"Jacob, I'm going to marry you as quickly as possible, I don't care how. I hope Winnie and Roberto show up in time, but I'm not going to wait; you might come to your senses. I thought you preferred to claim that you had done me in and I know I agreed to confirm it. So tell Mac so. Tell anybody."
"Doesn't fret you?"
"Jake dearest, maybe that's the best way to handle it... because, presently, God and everybody is going to know about the Silent Witness. Jake? Do you recall my first day of freedom? The day after Mac conditionally confirmed my identity and discharged me as a ward of the court?"
"My dear, I am not likely to forget that day."
"Nor I. Count two hundred sixty-seven days. That is when the Silent Witness should show up."
"You're telling me that I am the father of your child."
"Not at all, sir. I was in heat and had slipped the leash and you may assume if you wish that I spent the day bouncing in and out of beds, going from one man to another." She smiled beatifically. (Boss, that's awfully close to the truth—but it sounds like a whopper.) (It is the truth, Eunice; I worded it most carefully. That is the second best way to tell a lie—tell the truth so that it sounds like a whopper.) (And I thought 1 knew how to lie.) (I've had years more practice, Beloved—and as a kid had more reason to lie than you ever had. Lying is a fine art; it is learned only through long practice.)
"Knock off the nonsense, Eunice, or I'll start married life by giving you a fat lip. Okay, we'll tell Mac that; the truth is often the simplest solution. But we have to have health certificates; Mac can get us out of the waiting time but not out of that requirement. My doctor will phony one for me without stopping to take a blood sample and make tests, but how about that quack you mentioned? Will he cooperate?"
"Jake, I don't recall mentioning a quack. If Roberto gets here in time, I think he would take a chance. Or Rosy would, I think. I don't think I'm harboring even a cold bug unless I picked up something from Joe and Gigi. Most unlikely. But how about you, darling? Washington, D.C., has the highest. V.D. rate in the country. Did you fetch anything home?"
"Oh, nothing but big and little casino."
"A nice girl like me can't be expected to understand such terms."
"You impudent little baggage, I slept alone in Washington. Can you make the same claim? For the past
five days?"
"Of course not, dear; I've never been interested in sleeping alone—and Gigi is very snuggly. I commend her to your attention—take a look at that painting."
"I'm sure she is. Just Gigi, eh? Not Joe?"
"Is Joe snuggly, Jake? Tell me more!"
"Woman, you may get that fat lip before I marry you."
"The groom's present to the bride? Sir, if you want to give me a fat lip, I'll hold still, smile happily, and take it. Oh, Jake darling, it's going to be such fun to be married to you!"
"I think so, too, you dizzy bitch. Mmm, my doctor will phony a certificate for you, too, if I explain the circumstances. But he'll need your blood type."
"Jake, the whole country knows that my blood type is AB-negative. Had you forgotten it?"
"Momentarily, yes. That's all I need. Except— Wedding here? Or in Mac's chambers?"
"Here, if possible. I want our servants for ‘family' if Winnie and Roberto don't show up. Jacob, do I dare send a car with a message and ask Joe and Gigi to allow themselves to be fetched here for this purpose? I do want them present. Gigi is no problem; she will do as Joe wishes—but I think you know Joe better than I do. I don't even know that he has clothes he would be willing to wear here—all I saw him wear were denim shorts so caked with paint they could stand alone."
"Mmm, I agree that Eunice's former husband is entitled to be invited to Joan Eunice's wedding, though there has never been a protocol established, that's certain. Dear, the clothes Joe wore in court would be okay for a home wedding. How about yourself, Eunice? Going to be married in white?"
"I think I've been insulted again. Wear white so that somebody can sneak a picture and sell it? ‘Ninety-FiveYear-Old Sex-Change Bride Wears White.' Dear, if I wear white, let's ask Life to send a photographer and cut out the middleman. Jake, I'll wear white if you tell me to. If you don't, I'll pick something but it won't be white. Something."
