My Best Man (40 page)

“But, Amity,” I say, impassioned, “you’re not getting any of that with me! No house, no clothes, no style. There’s only a small amount of name recognition. I’m not taking the money. I’ll be

“

poor.

She looks confidently ahead. “You’re a fine man, Harry Ford. You won’t be poor. I’m sure of it.”

I’m in a side room, off the back of the main cathedral of St. Thomas Episcopal Church. I can hear all the guests in the pews, some murmuring, some speaking outfight, some laughing. We have ten minutes to go before six o’clock the wedding hour. My cousins, Ellie and Mary, look beautiful in their butter-colored, full length bridesmaids’ dresses. Jacqueline too. Brad and two other cousins, dressed in their long-tailed black tuxes, are nearly finished with their duties seating the guests. Most of the entourage are now standing in the back of the church, shifting in their stiff shoes, waiting for the minutes to pass until the music segues and they hear the bridal march that accompanies all of us down the aisle. I peer out into the church and see my mother and Donald sitting on the aisle in the front row. Next to them is my beloved Grammie, and next to her is Winston. Across the aisle from them sit Amity’s mother and her brother and sister. I’m so happy she’s invited them

nay n,

all, and Mr. Stubbs assured me again as they entered the church that this must be the “real deal” since they’ve never been invited to “any of her other weddings,” and that this would be the first time he would actually give his daughter away. I still haven’t found out how many other weddings there were. I guess I’ll never know all there is to know about Amity Stone.

But all I need to find out about her at the moment is her location.

I don’t see her anywhere, and when I query Jackie as to her whereabouts, she shrugs, telling me, “I don’t know. I’m not sure, because I don’t know.”

I walk back into the holding room, wipe my palms for the fortieth time, try to catch my breath, slow my heart down. None of it works. Fuck, if only I could breathe.

“You OK there, buddy?” my cousin Brad asks, poking his head into the room.

“Fine!” I answer, gulping more air.

“Five minutes,” he says, counting it down.

Fuck. Where is she? I go back out and take another look at the crowd. It’s too many people. Mother and Amity promised to keep it small, intimate. But there must be three hundred people here which doesn’t seem intimate in the least. I glance up at the family pew again. No Winston. He’s gone.

No Winston. No Amity. Oh, fuck, I can’t even think it. I turn back to the wedding party, ask my relatives and Jackie, “Has anyone seen Amity or Winston?”

“Winston just walked by. He went down the hall, that way,” Brad answers.

“Your brother is handsome,” Jackie tells me, smoking a cigarette in her bridesmaid’s dress. “He’s handsome when he walks. Really handsome.”

I’ll be right back,” I tell them all. “Don’t start without me.” They all laugh nervously, and I start heading down the hall. When I was a child, the limestone hallways of this church were

sacred, holy, hallowed. They were so much larger than I was, and I always felt I was being led by them, that there was some mysterious force that determined my direction independent of my desire for control. And it still feels that way now …. that as I aged and grew larger, so did these stone halls. And I’m still captive to their power. As when I was a child, I walk softly, with great care not to let my heels make any sound, lest I disturb God. And as I approach the voices of familiarity, they don’t hear me any more than God does. “Two million dollars. Made out to Amity Stone,” Winston says.

“How thoughtful of you to pronounce my name correctly,” Amity tells him coolly. “Is it spelled correctly?”

“The T’s are crossed, and the I is dotted,” he assures her.

I clutch my heart. I’m afraid it will disintegrate. My face flashes hot, and my ears ring. The one thing that made me believe in her was that she hadn’t taken Winston’s offer. I can hardly hear them as they continue.

“It better be a cash-equivalent check, darling’, or I’m fixin’ to be Mrs. Harry Ford in about two minutes.”

“Same as cash,” Winston vows. “I couldn’t put a stop payment on it if I wanted to.”

“Hand me your pen, darling’. I’m going to endorse this bad boy right now.”

The muted sound of the wedding march, floating down the limestone hallway, begins.

“They’re starting the music. How are you going to do it?” Winston asks her excitedly.

I hear her scribbling with his pen. “You leave that to me,” she answers confidently.

