The Wife of Reilly (34 page)

“I’d like to spend some time talking with you, Prudence. You will be staying for the after-party, won’t you? Adrian asked.

After-party? What after-party?

Sophie answered, “Of course we’re staying, Adrian. Go greet your other guests. Prudence and I will be around the rest of the evening.”

“What after-party?” I asked Sophie. “Jennifer never mentioned anything to me about an after-party.”

“Well, of course you’re invited to the after-party, Prudence,” Sophie smiled. “Don’t be ridiculous. If you’re not invited, who is? We all are, silly. Chad and Daniel are coming
just
for the after-party. Since when do you need a formal invitation, Prudence? We’re best friends. It’s a given that we’re invited. Don’t start sobbing on me again, okay?”

Jennifer rushed over to us apologizing for taking a few minutes to get to us. “Everyone wants to talk to the bride-to-be, and you can’t very well just brush them off.”

“It must be hell for you to be the center of attention like this,” I laughed.

“Treacherous. And all these gifts, torture.”

Sophie raised her finger to ask a question that just occurred to her. “You’re not going to wear a boring old wedding dress, are you? I mean, people are expecting —”

The music stopped as Adrian tapped his empty wine glass with a shrimp cocktail fork.

He’s got good crystal
.

“Can I have your attention for just a moment please?” Adrian asked.

I’m quite sure you have everyone’s attention with that voice of God
.

“I’d like to make a toast to my Jennifer. Many people wondered why we got engaged so soon after we met. And I’m sure some of you had your own theories.” The group of thirty guests laughed at the implication. “There’s a very good reason I asked Jennifer to be my wife right away. By our third date, I was completely and totally addicted to this woman’s charm, her wit, her insights and observations, the way she looks at the world and how she says exactly what’s on her mind. Every day I’m with Jennifer, she reminds me of all of the beauty — and the drama — that life has to offer, and just by being herself, she reminds me of so many things I’d forgotten to appreciate. With Jennifer I am a wide-eyed child, I am a reborn man and I am a fool in love. So, I’m hooked and there’s no rehabilitation that I want, or that could ever break this wonderful habit I’ve formed — loving you, Jennifer,” he said, raising his glass to her.

Jennifer wiped her eyes and held her glass to him as the rest of the guests toasted the couple and sipped their champagne.

“Many of you know this already,” Adrian continued, “but on our first date, Jennifer and I went to see
Casablanca
— her
favorite
classic film,” he laughed. “So, I’d like to suggest this as our first dance together tonight,” Adrian said, signaling the pianist to play “As Time Goes By.”

Chapter 34

The next week I was still thinking about charming Adrian’s toast to Jennifer and wondering if Matt would ask our wedding guests to raise their glasses to my “awesomeness” at our wedding. Chad accused me of having a crush on Adrian because, as Jennifer showed us her engagement ring, I commented that “he” was gorgeous. Our friends laughed at me as I feebly tried to cover up my mistake by asking, “Aren’t diamonds referred to as he? You know, like boats are she?”

Adrian winked and mouthed that it was okay. Jennifer smiled and said, “Y’had it right the first time. He
is
gorgeous.” Then she turned to kiss him and the group let out a collective “ahhhh.” Without question Adrian was a breathtakingly handsome man, but it wasn’t him I was smitten with as much as I envied what he gave Jennifer.
My
Jennifer.

Father called to remind me that I was on his calendar for a movie that week. “You probably like those art flicks, right? The ones where two mimes find a piano in the ocean and it’s supposed to have some deep meaning,” he teased.

“You’d think, huh? Actually, I’m kind of in the mood for a good suspense flick. Do you want to see
The Keyhole?
My friend Sophie said she couldn’t stop thinking about it for days after she saw it.”

Father agreed to meet me in the Village on Wednesday night after work for a sandwich and movie. Honestly, I think he would have gone to an S&M slave cave clearance sale if I asked him to. He was so eager to spend time together, which I was greeting with equal parts skepticism and hope. Before I could stop myself from asking, I blurted that I wanted to know why he was suddenly so interested in spending time with me.

“You’re my daughter,” Father answered. “I’d like to have a relationship with you.”

