Disclaimer: Ghostbusters and Extreme Ghostbusters are owned by Harold Ramis, Dan Aykroyd and Columbia Pictures. They are not owned by me. However I did create all of the original characters in this story, with the exceptions of John and Eden Spengler, who were created by Fritz Baugh.
Warnings: Strong language, frequent sex references and one very short sex scene.
Extreme Ghostbusters: Love Is
Courteney Cox Arquette was crying like a little girl as she declared undying love to Matthew Perry. Monica, as she was perhaps better known, had obviously written her own vows. It was some spiel about how she'd been looking for a friend in a time of need and instead found everything she ever wanted, or something equally stomach-turning. Jennifer Aniston, David Schwimmer, Lisa Kudrow and Matt le Blanc all had damp eyes as well, and Matthew Perry was going to start blubbing any minute.
"Do you feel like that about me?" Joanna Kendall suddenly asked.
"Um… ye-es," Garrett Miller replied guardedly.
"Only you don't normally cry when we're together."
"Well, neither do you. And besides, this is just a really dumb TV show. It's not real. People don't actually behave that way at weddings."
"Thank God for that," remarked Jo, pulling a face. "Our wedding isn't gonna be like that, is it?"
"I don't think so," Garrett replied soberly. "You and I have more self-control than that and so do our friends."
"And we're not paying several thousand dollars for ours," added Jo.
"True, but I don't think you have to pay for the tears."
"I don't think anybody likes me enough to actually cry on the day I sign my name on a piece of paper that says I'm your wife."
"Is that all our wedding is to you?" asked Garrett, pretending to be hurt.
"Well, what's going to change?" reasoned Jo. "We live together, we sleep together and we sit around in the evenings watching reruns of Friends. I mean I love you and everything, but getting married isn't that big a deal. It's not so huge that I have to spend thousands of dollars on a big ugly dress that I'm only gonna wear once. I hate weddings."
"You do want to marry me, don't you?" Garrett asked carefully.
"Yes. I just don't want any of this traditional crap. It's all outdated anyway – like it'd just be barefaced cheek to wear white and pretend I'm a virgin. Women only do that now because they like being the centre of attention. Weddings have become so materialistic – it's all about the dress and the cake and shit. Kinda like Christmas."
"Well that's encouraging."
"You knew I was a cynic when you proposed to me."
"Maybe I hoped to convert you."
x x x
Dana Barrett stared at herself in the full-length mirror. She was entirely concealed beneath white lace and satin. She couldn't even see her own face. She lifted the white veil and looked with scrutiny at the heavy makeup she'd let her mother put on her, just to stop the nagging. This thing looks like it's supposed to keep mosquitoes out, she thought to herself. And that woman does not look like me.
At that moment her intended walked in. Dana knew a lot of women who would have squealed pathetically and ducked behind the nearest piece of furniture in such a situation, protesting that her fiancé had doomed them and their marriage to bad luck. She had a strange feeling that Andre wanted her to do that – or something similar, anyway. This day was supposed to be perfect, right down to the dumb superstitions that would determine the fate of the couple, regardless of how much they loved each other and how well suited they were.
"You look radiant," Andre Wallance smiled at her.
Dana cocked an eyebrow. "Radiant?" she echoed.
"What's wrong with that?"
"I didn't realise people used that word anymore."
He moved up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. Dana realised with a jolt that they were looking into the mirror at a picture their mothers had envisioned for years. Though she hardly recognised herself, Dana thought she didn't look half bad, and Andre looked pretty good too. It really did seem as close to perfect as it was ever likely to be. But it just seemed like such a performance. Quite honestly it had all the makings of a stage show. Hell, they even had costumes and a soundtrack and lines they would have to regurgitate, all to satisfy an expectant audience.
"Do you love me?" asked Dana.
"Of course I do."
"Oh. Good."
"Is something wrong?"
"Doesn't it feel to you like we're doing this for our mothers?"
"Maybe a little," Andre shrugged dismissively. "But they say a wedding is for the guests."
"I think that's true," remarked Dana, pulling a face. "So what's in it for us?"
"We get to declare our love for each other and start a life together."
"And have a big party. We could do all the rest of it without those people watching."
"It makes them happy."
"So we are doing it for them."
"Some of it." He kissed her cheek. "But we're doing it for us too, aren't we?"
Dana thought she was probably doing the right thing, but she couldn't pinpoint a moment at which she had actually made the decision to marry this man. It felt like she had been ganged up on: by Andre, by his mother and by her own mother as well; by society in general, and the expectations thrust upon them by convention.
You two are so good together. You should get married.
All right, all right, I'll do it – just GET OFF MY BACK!
"So what if it's all for show?" Andre went on. "The reason that we're doing it is still there: we're in love and we want to spend the rest of our lives together."
"Oh. Ok then."
x x x
Garrett called Dana the morning after the Friends rerun.
"I hate to nag," he began apologetically. "But… any luck?"
"Sorry," replied Dana. "I've left a heap of messages on his cell phone, though. I'm sure he'll get back to me."
Once she had hung up on Garrett, Dana decided to try again. She called her son's cell phone, and once again felt herself filling with both anger and fear when she heard his voicemail message.
"Oscar, you fucking useless kid!" she exclaimed. "Call your mother now!"
She hung up loudly, composed herself and then wandered into the sitting room. Her twelve-year-old daughter Jessica Venkman was there, sprawled across the sofa and flicking through the TV channels. That girl was just made for long summer holidays.
"Can I call Oscar's cell phone and say that?" she asked.
"No," Dana returned shortly. "Why won't he call?"
"He's probably having too much fun."
"He'd better not be. He told us he was going there to nurture his soul."
Oscar Wallance had taken a train some weeks ago to Los Angeles, where he had lived for most of his childhood, in order to do some serious soul searching after a demon-contaminated cassette made him say and do some things he normally wouldn't, including the near disownment of his stepfather. Now his musical talents were required at Garrett and Jo's wedding party. Their first date had been a Mood Slime gig, and they'd had their first kiss to one of their songs ("Metal Mouth" – which was pretty disgusting, to be honest). Now, with the date of their nuptial fast approaching, they were both getting pretty anxious about the band being one member short.
