+J.M.J.+

One of Those in Our Midst!

By "Matrix Refugee"

Author's Note:

Arrgh! Even when you have the time, you don't always find the time to get everything accomplished that you set out to do. Add a mildly killer attack of PMS to bad allergies…the Refugee has not been a happy camper lately. Needless to say, she managed to get Chapter VI off to you. It's a much shorter chapter than most of the others, because it started out as the first part of a much longer chapter, but in order to keep my promise, I decided to divide it up. The fun is just beginning…

Disclaimer:

See Chapter I. Also, I am not responsible for which character has feelings for who…or what, as the case may be.

Chapter VI

Wedding Belles

They had breakfast early, in shifts, first the girls, then the menfolk. The girls had to have their hair and faces done at the salon and Cecie had to pick up her contact lenses.

As the menfolk started to move about, the morning quiet shattered: a loud, indignant scream erupted over the garage.

Frank, who'd overslept Kip and Steven by ten minutes, stomped onto the deck and threw open the screen door. He'd thrown on a torn button shirt over his half-fastened pants. Peter, hearing the commotion went to see what was up.

"All right, who did this?" Frank demanded, pointing to his jaw.

Someone had shaved off half of Frank's Van Dyke beard.

Peter turned around. "Christopher Orson Langier!" he shouted. "Matthew Langier…STEPHEN MARIA-JOSEPH CONNELLY! GET IN HERE!!!"

"Forgettin' someone?" Ferde hollered from the upstairs hallway.

"FERDE!"

Ferde, Kip, and Mat came into the back foyer. Stephen followed a few paces behind them. Mat and Stephen looked especially innocent.

"Do any of you know anything about this?" Peter demanded.

"I think Stephen and Mat do," Frank said.

Peter stepped toward the group. "Stephen, come with me," he said, cold-voiced. He clamped his hand on his son's arm.

"Hey, wait, don't lay a hand on him. I just wanted to know who done it," Frank said, trying to stop Peter. "Hey, Peter, let's cool it here. We can be cool about this."

"If he's going to pull stunts like this, he's going to have to be disciplined," Peter said.

"Disciplined?! For God's sake, he's twenty-seven!"

"All the more reason." Peter led his son out to the back part of the house.

"Pete, you still doing that stuff? I tol' yah to' lay off!" Ferde growled, following his brother and his nephew.

"I don't like the looks of that at all," Mat said, shivering.

"Okay, so what actually happened last night?" Frank asked.

"Stephen got some chloroform from a doctor he knows here in town; we put a drop of the stuff a rag and draped it over your nose while you were sleeping," Kip said.

"I did the honors with the razor: all Stephen did was hold the flashlight," Mat said.

"So as usual, the least guilty gets punished," Frank said. "I wondered what that odd smell was when I got up."

"Yeah, like, 'whew! Do I need a bath?'" Mat said.

"Oh, I know I need a bath, for, y' know, the big night."

"So is that him, or is that it?" Cathondra, one of the stylists at Cathy's Cut Hut asked Cecie as she trimmed her hair. Cathondra had glanced up at the huge mirror that covered the whole back wall of the salon. Joe sat in the waiting area behind them, scanning over a magazine. But Cecie noticed his eyes track across the room and his head turn toward where Bernie sat having her hair put up in a French twist.

"Nope, that's him," Cecie replied. She'd let him tag along only to keep him out of mischief, and to keep him out of Peter's way.

Cathondra peered into the mirror again. "Wow, you'd never know he's really one of, y' know, them."

"There's a lot of differences. The better you get to know him, the more you realize what he is. It's little subtle things, like, for instance, watch how his eyes move before he turns his head if he's looking across the room."

Cathondra watched. "Oh yeah, I see whatcha mean. Weird. Still, he's pretty convincing to look at. Is it true?"

"What?"

Cathondra leaned closer to Cecie's left ear as she trimmed the hair there. "Is he better in bed than a real man?"

"I can't say. I haven't 'done it' with him. We're just good friends. The most I ever let myself do is kiss him."

"So how was that?"

Cecie glanced up at the mirror; Joe was eyeing her over the top of the magazine. "That's privileged information."

"Aaaawww, yer no fun!"

"Besides, he knows we're talking about him."

