“Some other time,” said Bill, still cheerfully. “I’ll call you.”
“Sure, Bill.” Barbara made certain her tone carried no meaning at all. Bill did not mean it when he said he would call. She replaced the telephone and made sure the thermostat on the iron was set on “Low” before she flattened the seam on Millie’s skirt. She ran the iron over the seam and felt a pang of regret. Now why did I act that way? she asked herself. He had offered an apology; she should have accepted it. She discovered, now that it was too late, that she still liked Bill and that she wanted to go bowling with him. She was not in love with him and did not particularly want to be. She just liked him. She liked his gaiety and his brashness. He was fun, and that, she decided, at her age was a perfectly good reason for wanting to go bowling with a boy.
Oh well, Barbara thought as she disconnected the iron and carried the skirt back into the dining room. Maybe she had done everything wrong, and it was too late to do anything about it. She could always fall back on Tootie. Good old Tootie. As Rosemary had predicted, he was almost sure to mature into something interesting.
Chapter 12
The day before the wedding the MacLanes congratulated themselves that the plans were going smoothly. This was due, Barbara was forced to admit, to help from the Amys rather than to efficiency on the part of the MacLanes, who at this stage were inclined to forget what it was they had started to do. The Amys had many talents. One member, who had once been a dress designer, had designed and made the short veil and jacket from the tattered wedding veil, with scarcely a scrap wasted. The member with a green thumb had volunteered to decorate the church with flowers from her garden. The only Amy who owned a large punch bowl was going to make the punch, and another Amy was giving the rehearsal dinner. Barbara and her mother were most grateful of all to the Amy who dropped in to admire the wedding presents, watched Millie stolidly sewing her way through the sea spray organza, and simply took the whole thing away from her and that morning had returned it, complete and pressed.
But all this help from the Amys left the MacLanes with little to do, and not having anything to do made them as restless as Buster on a windy day when his fur was full of static electricity. Immediately after lunch the bride, glad for somewhere to go, went off to have her hair done, and when she returned she announced, “I am going to sit up all night so I won’t muss my hair for the wedding.” She smiled radiantly, showing her teeth from which the bands had been removed only the day before, solving the problem that had worried Barbara ever since Rosemary had announced she was going to get married.
“You’re beginning to look like the singers on TV who manage to sing and show their teeth at the same time,” remarked Barbara.
“Here comes the bride,” sang Rosemary toothily. Then she said, “My mouth feels so wonderfully roomy with just teeth and tongue and no bands.”
Shortly after Rosemary returned from the beauty shop, Mrs. MacLane and Millie left to have their hair done. Barbara, feeling a little smug, merely washed her naturally curly hair and arranged it with a few flicks of her comb. When she came out of the bathroom she found that Greg had arrived dressed for the rehearsal dinner and was looking at the wedding presents. Barbara saw him pick up a silver vegetable dish three different times, and each time he looked at it as if he had never seen it before.
Rosemary, who had given up writing thank-you notes until after the wedding, was entering gifts in her bride’s book. Barbara picked up a copper mold, which she, too, had examined several times—or perhaps she had examined several identical molds. By now there were many duplications among the wedding presents. “Don’t you have several of these fish-shaped copper molds?” she asked Rosemary.
“M-hm,” answered her sister. “It’s all right. They all came from the same shop and are practically legal tender. I can exchange them for something else.”
Buster stalked out of Gordy’s room and meowed at the front door. “The cat wants out,” said Rosemary, without looking up from her satin-bound book.
“Wants to go out,” corrected Greg, speaking absentmindedly as he glanced at his watch. “The cat wants to go out.”
Rosemary turned and looked up at Greg in surprise. “That’s what I said.” She looked a little tired, and Barbara hoped she had not been serious about sitting up all night to keep her hair from getting mussed.
“No, you didn’t,” contradicted Greg. “You said, ‘The cat wants out.’ You are using an adverb as a predicate objective.”
Rosemary raised one eyebrow. “Oh? I am?”
This was ominous. Please, Rosemary, thought Barbara, lower your eyebrow.