"They really lucked out knowing a halfway decent band who'd play live for free," remarked Jessica.
"They want them for their sentimental value," returned Dana. "You don't measure love with dollars, Jessica."
"Oh," Jessica smiled slightly. "Mom, can I ask you something?"
"Go on then."
"How much did Grandpa spend on your first wedding?"
Dana flinched. "About five thousand dollars," she replied sheepishly.
"Wow," laughed Jessica. "That's a lot of money to flush down the toilet."
"I wish you'd stop criticising me for that," her mother returned. "I know it was a bad decision – it just seemed like a good idea at the time. You weren't even there. One day you're going to make a mistake and then maybe you'll understand."
"I don't think so," Jessica said simply. "And I'm never getting married either."
"What if you fall in love?" asked Dana.
"Not gonna happen."
"You're probably right, honey. It wouldn't suit you."
x x x
Sarah Kendall was burning what looked like an entire vegetable plot's worth of potatoes.
"Why don't you let me do that?" her husband Robert asked patiently.
"I've told you: because Susan Miller makes me feel inadequate," Sarah replied shortly. "I'm proving to all of you that I am a fantastic fifties-style wife and mother."
"Are you?" Robert asked dubiously.
The doorbell rang.
"Get that," ordered Sarah.
"Yes, dear," Robert replied dutifully, making his way to the front door.
As expected, Garrett was out there with his parents, Howard and Susan Miller. Jo had been at her parents' house since mid-morning, and was at that moment frantically polishing away the remainder of the dust that no Kendall ever noticed unless visitors were due to arrive in an hour or less.
"Hi," Garrett smiled pleasantly, manoeuvring his wheelchair through the doorway.
Jo suddenly appeared in the hallway with a duster in one hand and an aerosol can in the other. "Hi," she beamed, stooping to kiss Garrett. Then, to his parents, "Hi, hi, come in. Sorry it's a bit untidy."
Susan stepped on a dog toy that squeaked loudly as though in alarm. Jo picked it up with an apologetic smile and then led the way through to the kitchen, flicking at the most obvious spots of grime with her duster as she went.
Sarah was untidily carving up a roasting joint with an unsuitable knife. The appropriate tool was sitting on the kitchen surface, and it took a great deal of self-control for Susan not to grab hold of it and complete the task herself. The dog McEnroe, a stubby-legged multi-coloured animal that had the vague shape of an Alsatian, was sitting in a puddle of mud in the middle of the kitchen floor, looking longingly at the joint. Sarah took pity on him and threw him a scrap of meat. Susan tried very hard to quell her look of horror.
"Hi," Sarah beamed enthusiastically. "It's nearly ready – do sit down," and she gestured towards the large table laid with mismatching crockery in the middle of the room. The Kendalls had an absolutely enormous kitchen. People they knew who could cook always thought it was wasted on Sarah.
"Keep an eye on McEnroe," she said to the whole assemblage, as she walked briskly out of the kitchen and made for the staircase out in the hallway. Moments later she could be heard shouting, "BOYS! LUNCH IS READY!"
She came back into the kitchen followed by her sons, Alex and Scott, aged seventeen and fifteen respectively. Jo was twenty-four. Alex had been hastily conceived when Sarah, finding her six-year-old daughter easier to cope with than she had been as a baby and a toddler, suddenly seemed to remember that she wanted to have more than one child. Scott had come as a surprise. Sarah was constantly flat-out from taking care of an eight-year-old daughter and an eighteen-month-old son when she discovered that she was pregnant. She had once told Susan, in a moment they had for some reason been alone together and Sarah thought maybe they were supposed to be bonding, that she suspected Scott had been conceived while she was asleep, or maybe just too tired to know what she was agreeing to. Quite frankly, she'd said, she could think of no other explanation. Susan had been rendered shocked and speechless.
"Hey boy." The dog was the first person to be greeted by Scott.
As it happened, Alex and Scott did a great deal to sell the family to Howard Miller. They were both enthusiastic athletes, as was their sister, and had even named their dog after a top tennis player. During the Millers' visits, they kept Howard happy for hours chatting to him about every kind of competitive sport you care to name.
His wife on the other hand was less impressed, and Scott did nothing to help himself when he allowed McEnroe to slobber on is face and then went to sit down to lunch with absolutely no effort to clear his mouth and chin of dog drool.
"Sorry it's a bit… um… burnt," Sarah smiled apologetically, dumping two plates of less than perfect roast beef and vegetables in front of Howard and Susan.
Actually the beef wasn't burnt. Sarah liked it pink and bleeding, so did Jo, and their three male relatives didn't really care as long as they got fed.
"It looks great, Mom," enthused Scott, whose taste buds had yet to meet their match, making Susan flinch as he slipped a scrap of meat under the table to McEnroe.
Sarah knew that a lot of families would probably exile their dog from a sit-down let's-spend-time-together family meal like this, and certainly Susan would banish McEnroe if she could have her way. But Sarah had principles of her own. This was her house, her dog and she was damned if she was going to change anything just because they had a pernickety guest.
x x x
Beth Rivera had a screaming baby on one arm and was shoving socks into the washing machine with her free hand. She knew that her hair was a mess and she had baby food smeared across her nose. The phone rang.
"Hello?"
"Hi Beth, it's me."
"Oh, hi hon!" she beamed. She was so relieved to hear from him. For the last two hours or so, since her mother left, she had felt like the only person in the world.
"Is that Kevin?"
No, I've had another baby while you were at work. "Yes."
"What's wrong with him?"
"I think he's just tired. I'll put him down in a minute."
"Have you tried playing him some music?" Carl Rivera suggested helpfully. "Laura from victim support says that'll help."
"Laura from victim support?" echoed Beth. "Are you kidding?"