God, what do I do? God, can you hear me? What the hell do I do now? You’re telling me I made the wrong choice. Nicoloo It should have been Nicolo. Never do anything for money. But that’s not what I did! I did this for love. For Amity. So that she could have a family and a life in which she’d be valued and loved. How

could everything turn out like this? I start walking back down the hall toward the chapel, letting my heels smash against the floor so that God hears me as well as that Texan Eve and my brother, the serpent she’s cut a deal with.

“Harry!” Amity yells behind me. “Harry, come back!”

“Let him go,” Winston calls after her. “It’s easier this way. It’s done I”

I hear her own heels clicking against the floor as she approaches. “Harry! Come on,” she says, looping her arm into mine.

I throw her arm off. “How could you do this?” I hiss, keeping my voice low. I’m fighting to keep the tears in my eyes.

“Harry, you don’t understand,” she pleads. “This was the only way for all of us to be happy.”

“I’m not happy anymore,” I tell her, one tear falling.

“You will be,” she swears as we round the corner to the chapel. Mr. Stubbs is waiting with an exasperated look on his face, and I turn to the left, to exit the church, but Amity shoves me with the strength of a defensive lineman and I fall splat on my face, Amity on top of me. The whole church turns and gasps to see us on the floor.

Amity stands, shrugs at the crowd, and nervously laughs. “I didn’t have a shotgun.” A few nervous chuckles arise.

As Mr. Stubbs comes walking toward us, I see my mother’s horrified expression. Donald is holding her up. Mr. Stubbs pulls me up and sets me in the aisle. Amity takes my arm and pulls me in, then grabs her father’s ann, and suddenly all three of us are linked to walk up the aisle together, Amity with a long-strapped white purse over her shoulder. I’m supposed to be waiting at the altar as he brings her to me, and he’s thrown by the unorthodox style of this improvised trio. I dig my heels into the carpet. “Come on!” Come own! Amity implores, coaxing me forward.

I flash back to the first time we entered Suicide Express together. She spurred me on, swearing it wouldn’t kill us although I was not

so sure. The narrow road ahead dared us to enter its clutches, challenged us to hang on as we hurled forward into the world together. She pushes me again, and I step on the carpet, entering on the treacherous road with my heart in pieces. “What are you doing?” I whisper to her desperately.

We walk slowly, but it feels as if I’m moving seventy miles an hour, like on the expressway. People turn, smile at us, nod in recognition, whisper to each other, and I have to concentrate not to hit the side walls of the pews as I lurch recklessly forward. She’s between her father and me, pulling us on, smiling like an angel who’s earned her wings. The ringing in my ears is deafening now, and my legs are barely holding me up. I look for an off ramp, a chance to dash down a row and slide away. “Keep walking, Harry,” she whispers.

As we reach the front of the church, I look to see my mother, finally relaxing and radiating with happiness and light, giving shine to all the beautiful hues of stained glass within the windows of the chapel. My grammie stands beside her, braced on a cane. Unlike my mother, she sees the panic and discomfort in my face, and she raises her eyebrows, then squints her eyes to ask me what is the matter. I can’t answer. Winston has not returned to my grandmother’s side, and I look behind us and see him standing at the back of the church in the shadows, like a vampire waiting to swoop down on his victim. Amity tugs on me, forcing me to look ahead and make the final steps to the priest, Father Warner.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to unite this man, Harry Ford, and this woman, Amity Stone, in holy matrimony. The union of a man and woman is a sacred covenant and shall not be taken lightly. If there is anyone present who has knowledge of any reason that Harry and Amity may not be joined in holy matrimony, let him speak now or forever hold his peace.”

Amity inhales a huge breath, as do I. What is happening? Is she

taking his money and mine? She’s got the check. It’s as good as cash. Is she outfoxing Winston and simply marrying me anyway? No one speaks, not even Winston. I start to open my mouth …. “Who gives this woman to this man?” Father Warner asks. Amity and I release the air from our lungs.

“I do,” her father answers proudly. He separates from Amity and steps directly into the pew with Mrs. Stubbs. Amity and I are left alone in front of God and everyone. My ears are ringing so hard and blood is flushing through my head so fast that I can’t hear anything Father Warner is saying. I think he’s educating us about the sanctity of marriage and telling us to be good to each other, or at least not to kill each other, but he’s woefully late. It’s all too late.

