The Wife of Reilly (36 page)

Chad and Daniel have a van they use to transport their artwork, so they were the troop leaders for the day. “Give us the skinny on who’s who, Prudence,” Daniel requested.

“Okay, Father is the old, good-looking guy. Sophie, he will immediately be attracted to you, which will cause him to blurt out something ridiculous. Carla is his wife, who must be at least twenty by now. Then they’ve got three daughters, Ashley, Whitney and Paige. Paige is the gothic-looking one with the edge. Of course, we love her. The other two we’re kind of neutral to. I’ve got nothing really to hate them for, and they are my half-sisters, but I try to spend as little time alone with them as possible to avoid that awkward ‘hey, stranger sister’ feeling. Oh yes, the two older ones have husbands and kids. They’ll be there too.”

They laughed. “That’s it? They’ll be there?” Jennifer asked.

“Look, you guys will have them figured out in five minutes tops. They’re a very dull group, really,” I assured.

Father answered the door with a broad smile, scanning the group. “Well, good golly, this looks like a poster for affirmative action,” he said.

“Father!” I shot. “What kind of thing is that to say?”

“I’m just saying you’re an ethnically diverse group, that’s all. It’s beautiful, like the Rainbow Coalition,” he explained.

Just shut up and let’s get this over with
.

“I’m sorry, you guys,” I whispered as we walked into Father’s home. “He’s got an undiagnosed disorder.”

Chad swatted his hand as if to say it was nothing. “He’s probably just happy to see two black people, a Mexican gal and a couple of gay guys because he thinks he’ll get his house cleaned and redecorated for free after the party.” Scanning the foyer, Chad added, “This house could use some serious help, Prudence,” he said, picking up a small figurine from the table. “Modern trophy bride.” He made a face at the large hanging mirror. “Circa 1992.”

The sky was one continuous gray cloud that was threatening rain on a moment’s notice. Still, kids dressed in Easter bonnets and pastel blazers rummaged around the backyard searching for dyed hard-boiled eggs. Two teens from the catering company were grilling steaks and burgers at each end of the white canvas tent in the yard. Carla hired a kid from the community college drama program to play the Easter Bunny and hand out treats to the children. The student was one of those intense method actors who needed to know where the Easter Bunny had just come from, what his life was like before the barbecue and what his motivation was for handing out chocolate eggs to the kids. Every hop was full of purpose. Each time she handed a child a piece of candy, she tilted her head to the side and pursed her lips with an expression that could have either been rueful melancholy or a migraine.

Carla approached our group with her arms extended. She smiled. “Trenton told me you were bringing guests. I’m so glad you all came.” I knew my friends were all wondering what possible problem I could have with the charming hostess, Carla. She shook everyone’s hand, and as they gave their names she’d return “Carla Malone” efficiently. As if her name might change between introductions.

As I walked out of the restroom, Carla touched my shoulder and asked me to turn around, as if she might help me remove a piece of toilet paper stuck to my shoe. “Oh Prudence,” she said with disappointment. “You really
didn’t
do the fanny lift. What a shame.”

Father joined our table for lunch and asked about my wedding plans. “Have you all met this Matt fellow?” he asked the group. Half nodded that they had; the others shook no. “And you think he’s good enough for my little girl?” he asked Sophie.

“Well, let’s put it this way,” she said slyly. “We always get what we think we deserve,” she winked at me. They all laughed, including me, though it also made me shudder.

“Are you going to have a traditional ceremony where the bride’s father gives her away?” he asked, hinting for the honor.

Why relive my childhood on the happiest day of my life?

“No, I’m actually going to walk myself down the aisle,” I told him.

“How modern,” Father said.

Sophie told Father that Jennifer and Adrian were also recently engaged. “Congratulations you two,” he said. “Well, it’s just the season for weddings, isn’t it? And what about you, Sophie? Are you engaged too?”

Only in a flirtation with you, Father
.

“Oh not me, sir,” she said. I could have jumped across the table and kissed her for calling him sir. She sounded like a female Eddie Haskell, a kowtowing, black-and-white-sitcom dad. “I like to keep my options open,” she grinned like a Cheshire cat. Of course, killing her was also a possibility.