"What's wrong with that?" Carl asked innocently.
"Laura from victim support is not the one standing here with a baby that won't shut up!" screeched Beth. "What the fuck does she know?"
"Beth!"
"Sorry."
"Anyway, I just called to say that I'll be late home this evening. We're going for a drink after work."
"You're going for a drink after work," returned Beth, quite expressionlessly. "That's why you called me."
"Yes."
"Right. I'll save you some dinner then, shall I?"
"Great," Carl smiled, oblivious to the edge in her voice. "What are we having?"
"Chicken," sighed Beth.
"Sounds great. I'll see you later."
"Bye, hon. I love you."
"I love you too."
She put the phone down. Kevin let out an ear-splitting wail. Beth went back to the kitchen. The washing machine suddenly died.
x x x
Nothing about Kylie Griffin was big, and that included her kitchen. The whole room was about the same size as the area Sarah Kendall reserved for saucepans. There was room for a small round table in the middle of the tiled floor, and there was just room for four or, at a pinch, five people to sit round it. Kylie was sitting on it when she called Beth to ask, "Are you coming with us to Jo's hen night or not?"
"No," Beth replied meekly. "I'm sorry."
"Why not?" demanded Kylie, flashing a smile at Eduardo Rivera as he nipped in to fill a glass with water for their four-year-old daughter Conchita.
Eduardo was Carl Rivera's younger brother. He was twenty-six and Carl was forty-three. They didn't get on. Kylie and Beth were united in the difficulty of the brothers' relationship. Kylie had also made it her mission to drag Beth out of the domestic space and force her into a life of her own. She didn't have one at the moment – she just hung onto Carl's. At least that was how Kylie saw the situation.
"What do you mean Carl won't let you?" she demanded, when Beth gave her answer. "He isn't your father! Tell him where to go and come out with us anyway!"
Eduardo came back with the empty water glass. Conchita was tucked up in bed, looking absolutely adorable with her dark hair in pigtails and a toy pig clutched to her chest, drifting contentedly into the first stages of sleep.
Eduardo scribbled something onto the memo pad they used for shopping lists and held it up in front of Kylie's face: "Be NICE to her!"
Kylie smacked him lightly on the arm just as their younger daughter, Rose, let out a pitiful wail from the next room. Eduardo went to see to her at once. Rose was eighteen months old. She had just thrown another sheet out of her cot. This was her second summer; she hadn't enjoyed her first much either. Her parents had even wondered on a couple of occasions if she might be ill, but their GP had assured them that their daughter simply didn't like the heat. "Just keep her cool and don't put too much covering on her at night." Kylie had wanted to smack him. When Rose was a newborn the same doctor had wrapped her up in layers and layers of sweaters, insisting that the consequences would be disastrous if she got too cold. Ok, so it was February, but it's always possible to go too far and the next day he had sheepishly treated her for dehydration.
Beth wasn't going to be talked round so Kylie said goodbye, pushed the END CALL button and lazily threw the cordless phone onto the nearest surface. She caught sight of Eduardo through the doorway. He was crouching by Rose's cot and gently talking her back to sleep. It was a sweet little scene, but it made Kylie wonder: Too much the other way? She glanced at the sink. There was a huge pile of dirty dishes by it. Eduardo was dealing with both of the children. If she did the dishes, that would be fair. Except it wouldn't, because putting the girls to sleep was much more fun. The dishes didn't cuddle you and say they loved you and generally make you feel that life was wonderful. Oh well. Kylie slid down from the table and went to the sink.
When Rose was finally asleep again, Eduardo kissed her forehead and gently placed a screwed-up blanket by her feet, because after all that she was bound to wake up cold. He went to the kitchen, where Kylie was still washing dishes. She always tied her hair back when it was hot. It's just common sense. He wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her neck.
"Is she ok?" asked Kylie.
"Well, she's asleep," replied Eduardo.
"Babe, why is Beth such a simp?"
"Her husband's a jerk. That's hardly her fault."
"But she doesn't even stick up for herself – she just accepts it, no question. Doesn't she have a mind of her own?"
"She loves him."
"I love you," retorted Kylie, "but I'd still get pretty damn mad at you if you tried to tell me what to do."
"They're not us," reasoned Eduardo.
"So?"
"So leave them alone and let Beth deal with Carlos in her own way."
Kylie didn't have an answer to that, so she changed the subject: "Are you gonna help me by drying these dishes or what?"
"Slave driver," Eduardo grinned playfully, removing his arms from around her waist and retrieving a tea towel. "You're not so laissez-faire yourself, you know."
"Shut up and dry the goddamn dishes."
x x x
Jo turned her father and brothers away and had her goodbye-to-singledom party at her parents' house, with the dog sniffing excitedly around her guests. Kylie and Dana were both there. So were their friends Janine Spengler, Tara Jackson and a couple of women Jo worked with called Tina and Bess. It wasn't a huge gathering – there were eight of them altogether – because Jo understood that hen nights inevitably came to a stage that required some level of intimacy.
The stripper was late. Jo was hammered. Bess looked ready to pass out. The only two that weren't remotely drunk were Dana and Tina, both designated drivers.
"Where is heeeeeeeeee?" Jo whinged childishly.
"Don't worry, honey, he'll be here," Sarah smiled reassuringly. "You know what men are like."
"Ooh – good idea! Let's talk about men!" Janine exclaimed delightedly.
"All right for those of you who've got one," mumbled Bess, who besides being plastered was a singleton with low self-esteem.
"Oh God." Kylie pulled a face. "This is turning into Sex and the City. I can't stand women like that."
"Oh, c'mon, it'll be fun!" Janine enthused. "Jo – tell us how Garrett proposed."
Jo pulled a face similar to the one Kylie had made. "Do what?" she asked dubiously.
"Go on," pressed Tina. "It can't have been very good – you don't even have a ring."
"I don't want a ring," retorted Jo. "Love is knowing that your girlfriend doesn't want jewellery even in the context of a marriage proposal."
