+J.M.J.+
One of Those in Our Midst!
By "Matrix Refugee"
Author's Note:
At last, the long awaited rowdy, successful par-tay, also known as Phila and Kip's and Bernie and Frank's Comedy Reception! Enjoy! (Joe has caught my eye, and the band is playing a tango…No wait, it's one of his soundfiles.)
Disclaimer:
See Chapter I. I'm still not responsible for who breaks dishes, who gets drunk, or who gets a crush on whom…or what. Also, I'm not trying to pick on Greek folks, either, only the stubborn ones (I worked for some stubborn Greek folks for two years, so I'm entitled to a little gentle teasing.).
Chapter VII
Argent Cavalier
When the wedding party returned to the house after the ceremony and the Mass, an unfamiliar vancruiser stood parked out front, double-parked alongside the vancruiser belonging to Lenny Wilson, leader of a local society band Peter had hired.
Once they had piled out of the cars, Peter approached the two vans. He found Lenny and his group trying to convince a group of Greek musicians that they, the Hotspots, had been hired to play at the wedding reception at 121 Maple Street. The more Lenny and his group tried to argue with Ion Papadopoulos and his boys, the more the Greeks refused to yield and the more vociferous they got—in Greek, no less. They seemed to understand English perfectly, but for some reason they refused to speak it or accept any arguments in anything but their own tongue.
"Someone here know Greek?" Lenny yelled.
Frank left Bernie's side and joined the group. "I know some," he said. He tried to explain the situation, but he clearly kept stumbling over the words; the Greek band regarded him with scornful grins. When he finished speaking they laughed uproariously.
"Did I say something funny?" Frank asked of no one in particular.
Joe approached the group on the lawn. "Might I offer my assistance? I am fluent in twelve languages including Greek," he offered.
"Go ahead, Joe," Peter sighed, throwing up his hands in desperation.
Joe obliged, explaining the situation to the intruders with the intonation and body language of a native. The Greeks listened in suspicious bewilderment, but they soon gave way to grumbling acceptance and started lugging their instrument cases back to their van.
"Next time have you shiny friend tell us we were on the wrong street," Ion informed Peter in perfect English.
"I suppose if we'd let them stay and had you dance for them with a table balanced on your head, we'd be their friends for life and they'd make you an honorary Greek," Frank said. "Then we'd have another thing in common."
"Perhaps I could oblige them," Joe said, betraying barely veiled pride at his accomplishment. "Are you indeed an honorary Greek?"
"Unfortunately, yeah. My sister married a Greek guy, and I went a little crazy at the reception.
"Okay, in that case, why were these guys dissing me?"
"At the risk of uttering criticism, your pronunciation lacked the proper intonation and your idiom had too many flaws."
While the band set up and the waiters finished preparing the tables out in the marquee, in Georgette's room, Alice and Cecie helped Phila and Bernie gather the trains of their gowns.
"I hope you're not going to get involved in any wild pranks," Phila said to Cecie.
"Who, me?" Cecie asked with phony innocence.
"I suppose, when you find your dark knight and he asks for your hand in marriage and to be the lady of his castle, you'll have a train so long you'll need a page to carry it," Bernie said to Sarah.
"First he has to find me, and that's gonna be a long time before that happens," Sarah said.
Brendan Diocletian stuck his face around the open door. "Uncle Peter and Aunt Georgette want you out in the yew tunnel: the guests are showing up."
"Tell him we're coming," Alice said.
Perhaps the one thing Cecie detested most about being a member of the wedding was the receiving line: greeting and shaking hands with people she hardly knew, some she heartily disliked, some she knew heartily disliked her. She didn't detest the courtesy of it, just the insincerity of having to be polite to people she knew were snubbing her in the back of their minds; best not to stoop to their level. Phila's graciousness was worthy of a princess, perhaps Diana of Wales, the "People's Princess" of two centuries ago; Kip used his regular guy charm to his advantage: he seemed utterly at ease with it. Bernie kept up a front of polite shyness, the proverbial "blushing bride", but Cecie could tell she was terrified; Frank took up the slack for his nervous bride very capably.
Joe stood behind Cecie in a recess of the yew tunnel, out of the way. She decided it the best course of action—or else he'd be readily cataloguing the names and faces of the ladies for future reference and retrieval, if he wasn't already.
But some things happened as she expected. Clara Purvey wore one of her big, weird hats that looked more like a fruit bowl with all the weensy fake grapes and bananas and apples around the band; Dina giggled at it until Cecie discreetly kicked her. Mrs. Derek Anderson (widowed) brought along Skippy, her miniature fox terrier. Autumn and Jake Frost had come with their four-year-old son, who'd brought along a plastic baseball bat: "You'll have to excuse Kris," Autumn explained to Georgette, "He wouldn't come unless we let him bring his bat."
"Eep-kay your aye-yay on the id-kay with the at-bay," Frank hissed to Kip, in Pig Latin.
But at length the last guests had arrived and the wedding party was let free to mingle with the crowd—or not. Cecie chatted with a few high school classmates, introducing Joe to them. He got the reactions Cecie expected: thinly disguised interest from a few, nervy politeness from most. The rest tried to act as if the situation were perfectly normal.
"Oh yes, my mother, uh told me about how her college roommate had, uh, one of…uh, those," said Evelyn Stang, trying to maintain the proper "butter won't melt in my mouth" tone of voice.
"When her mother was in college, they hadn't come up with things like you," Cecie hissed to Joe after Evelyn moved on.
The next reaction had them both chuckling afterward. Keane Frost, Jake's younger brother came up to Cecie and Joe, looking the Mecha up and down. "Well, that's the weirdest lookin' guy I've ever seen you with, Cecie," Keane declared. "Is he queer?"
"I am not precisely of that orientation," Joe replied calmly. "In fact, I may be more adept with the ladies than you are."
"Figgers, he took my gal," Keane muttered, sidling away.
"Not that I ever was his girl," Cecie informed Joe.
"Small wonder it is that you were not."
The wedding supper was served sit-down style. Someone had mistakenly put a setting at Joe's place, but before Cecie could call the waitress to quietly rectify the matter, Joe had himself delicately inverted first the water glass, then the wind glass, then the plate after turning his chair back to front. The waitress looked baffled, but Joe calmly explained himself to her.
"I am Mecha."
"Oh…that's right, you're…one of those." She moved on rather too quickly.
"I should have warned you about the locals: they're not accustomed to your kind at all," Cecie said to him. "You're not in Rouge City anymore."
At length, Father Kunstler rose and prayed the blessing before the meal; Cecie heard Peter mutter something about the prayer not being specifically Catholic. Then, once the priest was seated, Mat rose to offer the first toast.
"I'm no darn good at stuff like this, so I'm gonna keep it short. I've known Kip all my life, use t' baby-sit him when his folks went out for the night on weekends ["Who was babysitting who?" Kip retorted.], an' Phila I've known about, oh, a year and a half now. I'm not gonna say a lot of guff about how he's the best cousin I ever had and how he's like a brother, and a bunch of junk like that, or how Phila's the best person who ever happened to him and how she's gonna be the best sock mender he'll ever have ["Huh?" Phila said, mock indignant]. I just wanna say, here's to Phila and Kip, and here's to next several dozen years of forever they got together."
