed the room. Standy came up and gave me huge hugs. The beauty of the bachelorette party—aside from seeing how ecstatic Kiki was to have her posse together—was to bond with her gang. I felt like I had comrades in the trenches of seeing Elliot again.
Kiki stepped into the room and walked up to the front, where Stan, who was a top florist Kiki had worked with for a gazillion years on all her events, had fashioned a chuppah out of cherry blossoms, with small flickering votives embedded among the branches. As I stared at the beautiful little arch meant to symbolize the new home Kiki and Lyle would build together, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Elliot hug his mom and look over at me. I took a deep breath as acid scorched my tummy, and walked beside Kiki as Elliot followed and stood beside his brother.
It was very casual; everyone took their seats in three small rows that formed a horseshoe shape around the couple, who held hands facing each other in front of the group, with Kiki’s rabbi standing in the center.
After the solemn, lovely traditional vows (none of that Brad-and-Jennifer “I swear to give you back massages and make you banana soy milkshakes” nonsense), the two kissed. The rabbi blessed them: “Always follow your bliss. . . .”
Elliot looked at me. I kept staring at the rabbi.
“Always love each other and make every day magical and unwrap it as the gift that it is. . . .”
I tried to keep facing the rabbi, but my eyes defied me and wandered to Elliot’s face. His eyes were transfixed on me in the same gaze that bound me to him in our very short but very intense time together. In that millisecond, I was transported back to those sublime wintery nights, not the gun-shy, scared ones of recent memory. I swallowed hard and looked down, trying with all my might not to cry. I looked back at the rabbi as the tears burned my retinas. I blinked, sending a warm tear down my cheek.
“I now pronounce you man and wife!”
Lyle stomped on the glass and then kissed Kiki, as the guests applauded wildly. After her first kiss as Mrs. Spence, Kiki turned to me. “Thank you for everything, Holly. I love you!”
I hugged her and saw her husband hugging his brother and best man. As we parted and Kiki’s mom and Miles came to hug her, I turned to find Elliot beside me.
“Hi—,” he said quietly.
“Hi.”
“Can you come with me for a second?” he asked.
My chest was pounding. “Um . . .” I looked over and saw Miles taking pictures with the bride. “Okay.”
Elliot started walking through the restaurant. I followed him, nervously, to what I supposed would be outside. But he walked me all the way into the back, where I saw a small wooden door. Was this another exit to the street?
It was not.
It was a bathroom.
“Step inside, please,” he said, in all seriousness.
“Elliot, what is this? You want me to go in the bathroom?”
<
br /> “Yes. Please.”
Weirded out, I walked past him into the bathroom and he closed the door behind me. There we were: Me. Him. The toilet.
“Can you please explain why you have led me, on my best friend’s wedding day, into the crapper?” I asked, arms crossed.
“Yes,” he said, and took my hand. “I can. In fact, I have a lot of explaining to do.” He walked closer to me and looked at me with those insane eyes. I prayed I could hold together my steely front.
“Holly, I didn’t want to say it in some field of flowers or in bed like everyone else. I wanted to take you to the most unromantic room around to tell you: I love you. I am beyond in love you. Anyone can feel in love after incredible sex in bed in a snowstorm. But I feel it now, even after you not speaking to me for months. Even with this horrible vanilla candle here. I can love you in this john. I can love you anywhere. Just let me.”
My eyes were so glassy, I could barely see by the aromatherapy candlelight. I was blind and mute.
“Holly. I love you,” he said again.
“You do?” I started to tremble as he took a step closer. “Still?”
“Still,” he said. “More than ever.”
I blinked and more tears rolled down my cheeks. “But you didn’t say it back when I—”
“I didn’t say it back when you said it because I was caught off guard. I still hadn’t told you the truth about my job and I felt awful about lying to you. And . . .” He cleared his throat and looked at me. “I also have never said it to anyone in my life but my ex-wife.”
I was stunned. I had said it many times. “You haven’t?”
“No. And then when you said it, I thought I did, too, but—”
“I couldn’t help it, it just came out in the moment—” I fumbled, still embarrassed.
“I know. But it wasn’t just a moment for me. From the moment I saw you and Miles in the park, I knew you were different from anyone I’d met. I feel so bad about what happened and I’ve been miserable ever since. Could you give me another chance?”
My emotional shield disintegrated instantly. I reached for him, putting his arms around my waist. He hugged me and then put his hands on my cheeks. He leaned in and gave me the number one best kiss in my life: there, by the dripping sink of a restaurant bathroom, I felt home again. And no saccharine, petal-strewn, Mozart-filled oasis could touch our weird and rustic haunt.
When we finally emerged and rejoined the group, flushed and aglow, Kiki and Lyle took a break from pictures and ran to hug us. Elliot saw Miles with Kiki’s cousins and went up to him, and Miles gave him a big hug and showed him his new pocket Power Ranger. The food was amazing, the champagne flowed, but more than anything there was a soul and warmth that filled the cherry blossom-filled room. As I looked at Kiki laughing across the table next to Lyle, I was overcome by emotion. Elliot squeezed my hand as I nervously rose to propose a toast.