"So how did he propose?" Janine asked urgently.
Jo blinked at her a couple of times, and then replied, "He said, 'Will you marry me'."
"Right." Janine rolled her eyes. "But what happened before that? Where were you? Did he do anything special?"
"Before…" Jo racked her brains, trying to remember. "We were in his apartment. He was asleep and I was in the shower. I came back from the shower, he'd woken up, we had a little chat about something and then he asked me to marry him. Ok?"
"No!" wailed Janine, feeling incredibly cheated. "That's not good enough!"
"But that's what happened," Jo said apologetically.
"You want a good proposal story?" Dana chimed in. "I've got one!"
Janine looked dubious. "Not Peter."
"No," agreed Dana. "Peter cooked me lasagne and then shoved a ring under my nose. It was pretty standard with him. With Andre… well, I sometimes wonder if our mothers devised it. Mom kept calling me and asking: 'How are things with Andre? Have you got any neeews for me, darling?' I should have guessed, shouldn't I? Anyway, he took me to this really snooty expensive restaurant. I wouldn't mind that, except it was one of those places that think their food's so good that you should be grateful for the privilege of eating really tiny portions. So anyway, I'd had a lousy day and I was complaining so much that I didn't even notice when the waiter turned up. We ate and he sprouted a lot of crap about… I don't even know. Love, I think."
Tara snorted derisively. She didn't believe in love.
"Then Andre kept going on and on and on at me about this dessert I just had to try. I don't even remember what it was – some kind of soufflé or something – and when it turned up - "
"Oh – don't!" exclaimed Tara. "I think I'm gonna be sick!"
"Was there a ring in it?" Janine asked eagerly.
Dana shook her head. "He'd got the chef to write on it with raspberry sauce: 'Marry me Dana.' The first thing I thought was that it kinda looked like blood. The second thing I thought was: oh crap. Then when I looked at Andre he was on one knee holding a ring under my nose and looking… I don't know… euphoric, I guess."
"You were in a restaurant," Sarah remembered. "Was everyone looking at you?"
"Oh yes," Dana nodded slowly. "I don't even remember saying yes, but suddenly they were all cheering, for crying out loud! And then one of the waiters came in with an idiotic grin and a massive cake with 'Congratulations' written all over it. I'd never been so humiliated in my life!"
Jessica had been extremely scornful of her mother's behaviour when she heard that story, aged four: "I would have walked out. I would have said no. I would have thrown the dessert in his face. I wouldn't have split up with Dad in the first place."
"It could have been worse," Sarah smiled consolingly at Dana. "Robert proposed at a Knicks game. You know – the big screen and all that – I don't like to think about it."
"I was so afraid Garrett was going to do that," Jo flinched.
"Love is agreeing to marry someone in spite of them proposing at a Knicks game," added Sarah.
"You're wrong," argued Janine. "Love is two souls always finding each other against all the odds, and still holding onto each other even after they've been through every kind of hell."
"You're drunk," slurred Tara.
"She's always drunk on lu-urve," said Kylie, also slurring her speech rather a lot. "In your case, Janine, love is giving someone chance after chance no matter how many times they blow it."
"At least it's not getting knocked up between college classes," retorted Janine.
"Hey, hey – not at my party!" Jo interjected. "No fighting. Does anyone else have a proposal story?"
They all expected Janine to speak next, but surprisingly Tara jumped in with, "I had a marriage proposal once. Last year, actually. I slept with him in the hope of getting a promotion, and he seemed to get the impression that we were in love or something."
"Did you get the promotion?" asked Tina.
"Yes," replied Tara. "And I broke off the engagement the next day."
"You are so evil," remarked Jo.
"So what?" shrugged Tara. "He was just an overpaid middle-man in an expensive suit. So come on, Janine – how did you get proposed to? I'll bet he talked a lot."
Janine nodded. "It was very romantic," she said curtly. "We had dinner and then he drove me to – um – a place of significance. It wouldn't mean anything to any of you."
"What did he say?" asked Dana, curious to hear this.
"Um…" Janine knew she'd remember when she was sober. "There was quite a lot of apologising about all the stuff that went wrong, and he'd understand if I didn't want to, and something about how lonely and miserable he was without me."
"Fairly standard," remarked Jo. "If they think you might not say yes, they come out with a lot of spiel about how you're the most wonderful person in the world and they're not worthy but they love you anyway, just so you'll feel guilty if you refuse."
"You don't know what you're talking about," argued Janine.
"I think you're right, honey," said Sarah. "A proposal is an ultimatum: spend the rest of your life with me or without me, starting now."
No one seemed to notice that Kylie had gone extremely quiet.
"Why not?" Eduardo asked, stunned.
"Because I'm allergic to conformity and we both like annoying your mother," Kylie replied simply.
They were naked in bed together. They'd just had sex. Eduardo didn't really feel like talking about his mother.
"If we got married it'd get her off my back," he said anyway.
"That's not a good reason to get married," returned Kylie.
"So what is a good reason to get married?"
"There isn't one."
Eduardo blinked. "Oh."
"And I don't think either of us is ready," Kylie went on reasonably. "We're too young."
"But not too young to have a baby?"
"If you're old enough to make a baby you're old enough to have a baby. And besides, it was an accident. You can't exactly get married by accident, short of being drunk in Las Vegas, but avoiding that is as easy as remembering to take a pill and apparently much more effective. And besides," she added, "you wanted this baby before I did."
"I still do," said Eduardo.
"Good – so do I. I do love you, you know. But you wouldn't be offering to marry me if I weren't pregnant."
"Isn't that a good reason to get married?"
"No," Kylie insisted. "We're going to love the baby whether we're married or not. It's no reason to rush into anything."
"Who's rushing?" reasoned Eduardo. "I've been in love with you for three years."
"But you wouldn't have asked me just then if it weren't for me carrying your child. Marrying because you got me pregnant is just marrying because we think we ought to."
"That's the reason a lot of people get married if you ask me."