Kip got up after Mat had sat down—on a buzzer Frank had palmed onto the seat. "Gee, Mat, that was, uh, really boring." This got the guests laughing. "I can honestly say that I've known Frank about three years now; Bernie I'm not sure about since she keeps hiding from me behind Phila's back, or Frank's as the case may be, so I'm afraid to admit today's the first day I really saw her face ["Yeah, right!" Bernie said, half-muffled by the laughter.]. Frank came into my shop needing a new axel bearing for his cruiser, and he's talking in this very fake sounding Aussie accent ["N(eh)o Aye wassn't!"], so I thought to myself, 'Who's this wise guy?' Three years later I hear from Phila that the little shadow behind her back has a gentleman friend, a guy named Frank Sweitz, who reports for the St. Louis Dispatch. So I start thinking, 'Frank Sweitz, wasn't he the guy who almost paid with Australian money because he'd just got back from the land down under and he had forgotten to exchange the last of it? He's seeing the mystery girl? Talk about opposites attracting!' But I've gotten to know the both of them better these past couple weeks, and I've discovered they're made for each other. Frank is wacky but hard working, just wild enough that life for Bernie will never be dull, and Bernie will give him the kind of quiet and peace he needs to regroup after a long day of interviewing alligators [More laughter.]. He won't have to wonder where she's been all day ["Especially if she's been hiding behind his back!" Cecie yelled.], and Bernie won't have to endure a husband who comes home and hides behind the newspaper every night [The guests laughed uproariously.]. So here's to Bernie and Frank, that you may have many years together of love and laughter and ups and downs in the proper amounts."
Once Kip sat down, Frank got up, holding his glass. "In that case, maybe I should return the favor…I've reported on and written about some really strange things, everything from a guy who plays the accordion with his feet, to a party in Rouge City that's been going on for two years—"
"Four years!" Cecie called out.
"Correction: it has been in progress for four years, two months, nine days—"
"Thanks for the accuracy, Joe," Frank said, pretending to type one-handed in mid-air. "But perhaps the wildest story I've ever covered is one I haven't written about, though someday I should. I mean the story about how Phila and Bernie met Kip and Frank. The beginning has been a great journey so far. I imagine there'll be some wild plot twists and jolts, but its gonna be fun writing, I can see that much. So here's to the story of our lives!"
For their first dance as married couples, the young pairs had chosen the Waltz from Der Rosenkavalier. First Kip and Phila took the floor, then Bernie and Frank. When most of the wedding party and many of the guests had taken to the floor—and Kip had even lifted a laughing Irene out of her chair to carry her as he glided across the floor—only then did Cecie glance up at Joe, who had been eyeing her expectingly.
"May I have this dance?" he asked, bowing to her and offering his hand.
"Of course," she said.
The sun set over the land as the first dance played on. The pale sky darkened to a dark blue; the first stars came out, silvery against the deep velvet backdrop overhead.
To Cecie's utter expectation, several girls tried to cut in on her and Joe, but they politely acted as if these intruders were not there. She spotted Brendan Diocletian trying to get Sarah to dance with him, but she drew herself up in a stately posture of refusal, like a princess dismissing the attentions of a peasant. Cecie saw the young girl's gaze follow her
"I gather our young Miss Sarah wishes to dance with me," Joe remarked.
"I think so, too, but if she had the chance, she'd flatly refuse."
"Why would she refuse, when she desires it?"
"She's at an awkward age, all she can do is feel the feelings of desire and attraction, but she's too young to fully give or take what it requires." He looked puzzled for a moment, but he soon relaxed his face.
Cecie thought she saw Stephen talking to Terry Hawks, the girl he'd seen before he entered the seminary, a tall, willowy blonde, clearly asking her to dance with him, but she could see the gentle refusal in the girl's posture. Carton Jacobi came up to her and offered her his hand, which she took.
As the first dance came to an end, the gathering applauded, first the brides and grooms, then the band. Suddenly an awful crash shattered the air.
A waiter collecting plates tried to grab the Frost's son, but the little rascal scurried away under a table, brandishing his bat and scattering bits of broken china all over the floor. Jake lunged after his son, diving under the table.
"Well, they say in Samoa that a party isn't a success until three things have happened: someone breaks a dish, someone has too much to drink, and someone else has tickled the wrong woman," Frank declared. "So I say this party is off to a smashing start!"
"Frank, don't let anyone hear that third part: we have two guys here with one-track minds: one who can help it, and one who can't!" Cecie called out.
Phila and Bernie had both placed their bouquets before the statue of Mary at the church, so they each had a nosegay with a few white flowers and an Argent Cavalier rosebud, for the moment the unattached girls had been waiting for. As the two sisters made their way to the middle of the floor, the unmarried women gathered behind them for the "bouquet" toss.
"Let's see who the lucky girls will be," Lenny announced over the sound system, as the drummer beat a low drum roll. Frank hollered something ridiculous in the background. "What's that, Frank? Oh… You hear that, Mrs. Langier and Mrs. Sweitz? This is the kind of brother-in-law you have, Mrs. Langier: he says 'Ready…aim…fire!'" Cecie laughed appreciatively. Some of the girls groaned. "Okay, let's see who the lucky girls will be."
Phila tossed her nosegay. The girls scrambled for it…and Priscilla Machan caught it. Phila hugged her ecstatically. Then Bernie got ready to toss her nosegay…Cecie saw it coming right for her and jumped up, pulling it out of the air.
"But who's Cecie gonna marry next year? It can't be…him," Winifred said, just audible over the cheers and clapping and laughter from the crowd.
"I'm so glad for you," Bernie said, hugging the taller girl.
"Thanks," Cecie said.
"And now, the gents' turn," Lenny announced. "See who next year's unfortunates are." The unattached men shuffled onto the floor. Mat and Jake even dragged a slightly bewildered Joe into the midst of the throng. "Okay, ready, Kip? No, wait a minute. Hold it a second there. What's wrong with these guys? Anyone know?" A pause; some of the girls tittered. "These guys look like they're waiting for a bus—except for the out-of-towner, the Gene Kelly-wannabe." Carton, at the back of the crowd kept bouncing up and down, trying to see over everyone else's heads. "And it looks like the U.S. championship pogo-sticker is back there. Let the little guy come up front." Carton elbowed his way to the front. "There. That's better. But we need something else, something to shape these guys up. Where are Cecie and Priscilla? Could you girls come out here?" Carton started eyeing Priscilla desirously as she came up to the front of the crowd. Cecie sought out Joe's eyes, but she found them already gazing at her. "Atta girls. Okay now. Ready, Kip?"
"Ready!"
Kip tossed the key over his shoulder—a blank he'd bought from the hardware store. The guys pounced on it—except Joe—but Carton surfaced with the key dangling from between his teeth.
"Oh, the little guy got lucky!" The band played an off key fanfare. "Okay, who's next? Frank? All roight, mayte, show us yer frowin' skills yer learned from them abo-riginnies in the outback." The band played a few bars of "My Boomerang Won't Come Back." Frank made like he was throwing a boomerang. Some of the guys fell over each other, trying to catch something.
"That wasn't it!" Frank called, grinning. Cecie giggled.