“Yes,” said Greg, unaware of the emotion indicated by Rosemary’s eyebrow. He had a lot to learn about his bride. “That was one of the first things I noticed about people out here. They said they wanted in or they wanted out, when they meant they wanted to come in or they wanted to go out.”
The white-satin book was slammed shut. “That’s very interesting. No doubt people ‘out here,’ as you put it, wanted to go out or to come in to get away from stuffy Easterners like you.”
“Perhaps I am being a little stuffy,” admitted Greg, but it was too late.
“For your information,” said Rosemary, fuming, “I am not a student in English 1A. And it might interest you to know that when I entered Cal I passed my Subject-A examination with flying colors and did not have to take bonehead English. An adverb as a predicate objective, for Pete’s sake! How stuffy can you get?”
Rosemary, please, just once let one member of this family suffer in silence, thought Barbara. Don’t have a civil war, East against West, bride against groom, just before the wedding.
“Okay, okay, I admitted I was stuffy. I am sorry. What more do you want?” Greg scowled. “And for your information, you may have passed your Subject A, but you did not pass with flying colors as you put it. Students either pass or fail. No grades are given.”
Buster twitched his tail. Barbara wanted to open the door for him, but Rosemary and Greg had apparently forgotten her, and she did not want to remind them of her presence while they were quarreling. Besides, she wanted to see what happened.
Rosemary, irritated because Greg was right, pursed her lips and entered another present in her bride’s book. Buster meowed again. “The cat still wants out,” Rosemary said, with icy emphasis on each syllable.
“Then why don’t you let him go out?” Greg’s syllables were equally icy.
Barbara was about to open the door for the cat when Rosemary said, “I shall,” and went to the door and opened it. Buster walked out regally, all but his tail. He paused to reconnoiter before allowing the door to be shut behind him. Rosemary gave him a shove with her toe and closed the door unnecessarily hard. “I am interested to learn that you are not only stuffy, you are also inflexible,” she said to her fiancé, as she sat down once more to her bride’s book.
“I am not inflexible,” said Greg. “I am correct.”
“I don’t know about Eastern cats, but out West the cats want out,” Rosemary informed him. She was silent a moment, and then she added in an exaggerated drawl. “Out West we all keep cats that want out, podner. We all speak in the vernacular.”
“Now you are being childish as well as ridiculous,” said Greg.
“Very interesting.” Rosemary closed the book with a bang.
I’ve got to stop this somehow, Barbara thought desperately. She glanced at her watch. It was after six. Where were her mother and Millie? “What difference does it make?” she asked at last. “The cat is out.”
Both Greg and Rosemary turned on Barbara. “You keep out of this,” said Rosemary. “It involves something far more important than the cat, and I am glad I found it out before it was too late.”
Barbara hunched her shoulders in embarrassment. What was she supposed to do? Pretend she was deaf? Slink out of the room? She could feel the tension mounting until she could stand it no longer. She rose and said, “I don’t know about you, but I am going to dress for the r
ehearsal dinner. Rehearsal for your wedding. Remember?” With that she left them alone.
That cat, thought Barbara bitterly when she was in her room. She always thought he looked like the spirit of evil, and now she knew this was what he was. He had jinxed the whole wedding. This very minute Rosemary and Greg were probably agreeing the whole thing was a terrible mistake. They were probably deciding to call the wedding off. But how? How could they call it off? How could they notify all the people on such short notice?
All those wedding presents that were hard to pack—glassware, the electric mixer, the waffle iron—where would they ever find enough cartons and excelsior to return all those things? And the wedding cake that was probably being baked this very minute. Who would eat it? The family, probably. How ghastly to have to eat their way through the entire cake of a wedding that was called off. It would take at least two weeks. And Millie…how awkward to have a stray bridesmaid around the house, but perhaps she could exchange her ticket and leave sooner. And the apartment in Berkeley, already filled with phonograph records and shower presents. Who would move those things out? And that picture by Paul Klee? How could Rosemary return a present that had come from several girls, who had all gone home for the summer? And all those cans without labels. Rosemary could not possibly return those. The MacLanes would probably have to eat them up along with the wedding cake.