"And he doesn't like that, er…"

"The problem is, he does in a sense. Hearing someone talking about him causes his ego simulator to go into high gear and then it's hard even for me to shift it down."

"Well, that's one way he's no different from most guys." They both chuckled. "So, is it really as wild there as everyone says?"

"It is in most areas, but if you know where the quiet nooks are, it isn't so bad. The crime rate is actually a lot lower than New Boston."

"I couldn't live there, I'd max out my credit cards in no time, unless I found work. How did Phila find a normal guy there?"

"The Orgas who live there are regular folks like us, the sex fiends just come to visit."

"Well, I still can't see the natives there being like the Norman Rockwell types y' find around here."

Cecie shrugged, knocking some hair off her shoulder. "People are people wherever you go."

Cathondra took the sheet off Cecie and brushed her down with a whiskbroom. "How's it look?" She held up a small hand mirror.

"Sweet. You always do a good job."

"Like I've said, you got hair that loves to get trimmed."

Phila had just finished getting her nails done; Cecie drew in a long breath and approached Tami the nail lady's table closer to the front, in the daylight. Tami gave good manicures, but she was an incorrigible gossip and Cecie wasn't sure if she really wanted to hear three years' worth of gossip.

"How yah doin', Cecie?" Tami asked as she sat down.

"Oh, pretty good, a little nervous."

"So 's everyone when they're in a wedding. Hey, we just got a color you might like." She grinned like a mantis and held up a small bottle of neon pink polish. Cecie squinted at the label.

"Oh boy," she laughed. The label read "Rouge City Rose". "That's funny, but it won't go with my dress. I'm wearing black and silver."

"Ooh, dramatic, are we? Okay, you want black with silver tips, or silver with black tips?"

"Black with silver."

Tami worked slowly but efficiently, chattering the whole time. Cecie listened half-heartedly, letting out shallow "Mm"s and "Oh?"s and other conversation fillers wherever it was appropriate. She watched the reflections in the glass of the big framed poster behind the table.

"So I said to Stacia…did you hear about Tracy Gadson's husband?…Emily told me…"

A shadow that looked like Allison Diocletian entered the shop. She paused and chatted with Carla the receptionist, then went to the rear of the shop to have her hair washed. Cecie glanced over her shoulder. Joe peered over the top of the magazine, his eyes following Allison.

"Oh, there's Allison Diocletian. Have you heard about her and Shay?"

"No, what?"

"Well, Shay's been acting really cold toward her, if you haven't noticed. SHE told me he's only been letting her, y' know, with him maybe once a month. So I said, Once a month? Why so little? I mean, you can get Viagra over the counter now. So she said no, it wasn't that and she made all these big excuses about his work and his age and all that, so I said, Honey, I know you can't really expect him to be Lothario at forty-seven, but once a month is stupid! Have you seen the inside of his inbox? She said yes, there wasn't anything there. I said, what about the hard drive on the computer, any pictures there the boys shouldn't see? She said no. So I said, well, was he ever delayed an awful long time coming back from any business trips, y'know, like he stopped in Vegas or Rouge City? She said no, he's always very prompt. So I said well, when did this all start? She said about two months after we had the basement redone last year and he set up the home office down there. So I said, oh, check the closet, it may be in the closet. She said no, they don't have a closet down there that she doesn't already know what's inside. And you know Shay's so cold no other woman would go near him."

"Besides, if he was carrying on with someone else, Peter wouldn't associate with Shay any more."

Cecie peeked over her shoulder. Allison sat in one of the stylist's chairs, chatting with Cathondra about the kind of things women chat about in salons: movies and their kids antics and books they've been reading.

Joe set aside the magazine he'd been scanning over and leaned forward in his chair, elbows on his spread knees, hands clasped between, head lifted, his eyes on Allison. She seemed to ignore his reflection, but after a minute, Cecie noticed Allison's eyes dart to it and look away just as quickly. At the same time, he turned his eyes elsewhere. But as soon as Allison had looked away, Joe turned his eyes back to her. She looked his way again; he dropped his gaze to the floor. She eyed him for a second. His eyes rose, his head lifted; his gaze found hers.

At that point, Bernie got up from her chair, her hair and face finished.

"Oh, Bernie, you look like…like a queen!" Sarah cried.

"Pretty funny-looking queen in an old blouse and a jumper," Bernie said, but her eyes shone, pleased. Her face and eyes seemed to radiate with life; even Joe looked away from Allison to look at her.

