Chapter 15: Siren Song, Pt. 2

Daria was standing on a portable wooden dance floor at the pre-ceremony champagne social as she gazed on the sparkling sand with its neat rows of white chairs and slowly realized the Hulk-like intensity of her grip on the delicate glass. Just like any other day, she told herself as another cheesy love song drifted past her on the breeze. Any other day when I've been mere hours from ditching my clothes with my best-friend-turned-lover and attempting something resembling lesbian sex. I'm fairly certain half the positions in that women's magazine are the result of a size two journalist having a martini for lunch and are not, in fact, real.

With a gentle nudge, Jane directed Daria's attention to the shore line just beyond the flowered arch. Jodie Landon was laughing with a smartly-dressed young man as she held her champagne in one hand and a pair of fuchsia bridesmaid's heels in the other, matching gown floating around her ankles on the breath of the sea. Jane squinted. "Well, that's not Mac."

"Nope."

"Either he's going to extreme lengths to avoid a potential Keven Thompson sighting—which I get—or they broke up."

"Hm. I would like to know how Jodie's doing. Even at the price of canned small-talk with one-fifth of a boy band."

Jane smirked, took Daria's hand, and led the way to the water's edge where the flirtatious couple was standing. After a round of sincere hugs and brief introductions (Jodie's new boyfriend was a sweet d0-gooder named Evan who worked for a non-profit), Evan left to get more drinks and the former classmates were alone together. Jodie was the first to speak, eyes sparkling. "So, do you two have something to tell me?"

After a few moments of silence, Jane replied, "Yeah, Daria's pregnant." When her attempt at a joke was met with dead silence, she course-corrected and said, "Actually, she's my girlfriend. A pregnancy would probably result in a lot of confusion and yelling."

Jodie laughed. "I'd say that I'm surprised you two are a couple—but I'm really not."

Daria took Jane's hand and squeezed it. "I'm starting to think we were the last to know. And now we're hopelessly behind schedule on our Gay Agenda."

Jodie winked and said darkly, "You'll never recruit a gay army and lay waste to the institution of marriage at this rate." Acknowledging this lost opportunity, the trio moved on to the task of catching up. Jodie was in law school and adored her bleeding-heart boyfriend, who was apparently missing an animal cruelty protest to attend the wedding. When they arrived at the topic of Brittany's impending nuptials, Jodie leaned in conspiratorially and murmured, "I'm kind of worried Kevin might show up today. He's been sending Brittany poorly-spelled love letters since he heard she was engaged three or four months ago."

Jane's jaw dropped and her eyes widened as she deadpanned, "Oh god, please tell me you have one to share with the group."

A chuckle from Jodie. "No. I'm not sure what Brittany did with them, and I don't know how it went when she met up with Kevin to talk about it, either." Daria and Jane exchanged a quick glance. "The last time I saw her before this weekend was at our final dress fittings, and when I asked her about it, she just looked really sad and said she didn't want to talk about it." Jodie took a thoughtful sip of her champagne. "Then she changed the subject to designer shoes."

Daria remarked, "So Kevin's Byron-esque entreaties couldn't shake our steadfast bride."

Jodie frowned. "I don't think so. But she refuses to talk about it, so it's hard to be sure." She shrugged. "Either way, it's not my business."

Daria spotted Jane giving her a sly, sidelong look that asked What do you say to that, Morgendorffer? Although Daria still adhered to a strict moral code, she was finding it wasn't as black-and-white as in years past. Even if Brittany had cheated on Terrance with Kevin, would she have any moral obligation to warn the groom-to-be? The answer wasn't as easy as it once was. Shaking off this unpleasant reverie, Daria asked Jodie, "So, what's our celebrated pigskin champion up to these days?"

"He works for a car dealership a few hours outside of Boston. Apparently, he's a really good salesman."

Jane let out a "Ha!" followed by, "Maybe Mr. DeMartino was right, and Kevin will own a whole chain of dealerships before we know it."

Jodie replied darkly, "Never underestimate the power of a white guy who looks good in a tie."

It was then that Evan returned with the drinks. Ten minutes later, they were saying hasty goodbyes as the bossy wedding planner and a team of ushers shepherded a crowd of over 200 guests to their seats. After Daria had gotten as comfortable as possible in her wooden chair, she took in the crowd. Either that's Brittany's grandmother up front wearing enough pearls to sink a yacht, or Zsa Zsa Gabor is here. Suddenly Jane leaned in close, enveloping Daria in the darkly enticing scent of her perfume, and said under her breath, "We may need to revisit the Apocalypse notion." Daria turned to face her with a slight eyebrow raise. "Charles Ruttheimer is sitting two rows behind us, and he doesn't seem to have a date. Since Brittany never liked him and he doesn't know Terrance…"

Daria finished her thought with a note of confusion in her voice: "He must be here with one of the bridesmaids, despite the fact that none of them seem to be criminally insane."

