“Of course that’s not what I want.”
“Then marry him. I mean it. Marry him, or I swear to God, Luisa, I’ll tell George to stay in Naples and I’ll marry Brandon myself.”
We laughed and hugged and while I was still scared to death of the decision, I was thankful that I had Maria to talk to.
. . . . .
The next weekend, when Brandon came down from Twenty-nine Palms, I walked outside to the driveway to greet him. As I approached the car, I felt the heat from the motor after the two hour drive. Brandon opened the door and climbed out.
“Wow, what a sight to arrive to,” he said, gazing at me. He hugged me. His strength, the scent of his body, the sound of his voice, it felt like coming home.
“I’ll marry you,” I said.
My words caught him off guard. For an instant, he looked confused. Then it registered. His face stretched into a huge grin and he scooped me off of the ground and into his arms, as through I weighed nothing at all.
“Yes!” she shouted, his voice echoing down the street and through the neighborhood. “Ooh-rah!”
In that moment, safe in his arms, I knew I had made the right decision.
. . . . .
The next Friday, on September 17, in the same wedding chapel that Elizabeth Taylor had married one of her husbands, Brandon and I, and Maria, George and Corey waited in the anteroom for them to call us in. From there, I could hear the faint murmur of the Justice of the Peace performing the ceremony for another couple.
I was nervous. Brandon held my hand. I looked into his eyes and saw how happy he was. I, too, was happy, in spite of my nervousness. This wasn’t the way I’d always seen myself getting married, by a Justice of the Peace in a secular chapel, but I loved Brandon and he loved me and this was the only way for me to stay. What we were doing was right.
I hadn’t brought clothes for a wedding, and we didn’t have time to buy any, so I wore the ivory linen shorts I’d brought along with an ivory jacket. Brandon had on white Levis and a navy blue silk shirt. He looked as sexy in that as any other man in a tuxedo. Corey, too, had white pants and a blue shirt, but he also had suspenders and he looked so cute, like a tiny grownup. Brandon and I asked Maria if Corey could be our ring bearer.
Brandon checked his watch. It was almost time. He squeezed my hand and smiled at me. Then he knelt down in front of Corey.
“Okay, champ. Do you remember what I need you to do?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Carry the rings in both hands, stand by my left leg. When I turn to you and wink, you hand me the ring. Got it?”
“Got it, sir.”
“Let’s practice.”
Brandon and I stood at one side of the room. Maria and Corey at the other. George sat and watched. Brandon smiled at Corey and said, “Go.”
Corey held out his cupped hands in front of him, as though he were carrying water. In them he had the two rings. He walked slowly toward us. I saw by his face that he was nervous. He glanced over his shoulder at his mother behind him. Maria nodded and smiled. Then he turned back toward us and began to walk a little faster, but somehow one foot caught the other and he stumbled forward. The rings flew. Brandon lunged to catch Corey so he wouldn’t hurt himself. He didn’t get there before Corey hit the floor, but he quickly scooped him up and checked to make sure he wasn’t hurt.
“Are you all right, champ?” Brandon asked.
I rushed toward them too.
“I’m okay,” Corey said, his voice quiet and embarrassed.
“No harm, no foul,” Brandon said. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Yeah, is no problem,” I said, coming over, and when I did, I accidentally stepped on one of the rings.
I knelt down to pick it up. It was my ring, and it was bent. “Oh, my God.”
“What’s wrong?” Brandon asked.
I held it up for him to see. The ring was French style, very thin, and because it was eighteen carat gold it was soft, so when my heel had come down on it, the gold bent.
Just then the door opened up and the Justice of the Peace’s assistant, a woman with a lot of make-up, cardboard stiff hair, and a bright red dress poked her hair out. “It’s your turn,” she said, almost singing the words, grinning the whole time.
“One second,” Brandon said. He took the ring and quickly tried to squeeze it back into shape. It wasn’t working.
“Is okay,” I said. “Is not matter.”
“Are you ready?” the grinning woman sang.
“Ready!” Brandon said. He took my hand. “Let’s do this, my love.”
. . . . .
Brandon stood at the front with the Justice of the Peace, an older man with coal black hair. I couldn’t tell if it was a toupee or dyed. He had long sideburns, the way Elvis Presley used to wear his, and a black tuxedo that looked out of place the way the rest of us were dressed. But other couples did come in gown and tux, so I assumed he had to be ready for anything.
Maria and George sat in the front row, close behind Brandon. Corey stood behind me, the smiling assistant to the Justice of the peace holding his hand. The Justice of the Peace nodded to the smiling woman. She pressed a button on the wall, turning on a recording of the wedding march, and then told me to go ahead and make my way slowly up to Brandon.
It felt strange to force myself to walk at this unusual pace. The whole time I just wanted to hurry and get there. When I finally reached the front, I grasped Brandon’s hand. We both looked at each other. I felt so nervous now that I was struggling to breathe. I turned and looked at the Justice of the Peace. He smiled at me then nodded to the woman at the back. She pushed Corey toward us.
