There's No Such Thing As A Simple Wedding (Pt I)

            The entire manor buzzed with activity.  Workers were setting up the chairs beneath a large canopy on the back lawn, the florist had delivered five dozen white lilies to be artfully arranged about the yard and house, and the caterer had completely overtaken the kitchen.  It was to one of the waiters that Bruce was speaking when Mardi marched up to him, still in her dressing gown, her hair a wet mop, and her face drawn and strained.  "We have to talk," she announced loudly as he was in mid-sentence.  He finished explaining to the young man where to locate the champagne and which vintages were acceptable.  He barely glanced at her as he was completing the instructions, and by the time the waiter walked away she was positively livid.

            "Well?" he asked finally turning to look at her.

            "Here?" she cried.  "We can't talk here!"

            "Mardi," he started patiently, "I have fifty people arriving within the hour, and I don't have time for games."  He was worried though.  Her face was gaunt and pale and she had seemed overly tired and irritable the last few days.  He wondered if she had indeed come down with something.

            She grabbed his hand and led him upstairs to the bedroom.  After closing the door she quickly went into the bathroom and returned with a small white stick.  "Look!" she exclaimed holding it out towards him.  On the tapered end of the stick was a small sunken area.  Inside was a faint pink plus sign.

            He looked up at her.  "And this is supposed to be…?"

            "It's a pregnancy test, you dolt!" she shouted pointing at the stick.  "That means positive, as in I am positively pregnant!"  Her eyes were large and so dark it looked like the pupils had completely dilated.  Emotion caused her voice to rise to shrewish levels, and her entire body trembled.

            He looked from the stick thrust out like a weapon to her face, which clearly registered her agitated state, and chose possibly the worst question to ask.  "Are you sure?"

            "Am I sure?  Of course I'm sure!  I've only been puking my guts out for the last week and a half.  Besides, this is the third test I've taken.  They all said the same thing."

            "How did this happen?" came the second worst question.  "I thought you were…?"

            "I was!"  She turned from him and started pacing back and forth.  "But not everything is a hundred percent effective…especially when you forget two days in a row."  She stopped pacing and slapped herself on the forehead.  "Stupid, stupid, stupid!"

            Bruce allowed himself a small smile before going to her and laying a finger under her chin, forcing her to look at him.  "It's all right," he assured her in what he hoped to be a soothing voice.

            "No, it's not!  I'm almost 40 years old – I can't be having children now!  And you.  You're already a grandfather.  This is ridiculous," she spat.

            "It's not that ridiculous.  There's nothing we won't be able to give this child and I don't believe it will be any worse off for having parents who are a little older."  He drew a thumb across her cheekbone tenderly.  "Once we're married I'm sure things won't seem quite so catastrophic."

            He saw the explosion shadowed in her face a mere second before the verbal diatribe was launched.  "Married?!  Who said anything about married?  This isn't the nineteenth century – a woman with child does not need to marry simply to protect her precious honor!  And for your information I don't know if I want to be a mother.  I've never felt the urge to reproduce.  I'm not certain I would even be a good mother."

            "What are you going to do then, give it up?  Or worse?  Could you do that Mardi?  Could you kill it?"

            Her face fell.  "I-I don't know," she replied quietly.

            "Then you seriously need to think about it."  She looked up at him with a lost expression that was as endearing as it was heart wrenching. He wanted to take her into his arms and make everything all right.  Instead he walked out the door.

            He had just finished giving directions to the photographer when he saw her descend the staircase in a soft pink dress, hair held back with pearl combs, and a thin string of pearls around her neck.  She had applied makeup, but the shadows under her eyes were still visible.  He nodded to the man and slapped him on the shoulder, then moved to meet her, which was fortuitous since she stumbled on the last step and would have fallen face first onto the floor if he hadn't caught her in his arms.  With a blush that only enhanced the paleness of her face, she steadied herself within his grasp.  "Sorry," she mumbled and tried to push his hands away.  "Got a little dizzy there."

            "When was the last time you ate something and kept it down," he frowned at her.

            She shrugged.  "I lost track."

            "Come with me," he instructed and took her into the kitchen, sitting her down at the table.  The counters were cluttered with warming trays, plates and utensils, and other miscellany the caterer was preparing for the reception buffet.  He opened several cupboards and removed a loaf of bread, a jar of peanut butter, and a banana.  Grabbing a knife from the pile of utensils waiting to be set out, he took the supplies to the table.  The peanut butter he spread across two slices of bread and added thin pieces of banana before pressing them together.  She grimaced at him as he cut the sandwich diagonally and placed it on a small plate before her.