“And what about you two?” he asked Chad and Daniel. Oh no, here comes some ridiculous I’m-going-to-show-you-how-comfortable-with-your-being-gay-I-am-by-saying-something-that-will-prove-the-exact-opposite statement, I thought. “Do you think you’ll marry, or is it too much like conforming to the rigid definition of a committed relationship that the mainstream has imposed on our culture?”

What?!

I imagined the local president of PFLAG feeding Father lines through a microphone that was discreetly inserted into his ear. There was no way he came up with that on his own. Since when was he able to discuss same-sex marriage from the gay perspective?

“I mean, I don’t see what the problem is,” Father said. “Can you imagine what a boost to the economy a bunch of gay weddings would be?”

“Ah yes, when fiscal conservatism meets social liberalism, this is what we get, ay Trenton?” Daniel asked. Father smiled. “I don’t know if we’ll get married. What do you think?” he asked Chad.

“I don’t know,” Chad pondered. “I never really felt like we needed it to legitimize our relationship. Trenton’s right, it does have a certain middle-class suburban drudgery feel to it.” Then he looked around, reminding himself that he was at a family Easter egg hunt in Larchmont. “Maybe ‘drudgery’ isn’t the right word,” he apologized. “It could be cute. Married. Married,” he repeated. “Hang on. Let me try it on for a moment. Married. Yeah, it could be kind of kitschy, you know, like an Ozzie and Harry kind of thing.”

Daniel jumped in to save his drowning lover. “Next we’ve got to find a man for our Sophie,” he told Father. “Sophie’s a single mother, you know?”

“Please, no,” Sophie held her hand out, signaling that she would continue with her thought after she swallowed her food.

“I’m so glad Prudence brought all of you out here today,” Father said. “It’s nice to see what nice friends she has in the city. Does my heart good to see young people looking after each other.”

Could you please stop looking at Sophie!

Carla yelled at the Easter Bunny that it was time for her to lead the guests in the Bunny Hop across the lawn. Carla pressed the button on her portable CD player and joined the line. Who in the world has the Bunny Hop on CD?

* * *

On the drive back to New York, I apologized profusely for Father’s behavior. “I didn’t think he was bad,” Adrian said. “I didn’t care for it when Carla handed me the empty hors d’oeuvre trays to take to the kitchen, but your father was okay.”

“Oh my God, Adrian, she didn’t really do that, did she?” I begged him to be kidding.

“Just once,” he laughed. “I told her I was a guest and she said, ‘Of course you are! I knew that.’ Then she asked some old white lady to take another tray inside too.”

“Good God, that woman is a witch,” I apologized. “She told me I needed a butt lift, so don’t feel too bad. Her stupidity wasn’t directed exclusively at you, Adrian.” I rolled down the window and asked Chad to turn on the fan. “Let me give you a little background, Adrian. Father and I are not close. He dumped my mother for Carla when I was twelve, and is now trying to make it up to me and have a quote unquote real relationship.” They all laughed.

“What’s so funny?” I asked. “Hey, what is so damned funny?”

Chad put on his best Neil Young voice and sang, “Old man, look at my life, I’m a lot like you were.”

Every person in the van joined in for the chorus.

Adrian tapped Chad to ask if he could sing the next verse. “You know it?”

Adrian nodded his head eagerly.

“Sing it, brother,” said Chad.

“Sing it, baby,” shouted Jennifer as she took over on the air guitar.

“You guys, I am
nothing
like him!” I shouted, unsuccessfully interrupting.

They cheered Adrian’s heavenly voice as it serenaded me with cruel reality. Sophie put her arm around my shoulder and started swaying before the group broke out into another passionate chorus.

Chapter 37

I didn’t hear from Reilly until June first when he called my office to tell me that our divorce was indeed final. This was good news considering the fact that my wedding to Matt was at the end of the month. “There’s something I need to discuss with you, Prudence,” Reilly said. “Perhaps we could meet after work and talk.”

I suggested we meet at the apartment at seven.

Reilly didn’t go for that. “Let’s make it eight at Bar 89, okay?”