The drummer beat a quiet drum roll. Frank stood calmly, then suddenly he whirled the key over his head and skimmed it over his shoulder. The guys charged after it, but the key hit the floor and slid to a stop at Joe's feet. He stooped gracefully and picked it up, just as Jake made a grab for it. Joe stood up and eyed the key for a few seconds, then put it in his pocket.
"Hey, no fair! The fiberhead got it!" Jake yelled.
"Sorry, Jake," Frank shrugged.
"Who got the key? Could they hold it up?" Lenny asked. Joe obliged. "Oh, the out-of-towner got lucky."
"What is it for?" Joe asked Cecie.
"It's a crazy custom, folks do it for fun. If you catch the key, supposedly you'll be married within the year."
Joe put the key in her hand and closed her fingers over it. "You will have more use for it."
Shortly after that, at Frank's request—he even palmed twenty Newbucks into Lenny's hand—the band struck up a conga melody. The younger folk started a conga chain that stretched across the dance floor and out onto the lawn. The line double-backed and crossed over itself, which caused some crazy collisions and domino effect tumbles. Cecie and Joe got caught in a pile up, with Cecie laughing her head off under an utterly bewildered Joe, who tried at first to extricate her, which only made the pile up laughably worse, when he pulled her on top of him. Noticing she was laughing uproariously, he laughed gently as well.
"No more conga chains, I mean it!" Peter yelled.
"You may as well tell the stars not to shine," Father Kunstler said, laughing.
Frank extricated himself from the pile-up at the head of the line and looked up at the sky. "Hey, stars, you can save yer light! We got plenny of it down here!"
"I don't see them going out, Frank," Lenny called.
"Nuts! Nothing listens to me!" Frank groaned, pretending to mope away. Bernie giggled hysterically.
"Let me go find the master switch," Kip said, pretending to roll up his sleeves.
Through the next dances, Cecie noticed Stephen wasn't among the crowd on the floor. Terry was dancing with Jake…so where was Stephen? She finally spotted him sitting alone near the bar, nursing what looked like a glass of scotch.
"He has a mournful air about him," Joe noted, as the band played "Begin the Beguine".
"I don't like the looks of that. Here, I'll be back for the dance after this—I try to get them to play a tango." Cecie insinuated. She thought she told him to wait up for her.
She approached Stephen. "Hey, Steve, why so glum?"
"Oh, Terry doesn't want to dance with me," he said, studying the quarter-inch of scotch on the bottom of the glass.
"That's why I'm here."
"I figured you'd be dancing the next set with Joe."
"Not with your face looking like ten miles of bad road."
"Okay." He set the glass on a table and led her to the floor.
Allison Diocletian sat alone at a table with Winifred Bax and Mrs. Anderson, whose dog scuttled about under the table, yipping.
"Now why would one of those catch the key?" Winifred said. "There has to be something to it."
"Oh, don't be silly, Winnie. The key dropped by…it, so it picked it up out of curiosity."
"Are…those things curious?"
"They inspect things they aren't familiar with."
Allison turned away from this conversation. A shadow fell over her. She glanced up, hoping Shay had come back from having a smoke with some of his friends, in the walled garden.
"I could not help but notice that you were alone, Allison," said a voice with a lordly British accent. She looked up.
Cecie's friend Joe stood before her. "Yes, Shay and a few others, men he works with, went up to the garden for a cigarette."
"And he left you alone with no one to dance with? If you wish, I can fulfill this deficiency."
"Oh, no, I shouldn't…I couldn't."
He smiled on her. "The stars in your eyes tell me otherwise." She looked up into his face, then his proffered hand.
"One dance won't kill me." She rose and took his hand, letting him lead her into the galaxy of couples.
Sarah watched all this from the sidelines. Now Mrs. Diocletian was dancing with that…that Mecha. She couldn't do that, could she? He was with Cecie after all.
But then, looking across the dance floor, she spotted Cecie dancing with Stephen. What was going on? If Diocletian knew about this, he'd be awful mad. But then, shouldn't he be dancing with his own wife? What was the matter with him?!
She got up and looked around for Diocletian. You couldn't miss him: he was so tall. He wasn't in the tent, and he wasn't on the edge of the dance floor among the knots of folk talking there. She went across the bridge.
She saw him in the walled garden, talking with a group of men she knew only as business friends of Uncle Peter. She went up to Diocletian.
"Excuse me." He ignored her. She tapped his arm with a trembling hand. "Mr. Diocletian?"
He turned, looking down at her over his shoulder, none too pleased. "What is it, girl?"
"I have something important to tell you."
"About what?"
"It's about that friend of Cecie's"
"What about it?"
"He's dancing with your wife."
He turned completely around to her. "What?" His bushy brows snarled together over his tiny eyes.
"Go look for yourself." Sarah darted back, hoping to hide in the crowd. Now she was in for it.
Diocletian saw his wife whirl by across the dance floor, in the arms of—yes, the girl had been right—in the arms of that…that robot of Cecie's acquaintance. And Allison was gazing up at it with a look in her eyes he hadn't seen for a while.
He tried to cut through the swarm that blocked his path, but someone caught him by the wrist.
"Oh, Mr. Diocletian, would you oblige a dotty old lady by dancing just once with her?" Clara Purvey asked. Her hat looked like the produce section.
"I really can't; I have to go find my wife—"
"She's got someone else for now, so why not let's you and me make the most of it, eh, son?" Her eyes twinkled mischievously.
"All right, one dance."
Soon enough for Diocletian, the band played the last chords. The couples separated and applauded the band. Diocletian let Clara go a little too abruptly and went after his wife.
He found her sitting where he had left her earlier, her cheeks glowing from exertion. A new light showed in her eyes.
"Excuse me, Mr. Diocletian," said a young man's voice at his elbow. He turned and found himself looking down into the face of Joe the sex-Mecha.
"What do you want?"
"I want but a word with you: about your wife—"
Diocletian grabbed the thing by the arm, close to the shoulder—God, his whole hand encircled its bicep, or whatever it had there. "You stay away from my wife, y' hear? You leave her alone. She doesn't need you or anything you think you have to offer. She has me." He let the thing go so suddenly it stepped back to right itself—and maybe to avoid another onslaught.
Joe had picked up much useful data about Allison while he had danced with her. He could tell, by the scent of her skin and the pheromones she gave off, that she hadn't had a decent night in a man's arms in months, if not years. He rescanned the data as he watched Diocletian stride up to where Allison sat.
"A man who will ignore her as you do risks losing her to one who will pay court to her and soothe her heart," Joe remarked slyly and went to find Cecie.
"Thanks, Cecie. I really enjoyed that—gosh, that sounds lame," Stephen fumbled.
"'S okay. You've been uptight, having to leave the seminary, trying to find a job, and now with Terry ignoring you. It gets to you."
"Yeah. But you helped."
"Glad it did. I gotta run and find Joe before he finds the wrong woman to tickle."
"If he hasn't already," Stephen teased.
Cecie spotted Joe coming toward her through the crowd coming off the floor. She decided to thwart him a little and changed her direction. He turned on his heel and followed her. She let him catch up to her.
"Was that Allison Diocletian I saw you dancing with?" she asked.
"That was she, yes," he replied, open-faced.
