Diary of a Mad Bride (24 page)

I
called Lucy today. Resolution #6—Call Lucy twice a month—has bitten the dust hard. It's been over six weeks. I know she doesn't hold it against me, she's far too gracious. But I hold it against myself. Especially since a new problem concerning her sugar levels has landed her in the hospital twice since our last conversation. I tell myself that I don't have enough time to call her. But that's a lie. The truth is, I don't make the time.

As usual, Lucy was far more interested in hearing about my life than talking about her own. Aware that for Lucy, as a housebound woman obsessed with tabloid news, I often function like an issue of
The National Enquirer
, I did my best to recount the highs and lows of my life—including the infamous Flower Shop Fallout—with as much dramatic flair as possible.

I was alarmed by how little embellishment was needed.

R
ound two at the bridal registry.

This time we had a hearty meal beforehand and wore sensible shoes. As for the plaid dishes, we compromised and decided to skip china altogether. Instead we're registering for two sets of casual tableware. This way, if a piece breaks, we can afford to replace it.

As for the rest of the registry, we made sure only to ask for things we'd really use. Have you noticed that every married couple has either a pasta machine or bread maker stuffed in the back of their kitchen cabinet? Used only once, if at all. And the cappuccino maker. Oh,
please.
Do you really see yourself slaving away over steamed milk
when a cup of freshly brewed Colombian takes less than three minutes? Not to mention the fact that those cappuccino makers have about 1,005 parts, which need to be individually dismantled and cleaned after each use.

But most important, we registered for gifts in
every
price range. When Bianca Sheppard got married the third time, she registered at Tiffany's. The cheapest thing on her registry was a $125 sterling silver lemonade stirrer. I'm not kidding. I couldn't afford to eat out for the next month. And I haven't had lemonade since.

I
couldn't wait to tell Mandy the great news.

ME

Great news! Stephen just told me that the Ecuadorian woodwind band is already booked on June 22nd!

MANDY

I know.

ME

What do you mean you know?

MANDY

They'll be playing at my cousin Whitney's birthday party in the Hamptons. You can thank me later.

Wow. Sometimes Mandy's
really
scary.

S
tephen must have told his mother that I was having difficulty finding a caterer, because Mrs. Stewart called me at 7:15
A.M.
to offer some assistance. She recommended Betsy's Banquets. I thanked her for her help, and meant it sincerely until she mentioned that Betsy's Banquets caters for the Upstate Kennel Association. I've seen Mrs. Stewart feed Chuffy right off her plate too many times not to wonder if Betsy feeds the dogs or their owners. Or both.

Don't get me wrong. I've got nothing against dogs. Heck, I saw
Benji
six times. But that doesn't mean I want to eat his food.

A
nd people say I'm paranoid.

Last night Stephen and I went upstate for dinner. The purpose of the evening was for us to bond as a family and to review some issues regarding the wedding reception.

It was also the first time I'd seen Gram since her unfortunate dental incident with my Sacher torte.

But the minute we arrived Gram was headed for the door with bingo chips in one hand and a wad of singles in the other. When I reminded her that the whole evening was designed to enable Stephen to get to know the family, she just laughed. “Oh, sweetheart. I don't need to be here for that. Besides, disappointment's a hard thing to witness.”

Excuse me?

Then as she exited the house I distinctly heard her whisper in Stephen's ear, “Too bad you didn't marry up. Maybe next time.”

Stephen just laughed. He says every family's got a character
and that Gram is ours. That's a real embracing, nonjudgmental way of looking at things and it certainly makes me more comfortable about the idea of introducing him to my uncle Rudy, who believes excessive belching to be a sign of appreciation. But what Stephen doesn't seem to understand is that Gram's no character. She's sharp as a tack.

That's not goofy talk she's spouting, it's venom.

T
he Wedding Cake. The culinary representation of our nuptial love.

It had better be REALLY good.

Wedding cakes from caterers tend to look great but taste like cardboard. The caterers are assuming that by the end of the festivities your eyesight will be sharp but your taste buds will be catatonic from heavy drinking. In a perfect world I'd ask some gifted relative to bake us a towering tour de force of strawberry shortcake. But alas. My family specializes in Moist 'n Easy. The kind you microwave, not bake.

So I called Bianca Sheppard. The cakes have been delicious at every one of her weddings. Moist, creamy, and beautiful. Bianca says she gets all her wedding cakes from Piece-A Cake down in Little Italy. And unlike her wedding dress recommendations, she swears Piece-A Cake is reasonably priced.

Let's hope so. Otherwise it's my dear friend Sara Lee.

W
e had an interoffice meeting today about the “Faces in the City” issue.
My
issue.

In front of the entire staff I reviewed the progress we've made with our ten “Faces.” I discussed the focus of each profile and what our writers had come up with thus far. That Face #5, Ingrid Narez, an infamous performance artist from Spanish Harlem, had insisted on doing most of her interviews wearing an eyepiece and no shirt was of particular interest to everyone.

After my formal presentation I took suggestions for the issue's sidebars. Kate proposed a survey about employee satisfaction with bosses. On a scale of one to ten, 10 would be “highly satisfied” and 1 was “hoping for terminal illness.” Everyone laughed. Barry laughed the loudest.

Nice. Real nice. Besides, she
could
have been referring to him.

F
inally we're getting something accomplished!

Lucy called with the name of the niece of a friend of hers in Wisconsin who is married to a caterer in upstate New York. Confusing? Yes. But at least it works in my favor. Jeb is a graduate of the American Culinary Arts School and he's willing to work within our budget.

All hail Lucy!

M
rs. Stewart has invited me to join Kimberly and her next weekend at the annual Kennel Club Invitational. Chuffy's showing in the “Open Bitch” category. Whatever that means.

Reasons to go:

Nice to bond with future mother-in-law.

Reasons NOT to go:

Afraid to bond with future mother-in-law.

Don't like Kimberly.

Don't like dogs
that
much.

Reasons why I HAVE to go:

Mother-in-law will never forgive me if I say no.

What do you wear to a dog show?

I
went upstate today to meet with Jeb the caterer. His house is like a glorified log cabin tucked deep in the woods, so I expected he'd be a Grizzly Adams type. But no. He's this middle-aged white guy with dreadlocks. Standing in his huge commercial kitchen, he was busy slicing raw onions into a salad for a local horticulture club. His eyes were so bloodshot he could barely see, but he cut straight to the chase.

“Here's the 411, Amy. No way we're doing lobster risotto and pumpkin bisque for ninety people with your budget. End of story. But I appreciate your not wanting to go the traditional route of chicken, beef medallions,
et cetera. So my suggestion is to go ethnic. Mix things up. Do some couscous, stewed vegetables, seared fruits, then throw a little lamb in there to sate everyone's carnal needs. I know that your group isn't accustomed to feasting on nuts and berries, but these things are cheap. Besides, it'll enable you to put your money into some top-quality lamb. It'll
seem
expensive, but it won't be. We'll craft a visual presentation so sensual it'll look like Manet on a plate.

My mom, Mrs. Stewart, and Mandy are going to hate this guy. I gave him a deposit on the spot.

M
r. and Mrs. Stewart are struggling to establish a vaguely civil relationship for the sake of their children. How thoughtful. Unfortunately they've decided to use our wedding as Part One of the peace process.

Their first point of agreement in a year and a half: They will jointly host (read: pay for) our rehearsal dinner the night before the wedding. Mrs. Stewart will select the restaurant. Mr. Stewart will split the cost.

Their second point of agreement in a year and a half: Stephen's brother, Tom, can't be a guest at the wedding. He must be a groomsman.

Stephen is furious. I'm incredulous. Tom is delighted. He's already called Stephen twice to say he won't wear a cummerbund.

Tom, Mitch, and Larry. It's like having the Three Stooges at our wedding. So why pay for live entertainment—when I can just shoot myself instead?

N
ow that Tom's a groomsman, I need another bridesmaid. I thought about asking Kathy or Paula, but I just kept coming back to Anita. It's simply the right thing to do—whether she knows it or not.

So after forty-five minutes of begging her to see things from my perspective, and ultimately invoking her poetic endorsement of my marriage to Stephen
⁴³
, Anita finally agreed, “Well if I'm going to be at the circus, I might as well be one of the clowns.”

Ain't love grand?

M
y third fitting with Katrina. It's barely two months away from the most important fashion day of my life and I still look like I should be birthing livestock rather than getting married.

Every time she asks how the “retooling” is going, I just want to scream.

As God is my witness I'm going to bury this dress the minute my wedding is over.

Meanwhile Mandy wants to know if I've chosen the bridesmaids' dresses. She's worried about having enough time to properly accessorize.

The bride won't have shoes, but the maid of honor will have a stunning handbag.

Since I can barely dress myself for this event I've decided to relinquish all issues concerning bridesmaids' dresses to Mandy. I don't even care if she, Nicole, and
Anita wear the same style. Let them choose something they like and will wear again. As long as it's ankle length and sleeveless I'll be happy.

That should please Anita. She's got fabulous upper arms.

I
finally got a chance to call Piece-A Cake. They scheduled a tasting for June 6th. Stephen's promised to come with me. Since I view the cake as a symbol of our union, it needs to be something we both like. But since I'm allergic to hazelnuts (I break out in hives) and mocha gives him migraines (it reminds him of a particularly stressful childhood vacation his family took in Zurich), we've got to be careful. Luckily we both like strawberry.

T
he Kennel Club Invitational was today. Who knew dogs used hairspray? Chuffy herself wore more Aqua Net than all the geriatric women of south Florida. Sure she was sticky, but she looked good.

And when's the last time you heard a bunch of well-dressed people say things like “She's a delightful bitch.” Can't remember? Well, welcome to Thousand Pines Country Club in upstate New York! Sure they allow blacks and Jews, but half-breed mutts without pedigree? Forget it. The local pound's down the road.

The fact is, these pooches are worth more than I am. It's humbling. Not to mention educational. Among the many things I learned today:

• If the ship were sinking and Mrs. Stewart could save only one family member, she'd choose Chuffy.

• Kimberly has an unrelenting obsession with expensive jewelry. Particularly that which now belongs to me.

• Never wear open-toe shoes to a dog show.

B
ianca Sheppard's getting married again. Who knew she was even dating? I called Mandy the minute I got the invitation. Apparently Bianca met George Carson a few weeks ago at the dermatologist's office. She had heat rash. He had eczema. Love was a foregone conclusion.

And who knows? Maybe the fifth time's a charm. I hope so—for George's sake.

They're getting married here in the city in the Markson Hotel ballroom (where I happen to know the basic venue charge starts at $12,000). And even though it's just two weeks before our wedding, I think we'll go anyway. By that point I'll be thrilled to think about a wedding other than my own.

I
t's been more than three weeks since my last sex dream. At this rate I'll be off Anita's sleeping meds any day now.

And though I'm enormously relieved, it's also begun to strike me as a bit depressing that getting married means denying yourself the right to such pleasures. Maybe Anita's right. Maybe these dreams are harmless. After all, I am
marrying Stephen. What greater commitment could I offer another human being? Does dreaming of lustful sex with someone else take anything away from that? Do I love Stephen any less? Of course not. And I bet Stephen would agree. After all, he's free to have sex dreams too if he wants. It wouldn't bother me a bit. Unless, of course, he was dreaming about Louise. I mean, come on, she's built like friggin' Barbie. But it doesn't matter. Stephen wouldn't have sex dreams. Sure he likes sex. A lot, actually. But he's not the type to dream about it.

Is he?