I had given up on the idea of reconciling with Reilly, and I could tell the thought of getting back together with me had not crossed his mind once over the last six weeks. This was all for the best. The invitations to Matt’s and my wedding had been mailed. My dress was altered, and far too many nonrefundable deposits had been made to think about jilting the groom. Sure, Matt and I had some serious issues to work through, but we would, I assured myself. Every couple has its rocky times. It’s just usually not before the marriage has begun.

Someone forgot to get that memo to Matt because when I arrived home at seven, the phone was ringing with him waiting to give me the ax. I heard the ringing from downstairs and ran up to make sure I didn’t miss the call. I was like one of those poor unsuspecting people who gets a package in the mail and wonders, “Gee, what’s that funny ticking in this pretty box? Let’s tear it open and —” KABOOM!

“Hey honey, what’s going on?” I asked, a clueless fool.

“We need to talk,” Matt said.

“Okay, shoot,” I said, unaware of how appropriate my choice of words really was.

“I’m not really sure how to tell you this,” he said.

“Honey, in four weeks we’re going to be married. You can tell me anything. We’re a team,” I encouraged.

“Well, um, that’s just it. I’m not ready to go through with this wedding.”

Silence.

More silence.

Finally someone had to speak. “What do you mean you’re not ready to go through with the wedding?” For once Matt was communicating very directly, but I hoped there could be some other, innocuous meaning for what he’d just told me.

“I mean I can’t marry you, Prudence. I just don’t see it working out between us,” he said apologetically. “I think we’d be making a big mistake getting married. I don’t want to move to New York.”

“I’ll come to L.A.,” I shot.
Call me Malone!

“It’s not just that. I just don’t think I’m really the marrying type, you know?”

“No, I don’t know, Matt!” I shouted. “You proposed to me back in October, bought me a ring in December and we’ve been making plans for a wedding ceremony, reception and honeymoon together for months. I kind of got the impression you
were
the marrying type.”

“See, this is what I’m talking about. We’re on two totally different speeds. You are so uptight and controlling about everything, and there’s just no moderation with you,” he explained.

Rick,
I growled wordlessly.

“Where is this coming from?” I hoped he’d realize on his own that his so-called best friend had just made an incision in his stomach and released a bunch of butterflies. “You’ve got last-minute jitters,” I begged.

“No, I’ve got last-minute clarity,” he said.

Was that necessary?

“It’s useless trying to talk me out of this. I’ve thought about this a great deal and there’s no way I’m going to marry you.”

I was begging, wasn’t I? I was groveling like some pathetic loser, crawling across the floor, hanging onto her man’s pant leg. Just an hour ago I was practically vomiting in my office bathroom at the thought of marrying Matt in four weeks. Now I had an out. I should have been celebrating, but instead I was hung up about who was doing the dumping and who was being rejected.

I should have broken it off in Los Angeles, I thought.

I should have beaten him with my metal crutch and taped A Passion for Life over his uninspired and totally ridiculous film about Louis Pasteur, who I hope has the greediest great-grandchildren on the planet.

If I’d seen this coming, there are so many things I would have done differently.

Why is that?
I wondered. Why would I have done things differently if I knew I was going to be dumped in the end? Why did I let the ultimate destination determine how my journey would be? Why was I still on the phone with this loser?

“Matt, I respect your decision and thank you for at least telling me this time,” I said. “If
you
change your mind, don’t even think about calling me to reconcile. If you ever see me at Michigan stadium again, walk the other way because I don’t even want to say hello. Got it?”

“Come on, there’s no need to be bitter about this,” Matt said gently.

“You’re right, I should thank you for saving me from the biggest mistake of my life, but right now, I’ve got to admit, I’m a bit peeved at the thought of having to call two hundred and fifty guests and tell them the wedding is off. Actually, fuck that. You call your own guests and tell them what a spineless prick you are. And I’ll send you a bill for the deposits I put down.”

“Okay, that sounds fair,” he said.

“Nothing about this is fair, Matt. You owe me a few thousand bucks, plain and simple. Don’t congratulate yourself for paying what you owe. If I don’t see the money in thirty days, I will sue you!” Then I hung up and fell to the floor in tears. I didn’t get up for another half-hour of sobbing when I realized I’d have to run to the bar to meet Reilly.