"‘Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue.'
"Erase and correct, Jake. Here is the twenty-first century version:
"The bride is old,
"The license new,
"The body borrowed,
"The groom is blue."
"I am like hell blue, I simply need a shave. Get out now and let me be. Beat it. Go take a bath. Try to smell like a bride."
"Instead of payday at Tillie's? I can take a hint. But you take a bath, too."
"Who notices the groom?"
Cunningham had a busy six hours. But so did everyone in the ugly old mansion. To the old-tradition strains of Mendelssohn's "Processional" the bride walked slowly in hesitation-step through the rotunda. (Twin, ‘Here Comes the Bride' always sounds to me like a cat sneaking up on a bird. Pum... pum.... tee-pum! Appropriate, hmm?) (Eunice, behave!) (Oh, I'll behave. But I prefer ‘John Jacob Jingleheimer Smith—his name is my name, too!') (You can't know that one. It's eighty years old and long forgotten.) (Why wouldn't I know it when you were singing it in your head every second they were dressing us?)
She walked steadily down the center of a long white velvet carpet; through the arch and into the banquet hall, now transformed with flowers and candles and organ into a chapel. (Boss, there's Curt! I'm so glad he made it! That must be Mrs. Hedrick with him. Don't look at them, twin; I'll giggle.) (I'm not looking at them and you stop trying to—I must look straight ahead.) (You do that, Boss darling, and I'll count the house. There's Mrs. Mac—Norma—and Alec's Ruth, with Roberto. Where's Rosy? —oh, there he is beyond Mrs. Mac. My, isn't Della dressed fit to kill?—makes us look shabby.)
The bride wore a severely simple dress of powder blue, opaque, with high neck, matching veil, long sleeves, matching gloves, skirt hem brushing the velvet runner and long train sweeping behind. She carried a bouquet of white cattleya dyed blue to match. (Twin? Why that last-minute decision for panties? They make a line that shows.) (Not through this gown; it's not skin-tight. The ‘bride's knot,' Beloved—for symbolic defloration.) (Coo! Don't make me laugh, Boss.) (Eunice, if you louse up this wedding, I'll—I'll—I won't speak to you for three days!) (Joan twin, I won't spoil it—Jake wants symbols, he shall have them.) (And I want symbols, too!) (And so do I, twin, so do I. It's just that I have never been able to see life as anything but a vast complicated practical joke, and it's better to laugh than cry.)
(Yes, darling—but let's not do either right now. I'm having trouble with tears.) (I thought they were my tears.
Doesn't Thomas Cattus look handsome? I heard you order the ‘Lohengrin recessional'; that one is even funnier than the Mendelssohn—to an Iowa farm girl it sounds exactly like the triumphant cackle of a hen after she lays an egg. I'll laugh then, I know I will.)
(All right to laugh and cry both then, Eunice—and to hang on tight to Jacob's arm. Look, dearest, this is an old-fashioned wedding with all the clichés because Jake and I are old fossils and that's the way it should be.)
(Oh, I approve. Cunningham looks worried—can't see why; he's done a beautiful job. Boss, those panties struck me so darn funny because you ordered the ‘Billtis' and the ‘Graces' to be placed on easels in the drawing room where everyone at the reception can stare at them. Riddle me that.) (Eunice, there is no inconsistency. A bride is supposed to be covered; those paintings are meant to be looked at. With Joe and Gigi here I darn well want them to be looked at!) (They'll be looked at. Stared at. Some wives may look at them with intense interest. Maybe.) (Maybe. Eunice, you know I've never asked a husband not to tell his wife anything; it's not right to ask one member of a married couple to keep secrets from the other. Besides, he will or he won't, no matter what you ask—and he should; he knows her better than we do. But those pix are as harmless as the fruit punch we have for those who turn down the champagne. It's irrelevant that I posed for them, I simply want Joe's genius to be appreciated. Enjoyed.)