Cecie cuffed his arm. "You naughty thing! I thought I told you to wait up for me."
"Did you?" he asked, innocently.
"Don't tell me you shut off your sensors so you couldn't hear me!"
"I cannot do that."
"Well, just for that, bad Mecha! No tango!" She started to walk away, but he gave her that irresistible sad-puppy look out of the corner of his eyes.
"Should you abandon me, that will only encourage my waywardness," he said.
She turned back. "You win."
"You knew I would."
They approached the band. Lenny and a few of the musicians were sorting through a few sheet music files.
"Hey, Lenny, you still taking requests?" Cecie asked.
"Sure, Cecie, whatcha have in mind?"
"Could you play 'La Cumprasita', the long version?" she asked. "Joe and I thought we'd give the Norman Rockwell crowd a very slight taste of what it's like in Rouge City—or Buenos Aires, for that matter—so we're gonna give 'em a bit of a show."
"Keep it clean, we got minors here," he warned gently. "Sure thing. Oh, and don't let this on to either of the happy couples, but you two together make a lovelier pair than both of them put together."
"I should certainly hope so," Joe said. Cecie poked his ankle with her foot.
"But how shall we present this?" he asked her.
"Just approach me as if I were any other customer hoping for a tango; I'll play along."
She sat down at a table, her back to the floor. Joe paced the floor, long stepping, his tails flipped back, head up, chest lifted, shoulders squared, one hand behind his back, the other on his hip. His eyes swept the crowd, but most often, they came to rest on Cecie.
The accordion player sounded off a few introductory chords, warming up.
"Imagine yourself, folks," Lenny began, setting the scene. "Imagine yourself in Buenos Aires in the early 1900s, in a smoky basement café, or maybe a balmy night in a palm court, open to the night sky overhead. Couples at tables are chatting, flirting, laughing together. An accordionist in the band plays a few notes, warming up. A few other musicians slowly join in, preparatory to the next dance. And alone at a table sits a beautiful girl, a lovely girl, a lonely girl, looking for love or perhaps lost a love, seeking to drown her sorrows in the thrills of the night and its pleasures.
"And out on the dance floor, a lone gigolo, a young man, a dancer, achingly handsome, dark and mysterious as the night, watches the lonely girl, paces, waits with eager patience for the first pulsing notes of that dance of which he is the king, the dance that sets every young lover's pulse thrilling, that dance, the tango!"
The accordionist swung into the brash opening chords. Joe spun on his heel and approached Cecie from behind, his steps perfectly timed to the rhythm. She half-turned to him in her chair, pretending to barely notice him. He danced for her, solo, for a moment, as if to say, If to watch me is to earn my admiration, to dance with me is to win my adoration. He came up level with her, stopping before her with a few heel stamps carefully timed to the accented chords. She turned away, feigning cold disdain. He drew a rose from the bowl on the table and offered it to her. She took it and dropped it on the table, letting him draw her to him. As he whirled her to the middle of the floor, their foreheads brushed each other. She leaned back, ecstatic, in his arms, her lower body against his. He stepped back several paces, dragging her gently before she matched her steps to his, sinking against him, her gaze mesmerized by his.
Other couples joined them, hesitating at first, but then growing confident. Even the Diocletians stepped out, although Shay nearly knocked Allison to the floor a couple times.
Cecie hardly noticed. She'd danced the tango with him before this, but not like this…not with such ardor. She felt her legs nearly give way under her as Joe leaned over her in a hesitation dip. T.S. Eliot wasn't kidding when he called dancing "a vertical expression of a horizontal yearning." More than once, their faces came so close, she nearly kissed him on impulse. He would have yielded, but now was neither the time nor the place.
The gently fierce pressure of his tight body against hers sent her temperature rising. She thanked heaven she'd chosen a sleeveless dress, she felt the perspiration break out over her back. But most of all, she sensed a different kind of fire glowing in his steady gaze, locked to hers, unwavering, brilliant, growing more ardent till she could bear it not longer and nearly cried out in delighted pain.
Her foot slipped under her as the band played the coda. She sank back, panting, on her heel, Joe on top of her, straddling her, nearly pushing her to the floor. He somehow salvaged their final pose. She smiled nervously at him as he rose and lifted her, still breathing hard, to her feet.
The crowd around the dance floor roared with applause and cheers. Even Kip and Phila, and Frank and Bernie came to them, applauding.
"You show-stealers!" Phila cried, pretending to be angry.
"One does what one can," Joe said, with a light shrug as he lead Cecie off the floor.
"I better sit the next dance out," she said, still panting, as he helped her to a chair. "That was great. That was really great."
"This was not your first tango, but this was the first time you could appreciate it with me at length and enjoy it to the full," he said.
"How could you tell?" she asked.
"You followed my lead better than any other partner I have had."
"And how many would that be?"
He processed this for a moment. "Two-hundred and thirty one."
"That many?"
"Most were hopelessly inept, but they too, must have their delight."
Frank came up a moment later, with Mat at his heels. "Hey, Cecie, we, uh, need your help," Frank said, in a conspiratorial whisper.
"Doing what?" she asked. "Give me a minute, I gotta catch my breath."
Frank took a ball of twine from his pocket. "Stringing Kip and Phila's room," he said. "C'mon."
"Only if you let my partner come along."
"He can keep watch, we need a good pair of eyes," Mat said.
The four of them slipped away up to the house.
Mat tittered as they crept up the stairs to the second floor. Frank and Cecie shushed him. Joe looked down the stairs, wary-eyed.
"It's the room on the right, right?" Frank asked.
"No, it's on the other right," Mat said. "I heard Irene talking with Ma about the, uh, bridal suites."
"Good. I wouldn't want to be heading up to meet with Bernie and walk in on Kip and Phila, y' know."
Mat opened the door and put on the light. He produced a ball of twine from his pocket and tossed another one to Cecie. They set Joe as a guard in the hallway.
"You see anyone come up, you duck into the room and close the door quietly," Frank ordered him.
"That much I can do," Joe replied, calmly.
"Oh, the practical jokes I have played," Frank said, threading string around a chair leg.
"Tell us about 'em," Cecie said.
"I'll only tell you the doozies…I finished college at the University of Saskatoon; now don't ask me how I ended up in Canada. That's not the point. The point is, I never played so many practical jokes on people in one academic year that I pulled there. One major stunt involved that insulation foam that comes in a spray can, which expands to many times its previous volume when you spray it out."
"I think I know what you mean," Cecie said.
"My dad's a builder, uses it all the time," Mat said, threading the string through the drawer handles.
"We sprayed a whole can into the room of this one preppie type, which turned it into a solid block of foam."
"Uh oh!" Cecie giggled.
"Yeah, imagine this guy trying to get into his room when he got back! He couldn't even swing the bloody door in.
"Then the next good one involved this one guy who had made life hell for everyone on that floor of the dorm where I lived. One Saturday in winter, when we knew he was out for a few hours, a bunch of us got together in the yard and rolled a huge snowball. I mean," he looked around and pointed to the rocking chair in the corner. "That sucker was as big around as that chair. He came back several hours later and found it melting on his rug."
"Oh boy," Mat groaned, grinning.