On the way back from the salon, Bernie leaned forward in her seat and touched Georgette's arm.

"Georgette, can we stop at the church?" she asked. "I have to talk with Father Kunstler. It's very important."

"All right, but don't let it take too long," Georgette said, turning the cruiser onto the short road that led to St. Edith's.

Cecie, sitting in the back seat between Bernie and Joe, eyed the Mecha on her left. He kept his face averted innocently.

Bernie forced her legs to carry her up the steps to the rectory door and rang the bell. The door opened and Mrs. Blizitsky, the housekeeper and the sacristan's wife, let her in and led her down the hall to Father Kunstler's office.

"He just stepped out for a minute to finish writing his sermon, but he'll be right back," Mrs. Blizitsky said.

Bernie sat alone in the office, with only the ticking of an old-fashioned wind-up clock for company. The gentle tick-tick-tick-tick reminded her of other internal mechanisms, of a gentle white drone barely audible with the ears, a soft voice, those brilliant eyes…

She shook herself. On the morning of her wedding day, of all days!

The door opened and Father Kunstler entered. He was about Diocletian's age and about the same height and weight, though of a much firmer composition, the build of a Russian wrestler, but with the hands of a surgeon and the eye of a psychologist.

"Well, Bernadette, good to see you! I see you've been sprucing yourself up…for Frank?" He sat down in the wide armchair opposite her across the desk.

"Yes, I just came from the salon. I...I'm afraid I need a little sprucing up inside, very badly."

She told him all about the night before, in the garden, in the darkness, of Joe approaching her.

"I don't know what came over me. I wasn't thinking. I just acted. Maybe I was just so nervous and excited, part of me thought he was Frank, I mean, they look so much alike," she concluded.

"I've noticed," Father Kunstler said, nodding. "Yes, that's a hard one to admit, but you won't be the first girl to do something stupid before her wedding in a moment of excitement. I don't think you intended to be unfaithful to Frank, but you were treading on the fringes of some very shaky, if not downright dangerous ground. With all the excitement and the stress you've been under, you may have had a lapse of awareness and this, in some way, caused your will to short out for a second. And these creatures, Mechas, can confuse even the keenest eye, especially this young simulate-fellow. They built him that way. So your brain got confused. Your body and your feelings responded naturally to his attentions. Somehow your will got lost in the shuffle, but as soon as you realized what was really going on, it kicked back in and you stopped this from going any further. Correct?"

"Yes, Father. But isn't it…wouldn't a person fall under interdict for…consorting with…something like that?"

"You've been listening to Father Slope again. Rome is still debating the issue. It would be wrong for you to have, as they say, gone all the way with this fellow. But it probably isn't something so horrible that it requires the Church's special intervention. God knows people have been doing very strange things with very strange objects for a long time. It's only within the last thirty years they made something along those lines that could think for itself, or in this case, himself. But as I understand, they can act only if you have explicitly sought their attentions. I think he probably knows you have no further interest in him. I don't think you could have made it any clearer to him."

"I was so afraid I'd killed—I mean, damaged him."

"As I understand it fortunately or unfortunately, however you want to look at it, these beings are made of sterner stuff than we think."

"In that case, will you hear my confession and absolve me, Father?"

"Certainly." The priest covered his eyes with his left hand as she knelt on the floor. He made the Sign of the Cross over her.

While Bernie went in to make her confession, Cecie went into the church to make a quick visit to the Blessed Sacrament. She sat on the floor before the tabernacle, out of the way of the florists setting the flower arrangements in the sanctuary, and out of the way of the videographer and his crew setting up the cameras. Joe stood behind a nearby pillar, watching her.

Don't let Bernie get stuck with Father Slope; please, send Father Kunstler to help her, she prayed. If I'm guessing correctly about what went on in that garden last night, don't let Bernie's spirit get more smashed up than it may be. She darted a glance at Joe. And don't let our fancy friend get to her again.

Frank had his tattered beard shaved off properly when he had his hair trimmed later that morning. The family had a light lunch of tea and milk and fruit and crackers about 13.00, eating in shifts, first the women, then the men.

"I do not understand this matter of separating the men from their women on the morning of their wedding day," Joe said to Frank as they walked from the house to the garage.