“Well, you say that as though it should be obvious. Let’s not gloss over the fact that you weren’t always interested in running for Father of the Year. Why the sudden turn-around? Are you dying or something?”

Father was silent. Oh my God. I couldn’t believe I had just been so cavalier about his fatal illness. He was dying, I realized.

“No Prudence, of course I’m not dying,” Father said. “What a thing to say. I’m perfectly healthy. I just love you. Why is that so hard for you to believe?”

Shall I count the ways?

“Why now?” I shot.

“I hate to sound like I’m at an anti-war rally or something, but if not now, then when?” he returned. “I can’t change the past, Prudence, but I can try to make a future for us. Now is the soonest I can start working on that.”

“My Father the fortune cookie,” I laughed. “I just wish you’d thought of doing this twenty-five years ago.”

“So do I, Prudence. So do I.”

“Okay then, I’ll meet you at seven-thirty at the Waverly and we’ll just grab a bite at that diner down the block, okay? Wednesday, right?” I asked.

“Wednesday. Seven-thirty. I won’t be late.”

You already are, Father
.

* * *

The next day was Matt’s birthday. Keeping with the tradition we’d set fifteen years ago, I called him the night before so I could be the first to wish him a happy birthday.

Matt wasted little time letting me know that he was less impressed with this year’s birthday gift than he was with my hotel-room party in Fort Lauderdale.

“I got your gift,” Matt said coolly. “Very telling.”

“I have something more personal I’m sending this week, but I thought this could really come in handy with your new film and all. It’s a very practical gift, Matt. I think you’ll thank me for it one day,” I apologized.

Okay, so maybe a personal liability insurance policy might not be on the Top Ten Romantic Gifts list, but Matt did say the Pasteur clan was threatening to sue over the slanderous things his film said about the scientist. Dealing with a lawsuit would take Matt’s time and attention away from his film making, so helping him avoid all that was really a way to support his art. When the insurance company quietly wrote a check to the Pasteur kids, and the lawsuit was settled, Matt would be able to walk away with his finances intact. In the meantime, I refused to apologize for being level-headed.

“I’m sorry, Matt. Do you hate me now?” I asked.

“I don’t hate you, but I think your gift sucks,” he said. “What are you saying, Malone? You think I’m going to get sued?”

“Honey, anyone who’s anyone has been sued. I believe in you, so yes, I think sooner or later someone’s going to sue you. Wouldn’t you rather have an insurance policy to protect you against a frivolous charge?”

Matt said nothing. Then I heard him typing in the background.

“Are you typing?” I asked.

“No,” he shot back.

“You’ve got mail,” America Online Guy said in the background.

“Matt! You’re checking your e-mail?!”

“I’m not checking my e-mail,” Matt snapped. “I was checking out something I wanted to buy online, and I guess an e-mail just came in.”

Okay, you are definitely missing the point!

“Okay, well, I want to wish you a happy birthday. Can you sign off, please?”

“Sure,” he sighed. “So how’s life in the big city?

“Good. I booked the chapel in Ann Arbor and I need to get your guest list by the first of April so I can get the names and addresses to the calligrapher, okay? I put in for my vacation time for our honeymoon. I think six weeks gives us enough time for three countries. What do you think?”

“Three sounds cool,” he said.

Shouldn’t the e-mail guy have said “Goodbye” by now?

“Do you want me to just choose the menu for the reception, or do you want me to have the Gandy Dancer send the dinner choices to you too so you can help decide?”

“You can handle it, Malone. To tell you the truth, weddings are kind of female territory. I’ll handle the honeymoon, but all the wedding stuff isn’t really my thing. Besides, I wouldn’t want to choose the wrong dessert and have to worry about any of the guests suing me.”

“Matt, I’ve already explained myself. You live in the most litigious state in the country. You work in the entertainment industry, and let’s face it, you just made a film dragging Louis Pasteur’s name through the mud, and that’s going to piss some people off. It already has.”

Matt was silent again. I only knew he was alive because of the heavy sighs of a malcontent. Finally he spoke. “Malone, your gift just makes me feel like you don’t believe in me.”

“Matt, I do believe in you. I also believe in insurance. The two aren’t mutually exclusive. Besides, I got you something else too,” I bluffed.

