Conceived Without Sin (41 page)

"Sure thing."

After they left, Ellie gently turned Donna around on the pearly white vanity bench.

"Hey, kiddo, we'll make Mr. Buzz Woodward stand up and take notice of Donna Beck, won't we?"

"Well, I suppose so…" Donna looked down.

"Donna?"

"Yeah?" She kept her eyes down,
wondering how Ellie's legs stayed so perfectly, wonderfully slim.

"Thanks for being a part of our wedding. It means a lot to me and Sam. It means a lot to me."

Donna looked up. Tears welled in her eyes.

"I'm sorry, Ellie. You're treating me so nice and, and I've been so cold to you–"

"No you haven't. Don't say any such thing! You've always made me feel comfortable, like a friend."

"Maybe…well,
maybe I was nice on the outside, Ellie. But in my heart, I was–"

Ellie put a finger up to Donna's lips. They both heard the sound of the other two women coming towards the room.

"Sssh. I understand–maybe more than you know," Ellie finished. "We both love him, don't we? Here, take this. Quick, face the mirror." Ellie handed Donna a handkerchief.

Ellie turned around and cleared her throat just as
Sue and Jennifer entered the room. "Let's all toast!"

"Yes, let's toast. What should we toast to?" Sue asked.

"To Love?" Jennifer suggested.

Donna was recovering quickly.
What? We both love him?

"Let's toast to Sam," Ellie said, sharing a quick, secret smile with Donna.

Donna nodded her head slightly as Sue handed her a glass of champagne.

"Yes, to Sam," Donna seconded with heavyhearted enthusiasm.

They all drank.

+  +  +

"Why are they staying in a hotel? With Bucky out of town for the night, there are plenty of extra rooms here, aren't there?" Donna asked later, after Sue and Jennifer left.

They were sitting in the enormous kitchen, drinking tea on a table made from solid oak and finished with twelve coats of urethane.

"You don't want to know," Ellie said.

"No, tell me."

"You can't guess?"
Ellie asked.

"Now I'm really curious."

Ellie smiled indulgently. "They said they were going to the Flats. They're both single. It's still early. Even after years of bad relationships, neither one has learned to raise her standards, and well, one or both could meet a man, and…"

After a moment of thought, Donna understood.

"Oh," she said weakly.

A moment of silence passed.

"You were never that way,
were you, Ellie?"

Ellie laughed. "Me? No, I have self-respect." Then, after the laughter left her voice, she added, "Like you."

Donna let that sink in.
Should I tell her?

"El, you know what you told me before, upstairs? About Sam?"

Ellie didn't respond.

"Can you keep a secret?" Donna continued.

"Of course."

"Well, I've been doing a lot of thinking, and a lot of praying, and I've come to a decision…"

Chapter Seventeen

1

The wedding rehearsal dinner was tonight. Summer was springing away, falling into autumn.

Buzz followed Donna out of his apartment to the parking lot behind his building. His car was near the door, next to a green dumpster.

Donna was not comfortable in her new dress.
Great, my dress is dumpster green.

She felt like she was wearing a cardboard box in the swimming pool. She was
self-conscious about her knees. The dress was too shiny. Too slick. Too plastic.

I shouldn't have let Cindy talk me into this dress! It's too short!

Donna had spent two days surfing the malls with her sister looking for this dress. The cost of this dress and the bridesmaid dress had cleaned out her bank account. She was forced to put the wedding gift–a pathetic wall clock she was certain Ellie
would throw away–on her credit card. Buzz had chipped in with her for the clock.

She looked at Buzz, who looked happily comfortable in his classy gray suit. Perhaps he was comfortable because it fit so loosely. It was at least a size too large; he had purchased the suit at the Goodwill. His paunch was almost gone, and his face looked thinner. He still had a crewcut, though, and his eyelids were
half-closed with that sleepy, almost sly, natural expression. In honor of the occasion, he had applied Dippity-Doo to his hair.

Despite being secondhand, it was a quality suit, a Ralph Lauren. Buzz could stretch a dollar across the Cuyahoga River. His search for a nice suit had spanned ten thrift shops and five weeks before finding the Lauren. "I may be poor," he had explained to Donna, "but I
have nice taste in suits and shoes."

His Johnston & Murphy wingtips, a relic from his prefab chimney days, had been re-soled and shined to perfection.

"You look dashing!" she told him, her head cocked in admiration. "Look at those shoes! I need sunglasses to look at them directly."

"I'm a fan of the whole concept of re-soling, both for shoes and men's souls. It reminds me of confession. And my
dad might have been a drunk, but no matter how wasted, he always shined his shoes. I remember watching him in the morning, hacking and coughing, sitting on the bed wearing boxer shorts and a guinea-T, shining his shoes with his back to me. His father was a Marine. Now, I can't feel dressed up if my shoes aren't shined properly."

This brought a smile to her lips. He had just forced her to wait
for ten minutes while he shined them. Now they were late.

They paused next to the damaged side of Buzz's Festiva. He didn't have the money to repair it after the accident on the way home from their trip with Sam down the shore. The long, wide scratches on the fenders and panels had started to rust.