I thought she better be careful or he might trip again and lose the ring, but he walked up the aisle toward us, at a slow and steady pace. His face was set in a serious look. He reached us without falling and stood confidently beside Brandon. Brandon looked down at him and gave a proud nod. Corey nodded back. Maria, who had walked down the aisle and was now standing in the first row of seats, looked like she might cry. The smiling woman stood off to the side. The rest of the chapel was empty.
I turned back to the Justice of the Peace.
“We are gathered here today…” he began. The rest was a blur to me. I was trying to digest what I was doing. I was getting married and my family wasn’t here. I hadn’t even told my father. Is this how my mother would have wanted it? Is this really the way I wanted it? I had come here telling myself that it was the right thing to do. My doubts now were just jitteriness. I reminded myself that I had debated it all before. This is where I should be. This is what I should be doing.
“Brandon Cloutier,” the Justice of the Peace said, yanking my attention back to the wedding happening around me. “Do you take Luisa La Rotonda to be your lawfully wed wife...”
“I do,” he said.
“Wait,” the Justice of the Peace said. “I’m not finished.”
“Sorry. Go ahead.”
“To have and to hold, from this day forward, through richer and poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?”
“Absolutely I do.” Brandon turned to me and smiled, looking filled with joy. He squeezed my hand. I saw in his eyes that he did love me.
The Justice of the Peace spoke to me now. “Luisa La Rotonda,” he said. “Do you take Brandon Cloutier to be your lawfully-wed husband? To have and to hold…”
The rest of his words faded out. I just stared at Brandon. I didn’t understand everything that the Justice of the Peace had been saying, to Brandon or to me, partly because of my English, partly because I was nervous. But I understood that what he was saying would res
ult in my being married to Brandon when this was done. Once this was finished, that was it. I had to be certain. For me, marriage was for life. This would be forever. I looked up into Brandon’s eyes, hoping that I was reading him right, that he was, as I believed, the right man for me.
I realized now that everyone was silent and looking at me. I wasn’t sure what to do.
Brandon grasped my other hand. Now he was holding both my hands. He squeezed them a little and leaned closer to me. “Luisa,” he said, “do you love me?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want to marry me?”
I took a breath. “Yes.”
He smiled. “Then you have to tell the man.”
I turned to the Justice of the Peace.
He said, “Luisa La Rotonda, do you take Brandon Cloutier to be your lawfully-wed husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, through richer and poorer, in sickness in health, until death do you part?”
The Justice of the Peace spoke the words a little too quickly. I didn’t understand it all, particularly the last part. I turned toward him and repeated what I’d heard, “Until they do your part?”
“No, no, death,” the Justice of the Peace repeated, pronouncing each word slowly and clearly, “death…do…you…part.”
The word “death” made the whole thing sound terrible. It reminded me of my mother. Of the horrible relationship she and my father had. Was that what I was getting myself into?
Brandon must have seen the anguish in my face because he squeezed my hands again to get my attention and said, “Until forever. Do you take me until forever?”
That I understood. That had only positive connotations. I looked straight at him, being very serious, and said, “Yes, I do.”
The Justice of the Peace turned to Brandon. “Do you have the rings?”
Brandon looked down at Corey and winked. Corey raised his cupped hands with the two rings. Brandon took the bent ring. I took his. He held my left hand and struggled to put the bent ring on my finger, repeating what the Justice of the Peace told him.
“With this ring, I thee wed…”
The only thing that mattered at the moment was that my heart was filled with joy. This was the happiest day of my twenty-four years of life.
I put Brandon’s ring on him.
“I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the Justice of the Peace said. He told Brandon to kiss me.
Brandon pulled me closer and kissed me with so much passion that all of my nervousness disappeared and I felt eager to begin the next phase of my life, as Luisa Cloutier.
From the seats, George shouted, “Ooh-rah!”
CHAPTER 11
Brandon took the marriage license to the base and applied for us to get housing together now that we were husband and wife. We had to wait, but Brandon promised it wouldn’t be too long. Until then we agreed that I would stay with Maria and George. Things were different with George staying there. Maria asked me to speak to her only in English when George was around.
“He still thinks we’re talking about him?” I asked.
“It just makes him uncomfortable. Just try to speak English when he’s around.”
I did as Maria asked. It wasn’t a big problem. The more time I spent in the U.S., the better my English was getting. I just thought it was stupid for him to be suspicious of us. Maria loved him. Why else would she stay with a man who was away so much? Her love for him was clear, even though they still fought a lot. Many nights I heard them arguing in their room. Often I’d go and take Corey to a different part of the house so he wouldn’t have to hear them yelling. But there were just as many other nights I heard them making love and distracted Corey so he wouldn’t hear that either.
