Marty would need to keep her chin up that night alongside my buddy, A.C. While Marty had been getting the boot from a guy in Washington, DC, A.C. was putting the final papers on his divorce to Angel in a back drawer somewhere. The marriage to his psycho child bride with a serious drinking problem and enormous intimacy issues did not turn out to be such a heavenly experience in the end. I could have told him that as we’d stood in the courthouse on the cold day eighteen months earlier. The first time I’d met Angel at the courthouse, A.C. was beaming with the beauty of life and love, and Angel was looking at some girl’s hat, annoyed that “this thing” was taking so long. A.C. saw her as the person who made him whole and absolute. He really believed this and threw himself completely into the commitment. Nothing I could have said to him at that time in his life would have changed his mind. Frustration floated over that whole day for me as I could see, so clearly, something to which A.C. was oblivious. How could my brilliant and logical friend, who read War and Peace and Atlas Shrugged—and anything else by Ayn Rand, just for grins—not see that Angel was so unworthy of what he had to offer. I could have tried to stop it, but that would have only damaged our friendship. Now, standing near the debris of A.C.’s disappointment, my role, once again, was to be quiet and supportive. “I told you so” would mean nothing now.
I didn’t do A.C.’s hair that day, but he did stop by Vanity Insanity, smiling and talking to all of the ladies, choosing a much-different approach to his heartbreak than Marty, but suffering nonetheless. His latest profound statement: “the devil wears a bra”, was always followed by a huge grin.
All morning I had my hands on hair and my eyes on the clock, and by noon, I wondered where Theresa was. She knew that I would be closing early, and I hoped that she would make it in time to have her hair done before pictures. Maybe she was good with her hair on her own.
Fifteen minutes before I was set to lock up, Toby and I were the only two remaining in Vanity Insanity. Toby was sticking around to clean up, but I knew he was listening to the kickoff on the radio. I was entertained by the fact that I had turned the staff to the light. The Husker Light, that is. Toby, who had never understood the game of football, had finally caught on, due to no choice of his own, and was listening to games and asking me questions that really stupid girls would be embarrassed to ask. He liked football now.
The bell above the door rang as Theresa ran in, looking at the clock and asking, “Am I too late?” Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, stray pieces coming out here and there. Her eyes were red and puffy.
“Never.” I knew we had about a half hour. “Let’s get you started over here.”
Toby attempted an awkward greeting. His cheeks red, still he was getting better at connecting with clients. He began organizing his station.
“Hey, Toby! Ben, if I’m too late, I totally understand.”
“Take a deep breath. We’re fine on time. So Marty tells me the dresses are ugly.”
“She said that? Was Lucy around?”
“I think her exact words were that the bridesmaids were going to look like several overly frosted cupcakes. Do you care to comment?”
“I can’t believe Marty said that. Is she doing OK?”
“Marty’s just fine. And no, she didn’t really say that. I was trying to make you laugh.”
“Ben, Marty is going through a really tough time.”
“How about you? You look like your day has been crazy. You all right?”
Theresa’s hand held tightly to the arms of the chairs as if she were bracing herself for a crash landing. Toby left without saying good-bye. He did remember to touch the top corners of the doorway, though. The bell above the door rang.
“I do? I mean—I am having a bad day. I really need to regroup before tonight.” Theresa’s voice cracked.
I walked her over to the sink to shampoo her hair as she continued, “Do you remember my friend Kathryn Bertelli from my speech pathology classes? The one who looked kind of like Jaclyn Smith from Charlie’s Angels?”
“The one you were always going to set me up with and never did?”
“Sorry about that. That’s Kathryn. Well, anyway, she and I have been through four years of classes together. Study buddies and all that. She alone is the reason I made it through statistics…Anyway, she called me from Immanuel Hospital this morning. Actually, she’s been calling all week. She calls me up…She asks me to bring wine and cheese to her party…She has all of the guests coming. I have been bringing up wine and cheese all week.”
“Must be some party. Does she work at Immanuel?”
Theresa’s eyes began to water. “No, she doesn’t work there…She’s in the psych ward. When I get to her room she tells me to shut the door…that no one there can know about the party.”
“How can you have a party if no one knows?”
“Ben, Kathryn is under evaluation for schizophrenia. She tells me every time I go to visit her that the people who work in the hospital are all spies. Never to trust them. The others. They won’t support it. They don’t understand it. They will never understand it…”
“Wow.”
“The last year in school, she got a little strange when we studied. We would meet in her basement where she felt safe…I never thought about it at the time. I mean, Kathryn! She’s brilliant. She’s beautiful, and right now, she lives in fear of the posse that’s listening to her wine-and-cheese-party plans through the vents of her room. It’s so sad.”
“You keep bringing wine and cheese to her?”
“Yeah, the staff knows. They monitor and know that she’s safe. All of the wine is under her bed. The cheese is collected when she’s sleeping. Why? Why would God allow such a brilliant…? I shouldn’t say that. I just don’t get it. She had goals. She had dreams. Now she’ll live a completely different life. It won’t be a bad life. It just won’t be the life she set out to live. It almost makes me feel guilty for having such a great life.”