"Well I hate being conventional." Kylie smiled at him, hoping to soften the impact of her refusal. "Isn't that one of the things you love about me?"
"Yeah." He kissed her tenderly. "It's ok, babe. Whatever you want."
"Where is that goddamn stripper?" wailed Jo.
"Dana, can I ask you something?" Janine said suddenly.
"Sure," shrugged Dana.
"What's Andre like in bed?"
Dana wasn't surprised, and she wasn't nearly as shocked as she had been when Jessica asked her that question, aged eleven. This time she skipped the stunned silence and gave the answer that she had eventually given her daughter: "It was ok."
"Ah," Janine nodded sagely.
"He did try," added Dana. "It was pretty lousy the first time, but it got better. And then it got worse when we started having problems. And then he stopped wanting to sleep with me altogether after I got pregnant. And – um – then he left me."
Jessica of course would have left him when she discovered he was lousy in bed, if she hadn't already refused his marriage proposal, which she would have done if she hadn't stayed with Peter, but of course she would have stayed with him.
"He's not perfect, you know," Dana had said. "If you could only see that, then maybe you'd understand. It wasn't all my fault. He didn't want to marry me."
"How do you know?" Jessica had demanded. "Did you ask him?"
"Well… no."
"It's no good waiting around for someone else to figure out what you want, you know. Honestly, Mom – women like you set the rest of us back about fifty years."
"Why do I let you talk to me like this?"
"Because you know I'm right."
"Love is great sex and a good friendship," Tara said decisively.
"I think you might be right," agreed Kylie.
"Andre and I had a good friendship," ventured Dana.
Tara shook her head firmly. "You need both," she said emphatically. "That's why it's so rare. The guys who are good in bed are the ones that don't have to work on their personality, which is why you can't be friends with them."
Jo wondered whether Kylie was going to object that this was getting too like Sex and the City. Just where the hell was that stripper anyway?
"You are all wrong!" declared Janine. "I don't think any of you have ever been in love except for me!"
Tara almost said that she thought what Egon Spengler lacked in looks he made up for in tedium, but she wasn't so drunk that she couldn't stop herself in time.
The phone rang. Jo almost toppled over when she tried to stand up, so Sarah went and answered it.
"I think Kylie might be right in some ways," Dana sighed heavily. "Love is taking him back no matter how many times he screws up. In a weird way my mother was right about both of them – if Andre was still around my family would probably be a little more normal – but I guess as long as we're happy that's all that matters."
"Oh, hey!" Jo suddenly exclaimed loudly. "Speaking of your family…"
"He'll be back tomorrow morning," Dana provided.
"He had better be," Jo said threateningly.
"I'll say!" agreed Tara. "My sister's been moping around the house listening to his demo tapes ever since he left."
It was at this point that Sarah returned, and it was obvious from her face that she had bad news.
"That was the stripper people," she said to Jo. "The stripper had a car accident on the way here – he's in hospital, and they don't have a replacement available."
"What?" shrieked Jo, outraged. "The bastard! Why would he do that to me? I am getting married tomorrow! That was my last chance to watch a man taking his clothes off without feeling guilty!"
"I'm sorry, honey," Sarah sympathised. "Is there anything I can do?"
"Are you a hot guy with a cute ass?" demanded Jo.
"Um… no."
"Then no, there isn't. Ah crap…" She only just made it to the bathroom in time.
x x x
Oscar arrived home very early, around dawn, before either of his parents got back from their respective pre-wedding parties. He was shocked to find Jessica home alone, still up and drinking lager in front of an extremely violent slasher movie.
Somehow they all made it to the firehouse the following morning. It was an extremely large gathering: all four Venkmans; the other three members of Mood Slime; Ray Stantz and his wife and son; Winston Zeddemore and his wife and daughter; Roland Jackson and all six of his brothers and sisters; Eduardo, Kylie and their kids; Egon and Janine and their six-year-old twins, John and Eden; Beth and Kevin Rivera (an invitation had been extended to Carl under the fairly safe assumption that he would refuse); friends of both Garrett and Jo from work and a few aunts and cousins and uncles and things that mainly stuck to each other in the corners.
"I thought they didn't want a big wedding," remarked Oscar, when he was setting up the instruments with the other band members under his sister's supervision.
"It's not a big wedding," Ella Stephens (bass guitar and New York's first bleached-blond Goth) pointed out. "It's a big party."
"Only the parents and Jo's brothers will be at the wedding," added Jessica. "It's only City Hall – it wouldn't be much to look at anyway."
"They're only getting married so they can have a party," said Tim Price, who was tuning his guitar.
"Do mine," Oscar requested, gently kicking the precious instrument towards Tim. He couldn't tune it himself because he was currently tangled up in a lot of wire (he was setting up the speakers). "Sounds like a good reason to get married to me."
"Hopefully by the time I get married it'll be legally binding, and it'll only be for love and not a push for gay rights," Danny Hart (drummer) put in.
"I'm never getting married," Jessica declared, just to remind them all (everyone knew this already), in the moment that Dana approached.
"Jess," she ventured. "If you were Jo, would you be getting married today?"
"If I were Jo?" Jessica screwed up her face in thought. "Ummm… no."
"Why not?" asked Dana, taken aback. She'd been expecting her to say yes, and then she would have launched into a speech about how it was easy to be wise after the event, or something like that.
"It's just not for me," shrugged Jessica.
"But that's not fair," Dana protested. "You're always saying that if you were me you would have married Peter in the first place."
"He's different," Jessica returned primly. "He's the only man in the world you can be a hundred percent sure it's safe to marry."
"No he isn't," snapped Dana. "You seem to think I threw him out onto the street as he was declaring undying love to me. It wasn't like that! I did talk to him about getting married a couple of times, you know. He fell asleep."
Jessica looked at her for a moment, and then said tartly, "Dad wouldn't do that."
"But he did do that!" Dana protested.
"You can't be remembering right."
"What?"
"And anyway, the important thing is that you were dumb enough to marry the stiff. There's no way you can blame Dad for that."