"But the craziest one involved the girl in the room across from mine. But first, uh, Cecie, make sure Joe isn't listening to this one, because it kind of involves some, er, misconduct toward one of his kind."
"I have hardly heard much of what has been said," replied a soft voice in the hallway.
"Okay, this girl had one of the old-model lover-Mechas, I mean, this plasticky-looking hunk of junk—in all senses of the word. It was some low-number model like a J-M 23 or something."
"Oh yeah, Big Jim we call it. There's one that pests me once in a while outside the laundromat, but I found out I could blow it off with a strategically tossed glass soda bottle. For that matter, Joe would thank you for mistreating one of them." Cecie said, tying a string to the lampshade.
"I beg to differ with you, Cecie: I would not."
"He is listening," Mat growled.
"Go on, Frank."
"She wasn't supposed to have the thing in the dorm room, but she had it anyway, and no amount of talks from the dorm matron could convince her to leave it home. Well, the dorm matron knew my friends Jake and Bo and I loved to play pranks on people, so she enlisted our aide. Ssssoooooooo…we stole this male mannequin thing from the fashion design school next door, brought it to Tina's room when she was out, deactivated the Mecha—which was so simple we wondered if she didn't inadvertently turn him off by accident sometimes—took the clothes off the thing—and wrapped it in a sheet—put the clothes on the mannequin and hid the Mecha in the utility/laundry room behind a washing machine. Imagine how bent out of shape Tina was when she got back and found this utterly inert thing lying on her bed. She thought her silicon sweetie's batteries had conked out!"
At that point Joe entered the room and pushed the door closed behind him. Voices and giggles rustled in the hallway, then the other door closed.
"There's Stephen and Kip come to booby-trap the other room," Frank said, listening at the door.
They finished the work by tying the strings to the doorknob. Frank switched out the light; they slipped out into the hallway. Frank swung the door in, then pulled it shut as hard as he could. They scurried downstairs.
"Now what did you intend by tying the furniture together?" Joe asked when they had caught up with him in the back yard.
"When I slammed the door, the strings pulled taut and yanked everything out of place," Frank said.
"That stands to reason, but did it mean?"
"It's a practical joke," Cecie explained. "It's what people do to newlyweds, to tease 'em a little."
"I think I see the meaning of this," Joe said, still clearly trying to process it.
She patted his arm. "You're better at wit than physical humor."
When they got back to the reception, the crowd of guests was in an uproar, people climbing on chairs, women yelping and laughing hysterically, the men trying to corner Mrs. Anderson's dog. The band, or the musicians who weren't helping corner the dog, played a somewhat off-key rendition of "Where, Oh Where Has My Little Dog Gone?"
"I knew that thing was trouble," Cecie groaned.
"Mm, the evil little dog," Mat snarled, grinning.
"Are you sure it's a dog and not a big rat?" Frank asked.
The dog darted up the bridge in an effort to get loose, yapping in mad delight as it escaped the knot of men trying to corner it:
"Yap-yap! Yap-yap! Yap-yap! Yap! Yap! Yap! Yap-yap! Yap-yap!"
It ran right up to them, stopping short at Joe's feet and sniffed at him.
Joe looked down at it quizzically.
"Go away, small dog," he said, shooing at it.
Just as he did this, the dog let out a low whine and backed away. It turned tail and ran away yelping, hackles raised in fright:
"Aorw! Aorw! Aorw! Aorw! Aorw! Aorw! Aorw! Aorw!"
"I was expecting to have to whack that little cur after it bit you," Frank said.
"Good thing he didn't, or he'd have gotten a very nasty surprise," Cecie said.
Mrs. Anderson left shortly after that; she had to put her "little one" to bed, since he'd gotten over-stimulated.
"No more evil little dog," Frank said, returning to Bernie's side.
"What made him start whining?" Bernie asked.
"Ask Cecie."
Some former classmates who had all but ignored her in high school, suddenly eager to her the latest news of the past three years since she'd lived in Westhillston, however, had buttonholed Cecie.
Joe found himself alone. Mat had taken Irene inside; the long day had worn out the older woman and she knew her limits. He considered following her up to the house, but logicked that she had no desire for his presence. But he noted Mr. Diocletian away from Mrs. Diocletian, talking with Peter and a few other important-looking men near the dance floor. He scanned the crowd for Mrs. Diocletian, setting his face-recognition on exclusive.
He found her on the bridge over the pond, alone, gazing down at the water.
Allison stood alone, watching the play of lights on the dark surface of the water beneath her. Shay would have been here beside her, in the old days…
"Hey, whatcha doin' alone here?" asked a nasally voice, behind her in the walled garden.
"Oh, I just came here for a breath of fresh air," she said. Carton, his gait a little unsteady, came up the bridge from the garden; as short as she was, she could look over the top of his head.
"You interested in dancin' with someone besides the cross-bred and I mean cross Irish clodhopper?"
"No, I really should find him and get going."
"Aw, c'mon. The night is still young." He edged closer to her; yes, she was sure of it from the whiskey on his breath.
"No, Carton, I'm very tired."
Someone cleared his throat nearby, though it sounded more like someone saying the syllables "ah-hem" very low and rapidly.
Allison looked up; Carton peered over her shoulder. Joe stood near them.
"Not you again," Carton growled.
"It appears that the lady does not enjoy your company very much," the Mecha observed.
"Hey, you git! We were just having a convers—hic!—conversation."
"She has not contributed much to the exchange, or am I mistaken?"
"What, can you cheer her up any better 'n me?" Carton demanded.
"Perhaps my choice of words would soothe her drooping spirits more deftly than you have."
"I'll bet," Carton growled, shuffling away.
Allison looked up at Joe, who came up alongside her. He leaned his wrists on the railing beside her hands. The band started to play a slow dance version of "I Only Have Eyes For You".
"Would you care for another dance?" he offered.
"Thanks, but no, I really should get back to Shay," she said, dropping her gaze.
"You are unhappy with him? I sense unrest and unhappiness in you."
"It's not like it used to be, him and me. He's just busy working all the time. This is our first night out in over a year, and I've spent most of it talking with Winifred Bax, while he's off talking with his business friends."
"He should exercise much more caution than he does. There are predators here; lucky for you that I came along and sent one of them on his way."
"And you're another?" she asked teasingly.
"Only to those who see me as such. But I have spoken much; you have, I sense, things you have yet dared to tell no one."
"Shay doesn't hit me, or anything like that. And sometimes he gets a little gruff, but that's just him. I'd just like to go back to the way things were when he and I first married. We'd spend a weekend once a month in a cabin in the mountains, or we'd send the kids to stay with his mother for a few nights so we could be alone. We still send the kids off, but it's never for us together. It's like he doesn't want me for love anymore; it's like he's got another source for that. And everyone keeps telling me the warning signs that he has another woman. But I think I know what the other woman is."
"And she is?"
"It's his job."
"It is not as if you are asking him for the stars."
"No. I just…I just don't want to feel so hurt inside." Her hand had crept onto his. He turned his palm over and clasped her hand.
"What has he done to hurt you so…inside?"
"The last time we were…we were together, it wasn't so much what he did as what he didn't do. The whole time his mind was a million miles away. I was doing what I could…but he wasn't interested. Not like it used to be."