"Hmm. Have we seen them all yet? So far, I've counted five Swedish supermodel types in offensively pink gowns."

With that, the processional music began and Jane quipped, "Jesus, is that Boys are Guys for string quartet?" Daria suppressed a chuckle as she squeezed Jane's hand and turned to watch the bridesmaids make their way up the aisle. Here comes the first eight-foot-tall blonde…and the second. Lots of peroxide in the vicinity. Daria squinted to see the petite brunette who was poised to come down the aisle. As she walked closer, Daria and Jane's handhold grew tighter and tighter until they finally looked at each other with bewildered expressions.

Daria was the first to speak, leaning over and murmuring in Jane's ear, "I guess a love of cheesy magic acts wasn't all they had in common."

Jane responded in a whisper, "She was the least terrifying member of the Fashion Club." Cringing at her choice of words, she added, "With the exception of our beloved Quinn, of course."

"Ha," deadpanned Daria.

"What could make sweet Stacy Rowe decide to court Satan himself?"

Daria considered this as she watched the Fashion Club alum approach, her well-proportioned form accentuated by the clinging gown and a nervous smile on her wide-eyed face. "Maybe she knows something about Upchuck that we don't."

"Buried treasure and a terminal prognosis?"

"Exactly."

After the Maid of Honor—a radiant Jodie—had made her way down the aisle, the last strains of Boys are Guys died out and were replaced by the warm swell of a bittersweet classical tune. The crowd turned in their seats as one to behold a sweetly smiling Brittany at the end of the aisle in a lowcut lace number that would fit right in at an adult video gala—albeit a fancy one with speeches and surf 'n' turf. As she walked closer, Daria saw the bride's eyes were brimming with tears. Oh, god. I hope they're the happy kind so we don't have to keep Terrance from drowning himself in the seasonal squash soup this evening. But at least there's no sign of Kevin. She stole a quick glance at Jane, who was observing the proceedings with arched brows. And as a bonus, the nuptial drama has provided a brief respite from this exotic blend of joy and terror at the top of the lesbian roller coaster—where I wait, literally, to go down.

Brittany reached the top of the aisle without a surprise intrusion from an uninvited meathead, and it wasn't long before the newlyweds were sealing their marriage with a kiss that featured an impressive amount of tongue for an event with so many grandparents in attendance. As Daria and Jane rose to join in the cheers and throw their bird-friendly seeds ("I think there's a dead bug in mine," murmured Jane), Daria felt a wave of undeniable happiness for Brittany. She decided that, what the hell—she'd choose to believe the version of events where Brittany didn't cheat on her new husband. For now.

Ten minutes later, the sun had vanished beyond the horizon. Daria and Jane found themselves seated beneath the vast, starry sky and lines of white string lights as they held hands beneath their currently deserted table. Just as the anxious couple was about to head for the buffet of dressed-up finger foods, a nasal male voice inquired from behind them, "Mind if we join you, ladies?"

Daria looked up into the smirking face of Charles Ruttheimer and immediately saw he had his arm around a smiling Stacy. That explains the less-disgusting-than-normal salutation. Daria opened with, "Hello, Charles. And Stacy, it's been a long time."

With a twinkle in her eye, Jane turned to the sweet brunette and said, "Blink twice if you're being held captive," then tipped a wink at Charles.

Stacy giggled and replied, "Well, my heart has been held captive since May. That's when Charles DJ'd for a polka party at my nursing home." Flustered, she clarified, "Well, not my nursing home. I don't live there or anything. I just work there."

Charles growled, pulled her close, and kissed her blushing cheek. "My lady has it all—a heart the size of Boston and a smokin' bod hot enough to melt glass." He put on a stage whisper and said from behind his theatrically raised palm, "She's the CNA with the T and A."

A clearly amused Stacy shrieked in delight and then scolded Charles unconvincingly with a, "Honey! You're so bad!" Jane looked at her girlfriend, flabbergasted, as Daria considered the mutual benefits of a relationship pairing Stacy's insecurity with Upchuck's relentless sexual adoration. As much as she hated to admit it, it made sense.

By the time the four of them had retrieved food and gotten caught up, the frighteningly efficient wedding planner had already cornered the DJ on the dance floor. She towered over him in skyscraper heels as she tapped her clipboard insistently and he nodded along with whatever she was saying. When she hurried away to her next victim, Daria watched the DJ roll his eyes dramatically and continue working at a leisurely pace to set up for the dance.