Dana scowled childishly, wishing she hadn't started this conversation. "You don't know everything," she said.
"I'm glad you married the stiff, Mrs. V," Ella smiled reassuringly. "Mood Slime would be nothing if any one of us had never been born."
"Yeah – I'm kinda glad you did too," added Oscar.
Glancing across the room, Jessica saw that the snack table was being set up, so she wandered over to steal some food. Dana watched her go, wondering why her daughter was so acutely aware of everyone's faults except for Peter's.
"My mother tells me things about my father that I just can't believe of him," said Dana, to whoever happened to be listening. "Is that the same as what Jess is doing to me?"
"I wouldn't worry about it," advised Ella. "My dad's a jerk on paper but I think he's the greatest guy in the world."
x x x
Marriage counsellor Karen Preston sensed that Jill Griffin was going to be a difficult client. Barely ten minutes into the session she thought the forbidden thought: surely this marriage was irretrievable. As she explained the Empty Chair Technique to Jill, Karen tried to assure herself that the divorce (should it happen – she was giving up too soon here) would not reflect badly on her. The wife just didn't want to be there, in which case there was no helping her.
"Are you kidding?" asked Jill, when Karen had finished her explanation and was gesturing invitingly towards the Empty Chair.
"Most of my clients find it helps," the shrink replied coolly.
"But my problem is with him." She nodded towards her husband Steve. "And he's here. Isn't that the whole point of marriage counselling?"
"Yes," Karen smiled forcibly, "but there are always external factors. Steve thinks you have unresolved issues with your father."
Jill glared at Steve. "I know he does," she said darkly.
"Well…?" prompted Karen.
"Well what? Steve isn't my father." She looked at Steve. "You're not, you know. You're a nice guy and how I feel about you is nothing like how I feel about him, and it's nothing to do with him either. I just don't love you anymore."
Steve looked stung.
The shrink looked shocked, but she managed to compose herself and said, "Please just imagine that your father is in the chair and talk to him. It might help."
"It's got to be worth a try, Jill," Steve added imploringly.
Jill rolled her eyes. She didn't want to "try" anything except for divorce. Besides, she strongly suspected that she made Steve miserable and he only wanted to stay with her for the sake of their child, which she thought would be an extremely bad idea. But she decided to humour them. She looked at the Empty Chair and envisioned her estranged father, Jeremy Davies, glaringly contemptuously back at her.
"Just try to imagine he's there," Karen encouraged her patronisingly.
"I am imagining he's there," returned Jill. "I just don't have anything to say to him."
"There must be something," reasoned Karen.
Jill looked at her. Why must there be? She really did have absolutely nothing to say to the wife-beating bastard. She thought he probably knew how she felt, and even if he didn't know, she didn't care. Besides which, he wasn't even really in the room. If she did think of something she wanted to get off her chest it would never get through to him, so what good would this do? But, for the sake of peace, Jill tried to imagine what she would say to her father if he were there.
Looking squarely at the Empty Chair, Jill folded her arms and said, "I hate you and I never want to see you again. Get the hell out of my therapy session."
x x x
Sarah shook Jo awake at nine thirty in the morning. She'd fallen asleep on the sofa.
"Oh Jesus!" exclaimed Jo, wincing with pain and clutching a hand to her forehead. Then, as her mother pulled open the curtains and the room was flooded with sunlight, "Mo-o-om…"
"You know," Sarah said casually, "for someone who drinks at least once a week, you're surprisingly bad at it."
"I have to wax my legs," mumbled Jo, rolling off the sofa and literally crawling towards the doorway.
"Why?"
"Why do you think? Do you have any?"
"I never inflict unnecessary pain on myself," replied Sarah. "There's a pack of disposable razors and a whole tube of hair removal cream under the basin in the upstairs bathroom – you can take your pick."
"Ugh…" groaned Jo, pulling herself up by the banister at the bottom of the stairs, and almost falling straight down again. "They're both such a chore."
"Yes," said Sarah, "but they don't hurt. The blades are so sharp you can't even feel it if you cut yourself. I'm gonna take the dog for a walk, ok?"
An hour or so later, when Sarah was on the phone to the stripper's boss, Robert, Alex and Scott returned home with Garrett and his parents in tow. McEnroe jumped on Susan in the doorway, because household pets have an uncanny talent for recognising the person that likes them least, but Alex quickly pulled him away.
"Have they fed you?" he asked, fondling the dog's ears.
"Really?" Sarah asked whoever was on the phone excitedly. "That's great! It'd have to be after the twenty-seventh – my daughter's on honeymoon until then."
"Come through to the kitchen and I'll make coffee," Robert offered, leading the way through the hallway, both of his sons and Howard and Susan following.
"Thanks," smiled Sarah. "I hope he feels better."
"Where's Jo?" asked Garrett, as Sarah put the phone down. "Realised her mistake and run off?"
"I don't think so," replied Sarah, walking over to the bottom of the stairs. "Not unless she's climbed out the window. JO!"
"WHAT?" Jo's voice called back.
"They're gonna send us a free strip-a-gram after you're back from honeymoon!"
"Oh – great!"
"Why are they gonna do that?" Garrett asked confusedly.
"Our stripper had a car accident on the way here last night," explained Sarah.
"Oh no!" exclaimed Garrett. "Is he ok?"
"He's got a broken leg," Sarah told him, "but he's gonna be fine. The other guy got away with twelve stitches in his arm."
"MOM!" Scott yelled from the kitchen. "Did you feed McEnroe?"
"Of course I fed McEnroe!" Sarah called back, shooting an apologetic smile at Garrett before turning round and bustling into the kitchen.
Garrett was alone in the hallway for all of two seconds before Jo appeared at the top of the stairs. She was wearing sneakers, cargo pants and a khaki tank top. She'd run a comb through her shoulder-length dark-blond hair, but other than that she hadn't made much of an effort. She just looked exactly like herself, which Garrett liked.