“You should never feel guilty about that, Theresa.” I didn’t know what else to say. I was wondering the same thing.
As I was drying Theresa’s hair, she looked at her watch. “Oh my gosh! I can’t be late for pictures!”
“Almost done. I can fix anything you need when we get to the church.”
As I was curling the last section of her hair, Theresa looked at me in the mirror and smiled. Her first smile. “No, I shouldn’t.”
“Shouldn’t what?”
“I really shouldn’t tell you.”
“Tell me what?”
“If I tell you, I’ll have to kill you.” Theresa laughed and looked at the clock on my wall.
“Then by all means…”
“Ben, I’m getting married, but you can’t tell a soul.”
“You gotta be kidding me.”
“Seriously, Ben. No one knows.”
I shook her hand and then gave her a hug. “Congrats! Uh, when’s the big day?”
“Oh, heck, I don’t know. Michael asked me a few weeks ago, but we both agreed that I would wait to wear the ring and tell people till after Lucy’s wedding. This is her time.” Theresa looked in the mirror and shook her hair. “Thanks, Ben. It looks great!”
“I’ll see you at Creighton.”
“Oh, and don’t tell Marty. I don’t know when I’ll tell Marty. Just don’t tell a soul.”
“I’m pretty good at that.”
Theresa grabbed her purse and headed toward the door when she stopped. “I almost forgot. Happy birthday, Ben!” She shuffled through her purse for something. Her eyes were no longer red.
“Technically, it’s not my birthday. I celebrated a few days ago.”
“I know. Lucy told me. Did you know that you were born on the Feast of the Most Holy Rosary of the Blessed Virgin Mary?”
“I’d have to say that I did not know that.”
“I’m pretty sure that you already have several, but I got this for you at the Immanuel Hospital gift shop. It was either white or black. I got black since it se
emed more manly.”
“I am pretty manly.”
Theresa laughed as she handed me the gift-shop bag with the rosary in it.
“I think I had a glow-in-the- dark rosary that some nun handed out in CCD, but I’m sure I lost it along the way. Thanks.” I took the rosary out of the bag.
“Happy birthday. See you at the church, Ben.”
I handed Theresa a stale, crusty danish as she left Vanity Insanity. I yelled to her as she walked to her car, “I’ll keep your secret if you don’t tell anyone about my birthday. Fair?” Theresa gave me a thumbs-up as she ducked into her white Subaru Justy with the danish in her mouth and then took off.
I knew I was running late, but I took my time as I ran through my closing ritual. If Toby could have his rituals, so could I. I made sure that curling irons and hot irons of any type were unplugged. I unplugged everything in the break room: hot pot, coffee pot, and microwave. I kept the small fridge plugged in and grabbed all of the towels that had been used that day to take home in a big white laundry bag. Toby had already taken the trash out to the alley. I unlocked the only locked drawer of the UP desk and pulled out a bag holding checks and cash for the day. I knew that I needed to get to the church for pictures before the wedding, so I planned to take the bag home and get to the bank on Monday. As I placed the last few checks in the black bag, I noticed a small piece of paper on the corner of the desk. The note was scribbled in Jenae’s handwriting.
Ben, Octavia called. Wondered if she could use Lucy’s wedding flowers for a funeral Monday. Some poor guy died.
—Jenae
I smiled as I put the note and my new rosary in my pocket. Isn’t every guy who dies a poor guy? Even though Octavia didn’t know Lucy, she knew that I had a friend and client named Lucy who was getting married. When people in Octavia’s parish could not afford a proper funeral, she saw to it that they were given the most decent of send-offs. Of course, Lucy would say yes to my request. Of course, neither woman would see this logical act as amusing and almost morbid. I took one last look around the room, grabbed the laundry and bank bags, and turned off the light. I locked the door to Vanity Insanity and ran to my car in the parking lot.
I was about a half hour late to pictures, but no one noticed. I was just an usher. I found a group of bridesmaids gathered at the altar with Lucy anchoring them as the haggard photographer attempted to organize another shot. Lucy looked radiant and happier than she had ever looked. Meteorology was light-years in the past. She waved to me. This little West Omaha girl was marrying her good old South Omaha boy, and she looked pretty excited about the whole thing. During one of the many haircuts I had given Tom Ducey, he’d told me that South Omaha girls he knew thought that Lucy and her friends were fluffy, whatever that meant. West O girls laughed too much. Their hair was too big. Tom took no issue with the fluffy factor. He was going to marry Lucy no matter what.
Ava Mangiamelli, Lucy’s mom, appeared from nowhere and directed me to the side of Saint John’s Church nestled on the campus of Creighton University. As she pushed me out the door, Ava fussed, “Tom must not see Lucy until the wedding. Now go on, Mr. Keller.”
I walked out on the grassy area to the side of the church and found a gaggle of black tuxedos, waddling around like confused penguins. Tom knew almost every guy in South Omaha, every student in the Creighton Law School, every boy who grew up on Maple Crest Circle, including all of his soon-to-be brothers-in-law. How do you decide whom to have in your wedding? Evidently, you ask them all. A different photographer was directing the penguins to stand in a long line. He signaled to me to head to the back of the line. The photographer grinned and yelled to the group, “Now you all need to show an expression of complete horror on your faces as you look at Tom!” I didn’t think the picture was funny, but I joined in. Lucy would get a kick out of this one.