"And so he takes pleasure in you and gives you no delight in return?"
"He didn't even do that. It was like…like being with a machine." She looked straight at him. She laughed nervously. His brow pinched, puzzled, but his clear eyes did not lose their calm expression. They reminded her of Shay's eyes, the same peridot green shade, only free of the murkiness. But then she remembered. She caught her breath. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that."
"You meant no criticism." He gazed at her in silence. His eyes lifted to the sky; she found herself following his gaze. "If he will no longer show you the stars, I can show them to you. If you so desire, I can give you things he never thought to give of himself. I cannot take from you, Allison. I can only give to you."
His gaze had come back down to her. She held his hand tighter.
"I'd like that…I'd like that…but not now. I'll let you know when."
"I shall anticipate your call to me." He leaned over and kissed her behind her ear.
His hand on hers slid down her arm to her elbow and he gave her a tickling caress on the inside. She laughed and jerked her arm away.
"What was that for?" she asked, still laughing.
He smiled at her impishly. "I am only seeing to it that this party is a success. Dishes have been broken; it appears Carton Jacobi have had a few more than is wise for a man of his size. And now I have tickled the wrong woman."
She laughed at the humor of this; he joined her, gently. She went away, her face turning warm.
Cecie kept trying to break away from the knot of girls; she had seen Stephen shuttling back and forth to the bar a couple times more than he probably should have. And she couldn't see Joe anywhere: never a good sign.
She finally got away and went looking for him. She saw Allison, looking very pink in the face, coming down from the bridge. Cecie knew she had heard laughter from that quarter moments before. The wrong woman just got tickled, she realized.
A moment later, Joe came down from the bridge, a rather self-satisfied smile on his face, but she noticed something almost gleefully fiendish about his expression.
"Are you trying to make trouble?" she asked.
"Rather, I am trying to ease the troubled heart of a lonely woman," he said.
"Don't do it," she said, taking his arm. "Don't forget I'm the one who brought you up here."
"I have not forgotten. It was she who first spoke to me."
"Yeah, right," she muttered, leading him back to the thick of the crowd.
She glanced across the floor in time to see Stephen slip to the ground as he tried to get up from his chair. Frank and Kip hurried over, with Phila and Bernie at their heels.
"Steppin, are you all right?" Phila asked.
"Ah'd be all 'ight if she juss lemme dance wif 'er wunst," Stephen mumbled. Frank and Kip picked him up off the ground, but he staggered out of their hold. Joe caught him halfway to the ground.
"We'd better get him upstairs before Peter sees him like this," Cecie said.
"Yeah, or everyone 'll have to listen to the lecture," Frank said.
"Or lissen 'oo 'um ssspank me a'gen," Stephen slurred.
"Here, let me help," Cecie offered, slinging Stephen's arm over her shoulder.
"Take him up to his room, quick now," Phila said. "Through the bushes."
With Kip leading the way and Frank at their heels, Cecie and Joe took the shortcut through the gap in the bushes that separated the Bowling Green from the garage. Stephen tried to walk, but he only succeeded in nearly pulling his guides down. Joe half hoisted Stephen onto his back as the procession ducked into the shadow of the carriage house.
Frank got on the step above Stephen, helping him up, while Joe guided him from below. A couple times Stephen almost fell on his face. But they got him up the stairs without much incident. On the landing, Frank and Joe lifted Stephen by the armpits and under his knees, respectively, and lugged him inside.
They maneuvered him through the darkened room; Joe, whose night vision had kicked in, got him to the bed. Frank got his half of the burden onto the mattress. Joe opened Stephen's collar.
"Y' know, yer a very s-s-s-sympathetic fella, Joe. Them that maidcha gave y' more ssssense 'n m' own father'sss got. You unnersstan' unre—urp—unrequited love."
"I was made to requite this love." Joe started away.
Stephen caught him by the lapel. "Yer my kinna fella. Y' don' judge, y' can' judge. Wissh m' father coo' be tha' way." He let go and dropped back on the pillows.
Frank had joined Cecie at the bottom of the stairs when Joe came down. "I guess the party was a success on two counts."
"Make that three: the wrong woman got tickled. And here's the guy who tickled her," Cecie said.
"I sought only to give to Allison the solace her heart longs for."
"I can't tell you what to do because you'll only ignore me." Cecie said. "But don't let Peter find out what you're about."
The four of them went back to the party. Already, Peter was looking for Stephen, but Frank told him Stephen was indisposed.
The crowd had thinned considerably by now. Frank made one song request for the last dance, "Moonlight Serenade".
Cecie had turned away from the dance floor, but Joe blocked her path, his hand held out to her.
"I have saved the last dance for you," he said.
She looked at him. "I guess I can forgive you for the trouble you've probably caused me tonight," she said, letting him lead her out to the floor.
She tried to keep him at arm's reach, but she found this almost impossible. She leaned in close to him, resting her head on his shoulder. The long day had taken a toll on her resistance. And if this kept him away from Bernie, so be it. With Allison gone, this narrowed his field down to two: Bernie and herself. She'd do anything short of completely putting herself out to keep him from getting at Bernie.
He leaned his cheek against her head and kissed her hair gently. Cecie, looking over his shoulder, saw Peter come up behind them and tap Joe on the shoulder.
"Not so close," Peter whispered and went away.
"Why then does he not correct his son-in-law?" Joe asked her. He turned her so that she saw to the middle of the floor, where Bernie danced with her head over Frank's heart.
Cecie pulled herself away from him. "He's turning his blind spot to them. They're preparing to get close."
After the last dance, Father Kunstler came forward and offered a final prayer before blessing the two young couples once more.
The party broke up then. Peter and Mat went with Kip and Frank to bring their bags up to the house. Cecie followed Alice and Georgette as they brought Phila and Bernie to the dressing room off the two lesser master bedrooms upstairs, just to help the brides take off their veils. Georgette sent Cecie and Alice out, leaving her to give her last instructions to her daughters.
"Hey, anyone seen Sarah?" Ferde called from the dining room as Cecie came downstairs.
"I thought she was going up to my room," Cecie said.
"Well, she ain't there unless the elves got her."
"She's probably out in the garden, looking at the moon. I'll go get her." Cecie went outside by the back door.
The white lights still glowed in the garden. Cecie surveyed it from the deck, looking for movement. She thought she saw a dark form in the walled garden, but she couldn't be sure.
"Cecie!" Sarah's voice called.
Cecie followed the sound, going down the steps to the yew alley. Sarah emerged from the trees and ran full tilt into Cecie's arms.
"Sarah, what's wrong?"
"Oh, Cecie! I should have listened to you!"
"About what?"
"Remember when you warned me about him? I thought you were just jealous, but you were right about him!"
"Right about who? What?'
"Joe!"
"What happened?" She knew Joe was not allowed, by protocol and programming, to touch someone Sarah's age.
"I just kissed him. One kiss. He said he wasn't allowed, but I thought he was just suddenly frigid. I didn't think it would be like that. Now I'm in trouble. If Uncle Peter finds this out, he'll kill me, and to hear him say it, I'd go down to hell immediately."
"Did you consciously decide you were sinning?"
Sarah looked to the ground. "No. I…I don't think I did. But it's grave…kissing someone…especially someone—I mean something like Joe…on the mouth."
