Anastasia at This Address (11 page)

Mrs. Krupnik laughed. "I know. Your dad says it makes me look young."

"Well,
that's
what's wrong with it, for Pete's sake. It makes you look too young. You're supposed to look like someone thirty-eight years old, not twenty-two!"

"Come on, Anastasia, don't be such a grouch. Tell you what. If you hate my hair this way, I'll change it, just for you, just to cheer you up. How would you like me to wear it?"

"Could you dye it or something? And cut it short?"

"For heaven's sakes, of course I can't, not in half an hour. I'll pin it back. You have a phone call, by the way. That's what I came up to tell you. It's Daphne. She sounds distressed."

Anastasia started down the stairs to the telephone. On her way she called, "And Mom, you should plan to wear dark glasses. It'll be very bright in the church, with Kirsten's white dress and everything!

"What's up, Daph?" she said into the phone.

"We'll be by to pick you up in twenty minutes. But I'm just calling you and Meredith and Sonya to warn you in advance that there's going to be a scene in the church."

"How did you know?" Anastasia asked. She hadn't told
anyone
about Septimus Smith. "Who told you?"

"My mom told me, of course."

"Well, how on earth did
she
know?"

"She doesn't know
yet.
It's when she finds
out
that there's going to be a scene."

"What on earth are you talking about, Daphne?"

"Frances Bidwell. When she stands up to sing, my mom is going to go berserk. I just thought I'd warn you, so you wouldn't be amazed."

Anastasia sighed. "Okay, I'm warned. But I don't really think it'll be a problem, Daphne. There are going to be
other
weird scenes going on, believe me."

"You don't think my dad's going to say Jeff's middle name, do you? My dad isn't going to say 'Neptune,' is he?"

"Believe me, Daphne. It won't matter if he does."

Anastasia said a quick goodbye and hung up. Upstairs she could hear Sam bellowing. "No one can see my tattoo!" he wailed. "It's all covered up by this dumb
sleeve!
"

She sighed, and remembered that it had been only a few short weeks ago that she had been excited about this wedding. Even yesterday afternoon she had still been excited. But now it just seemed like a nightmare. She wondered if the bride and groom might be feeling the same way.

***

Mrs. Bellingham was driving all four junior bridesmaids to the church. Anastasia had never realized before that there were so many details to sort out for a wedding. She had always assumed that everybody simply showed up at a church, or temple, or city hall, or whatever. Then they got married and they all went home.

But even the transportation was a huge problem to be solved. Kirsten, the bride, was arriving at the church with her parents in a huge white limo. Secretly, Anastasia thought that a limo was sort of gross, and she had decided that she herself would never ride in one unless, of course, she became a movie star or something.

If she ever got married (though she was beginning to be fairly certain that she never would), she would simply ride her bike to the ceremony.

In the car, the four girls admired one another self-consciously. They
did
look beautiful: not at all like the blue-jeaned seventh-graders they ordinarily were.

Anastasia noticed, too, that Mrs. Bellingham—who had thrown away her Revlon products when she became a feminist—must have sifted through the trash and found a discarded lipstick.

"Okay," Daphne's mother said, looking at her watch after she pulled into the church parking lot, "let's see. It's not quite time. We'll sit here in the car until the last minute. When Kirsten and her parents arrive, we'll know it's time to go up to the entrance."

"We can watch the people go in," Sonya said, squirming in her seat so that she could see the front walk where people were entering the Congregational church. "Look! There's my mom and dad!" She waved, but Dr. and Mrs. Isaacson were talking to each other and didn't notice. They went inside.

"Where are the ushers?" Anastasia asked. She looked around apprehensively, vaguely hoping that Septimus Smith might have sprained his ankle and sent a substitute, the way they did in football games.

"They're already in the church," Mrs. Bellingham explained. "They're helping people to their seats."

Anastasia saw her own family's battered car pull into the parking lot. Her father got out, opened the back door, and lifted Sam from his car seat. One pocket of Sam's sailor suit was bulging, and Anastasia wondered briefly whether he had brought some of his matchbox cars; Sam was so dense about good manners. Mrs. Krupnik got out of the other side of the front seat.

"My mom's not wearing dark glasses!" Anastasia wailed.

Mrs. Bellingham looked puzzled. "Why would she wear dark glasses? Is she having eye problems?"

Anastasia didn't answer. She had thought that maybe—just
maybe
—if her mother changed her hair style and wore dark glasses, Septimus Smith wouldn't recognize her as the person in the picture Anastasia had mailed to him. But now, watching as her parents walked to the church entrance, each holding Sam by a hand, she could see that her mother looked very much as she had the day she graduated from art school seventeen years earlier.

"Shhhh," she whispered. She waited, cringing, for the voice of Septimus Smith shouting "Swifty!" from the interior of the church. She waited for the wedding to be ruined before it began.

But the only sound that drifted through the church entrance was the sound of organ music playing softly.

"Look!" Meredith squealed. "It's
them!
"

Anastasia turned and looked for the limo arriving. But it wasn't the limo. It was Steve Harvey's father, stopping briefly. Steve, Norman, Kirby, and Eddie all climbed out of the car and Mr. Harvey drove away.

"Those
dudes,
" Daphne said. All four girls giggled as they watched the boys in their creased slacks, turtlenecks (Norman in a bow tie), and sport coats climb the stairs to the church door and disappear inside.

"They were almost late," Mrs. Bellingham commented. "Here we go, girls. Here comes the limo!"

They got out of the car and shook their dresses free of wrinkles. Holding their long skirts away from the ground carefully, they went to join the bride and her parents at the entrance to the church.

"Mom," Daphne said suddenly. "One thing."

"What's that?" Mrs. Bellingham asked. She was about to go inside to take her seat.