I’m not a big wedding guy, but I figured that Lucy had made sure that she included every little wedding gimmick she had dreamed of her whole life. Once Lucy headed down the aisle, the other ushers and I remained in the back of the church for the rest of the wedding. Just as with the merry Mary procession, I heard the wedding was perfect. My informants told me so. The plan with the ushers was to take turns listening to the Husker game on the smaller radio I’d brought with earplugs. The usher on Husker duty would report any big plays to the other ushers.
Music, ring bearers, of course colors, and whatever else there is at a wedding—everything was perfect and normal as a wedding should be, with the exception that Lucy had two maids of honor: Theresa and Marty. She argued that there was no way in the world that she could choose one over the other. Tom went with one best man, so Tom’s childhood best friend, Buddy, escorted Marty and Theresa down the aisle with one very cheesy expression on his face.
What I remember most about Lucy and Tom’s wedding in 1985 was not the wedding but the reception. Following the ceremony at Saint John’s on Creighton University’s campus, the wedding party and guests caravaned twenty minutes south on Ollie the Trolley to Sokol Hall, in the heart of South Omaha. South Omaha has been called the Ellis Island of Omaha, a pool into which poured many different cultures and communities that built small churches on every corner—across from a family-owned bar. The Italian, Hispanic, Czech, and Polish cultures found their niches and stayed there for many generations. Remember the staunch Czechs at Assumption Catholic Church? Grandpa Mac remembers them, having grown up with them. Sokol Hall was situated in South Omaha’s Bohemian neighborhood, just south of downtown.
The reception decision was probably the best that Lucy and Tom had made among the million wedding decisions: an old dance hall, which included a stage and dance floor. Instead of a DJ for the dance, which most weddings I went to had that year, Tom and Lucy picked a band. Not a rock band. A big-band band. No top-ten crap from the eighties would be played. The Fred Waring–type band played music, sprinkled heavily with polkas. No, I repeat no, no dumb songs were allowed in Sokol Hall that night. Songs like “We Built This City,” “Take on Me,” and “We Are the World” had to find another hall that night.
Following dinner and toasts, the wedding party gathered on the floor for the opening dance between Tom and Lucy. A loud, hornlike alarm sounded, and everyone moved in slow-motion unison toward the door. The fire alarm had not been on any of Lucy’s lists of things to do. I followed Subby and Anthony out to the parking lot; each Mangiamelli brother held a beer as we waited for the drill to end.
“Probably Charlotte the Harlot pulled the alarm,” Subby mumbled under his breath.
“She wasn’t even invited,” Anthony said as the two fire trucks and several police cars drove up near the hall on a fall night that was cooling down as we stood together.
“My money is still on ’er, though,” Subby said as he lit a cigarette.
Lucy would not allow anything to ruin her perfect evening, so she dragged her new husband onto the fire truck with a photographer close behind, who took several shots of the freshly married couple, until the fire marshal gave us all the approval to return to Sokol Hall following a false alarm. As I was heading back to the hall, I felt a tug on the back of my tuxedo.
I turned around to see Faith Webber, looking more beautiful than ever. Her long, dark hair was pulled back and up. Her black evening dress paired with a string of pearls made the blue of her eyes glow in the fading daylight. I had not seen her at the wedding.
“Ben, you look great in a tux.”
I don’t remember Faith ever saying my name.
“And you are the classiest-looking world traveler I have ever seen, Faith. Where are you now? Germany? Japan? Been trying to keep up.” My beer confidence was throwing out phrases I would never have used.
“Really? You’ve been tracking me?”
“Well, not in a stalker way at all…Really, Hope gives me updates.”
“I’m in Australia now. Loving it, but I had to make it back for Lucy’s wedding.”
The fire marshal was yelling at the people who would not ret
urn to the building. Faith grabbed my arm.
“Ben, do you realize that you owe me something?”
The woman I’d had a lifelong crush on was telling me I owed her something. Wow. Whatever I owed her, I was heading to the bank for a loan if I needed one. I tried to think about what I owed Faith Webber while most of the crowd moved back into the building. A favor? A haircut? Money? Maybe I really owed her money.
“I do?” I pulled out my wallet, attempting to look entertaining. “How much do I owe you?”
Faith put her hand on my shoulder, stood on her toes, and kissed me. I was rattled by the sneak attack, but it took me exactly a fifth of a second to kiss her back. We kissed for a long time—a really long time—even after the fire trucks pulled away.
Faith laughed as she came down from her tiptoes and pulled away to look at me. “Do you know why you owed me that kiss?”
“It doesn’t really matter. I believe you.”
“Spin the bottle? Under the branches of Satch on Maple Crest? Is it coming back to you?”
I shook my head and smiled. I hadn’t thought about the gigantic tree in years. I’m sure it was still protecting animals and lost toys from our childhood. I remembered the day under the tree when I’d been mesmerized by Faith. I couldn’t remember at the time who’d dared me to kiss her.
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