"A lot of people say it's bad luck for the couple to see each other before the ceremony. But actually, it's what's left of an old custom meant to keep the young folk from just running off with each other," Frank explained.

Joe bent his head, his brows pinching slightly. He looked up, "But is that not the crux of the matter? Your being united in an exclusive relationship?"

"Well, it's better if we do it orderly." He patted the Mecha's shoulder in a brotherly manner. "Don't let it get to you, fella. You don't have to worry about it: I do."

"Lucky for me, in this case, that I shall need never to trouble my brain over such matters," Joe said, with thinly veiled pride.

"I dunno, if you weren't of silicon, I think Cecie would want you for her one and only."

"She is not the only one."

About the same time, the flowers showed up. Georgette brought up to Cecie's room the wreath of lavender and white rosebuds Sarah would wear in her hair and the small nosegay of one Argent Cavalier rose and a bit of fern Cecie would wear in her hair, over one ear. Cecie helped Sarah put on her wreath before she pinned the flower into her own hair with crossed bobby pins.

"My goodness, Oh Cecie, you do look like an enchantress!" Sarah cried.

"I will in a minute," Cecie said, taking off her glasses. "I should have got these sooner," she added opening the case that contained the contact lenses.

"What makes you say that?" Sarah asked, hovering behind Cecie and watching her in the mirror.

"Because my hands always start shaking when I try to put these in," Cecie said, opening her eyes as wide as they would go, and tilting her head back to apply her eye drops first. "I'm always afraid I'm going to poke myself in the eye." She held her breath as she put the first one in, then breathed out and drew in another breath before she put the other one in. She blinked; they held.

Stephen, walking rather stiffly with his back arched slightly, carried the box of Argent Cavalier boutonnieres into the dining room where the menfolk had gathered.

"Hey, Steve, can you help me with this? My fingers all turn to thumbs when I try to get these things in," Kip said, fumbling with his.

"I'm afraid that makes two of us," Stephen said. "I never bothered to learn how to fasten a boutonniere; I figured I'd never have to. I always saw myself being the priest who blessed Bernie's wedding."

"May I offer you my assistance?" Joe asked. He already had neatly affixed the silver rose to his lapel.

"We sure could use it," Kip said. He let Joe take the boutonniere and carefully yet quickly pin it to his lapel.

"Is there anything y' don't do perfectly, Joe?" Ferde asked.

"I was designed to be perfect at what I do," Joe replied.

Stephen handed the flower to Joe, letting him attach it. He watched the Mecha's deft fingers at work, with precision and yet with a flair all his own.

Joe smoothed back Stephen's lapel; Stephen looked up. "Thanks, Joe."

"You're welcome, Stephen." Stephen felt an odd sensation pass through him down his spine and along his limbs. This feeling almost eclipsed the dull ache in his tailbone. He looked again into Joe's face, but the Mecha had turned its—his?—face away, looking up.

Graceful footsteps padded down the stairs. A heavy silk dress rustled.

An apparition in black and silver appeared on the landing and descended the stairs slowly, seeming to hover from step to step.

A raven-haired demoiselle descended the flight of steps, her short hair neatly styled back, sleeked against her head like a black silken cap. A single Argent Cavalier rose gleamed against her dark hair. Her dark brown eyes sparkled with a light all their own. As she stepped out from the shadows of the stairwell, the daylight caught on the silver facings on her black satin bodice and flashed off the burnished gray metal color of her wide skirts. Was she real? An apparition? A simulation?

Cecie blinked once, slowly and looked down.

Joe approached the foot of the stairs; as she came to the last step, Cecie held out her hand to him and let him take it in his. He knelt and raised her fingers to his lips.

"My lady, I am your servant," he said, just above a whisper. He kissed her hand.

Cecie reached down with her free hand and ran the palm over the top of his head. She gently tilted it up to hers as she stepped down to the hall floor. He rose to her; for a moment they stood so close, their faces just inches apart, that they looked as if their lips might unite.

Peter cleared his throat, shattering the spell.

"Are Bernie and Phila ready?" he asked.

"Last I knew, they were about to come down," Cecie replied.

"In which case, the bridegrooms had better make themselves scarce," Kip said. "Mat, you got the keys to my cruiser?"

Mat held them up. "Got 'em."

"Good, let's vamoose," Frank said, looking toward the door.