"It depends on circumstances. You're young, you're only thirteen; you're infatuated with him: I've seen you eyeing him all week. So you probably weren't in full possession of your will at the time. You weren't thinking about what you were doing and you lost yourself for a moment."
"But I'll have to go to confession!"
"It's not a bad idea, but I doubt if it's as pressing a matter as you fear. Add to this the fact that it's late and you've had a very long day after a busy week. You probably didn't sin at all.
"Now, can you tell me where Joe is?"
"In the walled garden, where I left him."
"Thanks. You better go to bed before you do anything else foolish."
"I think that's the safest course of action, and avoid further demons."
"Not that Joe is exactly a demon."
"He's certainly no angel, either!" Sarah retorted, going up to the house.
Cecie found Joe in the walled garden, seated on the stone bench, an oddly blank look on his slightly slack-jawed face, the kind of look she'd seen it wear after he'd had dealings with especially rough customers, or the one time an especially brutal client had forced herself on him.
"Are you all right?" she asked.
"I shall be…all right," he said. His programming was probably running a restoration of whatever overrides had been assaulted.
"What did she do to you?" she asked, sitting down beside him.
"She tried to kiss me," he replied. "She knows that I cannot and may not do anything for her."
"And so she persisted, even though you refused, so she grabbed your face and smooched you."
He looked at her. "Did you watch this transpire?"
"No, I've just got a good imagination. So your programmed nature responded and you slipped an override."
"Alas, yes."
"You're not the only one."
He made no reply. Then he said, "Your comment deserves elaboration."
"Not to you." She got up. "Come on inside; it's getting late and I want to see the results of the pranks."
Ferde and Mat already stood in the shadows of the darkened back stairwell, looking up toward two doors on either side of the hallway, at a right angle to the stairs.
They heard Kip and Frank come up the main stairs. The two young men passed by the head of the back stairs.
"You chickening out yet and thinkin' of running back to Rouge City and finding something a little less, er, dependent?" Frank asked Kip.
"Nah. And as we've been saying these past two weeks, don't let Peter hear you," Kip said.
"You ready?"
"Ready as you are."
"Well, good night and, uh, pleasant waking."
"Same to you, Frank."
They parted; Kip headed into the dressing room. Frank paced the hall slowly, long-stepping, his hands clasped under his coattails, paused at the end of the hall and returned, passing the head of the back stairs. He stopped and leaned one hand on the corner of the wall, the other hand on his hip, spine straight, pelvis cocked forward suggestively, whistling "I Only Have Eyes for You" under his breath. He leaned away from the wall and tried a few dance steps.
Kip emerged from the dressing room, wearing his bathrobe. "It's all yours, Frank. Hey, you look like something that ought to be hustlin' it on Main Plaza or Harlot Square."
"That is where you have doubtlessly seen me before," Frank said, softening his voice and speaking in a very bad British accent.
"Hey, Joe, you'd better go—and let Frank come up here."
"And prevent Bernadette from discovering and delighting in the services I could render?"
Cecie smirked at Joe and nudged him. He smiled back to her, with a trace of smug amusement.
"Wait a minute," Kip tugged down the collar of the interloper's shirt. "Why, you lecherous Mecha-impersonator! I shoulda known you'd pull a stunt like this." Kip slugged him gently.
"OUCH!" Frank squeaked, stepping back.
"You don't quit, do you?"
"Well, you helped shave off my Van Dyke," Frank retorted, normal-voiced.
"Kip! Help! The furniture's all messed up!" Phila hollered from the room across the hall.
"Gotta run, Mrs. Langier needs me."
"In more ways than ONE!" Frank shot over his shoulder as he swaggered into the dressing room.
Kip went to the door Phila had yelped behind and knocked. "Phila, it's me; it's Kip."
The door opened and Phila's arm, in the long sleeve of a flannel nightgown, emerged. She drew Kip into the room. The door closed.
"Flannel on her wedding night?" Mat groaned.
"How then is she to incite and excite the heart of her lover?" Joe asked, confused.
"Peter probably insisted on it," Ferde growled.
"That then would explain such an uninciting costume," Joe added.
Frank emerged from the dressing room clad in a maroon damask dressing gown; somehow, Cecie could tell he wore precious little else. He paused before the other door, next to the dressing room. He drew in a long breath, passed his hand over his hair, then straightened the skirts of his robe and knocked on the door.
"Bernie, it's your husband; it's Frank." No answer. He opened the door and went in.
"What did you pull on Frank and Bern?" Cecie asked Ferde.
"You'll hear it," the big man rumbled gleefully. "Whatcha do to Kip and Phila?"
"Strung the furniture," Cecie said.
"And they obliged me to act as sentinel," Joe added, his tone clipped with cold indignation.
"Uh oh, it's too quiet in there," Mat said.
The door to Bernie and Frank's bridal chamber flew open. Frank bolted out, shoving his arms into the sleeves of his dressing gown. Cecie looked away, blushing.
"Leave me alone! Leave me alone! Get away from me, you…you…sex fiend!" Bernie screamed.
"Bernie, please believe me: I had nothing to do with the bells, honest! Bernie, I love you." Frank tried to reenter the bedroom.
"Go away!" A thick book flew out at his head. He ducked. The book hit the wall and banged to the floor.
"Bern, I'm not gonna hurt you. I couldn't; I can't."
"GO!"
He dropped his arms to his sides. He spread his hands slightly, beseechingly. "Okay, okay, we don't have to do anything tonight. Just let me come inside."
"NO!"
The door banged shut. Frank's shoulders sagged. He let out a ragged sigh and headed for the back stairs.
The conspirators tried to shrink back into the shadows. Frank stopped on the second step.
"I see someone's big green eyes," he said.
The group stepped out of the shadows into the diffused light from the further end of the hallway.
"You heard everything."
"Hey, we're all behind you, Frank," Ferde said.
"Whatcha gonna do now?" asked Mat.
"I have no idea," Frank said, sitting on the top step, throwing up his hands in desperation.
"Want me to negotiate with Peter?" Ferde asked.
"Would such a course of action prove wise? He begrudges them even simple knowledge of the embrace, much less respect for the pleasure it brings," Joe said.
"The fiberhead's on to something," Ferde declared.
"I would prefer you to not call me by so deprecating a term," Joe replied, stiffly.
"I'm gonna give it a try," Frank said. "You coming along to referee, Ferde?"
"Sure. I'll get in between you an' him if he starts throwing punches below the belt." Ferde put his arm about Frank's shoulders and led the young man downstairs.
"Well, I guess that's it for the night," Mat said, shrugging.
"You need a lift to the hotel?" Cecie asked.
"Nah, the walk'll do me good," Mat replied, starting downstairs. "See you tomorrow."
"G'night, Mat."
Cecie led Joe back down to the living room.
"Perhaps I ought to go up to Bernadette's chamber and make smooth the path for her bridegroom's passage," Joe offered.
"No, that's Frank's job. He should be the one actually deflowering her."
"But I have cut the cord that binds her lips," he said, bright-eyed.
Cecie nearly glowered at him. "Then you weren't bluffing last night when you told me about the incident on the bridge."
"I was not. Would that I could have completed the task of bringing to her the delight she fears!"