"Whatever happens—I mean,
whatever
happens—don't make a scene, okay?"

Mrs. Bellingham laughed. "I don't make scenes, Daphne. You know that."

"Mrs. Bellingham," Anastasia said, a little embarrassed, "if you sit near my mom, would you tell her the same thing? No scenes?"

Caroline Bellingham shook her head, chuckling. She adjusted the ribbon in Daphne's hair and whispered, "Don't be nervous, any of you. You all look fabulous." She took the arm of an usher and went down the aisle of the church to be seated.

Septimus Smith was standing nearby, wearing a tuxedo, looking glamorous. He grinned and winked at Anastasia. "You kids look great," he said softly.

Anastasia smiled politely and thanked him. Someone handed her a bouquet of mixed pink flowers and nudged her into her place. Behind her, vaguely, she was aware of the swirl of white organdy surrounding the bride.

"Almost time," someone whispered. "Ushers? Is everybody seated?"

The ushers all disappeared through a door. The wedding will be okay, Anastasia was thinking. We'll get through the wedding okay because my mom's just one face in a whole sea of faces in the church and he won't notice her.

And as for the reception—well, just before the reception I'll tell him that I'm sorry I can't introduce him to my parents because unfortunately their religion doesn't permit them to talk to people wearing tuxedoes—

No. That's dumb. I'll say I can't introduce him because my entire family has regrettably been exposed to smallpox and the doctor said—

"Ready?" a voice was asking her.

Anastasia sighed and straightened her shoulders. "Ready," she whispered.

She peered around the people ahead of her and looked down the long, carpeted aisle of the church. In front of the altar, Daphne's father, Reverend Bellingham, wearing long robes, was smiling. Before him, the groom and best man were standing awkwardly, with self-conscious smiles. The ushers, after seating the last people, had hurried around the back way and now they, too, including Septimus Smith, were arranged at the front of the church, waiting for the wedding procession to start.

The organ music swelled into the opening melody of the wedding march. Ahead of her, she saw Sonya, the first in line of the junior bridesmaids, start walking slowly. After a moment someone nudged Daphne, who moved forward next. Anastasia watched carefully until Daphne was a third of the way down the aisle.

She counted, blinked, took a deep breath, and headed down the aisle herself.

As she walked, moving her feet slowly in the gliding rhythm they had rehearsed, she repeated to herself the humiliating words in the letter she had written late the night before. She had not yet mailed it.

Dear Tim:

Septimus is a pretty nice name, actually, and I hope that you marry someone who lets you use it.

Swifty is a stupid name, and I'm sorry I made it up.

I'm sorry I made
everything up.
If I had known that you were Meredith's uncle, I wouldn't have.

I didn't ever lie in my letters. I
am
young and female and tall and single. You already know that, of course.

I just didn't say
how
young. And you never asked.

I do have a sloop, really. But you never asked me how Pig it is.

And you only asked for a photograph—you didn't say of me. So the one I sent wasn't really a lie.

But the whole thing was really truly dumb on my part. And the dumbest part is that I got to believing it myself a little bit.

I had already given up boys, or at least the pursuit of boys. Now I have given up the pursuit of men as well.

I am very, very sorry, and I hope the lady who lives in California and has a sloop is still available. Maybe she is even a movie star. But please be sure to check it out and make sure she is telling the truth. I don't want you to have two bad experiences in such a short time.

Sincerely,
Anastasia Krupnik

P.S. If I were still using the name Swifty, which I am not. I would sign this letter:

STUPID WEIRD IDIOTIC FEMALE: TOO YOUNG

"I'm exhausted," Mrs. Krupnik said. She kicked off her shoes and sank down on the living room couch. "But I don't know
when
I've had as much fun. That was a wonderful wedding! Did you have as much fun as I did?"

Anastasia undid the ribbon at the top of her head and shook her long hair loose. She grinned and sprawled beside her mother. "Yeah," she said. "I had a terrific time."

Her father entered the living room with his necktie loosened and a beer in his hand. "I took off Sam's shoes, but I put him into bed with his clothes on. He was out like a light," he said.

"Don't you think," he added, "that we could retire the sailor suit? It really does look stupid. I agree with Sam."

Mrs. Krupnik laughed. "Okay," she said. "It's getting too small for him, anyway."

"How about you, Dad?" Anastasia asked. "Did you have fun at the wedding and the reception?"

He nodded. "I'm not sure
fun
is the correct word for it. It was—well, I'd call it somewhat
surreal.
Especially the wedding itself. Could you please explain to me exactly what was going on at the wedding?"

Anastasia started to laugh. "Didn't you
get it,
Dad?"

He shook his head. "I couldn't figure it out. Everything seemed to be proceeding along just like at every other wedding I've ever been to, and all of a sudden everyone started murmuring. Then chuckling. Then laughing. I started laughing, too, because it was sort of contagious, but I never quite figured out what we were laughing at."

Then he added with a groan, "I don't mean the bell. I figured that out right away, and I grabbed it from Sam as quickly as I could. It's amazing that he could stuff a tricycle bell into the pocket of those pants!"

"I'm going to confiscate that bell for a month," Mrs. Krupnik muttered.

"Mom, do you want to explain the laughing or should I?" Anastasia asked. She was taking off her pearl earrings. Her earlobes ached a little.

"You go ahead, sweetie. It started up in the front of the church, where you were standing."

"Well, first of all, when we were at the rehearsal, Reverend Bellingham didn't say all the stuff he was actually going to say at the wedding itself He just said, 'Then at this part, I'll read a psalm and blah blah blah—"

"'Blah blah blah'?" her father asked. "He said that?"

"Yeah, just to save time at the rehearsal."

"That sounds irreverent to me. A minister saying 'blah blah blah.'"