Barbara felt like crying as she thought of all those beautiful wedding presents, and she wondered where they would start. Aunt Josie could be called in to help. She could get cartons from the store where she worked…. And all those invitations that had gone out. It would be dreadful to let the guests arrive at a cold, empty church, but perhaps the Amys could help. They could organize and telephone everyone. Barbara’s heart was flooded with gratitude for the Amys, who could always be counted on to help one another out. Bless them all. No wonder they ate rich desserts. They needed quick energy to keep up with their families’ problems.
Barbara was thankful to hear her mother drive up beside the house. She slipped out of her room and out the back door to meet her. “Mother,” she whispered, “something terrible has happened. Rosemary and Greg have had an awful quarrel. She said he was stuffy and inflexible, and he said she was ridiculous and childish, and she said she was glad she found it out before it was too late and—oh, it was awful. Mother, what are we going to do?”
Mrs. MacLane began to laugh.
“But, Mother, it’s serious,” protested Barbara.
“Serious or not, it’s still funny,” said Mrs. MacLane.
“It’s probably just wedding jitters,” said Millie.
“But, Mother, you should hear them,” persisted Barbara, trying to make her mother understand the gravity of the situation. Her mother waved her aside. It was time to dress. She could not be bothered listening to the details of a silly squabble between the bride and groom. All brides and grooms were tired and nervous before the wedding, and Rosemary and Greg must be especially tired because of the strain of final examinations. But they would insist on getting married between finals and summer session….
Filled with trepidation, Barbara followed her mother and Millie into the house. She was shocked at the glimpse she caught, of Rosemary with the butcher knife in her hand. “Rosemary!” she cried out.
Rosemary whirled around, the knife still in her hand. She was smiling. “More presents! Whee!” With the butcher knife she began to saw at the cord on a large carton while Greg watched her with amusement. They no longer looked tired and strained. They looked positively refreshed.
“But—” began Barbara, and stopped. She decided she could not keep still. “But you were quarreling just a few minutes ago. I thought you were going to call off the wedding.”
“Oh that. Just a lovers’ quarrel.” Rosemary airily waved the butcher knife and laughed. “Besides, we couldn’t possibly call off the wedding. How would we ever get all those wedding presents returned?”
“But to quarrel just before the wedding,” persisted Barbara, baffled by her sister’s flippancy. “A wedding is supposed to be perfect.”
Rosemary laughed. “How can a wedding be perfect?” she asked. “It involves people. Besides, I don’t mind quarreling. Not when it’s so heavenly to make up.” She bestowed upon the groom a dazzling smile, which he returned with a look filled with love and amusement.
“My child bride,” he teased.
They will have other quarrels, too, just like ordinary married people, thought Barbara, disillusioned. The emotions of the afternoon, which seemed to stimulate the bride and groom, were tiring to Barbara, and she did not feel that she was at her best when she arrived at the Lessings’ house with her family for the rehearsal dinner. The first person she saw above the other heads when she entered the house was Tootie Bodger.
“Mother,” whispered Barbara while they were in the bedroom removing their wraps, “what is Tootie doing here?”
“Angie Lessing felt you wouldn’t have any fun unless there was a boy here for you,” her mother explained.
Barbara was indignant. “But the best man is mine.”
“Only coming out of the church,” her mother told her with a smile. “Now be a good sport and be nice to Tootie. There aren’t enough men to go around as it is.”
“I’m always nice to Tootie,” Barbara told her mother. “That’s the trouble. I’m nice to him, so he likes me more than I want to be liked.”
“These things are like bread and marmalade,” said Mrs. MacLane. “They rarely come out even.”
Except with Rosemary and Greg, thought Barbara. It comes out even for them. Maybe that was how they knew they were in love. She stepped into the living room to greet the people she knew and to be introduced to those she did not know. Everyone seemed gay and happy, even Mrs. Aldredge, who was now resigned to the simplicity of the whole affair. George and Craig, the ushers, were both attractive, and Barbara could not help feeling it was too bad they were married. Greg’s brother, Bob, was a taller, huskier version of his older brother, and meeting him gave Barbara a feeling of martyrdom—she must renounce this good-looking man for Tootie. Greg’s sister, Anne, was a surprise. Barbara had assumed a physical-education major would be a large, athletic girl, but Anne was small, with a beautiful figure, a smooth tan, and sleek, short hair, which was no doubt convenient for swimming.
Barbara kissed her grandmother and her aunt Josie and dutifully went to Tootie, who was standing at one end of the room studying an arrangement of white roses in front of a copper tray as if it was the most interesting bouquet he had ever seen. He had a handful of nuts and tossed one into his mouth with the regularity of a metronome. “Hi, Tootie,” she said.
“Hi, Barbara.” Tootie interrupted his peanut tossing to smile at her. He looked uncomfortable and uncertain, and Barbara realized that she was feeling the same way. College students in a group always made her feel younger than she actually was.
“I don’t know what I am doing here,” he said. “My mother said I had to come.”
Barbara laughed. “You are here to keep me company,” she told him, “and I am not one bit flattered by your attitude.” She looked around the room admiring everyone. Even Millie, in heels instead of those beaded moccasins and with her hair becomingly arranged, turned out to be almost pretty. Looking up at Greg’s brother, Bob, she seemed a different person. Maybe, thought Barbara, in the midst of all these strangers she feels insecure enough to care how she looks.
“Hey, that’s swell. I’m glad I’m supposed to keep you company.” Tootie extended the nut dish to Barbara. “Have a nut?”
“Thanks,” she said absently, picking out a cashew nut. She noticed Anne talking to Gramma, and realized that Anne’s brother was the only single college man present. That left Anne without anyone, unless you counted Gordy, who was a most unwilling guest. It was nice of Anne to be kind to Gramma. She looked as if she really enjoyed her conversation with the old lady, who was a stranger to her. Barbara decided she liked Anne a lot.
“I feel sort of young,” Barbara gloomily confided to Tootie. “You know. As if my mother was letting me stay up late because this is a special occasion.” Rosemary was flashing a dazzling smile of straight white teeth at everyone. Barbara hoped she would get used to being without her bands before the ceremony. A bride should not walk down the aisle showing off her teeth.
“It’s all these college students.” Tootie was understanding. “I just tell myself some of them are only a couple of years older than I am.”
“All the girls wear eye shadow,” observed Barbara. “My mother would just about kill me if I wore eye shadow.” She noticed that Aunt Josie and Mrs. Aldredge seemed to be enjoying one another’s company, and she wondered if they admired each other’s thin figures.
“A girl as pretty as you doesn’t need to wear eye shadow,” said Tootie.
“Why, thank you.” Barbara found herself liking Tootie more than she had realized. It was pleasant to have a boy tell her she was pretty, after weeks of being merely the sister of the bride while Rosemary got all the attention.
“I don’t see why girls wear it, anyway,” said Tootie. “It looks like gooky stuff to me.”
“It is gooky,” agreed Barbara. “I tried Rosemary’s once.” The bits of other people’s conversation that she caught seemed so much more sophisticated than this superficial discussion of the gookiness of eye shadow. Talk centered on final examinations at the University of California—the stiff questions asked in Mycology 101; the tricky true-false, multiple-choice examination in Psych 112; the examination in The Novel taken by George’s wife, who was saying that the whole examination consisted of just three words: Discuss the novel. How inclusive could a professor get, anyway? She had filled up one and a half blue books answering it.
Mrs. Lessing, the hostess, tried to shoo everyone toward the buffet by reminding them that the wedding party had to leave promptly at a quarter to eight for the rehearsal. Anne graciously served Gramma, so she would not have to get up. Barbara and Tootie moved toward the buffet with the MacLanes and the Aldredges while the college crowd went right on talking about final examinations. “You would think this was a party to celebrate the end of finals instead of the beginning of a marriage,” Barbara remarked to Tootie, as they filled their plates and looked around for a place to sit. Tootie solved their problem by pulling a small table from a nest of tables and setting it between two chairs in a corner of the room. They sat down, and Tootie rearranged a slice of turkey that was hanging over the edge of his heaped plate. Voices were rising in the crowded room. Talking seemed an effort to Barbara who, like Tootie, was hungry. She and Tootie ate in silence while she watched the college crowd gradually move toward the buffet.
Sister of the Bride Page 17