"And how!" Kip cried. The three of them hurried out to front door.

Peter studied Cecie's dress fixedly. "Er, Cecie, don't you have something you can put over…" He passed his hand across his upper chest.

"Peter, it's a late afternoon wedding with an evening reception," she said.

"But you're…showing."

"She does not so anything to which one could object to much, given the present company," Joe argued.

"Not a word out of you, Mecha."

"Aw, lay off, Pete. She ain't showing that much," Ferde cut in.

"It's too much for a wedding."

"I wouldn't say that," Irene said. She had wheeled herself into the room while Peter had been too busy yammering. She looked Cecie up and down. "She looks wonderful."

"You're speaking from a woman's viewpoint. For a man it's too much. She'll turn everyone's head."

"Maybe I am speaking from a woman's viewpoint, but you'd have to be extremely crude-minded to think she's really trying to put a come-hither on anyone."

The arguing ceased. More footsteps pattered on the stairs. Two girls in white descended. The sisters wore matching gowns, except that the bodice of Bernie's was patterned with iridescent sequins and Phila's was patterned with clear sequins and she had more lace at the high collar and cuffs. Bernie held back for a second, but Phila looked up at her, nodding to her to come down. Georgette and Alice followed them carrying the boxes with their veils, with Sarah lingering in the shadows. Reluctantly, Bernie came down, her eyes downcast with apparent modesty, but Cecie noticed her cheek twitch nervously.

"Are we all set now?" Peter asked.

"We are, at least, I am. Are you all right, Bern?" Phila asked.

"I'll be okay, just nerves, that's all, just nerves," Bernie said.

Peter and Ferde led the two brides out. Stephen helped Irene, with Georgette, Alice, and Sarah following.

"All of a sudden, I'm nervous," Cecie said, turning to Joe as he gave her his arm and they headed out after the others.

He caressed her hand with his free hand. "If I could sense this sensation, I would bear it for you."

"You wouldn't want to," she said. "And no more displays like that back there on the stairs, or we'll end up stealing the day from the happy couples."

"I could not help my acknowledging the splendor of your beauty."

She glanced up and down him. Fortunately for them all, the tailor had located an emerald green cummerbund, which matched his eyes, in contrast with the black cummerbund Frank wore. Less cause for confusion now. "You look dashing."

"I always look dashing," he said, with pride.

She poked him as he opened the front door for her. "Not another word of that."

The cars and cruisers in the parking lot of the church had overflowed onto the street by the time they arrived.

Cecie helped Bernie with her veil in the anteroom off the vestibule, but while Georgette inspected her work, Cecie surreptitiously peered out into the chapel.

"Did you invite the whole town?" she asked Phila, grinning.

"We just invited all our friends," Phila said, innocently, as Georgette dithered with her veil.

"Why, is that makin' you change yer mind about who or is it what you got for a wedding escort?" twitted Carton Jacobi, one of the ushers. "Heavy on the escort." He eyed Joe, who ignored his remark, and added. "There'd be nothing for the gossips to talk about tomorrow."

"At the risk of sounding unchristian, they'd be talking about how bad you looked," Phila said.

"Or worse still, they would make note of the fact that the top of your head levels with Cecie's chin," Joe put in primly, holding his head a little higher.

Carton glared up at the Mecha. "Hey, I do not take insults from machines. I've never been insulted by a machine before—"

"Yes, you were. What about the night the floorwasher spat the dirty water all over you?" Cecie said.

"That doesn't count; the floorwasher isn't smart—in more ways than one!" Carton said, taking his place in the vestibule with the other ushers: Diocletian, in the regalia of a Knight of Columbus, his dress sword at his side, Diocletian's older son Brendan, and Margi Donne's cousin Donald.

Above them, the organist started to play the prelude, the melody from Prokofieff's "Wedding of Kije". The wedding party moved out into the vestibule, arranging themselves in order. Phila, at the back, gripped Peter's arm; Bernie, on Ferde's arm, let out a little sob.

"You 'kay, Bern?" he asked. "You don't have to go through with it, y' know. If you want to back out now, now's th' best time."

"Ferde, please," Peter started.

"No, it's all right, I just had a bad fit of nerves. I'm okay," Bernie said, recovering.

Joe, at Cecie's side, peered back at Bernie, but she had dropped her eyes to her bouquet, refocusing.