They looked like two models placed into a car ad from the Twilight Zone.

Buzz reached to open the
door for her, but stopped, taking a good look at her. He whistled softly.

"You look like a million! Truly marvelous, Dah-ling. Your hair especially. It brings out your enchanting smile."

She heard the sincerity, as well as the excitement, in his voice, underneath the gentle teasing. Buzz rarely commented on what she wore or how she looked.

"Go on, Buzz!"

The door creaked as he opened it. His manners
made her feel ladylike. She looked at her hands after she sat down. The lovely manicure at Ellie's had helped her convince Cindy not to paint her fingernails green to match the dress. Donna insisted on a neutral, beige color. Her nails looked nice.
Nice and plastic.

They headed across town toward Saint Ann Church in Cleveland Heights.

"You're kinda quiet, Buzz," Donna said finally, looking across
him to Lake Erie as they came through the city.

Buzz smiled. "I've been rerunning this summer in my head. I don't want it to end."

"I do," Donna found herself saying.

"You do?"

She didn't answer him.
Just tell him!

"Come on, Donna–you holding out on me?"

"No, not at all. I'm looking forward to tonight. I've never been to a place like the Garden Club. I want to enjoy this wedding."

"That's what
I mean. I'm going to enjoy the wedding, too, but the whole thing is going to be like a period at the end of a long, really cool sentence."

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Let's face it: once Sam moves to Shaker, we won't see him much…"

"But his offices are in Rocky River."

"For now," Buzz said darkly.

Boy,
Donna thought,
he sure is moody tonight.

"Buzz, are you okay?"

"You mean, are the blues
back?"

She nodded.

"No, I'm fine," he lied perfectly. "We're gonna have fun!"

"That's the spirit," she encouraged him.

+  +  +

After the practice run at Saint Anns, the wedding party repaired to the Garden Club in Beachwood. The club was honoring Edward Fisk's reciprocal membership in another country club in Michigan.

Buzz and Donna entered to the sound of a quartet playing Mozart. It was the
Divertimento in D Major.

Neither had a clue about the name of the piece.

"Look at that," Buzz said, pointing to an elegant standing ashtray. The initials
GC
had been formed in the sand. Buzz took two cigarettes out of his pack, and plunged them into the sand, forming periods.

Donna sighed. "Oh Buzz! Behave!"

"Yes, of course, milady, I have no idea what came over me! Doubtless, the sad cause is
a lack of breeding, to be sure."

Edward Fisk walked up to them.

"Welcome! Welcome Buzz, welcome Donna. My, you look lovely, young lady!"

He took Donna's hand into both of his. Edward's hands were warm, wrinkled, and soft. He was about as tall as Buzz, and had an upright bearing. He had a full head of white hair, and a way of looking a person in the eye without blinking. She wondered briefly if
Sam's mother had also been tall.

Donna resisted the urge to respond, "Charmed," and managed to smile. She and Buzz had met Edward after attending an incomprehensible lecture months earlier in the summer.

At least Donna had found it incomprehensible; Buzz understood it perfectly, and told her later it was difficult to hold his tongue during the pleasant but formal dinner that followed. Sam had
treated his father and his two friends to a fine meal at the Stouffer's Hotel.

"Was your drive down pleasant?" Buzz asked, attempting to be courteous, but feeling foolish.

"Quite so. Perhaps you and Donna wish to have a cocktail?" Edward motioned toward the bar with an open hand.

Bucky walked in behind them.

"Edward!" Bucky cried with a cigar between his teeth.

"I'll take her, sir," Buzz said
quickly.

They scurried to the bar, leaving Edward and Bucky behind.

"Pepsi for you?" Donna suggested.

"Get me a Seven-Up. I'm driving."

She giggled. "I feel so wooden."

"Me too."

Sam came up to them as Ellie placed her purse on an immaculately set table. Donna felt a tinge of an old, worn out envy when she spied Ellie's dress. Silky and elegant, the dress had low cut shoulders. The hem, just above
the knees, balanced on the thin line between classy and seductive.

Donna thought (as did just about every movie buff who ever saw Ellie) of Grace Kelly in
To Catch a Thief.
She briefly wondered if Ellie had any acting ability.
She'd take Hollywood by storm if she could act.

"Donna, wow!" Sam burst out when he walked up. "You really… you really look wonderful!"

Donna blushed.

"And what about me?"
Buzz said.

"You look sharp, too, Gwynne," Sam deadpanned, not taking his eyes off Donna. His gaze slowly rose and fell twice, his smile building after each ascent.

Donna felt a spark in his eyes as he stared. She had seen that look before–in her own eyes, as she looked in the mirror in Ellie's bedroom. The look of meeting someone anew. She was not used to being looked at this way by men.

"We have
dancing tonight. Will you save a waltz for me?" he asked, breaking his gaze, looking down at his shoes.

"Of course, Sam. I love to dance!"

"Donna, you look stunning!" Ellie cried, hugging her debutante-style: quickly, barely touching, throwing a kiss that made a shortstop zipping across second base on a double play seem methodical by comparison.