            "You're kidding right?" she said, looking at the concoction skeptically.  "You don't actually expect me to eat this."

            "It's protein and potassium, which you are sorely lacking right now," he explained going to the refrigerator and pouring a glass of milk, which he set next to the still untouched sandwich.  "Plus it's very bland.  It should stay down easier.  Go on," he encouraged.

            "So you're a doctor now," she said with mild sarcasm.

            "My father was a doctor.  But mostly it's just common sense."

            "Oh," she replied softly.  Gingerly she picked up one of the halves and took a small bite from the corner.  She chewed thoughtfully, and then swallowed, chasing it with a swig of milk.  "Hey, that's not bad," she commented then finished the rest of the half.

            "Better?" he asked when she had finished.

            "Yeah, much.  Thanks," she whispered, leaning towards him.  She placed a hand against his cheek and kissed him.  "What would I do without you?" she asked softly in his ear.

            They both turned when a voice called out, "Hello?"  Barbara was standing at the outside door, a garment bag slung over her shoulder and a scarf tied around head.  "I just spent two hours getting my hair and nails done.  Am I interrupting anything?" she asked seeing them at the table.

            "Not at all," Mardi replied.  She stood up and cleaned up the mess on the table.  "How are you feeling?"

            "Excited.  Hi," she said to Bruce.

            With a smile he stood up and greeted her with a hug.  "People will be arriving soon.  You'd better go finish getting ready."

            "Yes, I know," she said.  "Have you heard from Sam?"

            Bruce nodded.  "He had to stop by the office, but should be here in time."

            "Need some help getting dressed?" Mardi asked.

            "Love it," Barbara smiled slinging an arm around her shoulder.  Bruce watched the two women disappear out of the kitchen and thought for once he knew what it meant to feel contented.

            Later he would recognize all the signs for what they were, realizing he'd let himself start to lose that edge that had kept him alive for so many years.  But he finally recognized something was truly wrong when a waiter bent over to pick up a dropped napkin and, as his jacket rode up his back, Bruce saw a pistol sticking out of the back waistband of his trousers.  From then on he was in full Bat mode.

            The ceremony had gone like clockwork, with the slight setback that Sam was almost fifteen minutes late, having to clear up a small problem at the office.  But he was waiting at the altar with a look of pure happiness as Barbara walked down the isle in her cream-colored pantsuit.  The vows were spoken, the rings exchanged, and the minister pronounced them man and wife in less than twenty minutes.

            Afterwards, the newlyweds and their guests moved into the house for the modest celebration.  The festivities were confined to the rarely used ballroom, decorated with lilies and other flowers, waiters mingling with trays of hors d'oeurves and champagne.  Dinner was scheduled to be served buffet-style later in the afternoon.  Light classical music was being piped in through the inter-room sound system.  A long table beneath a bank of windows displayed the three-tiered wedding cake.

            Barbara was standing with a small smile on her face as she admired the delicate edging of the cake when Bruce walked up to her.  She looked at him.  "It's beautiful," she said.  "Everything is wonderful.  Thank you so much for doing this."

            "You're welcome," he said warmly and bent to kiss her on the cheek.  They both turned to look out on the guests clustered into small groups and talking quietly.

            Barbara gestured to Mardi who was talking to Sam in the opposite corner.  "So I hear congratulations are in order," she murmured to him.

            "She told you?"

            "Yes."  She took a sip of her champagne.  With a wry smile she said, "Try and do it right this time, okay?"  Someone across the room waved to her and she responded, leaving Bruce alone as she joined them.  It was at that time, as he was surveying the party that he began to sense something was amiss.  The waiters seemed to be making eye contact and communicating with various nods, winks, and other signals, which in and of itself was not unusual, but he also realized that he hadn't seen any of these men before.  There was no sign of the young man who he's spoken to about the champagne this morning, and he hadn't seen the caterer in hours.

            That was when Sam's mother dropped her plate of appetizers.  She and her husband bent down to clean it up just as the waiter appeared at their side to help.  As soon as he saw the gun he felt his whole body tense.  The mess was cleaned up and the party resumed as normal – for everyone else.

            His eyes immediately sought out Mardi.  Whatever happened, he wanted her out of the way.  Once she was safe, he would pull Barbara aside.  Smiling to several of the guests as he walked casually across the room, he sidled up to Mardi and placed a hand between her shoulder blades.  To Sam he said, "I hate to interrupt, but I really need to borrow her for a moment."