"Hi," Jo smiled, as she descended the stairs.
"Hi yourself," Garrett returned. "You look beautiful."
"Yeah, well… brides always look beautiful… or something – I dunno." She plonked herself on his lap and draped an arm around his neck. "You scrub up pretty nice too."
"So do you really wanna do this?" asked Garrett.
"Ummm…" Jo screwed up her face as though deep in thought. "Nah – changed my mind. Let's play tennis instead."
"Hey!"
"Well, don't ask stupid questions then." She leaned in and kissed him playfully for a couple of seconds, then asked, "What time is it anyway?"
"Almost eleven," replied Garrett, looking at his watch.
"Da-ad!" Jo suddenly called out loudly, the strain on Garrett's ear making him wince. "Guys! It's almost eleven – let's go!"
"Honestly – look at you two," Sarah scolded good-naturedly, emerging from the kitchen and looking at them with mock-disapproval. "You're so lazy, Joanna – you can't even make an effort for your own wedding."
"It's not that we aren't making an effort," retorted Jo. "It's because our love transcends material… um… tat. Or something. Come on." She jumped off Garrett's lap and pulled open the front door. "Let's do this thing."
x x x
It wasn't nearly grand enough to be called a ceremony. A ceremony implies a huge gathering, a big performance, painstakingly arranged flowers and life-altering expenses – the kind of thing that Jo abhorred and Garrett was kind of glad she did. It was all very quick: "Garrett, do you? Joanna, do you?" Bingo – married.
Ok, maybe not that quick, but you get the picture. They signed the register and somebody came up with a marriage certificate for them. That was the bit that mattered in the legal sense: documents that said they were married. It occurred to Garrett that documents were the whole reason they were doing this: they were definitely going to have to go through official channels of some kind when they wanted a child (adoption or IVF – either way there would be forms to fill out), and these documents would just make it easier.
He glanced at Jo as she pushed a chunk of hair behind her ear in order to bend down and sign her name. People say stuff like that, don't they? "Marriage is just a piece of paper." Kylie Griffin, for example. And Jo, come to that. Well, that was all they wanted: the piece of paper. Everything else that marriage implied – the cohabitation, the commitment, the love (arguably the most important aspect) – they already had. Garrett wondered if this was in any way wrong – marrying for hypothetical legal purposes, that is – but then Jo smiled at him and he decided he didn't need to think about that.
Jo kept thinking about her cousin Claudia's wedding, which had taken place about ten years ago. Claudia and her betrothed, Jim, had had a lot of stuff at their traditional church wedding. Jo had been a very outspoken teenager at the time, and at the reception she had asked Claudia why she needed all the stuff, and why it was necessary to set her father back several thousand dollars, and surely the extravagance wasn't any measure of their love. Claudia had said, "It's a celebration of our love, moron. It is a rite of passage and a special day in my life and it is a big deal – got that?" Jo and Claudia didn't really get on.
A few weeks ago, Jo had made the mistake of getting into a debate about marriage with Kylie. They were good friends, and Kylie was an even closer friend to Garrett, so Jo had confided their baby reasons for marrying.
"Ok, that's a good reason," Kylie conceded. "Carl thinks Eduardo and I should marry for legal-type reasons. Apparently it'll make our finances easier – and it's a tax dodge or something – I didn't really listen."
"That doesn't sound like the best reason to get married," Jo remarked.
"It isn't. And the other thing is that if we split up, apparently I can do whatever I want with the kids (within reason, obviously) and Eduardo won't get a chance to see them unless I let him. But I wouldn't stop them from seeing him if they wanted to, which I think they probably would – and besides, it seems silly to marry in case of what might happen when we split up."
"So what about religion? People with a faith get married because - "
"Because they think God wants them to?" suggested Kylie.
"Um… well… because it's a part of their faith," replied Jo. "That's ok, isn't it?"
"Yeah… yeah, ok, that's not a bad reason to get married," Kylie agreed. "So that's two good reasons to get married, neither of which applies to me and Eduardo. It is so annoying. People are always asking me: why don't you get married? So I ask them why they think we should get married. That always shuts them up – or else they come out with something really dumb, like: 'It's what people do.' That's not a good reason to get married."
"I don't have any objection to following convention like you do," said Jo. "It's just the stuff I don't get, and the scripted ceremonies and everyone having a role to play."
"Ah, well – that's all symbolic."
"Oh, well, I never really understood symbolism. My English teachers all hated me – I had a real problem with metaphor. Mom says it means I'm probably on the autistic spectrum."
"Ok, look," Kylie said firmly. "Nobody's bothered to change the traditions of wedding ceremonies since women were emancipated and marriage stopped being a contract of ownership. Wearing white is like: she's mine and she's brand new, and I'm going to take her virginity later because I'm a man and I own her body. And the bride's father giving her away – that's just wrong. My father doesn't own me – does yours own you?"
"Um… no," Jo replied meekly.
"Exactly – and neither will Garrett when you marry him. Men wear rings now – I guess that's good – but it still kinda means the same as it always used to."
"Hang on, I know that one: eternal love."
"No – they're more like a luggage label. This woman is mine, you can't have her and if you need to know anything, ask her husband – y'know, because obviously she doesn't have a mind of her own."
"Oh."
"Are you taking his name?" demanded Kylie.
"Ummm…" Jo didn't want to give the honest answer, but she supposed she shouldn't tell a deliberate lie. "Yes."
"What? Why?"
"Because my mom's a teacher. Apparently both parents and the child all having the same name makes it easier when the kids start school. And even before we have kids it'll just… make things easier."
"That's why you're getting married, isn't it?" Kylie smiled dryly. "To 'make things easier'. If you ask me, refusing IVF or adoption or whatever to unmarried couples is discrimination."
"Maybe," shrugged Jo, "but I'll do anything for an easy life. Honestly, I think it's great that you have principles, but I just kinda can't be bothered."
"Hey." Jo's thoughts were interrupted as Garrett touched her arm. "Party time, babe."