“I’d like to talk about my friend and sister, Mrs. Kiki Spence,” I started. The three tables cheered and clapped. “Where can I start? I owe you my life, for one. I’ve heard men talk about their army buddies and how in the trenches they are cemented to these guys forever. Now, I’m not saying that being a divorcée in New York City is akin to warfare but . . . wait, yes I am. Kiki, you have been with me through everything and are the most loyal, most giving, most accessible—including 3:00 a.m. phone calls—most nurturing person I know. You’ve been beyond an amazing friend to me, you’ve been a mother.” I blinked back tears, missing my mom, and saw Kiki crying, too. “Lyle, if she takes half as good care of you as she has of me, you will have a life filled with so much laughter, so much happiness, and so much comfort. Kiki, you are like a big warm blanket.”
“Cashmere!” she yelled out.
“Yes, cashmere. You calm, and soothe, and warm. We all hear so many jokes about marriage—skeptical quotes and inferences of balls and chains—but I think when it’s right, it’s the greatest thing in the world. Kiki, I don’t know if you remember this, but you sent me a small book after my divorce, with all these funny quotes from Robin Williams and Woody Allen and all these comedians making fun of marriage. They were hilarious, and definitely made me smile during a very difficult time, but I think we both know—as do those comedians, since they both got remarried—that if it’s great, it’s not an ‘institution’ but a luxurious resort. You don’t marry someone you can live with; you marry the person you can’t live without. And you are inseparable for a reason. Instead of a ball and chain, you two are each other’s wings. May you two be a team to face the world, armor for those trenches, and beyond the passion we all know you two share, may you always remain best friends. Lyle, I also know what it’s like to be best friends with Kiki. And it’s a gift that I treasure.” My voice broke as I thought about all we had been through together and how strange life was: here we were with two different men beside us, brothers who were not Talbotts. “I love you so much, Keeks.” I raised my glass and everyone applauded and wiped away tears. I turned to look at Elliot, who kissed my hand. Kiki dabbed her eyes and got up to hug me, and then quieted everyone down.
“I hate to break it to you all,” she said to the crowd, “but I will not be tossing the bouquet tonight.” Her announcement garnered some disappointed “awwwws,” particularly from Eliza. Kiki touched the petals of the pale pink peonies. “Instead, I’ll be handing it to my best friend.”
She gave me a little curtsy, presenting the bouquet to me, which I accepted. Then I hugged her tightly. “This time next year,” she whispered into my ear, as we embraced. “I bet you we’ll be sisters-in-law again.”
Follow-ups
CASEY SINCLAIR: Broke big-time. Shattering Alanis Morissette’s record for a top-selling debut, she rocketed to the peak of the charts and all the journalists were thanking me profusely for helping them predict her fame, and groveling for hot tips on the next big star to break.
CELESTIAL RECORDS: Was bought out in its entirety for a record-setting price and folded into the larger parent music group. The Greene brothers fielded several offers for book deals, and decided to hire me to write their biography.
THE TALBOTT BROTHERS: Were hit badly by the subprime mortgage meltdown in the markets. Their investment in the Ocean Floor Research Institute went belly-up when the treasure they retrieved was filled with not gold ingots from medieval Spain but seaweed. And Black Falcon had a traveler eaten by wild antelopes and despite the fact that the victim had signed his life away, his family sued for wrongful death and won. Shortly after these financial setbacks, Avery set sail for greener (as in money-green) pastures. Tim now resides in Aspen and is dating a ski instructor. Hal lives alone in London.
THE HEDGE FUND WIVES: Some stayed together, some got divorces. Mary’s finances, despite the bearish market, were bulletproof, so all was bliss. Posey remained loyal even when they had to bid adieu to flying private, but Emilia, alas, could not live without the sweet white noise of countless ka-chings. She ended up divorcing, then re-marrying a media billionaire, and kept the lifestyle to which she was accustomed. But as she had to shag her spouse, who was eighty-two years old, she was earning every penny.
SHERRY VON: Threw a William Yeoward crystal goblet at Hubert’s head, resulting in a wound that required thirty stitches and ended her only real friendship. Hubert sued her in court, declaring Sherry Von “a boss that makes Naomi Campbell look like Mother Teresa,” and won a settlement of $10 million from that old crab.
MARK WEBB: Oh, and speaking of crabs, Webb got a scorching case of them from a high-priced hooker and was later implicated in an insider-trading scandal. Thanks to his high-priced lawyer he avoided jail time but lost his license. He then opened a restaurant-slash-lounge downtown and literally “cast” the waitresses to all be smokin’ hot. He married one of them, age twenty-two. Chances that will last? The same as a eunuch starring in porn.
LYLE SPENCE: Got a small box for his birthday six months later, which he opened to find a small blue plus sign on a pregnancy test. “
I know it’s weird to give you something I peed on,” said Kiki. “But I’m pregnant.” The euphoric couple is having a little girl.
HOLLAND TALBOTT SMITH (ALMOST!): I was proposed to on Thanksgiving Day overlooking the parade and in front of the whole family gathering. The answer was yes, and Kiki’s Oracle at Delphi prediction was true: The week of Kiki and Lyle’s anniversary the following April, Miles stood as ring bearer as his mommy married his new stepdad. And even though Kiki and I were already true sisters in spirit, as I exchanged rings and kissed Elliot, it became official once again, this time forever.