            "Certainly," Sam replied.  "I believe I've left my wife alone for too long as it is."  When he was gone, Bruce took her by the hand and pulled her out of the room.

            "What's wrong?" she asked.  "You're hurting my hand Bruce."

            "I'm sorry," he said in a perfunctory manner, but his eyes were scanning the area, and his ears alert for all sounds.  For lack of a better place he led her to the kitchen, poking his head through the swinging door before entering to make sure it was empty.   Seeing there was no one inside, he pulled her after him.  To the left was another door, which he opened and thrust her through, ignoring her cries of protest.  Inside was the spacious butler's pantry filled with shelves of cans, jars, and sacks of food plus a multitude of cleaning supplies.  He flipped on the overhead light and faced her.  "Stay here."

            "Are you out of your mind?" she asked incredulously.

            "No," he responded seriously.  "You need to wait here until I come back for you."

            "But…" she began to argue when the gunfire interrupted her thought.  It was followed by several screams.  "What on earth?" she gasped looking towards the door.

            "Mardi," she shook her lightly to gain her full attention.  "Do you trust me?"

            "Of course," she whispered, eyes wide.

            "Then wait here and you'll be safe."  Giving her a brief kiss, he insisted,  "I'll be back for you."  He turned to leave, then paused at the door.  "If someone else finds you before I come back, tell them I was tired and went to lie down."

            She made a face.  "Like anyone will believe that."

            "Convince them," he replied urgently then stepped outside and closed the door behind him.  He realized this was going to raise some serious questions he'd rather not answer, but there were more important things to worry about now.

            He moved to go back through the door into the dining room when it suddenly opened inward.  One of the waiters, apparently performing a sweep of the house, pushed through with his weapon drawn.  Bruce reacted quickly, using the element of surprise to his advantage, by grabbing the gun with his left hand, turning his body away and pulling the man forward as he smashed his right elbow into his face.  The unfortunate fellow crumpled to the floor before he knew what had happened with a severely crushed nose.  He dragged the lifeless body into a far corner, trussing it up with several dishrags and tossed a tablecloth over it for camouflage.

            That chore finished, he revised his decision to retrace his steps through the house, opting for some covert outdoors surveillance.  Exiting out the side kitchen door, he made his way quietly along the perimeter of the mansion, towards the large block of windows that looked in on the ballroom.  He had just arrived when a small crunching sound alerted him to a presence behind.  He turned and pulled his punch mere inches from impacting onto Dick's face.  "I thought I taught you to be quieter than that," he groused.

            "I knew it was you.  I wanted to give you enough warning.  Don't need you having another heart attack."  He came up along side Bruce and both of them peered inside.  All of the guests were rounded up and stood in the far corner, hands clasped behind their heads.  Three gunmen stood guard over them.

            "Looks like we got at least five of them," Dick remarked.

            "How do you know that?"

            "Because I found five semi-naked, unconscious bodies in the catering truck back there."

            Bruce nodded.  "Make that four then; I took one out in the kitchen."

            "That's my old man," Dick smirked.

            "What are you doing here anyway?" Bruce asked him.

            "I just came for the show.  You know I'm a sucker for happy endings, even when it's not my own.  Anyway after the ceremony I was heading back down to the road to get my car when I saw these guys acting suspiciously around the truck.  Once they left I checked it out.  I was on my way inside when I heard the gunfire, so I tried the old cave entrance back there," he pointed over his shoulder, "but you've apparently sealed them all off."  Bruce nodded absently.  "So you got a plan?" Dick asked.

            "Yeah.  Take down all the bad guys," he replied dryly.

            "Ha ha."  Dick glanced into the room.  "So where's your girlfriend?"

            "Safe," Bruce replied.

            "Uh, you might want to rephrase that.  Look."  He pointed to the door.  A fourth man entered grasping Mardi by the elbow, hauling her forward so swiftly she fell to her knees before a sandy-haired man with a prominent scar underneath his right eye and a perpetual scowl on his face.

            Bruce watched the exchange between the scarred man and Mardi.  He asked her a question, which she answered, precisely as she should, then he gestured towards the one that brought her in, who then nodded in response and left the room.  The scarred man said something so distinctly to Mardi even someone unable to lip-read would have understood before placing the muzzle of his gun against her head.

            "Let's go."  He grabbed Dick's arm and propelled him forward.  "We don't have much time."