She glanced over at their witnesses – both sets of parents and her brothers – and caught a glimpse of Susan's face. Susan was now her mother-in-law. That was kind of a strange thought. She was wearing an expression that seemed to ask, of the meagre gathering and rushed procedure: Is this all? She wouldn't be very impressed with the live rock band at the firehouse, Jo knew. For a moment she felt slightly guilty for disappointing Susan and the relatives that shared her view. But then suddenly Jo thought: We're doing this for us – fuck what anybody else thinks!
"Great," she smiled at Garrett, grabbing the handles on his chair and steering him quickly towards the exit. "Let's go."
x x x
The party continued well into the evening. Astonishingly none of the members of Mood Slime ever seemed to tire. A couple of times Oscar went to dance with his girlfriend, handing the mic over to Tim or Ella or, once, Jessica. She impressed everyone with a surprisingly talented rendition of Counting Crows' "Accidentally in Love". The kids particularly enjoyed that one, because they recognised it from the film Shrek 2.
As the evening air began to cool and Mood Slime stopped singing about sex and death in favour of something slower and slightly less unpleasant, Jo found herself with a moment alone. She considered all the profound questions and issues that had cropped up during her engagement: the nature of a marriage proposal; the pointlessness of big weddings, small weddings and even marriage itself; that age-old question of the meaning of love. Jo, with her strange aversion to symbolism, often wondered: Why does everything have to mean something? She and Garrett were married now. Well, that meant that she loved him and he loved her… nothing else. As for what love really was… who the hell cared?
Love is what I feel about him, which must be good, because it makes us both happy and we're having a party about it. There – that'll do.
Jo glanced over at Garrett. He was with Eduardo, Kylie and Roland. They were just talking, and they all looked happy enough. Jo wondered if Garrett was being grilled about how he proposed and why, and what marriage meant to him, like she had been over the last few months.
"So like, what about soul mates?" Garrett was asking.
"Total crock," Kylie replied at once.
"Really?" asked Roland. "So you don't believe that there's one perfect person out there for everyone?"
"No." Kylie shook her head firmly. "Do you?"
"I don't know," shrugged Roland. "It'd be nice to believe it's true, though."
"No it wouldn't," snorted Kylie. "That implies that people like – say, for example – my father, who chose so badly you'd think he must have been drunk or stoned or both, are missing out on something. And anyway, there's no logic to it. It's not exactly a very scientific theory."
"I think Morgan Freeman had it right in Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves," ventured Garrett. "If you'd die for her, then you know it's love."
"Yeah… it's a bit extreme, though," mused Kylie. "Would you die for Jo?"
"Totally," grinned Garrett.
Kylie looked at Eduardo, who had been pretty quiet throughout the conversation. "What do you think about all of this?" she asked.
"I don't know," he shrugged.
"Would you die for me?"
"Sure."
"Good. So anyway, we'd better get the girls home," asserted Kylie, glancing at the wall clock. "Rose went upstairs for that nap hours ago. Is she still asleep?"
"Probably," replied Eduardo, who was looking vaguely among the crowd of people on the dance floor (any more than about two people dancing on it and any space can be given the rather grand name of "dance floor"). "Where's Chita?"
"Dancing with Kevin," said Garrett, pointing to where the seventeen year old was dancing with his small cousin.
"Aww – that's sweet," remarked Roland, as Eduardo and Kylie wandered off to retrieve their children. "Well, I can stay a couple more hours – I told my parents I'd have Amy and Joey home by ten. But I guess you'll be going soon…?"
"Yeah," agreed Garrett, catching Jo's eye across the room and smiling at her. "Jo and I had better start saying goodbye to all of these hundreds of friends and relatives we seem to have. I could have sworn that between us we don't even know this many people. And then… well – honeymoon here we come."
x x x
"I think 'honeymoon' is rather generous for this," ventured Jo, as she closed the curtains on their gradually darkening view of the beach. "It's only New Jersey."
"A honeymoon is two newlyweds escaping from their wedding and taking a vacation together," Garrett returned from his position on the bed. "That's what this is."
"Oh. Ok then. Why take two perfectly normal words like 'honey' and 'moon', put them together and make them mean something like that?"
"Because… um… married people call each other 'honey' and admire the moon. I don't know, Jo. Who cares?"
"Not me," Jo smiled blithely, throwing herself onto the bed next to him. "Do you feel any different?"
"Not really," shrugged Garrett.
"Me neither. I don't feel married."
"Well that could have something to do with the fact that we haven't even kissed since we left City Hall."
Jo looked expectantly at him. "Go on then," she invited.
Smiling, Garrett leaned in and kissed her, gently at first and then more deeply as her arms snaked around his neck and she nudged her tongue between his lips. She murmured appreciatively as his hands moved over her body, softly stroking the tingling skin on her breasts as his kiss moved down to her neck. One of the things Jo really liked about Garrett was that he was happy to do all the work during their lovemaking. She lay back against the pillows, running her fingers through his hair and sighing with pleasure as he peeled away her clothes. She relaxed into his touch, gradually losing consciousness of everything except her own arousal as he moved down her body and slowly but surely brought her to orgasm.
When her gasps of pleasure had finally given way, Garrett took her in his arms and waited patiently. Jo always took a couple of minutes to recover after an exertion like that. Finally she came to her senses and wriggled round to face him, kissing him sensuously on the mouth.
"Thanks for that," she murmured.
"No problem," Garrett smiled at her. "I love you."
"I love you too."
Jo was the first to drift off to sleep. Had it been much cooler Garrett would have covered her over with a sheet, but as it was a hot night he decided she didn't need it. He even shuffled away from her slightly, simply because it was so damn hot. The blanket underneath them was crackling, presumably from static electricity, and he couldn't move it without waking Jo. But, to his own pleasant surprise, Garrett found that he didn't care.
Love is sweating like a pig, lying on a crackling blanket that's giving you tiny electric shocks, and still feeling like the happiest, luckiest person in the world.
Apparently.
THE END