“What?” Matt asked skeptically.

“It’s a surprise,” I told him. “Please don’t be angry with me. It was a gift of love, really.”

I lay down on the sofa and flipped through the March issue of
Modern Bride
eyeing the summer wedding dresses. There wasn’t a single model in this magazine that looked older than twenty-one. Nor did any of them look like they just had a fight with their fiancé over a poor choice in birthday gifts. Each page was filled with pictures of women who looked as if they didn’t have a care in the world other than reciting hand-written vows that they personally etched in gold ink on antique parchment. These brides looked so serene and content with their lives. They looked like Jennifer.

* * *

I spent most of the month of March alone in my apartment. I still showed up for work and the gym, but declined Jennifer’s, Sophie’s and Chad’s dinner invitations. I could make it through the work day, but always rushed home eager to spend the night by myself.

At the time, I convinced myself that my healing knee and wedding plans were the reason I needed to cocoon for a while. The truth is that I spent quite a bit of time staring at my brick walls and crying as I watched blue stars dancing over my bed. There were days when it was so quiet in my home that when the phone rang it startled me. Sometimes I cried so hard, I would actually throw my entire body into the ground like a widow hurling herself into her husband’s grave. The only good thing about my crying spells was that they exhausted me, so I was able to get to sleep easily every night.

The more I questioned whether Matt and I should marry, the more elaborate my wedding plans became. When I remembered how he dragged me skiing the month earlier, I called the restaurant and upgraded the hors d’oeuvres. When I thought about the friends he chose in Los Angeles, I fired the string quartet and replaced it with a ten-piece swing band. I thought about hobbling to catch the bus to the Getty and ordered an ice sculpture. I thought about that moronic film he was making and frantically called the florist to tell her I couldn’t get married without orchids. And when I recalled how Matt just disappeared after college, I called the boutique that was holding my gown and told them I wanted the $4,000 Richard Tyler dress instead.

After my third week of seclusion, Sophie, Chad and Jennifer showed up at my door with a picnic basket and insisted on taking me to the park for lunch. “If you won’t come to us, we’re coming to you, love,” Chad said. I stood at the door in my gray sweats and Reilly’s oversized button-down shirt and Yankees cap he left behind.

“I’m just so busy with wedding plans, I haven’t got time to primp on Saturday morning,” I explained.

“Okay, first of all it’s noon, and second I don’t think brushing your teeth is classified as primping, Prudence,” Chad shot. “Look, I hate to live up to stereotypes about gay men, but let’s get you into the bathroom and do something with this hair. Sophie, wardrobe. Jen, load the dishwasher and toss the pizza boxes please, then get into the lav for makeup.”

And with the clap of Chad’s artistic hands, women began scurrying around my apartment, cleaning the mess, rustling through the closet and smoothing foundation onto my face. Sophie popped in with three outfits I’d forgotten I had. “Your closet is paradise, Prudence,” she said. “I had trouble narrowing it down to these three, everything is so damned cool.”

“Know what Adrian says about you?” Jennifer asked before telling me to look to the ceiling so she could apply eyeliner. “You’ve got sophisticated elegance.”

“What kind of man talks that way?” I laughed.

“My man!” she shouted. “My. Man. Eyes up,” as she applied mascara.

“You know, I think I may be depressed,” I told them.

“Gee, y’think?” Chad said as he scrunched styling gel through my hair. “I mean, just because you’re holed up in a filthy apartment looking like a fraternity boy, crying all the time, doesn’t mean you’re depressed. All brides act this way.”

“No, I think I really am, Chad,” I insisted.

“And you’ve lost your sense of humor. Now I’m depressed,” he said.

“I’m surprised you’re not telling me that you told me so, Chad,” I said.

“I’ve been saying that behind your back, love,” he smiled. “Jennifer, Sophie, haven’t I said a thousand times that I predicted this miserable outcome?”

“I tuned you out in the mid-nineties, Chad,” Jennifer answered.

“Very cute,” he shot. “I’m thinking plum for the lips, no?”

“I’m not sure if getting all prettied up and going for a picnic is the right way to deal with this, guys. I think I should stay home and try to figure out what’s going on with me. Don’t you think that’s a better idea?”