“Do you, Harry Ford, take this woman, to have and to hold,

for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health,

so long as you both shall live?”

I stare ahead, my vision tunneling, my face on fire. Amity pulls me to her and whispers, “Say yes, Harry.” I turn, look at her. Search her eyes for any meaning. “Trust me,” she whispers, her clear eyes promising me faith. I hesitate. She squeezes my hand, and at that moment, it’s as if God squeezed it and the halls of the church open in my mind and God speaks to me loud and clear.

“I do.”

As if held under water, then finally allowed to rise to the surface,

my mother exhales with great force. Several of my relatives giggle at her relief.

“Good boy, Bubba,” Amity whispers, her eyes filling with tears. The priest starts again with Amity, requesting her pledge, her faith, her promise. “For richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, so long as you both shall live?”

I glance at my mother, who’s now crying. She’s trembling with an upside-down smile and wiping the tears from her cheek. Donald holds her free hand, and with his other gives me the thumbs-up.

My grammie, her head cocked, her wise eyes waiting, is now the one who holds her breath. I look into Amity’s eyes. And she is crying as well. Such forceful tears, flowing without sound, streaming down her beautiful Grace Kelly face in sweet little streams. She squeezes my hand again and speaks. “No, Father, I’m afraid I do not.”

]

ow can I possibly describe the look on my mother’s face? She’s waited rapturously for this moment, the moment that neither she nor I ever thought would happen, the moment when she sends her child into matrimony for the remainder of his life. And now, it’s not coming to fruition as she had dreamed. The guests of the church are watching her almost as closely as the two of us standing before the priest, and as I look into her eyes, I actually detect quiet resignation that this is the natural outcome to everything that has brought us to this juncture. She doesn’t even look as if she wants to flee the church and go running down a golf course fairway, as I had wanted when Donald had given me the man-to-man communique on vaginas and soldiers that day, which now seems a lifetime ago.

If she does want to flee, she doesn’t show it. She stays planted. Her kind yet befogged gaze fixed on me and Nicolo, as the Argentinean breeze blows through the windows of the little open-air church. “I do,” Nicolo answers.

In the reflection of his almost black eyes, I flash back to the last time I stood before a priest in a church, in Kansas, with Amity by

my side. Her wedding gown was a long, satin, off-the-shoulder dress that flowed over her body like water. She used white lace to pull her hair back into a pony tail and had forsaken her usual perfume to bathe herself in the scent of the fresh lavender necklace Jackie had made for her. And in this beautiful form she returned to me the unconditional selfless love I was offering. I should have known by her tranquillity, her repeated assurances that everything was going to work out for the best, that it would. But it wasn’t until she told Father Warner that she did not agree to marry me and pulled that check from her cleavage and dropped it into my hands that I knew what she’d done. And as if that weren’t enough, she turned and spoke to the congregation in my defense. “Y’all” she told everyone, through her tears of painful happiness, “I can’t marry Han’y because it wouldn’t be right. Don’t misunderstand me. Harry is a wonderful man. He’s smart and sweet and good, and he makes me laugh all the time.” All the Tom. “And I have no doubt that he loves me. As much as my parents have ever loved me.”

Mr. and Mrs. Stubbs were grateful for the acknowledgment, but as confused as the rest of us.

“And I want everybody here to know that I love Harry too just as much. I think he knows that now,” she said. “But he’s not in love with me, and that’s because Harry is gay, and y’all know that. And if you don’t know, it’s probably because you live life with your head in the sandbox which is a good way to get your head pooped on by a stray cat, so maybe you ought to pull it out. Because Harry deserves more than that from you. And he deserves more than even I can give him. And y’all, he’s found it. And that’s who should be standing here in my shoes today. Truth, his boyfriend is kind of a butch guy, and I don’t think he’d be comfortable wearing my shoes, but you know what I mean. The problem is, most likely none of you would show up if Harry’s true love were to join him here at the altar. And that’s not right. We’ve got a phrase in Texas: “Love me, love my dog.” And y’all need to learn how to love