Soon, the first notes of a syrupy ballad crooned by what must be a troupe of modern-day eunuchs drifted across the cloudless sky and over the calm sea. As Brittany and Terrance took the floor for their first dance, Daria caught a flash of fuchsia in her peripheral vision and turned to see Jodie taking a seat beside her. Jane leaned over her girlfriend, close enough so Daria could smell her fresh herbal shampoo, and whispered to Jodie, "Any sign of our QB?"

Sadness stole into Jodie's eyes as she replied, "Only in written form." She checked to make sure no one else was near by and went on in a hushed voice, "I was holding Brittany's dress in the bathroom when she told me she'd gotten a final letter from Kevin. He wished her well in her marriage and said he'd always love her."

With a slow nod, Jane mused, "The end of an era." Daria looked to the dance floor, where Brittany was gazing up into Terrance's face with an enormous smile as he laughed at something she'd said, then hugged her extra close to him for a few moments. The formerly preoccupied writer smiled, charmed by the sweet display, and turned to see Jane with eyebrows affectionately raised as she watched the couple. When Jane saw Daria looking at her, she gave her girlfriend an uncharacteristically sweet half-smile that released a fluttering funnel cloud of butterflies in the captivated brunette's chest. She reached for Jane's hand without thinking, and they sat in silence that way until the end of the song.

An hour later, the two of them were standing by the cake table and feigning interest as Brittany's aggressively vain father regaled them with tales of what the wedding had cost him. At least Steve is still fairly sober—unlike Brittany's step-mom. Daria cringed as she thought back on the moment during the father-daughter dance when Ashley-Amber tried to snap a photo and her breast popped out of her gown.

When Steve left to get another Scotch and water, they got down to the important business of choosing their desserts. Jane inspected the array of cake slices with a calculating gaze, her shining black hair illuminated by hundreds of white string lights. With a small but decisive nod, she reached for the one with the most obscene number of seashells crafted from frosting. She then turned to present it to Daria, who accepted it with a tiny smile that would be nearly imperceptible to anyone but Jane.

Back at their now-empty table, they were just finishing the towering desserts ("A Night on Glucose Mountain," remarked Daria) when hauntingly familiar guitar chords filled the night sky. It took Daria a few moments to realize she was holding her breath. She closed her eyes, reliving the last time she'd heard "Fade Into You" by Mazzy Star: those sweet minutes when she'd held Jane in her arms at Trent's wedding dance, awaiting the solitary ache at song's end.

"Yo." Jane's eyes were twinkling. "I think they're playing our song." She gently laid her fork next to her last uneaten bite of cake and rose to her feet as she extended a hand to Daria, who blushed and took it. Jane was leading the way to an inconspicuous edge of the crowded dance floor when the buxom blonde tornado that was Brittany's stepmother stormed past in a manner suggesting she was on her way to inflict some suffering. Jane abruptly stopped, causing Daria to bump into her back. Jane slowly turned to face her with eyes narrowed and a Rorschach blot in red wine adorning her white ruffled shirt. "Dammit," she deadpanned.

Daria squeezed her hand. "I can see by your tell-tale coat of arms that you've been drafted into the Trophy Wife Army." She glanced at Ashley-Amber, now on the other side of the dance floor and berating a waitress. "If you hurry, you can start part one of your initiation: making catering staff cry."

A smirk from Jane. "I'll fetch my purse-sized dog and party drugs. Mind if we run up to the room so I can change?"

Five minutes later, Daria stood before the French doors to the balcony and watched the black waves roll gently up the shore in the moonlight. Brittany's revelers were too far down the beach to be heard, but if Daria leaned close to the glass and looked left, she could see the tiny white lights floating like fireflies in the vast sky.

Startled by a sudden click, she turned to see Jane—in a short, silken black robe that did little to contain her "burst-y" parts, as she once called them—standing next to the roaring, crackling electric fireplace with light and shadows dancing across her chest. "I didn't have a matching shirt," she said quietly. Daria pulled the blue curtains closed.

As she walked to Jane, Daria nearly made a nervous joke about scandalously short robes and their exact penalty in Afghanistan. Nearly. But when she met Jane's vulnerable gaze, all she could do was rush to meet her, shrugging out of her gray velvet jacket and dropping it over a chair on the way. When they met in front of the leaping flames, Daria carefully removed her glasses and set them on the white mantel. She took a deep breath and slid her arms around her girlfriend's lower back just as Jane was raising her hands to gently enclose Daria's face. They made a lovely picture, kissing there before the fire, until Daria suddenly smirked and gave Jane's satin belt a playful tug. Jane snorted laughter as her robe fell open, and soon they were tumbling onto the crisp white comforter with its pile of blue-green pillows, swimming in a radiant sea of breath and whispered exultation.