George also kept asking me if Brandon had heard from the Marine Corps yet regarding housing. It was clear he preferred me to leave. If I had had someplace else to go, I would have. Every time Brandon came down to LA to visit me or whenever he called, I asked him when “our home” would be ready.
“Not much longer, my love. Just hang on.”
. . . . .
One evening I was in my room studying my English-Italian dictionary. I heard Maria and George start yelling at each other. Here they go again, I thought. It always started out kind of low, just loud enough that I could hear their most heated statements, and then it would fade again. Sometimes it stayed at this level until they finished. Other times it would flare up even louder. This night it got really loud. I heard both their voices screaming. I couldn’t make out exactly what they were saying, but it was clear that it was a bunch of angry outbursts.
Amid the yelling I heard a thumping sound and I heard Corey start to cry. He must have fallen. I hurried out into the hallway and I started toward his room, but then I realized that his cries were coming from the opposite direction, from where Maria and George were fighting. I turned and went to their door. Corey was still crying inside. George yelled something and I thought I heard him shout “Shut up!”
Without thinking, I knocked on the door. I was worried about Corey, who was still crying. And George’s yelling also scared me. Some Marines, not Brandon, but some others, had bad tempers. I’d seen it in Italy. I didn’t know George well enough to know what he was capable of, but I already knew that I annoyed him.
The door flung open so suddenly it startled me. Maria filled the opening. The first thing I noticed was that she had Corey in her arms. She thrust him toward me. “Guardalo!” she said, imploring me to watch him. She barely had a voice after all the screaming. I struggled to grab him. He wrapped his arms around me and held tightly, still crying.
“What’s happening?” I asked.
Maria didn’t answer. As she started to go back inside the bedroom and close the door, I got a look at her face.
Her left eye was swollen and bruised. A streak of blood went from a cut on her lip, down her chin and onto her shirt. Her teeth were also red with blood. Her eyes were wild with fear. The door closed in front of me before I could say or do anything.
My first thought was that I wanted Brandon here to protect me and her and Corey. But he was two hours away. I needed to call the police. With Corey in my arms I rushed up the hallway to the kitchen. I grabbed the phone. To call the police you dialed 9-1-1. That I had learned early on. I started to dial when a hand grabbed my wrist and pulled my arm away from the phone. I spun around to see George glaring at me. He was breathing heavily, his face bright red with anger. With his other hand he pulled the phone away from me.
“You’re not calling anyone!” he shouted.
“No, no. Is okay. I don’t call no one,” I said. I feared what he might do to me and Corey. “Is okay. No problem.” I wanted to calm him down, but I saw it wasn’t working.
“This is between Maria and me,” he shouted. “Just stay out of it, do you hear?”
I nodded, holding tightly to Corey.
His outburst had frightened Corey even more. The little boy held tighter to me and buried his face in my shirt to muffle his crying.
“You scaring him,” I said.
“Shut up!” he yelled at Corey, leaning closer to him, yelling in his ear.
I pulled Corey away and moved around to the other side of the table. “Is okay. I’ll have him stop.”
“Do that!” he yelled. “Just go back to your room and stay there.”
I nodded again.
With the phone receiver still in his hand, he turned around and stormed back up the hallway toward his and Maria’s room. As soon as he closed the bedroom door behind him, I ran to my room, still carrying Corey. I prayed to God he didn’t do anything else to Maria. The only other phone was in Maria’s bedr
oom. I couldn’t even call for help.
The yelling resumed. I heard both of their voices. Something smashed. Corey was terrified. We sat in the corner in the dark holding each other. After some time, the fight went out into the hallway. I heard doors slamming and both of them in the hallway outside my room.
“Get out and find yourself somewhere else to stay!” Maria said.
“Go fuck yourself!” George replied. “I don’t need you or this place.”
“Then go! Get out!”
“I’m going!”
“Go!”
“I am, so shut the fuck up!”
“You shut the fuck up!”
I heard him stomp down the hall and through the kitchen and I heard the back door slam shut. Faintly, outside, a car engine started, followed by tires squealing. A moment later my bedroom opened and Maria came in.
“Are you two all right?” she asked, struggling between sobs.
We both ran over to hug her.
. . . . .
While I was holding a towel over the cut on her lip to stop the bleeding, I said, “Maria, this is not okay. You can’t allow him to do this. To you or to Corey.”
She winced from the pain on her lip. “I know,” she whispered.
“You have to call the police,” I said.
“I know. You’ll help me?” she said.
“Of course I will.”
I sat with her and held her hand while she called 911 and talked to the police. When she told them that George had left, they told her to come down to the police station to make a report. I went with her. We dropped Corey off at the house of one of Maria’s friends and then went to the station. They said we needed to talk to a detective and they had us wait. Hours passed. Maria kept going back to the window, asking how much longer. They would always answer, “We’ve got a lot of cases, lady. You just have to wait your turn.”
Until Forever Page 9