Donna felt as if her ability to blush had passed
its limit.

"Thanks to your hair stylist," she managed to say with her accustomed bluntness.

The cut of Sam's suit gave the illusion of filling him out. He looked impressive, almost imposing. And completely at ease, as if he had been born in it.

"Time to break up into little groups," Sam said finally, looking to the two small dinner tables.

The entire party had arrived and everyone sat down for
the meal. White-gloved waiters served a Romaine salad with cashews and almonds. Buzz was seated with Bucky, Edward, Sue McCormack, Ellie and Sam.

Bucky had brought along his "rent-a-date," a widow from the club who played in his gin rummy circle. Ellie had assured Sam that the arrangement was one of convenience, not love. In return, Bucky attended many of her formal family functions. Her name
was Mrs. Gloria "Bunny" Macpherson, wife of the late Mr. Oliver "Binky" Macpherson "of the Cleveland Alternator and Diesel Cam Macphersons," Ellie explained further. "She's an insufferable snob who hasn't worked a day in her life. But Daddy likes her."

Johnny Traverse was also a groomsman, along with a man named John Bambara, whom Buzz had met a few times at Edwards & Associates. They were seated
at the other table, along with their wives, Donna, and Jennifer Towey.

Buzz and Donna both refrained from conversation, feeling more and more out of place as the dinner progressed. Finally, veal chops, rice pilaff, and asparagus tips were served.

Buzz cleaned his plate quickly, and was embarrassed to find that no one else at the table was yet halfway through a veal chop. He sat rigidly, his hands
on his lap, resisting the urge to play with his fork, embarrassed that the only item left on his plate was a purple salad leaf.

Am I supposed to eat it?

He decided to wait and watch how the others handled the situation.

Then he wondered if it was
grown
purple, or if somebody had to
dye
it that color.

Is there a Garnish Dye Guy in the Garden Club kitchen?

He tried to become interested in Bucky's
ramblings about interest rates and the stock market. Discussion moved to local bond issues, school levies, and the merits of the new baseball stadium and whether it would help the local economy.

When Edward brought up a commentary he had recently heard on National Public Radio about the homeless crisis and "the
current
administration's" failure to address the situation properly, Buzz excused himself
to go to the men's room.

He was half-expecting to see a black man sitting at a table in the entrance to the entrance of the men's room.

There was a towel man.

He's probably called a Restroom Attendant nowadays.

He was white.
Welcome to the nineties, Buzz.

After washing his face and re-shining his shiny shoes, he tipped the towel guy a dollar. Then he paced in a hallway filled with red, forest
green, and brown carpets, walls, and ceilings. He power-smoked two cigarettes, guiltily stamping them out in another fancy ashtray.

I wonder if they call the guy who imprints the sand design the Ashtray Attendant?

Buzz spotted an electrical outlet next to the ashtray. There he was, the socket man, his old friend, calling out,
"Nooooo!"

"Hey little guy," Buzz whispered under his breath. "They trapped
you here, too, eh?"

Mercifully, the music started up again shortly after he returned to the table. Coffee and cheesecake appeared out of nowhere. Not knowing or caring if it was proper or breaking unspoken rules, he asked Ellie to dance. She graciously accepted. Bucky and Bunny followed them to the floor, along with Johnny and his wife, Eudora.

At the table, Sam watched Buzz walk off with Ellie
and sighed. Sam knew that Buzz was not comfortable because Sam wasn't comfortable either.

I'm just better at hiding my discomfort, my friend.

Sam had rejected the country club lifestyle by default the day he quit his job at IBM years earlier in Chicago. He had a sudden, jolting, violent urge to rip off his tie, pull off his jacket, and storm out of the Garden Club. He reached up and pulled on
his collar instead.

I'm gonna get neck zits,
he thought, detesting the Monkey Suit and all it stood for.

He looked to the other table and saw Donna, her eyes on her hands, silent, managing to look completely alone. She looked up and found him looking at her. She was instantly delighted. It showed on her face.
Rescue me,
her eyes told him.

Sam didn't look down…

The quartet played the Voices of
Spring waltz by Johann Strauss. It filled the room like a bouquet.

"I don't know how to waltz," Buzz apologized to Ellen, as he carefully placed his hand on her waist. He tried to ignore the sensation of the supple yet taut fabric of her clinging dress on his fingertips, but could not.

Her perfume was subtle, barely noticeable, enchanting. He was reminded of a documentary about Grace Kelly, Ellie's
look-alike.
"She was a genetic perfection,"
one of her directors had said.

She looked into his eyes for a moment and smiled. "I'm sure you're quite good at improvising. Remember, I've seen you play basketball. You're a talented athlete."

And you're charming me,
Buzz thought.
And I'm letting you.

Ellie was in a magnanimous mood, that was obvious.

Wouldn't you be magnanimous on the eve of your wedding?
Buzz asked himself.

He found his feet, and let them move on their own, and in his effort to not embarrass himself by looking down at them, looked directly at her.

You are a beautiful woman,
he thought, feeling an ache in his heart, hoping she couldn't read his thoughts.
What am I saying!