Dina poked Cecie in the leg. "I think my grandma's telling the truth about your friend," she said, out loud.

"Shut up, Dina Bax!" Diocletian ordered, even louder.

One good use for his nastiness, Cecie thought.

Lord, don't let me faint.

Though it wouldn't be so bad: Joe would gladly catch you.

Not in front of everybody!

Does it matter?

Well…heck, no!

The organist segued into Jeremiah Clarke's "Trumpet Voluntary and Air"; on the opening brass-like chords, the ushers lined up two and two and marched out, arms length apart.

At the gracefully accented midsection, the bridesmaids proceeded, two by two; Sarah bore herself like the princess bridesmaid she looked like.

Toward the last measures of the midsection, Cecie nudged Joe's arm slightly. He glanced at her; stepping as one, they took their place in the archway. She glanced at him and dropped him a wink. He winked back.

On the first chord of the repeat of the opening melody, they stepped out onto the aisle, down the white satin carpet. She noticed people in the congregation eying Joe questioningly, even coldly. Whispers and murmurs ran through the gathering--"Who's that with Cecie Martin?"—"Who'd she bring along with her?"—"Who is that young man?"—"Not who, what."—"What do you mean?"—"Didn't you hear?"—"Is he a man?"—"No, he's…one of those; didn't you know?"—"Well, I never!"—"That's what comes of her moving out of Westhillston."—"You know she moved to that city across the Delaware, didn't you?"—"And now she's brought one of those with her?"—"How dreadful, one of those in our midst!"—"Well, you can say what you like, he's darn handsome."

The comments rolled off Cecie's shoulders as she and her escort proceeded to the sanctuary and took their places to the left, across from Mat, Kip and Frank. She'd gotten the results she'd expected: the noses of Westhillston were now out of joint.

A brief, thrilling pause ensued, then the organist played the quiet rippling chords of the melody from the opera aria "Casta Diva". The ring bearer approached the sanctuary, actually picking up his feet, carrying the wedding rings on a small square of white satin trimmed with white lace. The flower girl followed, not quite so mincing, followed scattering pink and white rose petals behind her.

Then all rose. Phila, on Peter's arm, came down the aisle; Bernie followed, holding Ferde's arm less tightly than before. Phila had kept her calm radiance, but Bernie's smile had just returned, though a few beads of nervous sweat showed on her neck.

Cecie later swore that, as Kip came to join his bride at the foot of the sanctuary, and as Cecie let go of Joe's arm to take Phila's bouquet, she felt the simulated pulse in his arm start to quicken. Bernie clearly only had eyes for Frank from that point on, but Joe's eye was on her again.

To be continued…

Afterword:

I had hoped to get to the rowdy reception scene, but that ended up being a chapter all its own, probably the longest so far. Lots of fun stuff in store then, including the three things that have to happen for a party to be a success: someone breaking a dish (make that dishes), someone having too much to drink (even I couldn't foresee who would get drunk), and someone tickling the wrong woman (now who would do that, and who would he tickle?).

Literary Easter Eggs:

Frank's half-shaved beard—I modified a bit from the Internet's Greatest List of Practical Jokes, on alt.rec.shenanigans. Someone posted a bit about the outrageous pranks he and his friends played on his brother-in-law at his (the brother-in-law's) wedding: amongst other indignities, they shaved off half the guy's mustache while he was asleep the night before.

Cathy's Cut Hut—I based the layout of this salon somewhat on the beauty parlor where I get my hair trimmed, but none of the beauticians in this chapter resemble any of the gals at the real salon (Hair's to you, Cindy, if you're reading this!). Also, Tami the nail lady is based on the equally gossipy manicurist in the 1943 movie The Women (The dullest movie I ever watched: the entire cast is female!!! Not a single male appears in the film.).

Cecie's appearance on the stairs—I listened to the exquisite "Presentation of the Rose" from Richard Strauss's opera Der Rosenkavalier as I drafted this scene. The whole little bit at the foot of the stairs is meant to dimly shadow the action of this particular scene in the opera. (see also the note on Argent Cavalier roses after Chapter II to see how this ties in with "A.I.")

Spitting floorwasher—This happened in the grocery store I used to work in, but it didn't happen to the guy who was the model for Carton Jacobi.