"I told you: I'm the one who brought you here." She took his face in her hands, tilted it slightly and pressed her lips to his.
The slipped override had clearly locked back into place, freeing up his pursuit centers. She felt his mouth soften under hers. His hands slid to her waist, pressing her lower torso against his, the way he had that New Year's Eve…
She broke the seal that bound their mouths together. She'd heard voices.
"That'll be all," she said, breathless.
She went upstairs, quicker than she had descended. Joe watched from the lower hallway, his processors scrabbling to track why she had reacted thus.
"What did I do to elicit such behavior?"
Cecie approached the door to the second bridal chamber. She heard suspicious sounds behind the other door: bedsprings creaking and stifled giggles, a playful slap, a yelp, more laughter, but behind Bernie's door, she heard only jagged breathing, gasps, weeping. She knocked on the door.
"I told you to go!" Bernie shouted.
"Bernie, it's me, it's Cecie."
The door creaked open. Bernie peered out. She opened it wider and stepped aside to let the older girl enter. Bernie wore her bathrobe close over her flannel nightgown, the sash drawn tightly around her waist, as if she'd fastened it this way on purpose.
A pillow had fallen from the head of the bed and lay on the floor. Some books had been knocked off the table, but the room showed no signs of a struggle.
"You could start by telling me what exactly happened on the bridge last night. Joe didn't just sneak up on you and yell 'BOO!'"
Bernie hung her head. "He came up to me. I didn't hear him at first, but I turned around and there he was. And I…I don't know what came over me. It was like I was back in that club, but it was like I was with Frank. I let him kiss me."
"You did in the Paradise Garden."
"He might as well have been the serpent with the apple."
"In some ways I won't question that, but go on."
"It…it wasn't just on the cheek. He kissed me on the mouth."
"He told me as much."
"And he held me…close. I could feel him…I could feel him…I mean…his…his parts. And then my knees gave way and he was on me. He didn't push me down, not on purpose. He just leaned against me and I went down."
"But you said you pushed him away."
"I did to keep him from going any further. I…I kicked him there. I think I hurt him. He yelled."
"You might have knocked a few conductors around, but you probably couldn't damage him just by giving him a boot in the groin. They put a lot of shielding in that region, so the really vital stuff doesn't get damaged by, well, a really rough customer.
Bernie looked at her narrowly. "How do you know all this stuff?"
"I did a lot of research. Besides, I'm good friends with a guy who works for the agency that owns Joe. But go on."
"So…when Frank came in here, I just couldn't face him. If he knew, he'd never forgive me."
"He might get a little concerned, but I don't think he'd hold it against you. He's no stranger to Mechas, y' know."
"I know, but I wanted to be the spotless one, to balance it out."
"Frank isn't concerned about that. He cares about you. So why not at least let him sleep next to you?"
"I don't know, I don't think I could. It's late, its after midnight…Does Peter know about this?"
"I don't think he could help hearing all that noise, but Ferde went down to defuse the situation."
"I gotta sleep. I don't think I'd be any good to Frank anyway, after all this."
"Well, maybe not this night. But you can't wait too long."
"I know…he might go looking somewhere else."
"No, Frank wouldn't do that to you. It's just that if you wait too long to consummate the sacrament, it could become grounds for an annulment."
Bernie looked up at Cecie wide-eyed.
"Didn't you know this?"
"I probably did, it's just…I didn't think it would apply. Would Frank do this?"
"I doubt he would. But if you don't swallow your inhibitions, he might feel pressured to take this kind of action. I'm not saying this to scare you; I'm saying it to be honest."
As Cecie stepped out of the other would-be bridal chamber, she heard an escalating wail of delight erupt behind Kip and Phila's door. Bernie looked at Cecie.
"What would Peter say?"
"That's what I'd like to know."
She caught herself hoping Peter could hear it. And, for that matter, she hoped Joe had heard it, too.
"So if she won't let you sleep next to her, where y' gonna sleep?" Ferde asked, walking with frank back to the main staircase.
""I'm not about to go sleep in the loft with Stephen passed out there," Frank said, his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his robe. I spent too many nights in college sharing a room with a drunk. The only place left is the couch."
"And doesn't that fiberhead have it cornered?"
"I'll find out."
Frank stepped into the living room. A single smart lamp glowed on about 20 watts of light.
Joe sat in Peter's armchair, his legs slung gracefully over one arm, his arms folded behind his head.
"You ever have that happen to you, Joe?" Frank asked.
"That a client refused my services? It has happened to me, though not often, and those who refuse at first generally discover reasons not to refuse me further."
"At least I'm not alone."
"In more ways than one."
Frank arranged some of the sofa pillows at one of the couch and lay down, his head propped on the pillows.
A moment later the light went out.
Cecie found Sarah curled up asleep on her cot. She closed the door and took the rose from her hair. She took out her contact lenses, put them back in their case and ran her fingers through her hair, mussing it all out of shape. She took off her gown and hung it in the garment bag in the closet. She shucked the black bustier she wore under it and pulled on her worn sleeveless black jersey and leggings she wore to bed.
She reached to turn down the bed covers, but she found someone had already neatly folded them down.
In the exact center of her pillow lay an Argent Cavalier rose with a bit of fern.
To be continued…
Literary Easter Eggs:
The Greek band—This is NOT intended to be a reference to the current surprise hit of the summer My Big Fat Greek Wedding, because I haven't seen it, and I'm not sure I want to after working for stubborn Greek folks for two years. The "dancing with a table balanced on your head" story is based on something which I think Tom Hanks did at his own reception when he married Rita Wilson.
Pig Latin—I must have been thinking of Sully whispering to Mike in Monsters, Inc.: "Ees-shay in the ag-bay."
"The weirdest lookin' guy…"—I had just heard a record of Bill Cosby's stand up routine known as "Rhinoceros" in which he describes people's reactions to his pet rhinoceros, which had me literally rolling on the floor laughing. I modeled this whole section after it.
Kip carrying his mother—This came to me from a touching story about a former ballerina who had developed MS later in life; she kept dancing for as long as she could still walk. At her and her husband's fortieth wedding anniversary celebration, when she could no longer walk, he gladly and tenderly carried her in his arms to dance with her. Now isn't that romantic?
The Waltz from Der Rosenkavalier—see the note on Argent Cavalier roses after Chapter II.
Tossing the key—Most wedding receptions I've heard of had the infamous garter toss: this is, I think, the New England variation on it.
"waiting for a bus…"—A lot of the funny stuff that happens during the reception is based on stuff that happened at several different weddings I have been to/heard about, including the "guys waiting for a bus" line, and yes, the kid with the bat (I don't remember if he broke any dishes with it, though).
The tango—I have to mention this: one theory on the pedigree of the tango connects it with Argentinean gigolos, since the dance was originally a solo for a man trying to impress a woman. 'Nuff said when you connecting it to Our Boy.
Spray foam and snowball in the dorm room—Another couple items from the Internet's Greatest Practical Jokes, taken from alt.rec.shenanigans.
"Where Oh Where Has My Little Dog Gone?"—It's that bouncy music you hear in the old cartoons when a bouncy little dog shows up.
"It's on the other right"—Stole this bit of shtick outright from The Matrix.
