Chapter Seven
Two weeks later . . .
Mary Jane Watson checked herself in the mirror for the umpteenth time, forcing herself to admire her shimmering white wedding dress, with its plunging neckline and accentuation of her ample cleavage. Every strand of her coiffed red hair was neatly in place, and the rouge and mascara she had been applying for hours properly accentuated her youthful beauty. Her mother and her maid of honor had taken their places inside the sanctuary. She was alone now, left by herself to contemplate her last few moments as a single girl.
This was the day that every young woman eagerly looked forward to. It should have been the most wonderful day of her life. But for Mary Jane, the anniversary of this day would always be marked by a huge dark asterisk.
The strains of Wagner's wedding march filtered into the bridal chamber, signaling that the processional was about to begin. It was time to get on with the rest of her life, a life of wealth and glamor, and maybe a little fame if her career took off. After all, this was what she wanted. No lamented, it wasn't what she wanted. It was what the man she loved wanted for her.
I'm not going to cry, she told herself yet again. The only reason she was able to keep to that pledge was that she literally had no tears left to cry. After her fiancé had nearly lost his life at the hands of that vicious human rhinoceros, she rushed into his embrace, tremendously relieved that he had escaped relatively unscathed, but feeling nothing more. Even as she hugged John, she was already looking beyond him, searching the buildings and rooftops for Peter, but finding no trace of him. Peter didn't even stick around long enough to say goodbye, not even a wave or an acknowledgment from above. He was just gone.
She had tried to call Peter on the phone whenever she was alone, but his line remained silent. He was refusing to return her calls, and she knew why. She also knew that it was tearing him up inside, just as much as it was her.
How can this possibly be right? she had asked herself bitterly. Two people who loved each other intensely were being forced apart by a code of ethics she couldn't even begin to understand, let alone accept. Why the hell can't he respect me enough to let me make my own decision . . .
She thought about John, waiting for her up there at the altar. He was such a good, kind, loving, and caring man, nothing like his father. For the last two weeks, she had managed to pull off an Oscar-caliber performance in her role of bride-to-be, smiling for the cameras, helping John's mother with the arrangements, and abundantly showering affections on her future groom. She had somehow managed to convince John that she had resolved all of her outstanding issues with her previous suitors, and hoped, desperately, that her love for him would grow over the years. But alone at night, in the security and comfort of her own bed, she cried herself to sleep.
As she made her way to the doors, the two attendants made some last-minute adjustments to her train. Then the doors opened, and before she knew it, an audience that included dozens of New York's biggest big wigs all rose in their seats to admire her. Slowly, majestically, with her head held defiantly high and her chin up straight, she bravely stepped forward, one foot in front of the other toward her beaming groom, looking handsome and sharp in his tuxedo. But then, the thoughts of Peter that she had dutifully tried to suppress started popping up everywhere, and she couldn't stop them. Nor could she hold back her tears at the thought of never seeing Peter again. But she remained calm and dignified, with only a slight quiver of her lower lip betraying her grief.
"Isn't that lovely," the grooms mother commented to her irascible husband as Mary Jane passed them. "She's so happy she's crying."
"Harrumph!" growled Jonah Jameson under his breath, wondering whether this daughter-in-law he was about to get was really worth the aggravation. As soon as he'd heard about the kidnapping, he blew his stack, calling the Chief of the NYPD and screaming at him to put out an all points bulletin on Spider-Man. Then he ordered his apple-polishing star reporter to write an article accusing Spider-Man of abducting his son as a way to put pressure on him to cease his crusade against the webslinger's dangerous and reckless vigilantism. Bizarrely, it was not until after he had done these things that he finally ordered his obsequious accountant, Ted Hoffman, drive him out to the crime scene. By the time he arrived, John and Mary Jane were together, arm-in-arm. John hurriedly explained what had happened, but, unbelievably, Jonah had balked about retracting the accusatory article. It was not until John threatened to walk out of his father's life altogether did Jonah relent. But then Mary Jane had insisted that Jonah print a new article that recounted the truth about what happened to both of them that night. When Jonah suspiciously asked Mary Jane what she was doing on the streets by herself at night, she crisply and tersely said, "that is not your business." This girl had guts, Jameson grudgingly admitted to himself, more so than anyone on his staff, except Joe Robertson.
She reached the altar and took her place next to John, but not before glancing up at the ceiling, subconsciously hoping against hope that Pete would somehow be there, ready to rescue her from the abyss into which she was about to plunge. But all she saw wereornate designs that had been handcrafted nearly a century and a half earlier.
All hope gone from her eyes, Mary Jane turned with her groom to face the minister, who began intoning, "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here in the sight of God to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony . . ."