"I know what you mean," Chin said. "Have you heard Eminem’s new rap version?"
By 4:15 p.m., the spaghetti pot was two-thirds full of goose grease, Luke’s mother and Madge and Shorty still weren’t there, and the goose was nearly done. Luke and Lulla had decided after their third glass of wine apiece to make the gravy.
"And put the tent back on," Lulla said, sifting flour into a bowl. "One of the things I learned when I was playing the West End is that uncovered is not necessarily better." She added a cup of water. "Particularly when you’re doing Shakespeare."
She shook in some salt and pepper. "I remember a particularly ill-conceived nude Macbeth I did with Larry Olivier." She thrust her hand out dramatically. " ‘Is that a dagger that I see before me?’ should not be a laugh line. Richard taught me how to do this," she said, stirring the mixture briskly with a fork, "It gets the lumps out."
"Richard? Richard Burton?"
"Yes. Adorable man. Of course he drank like a fish when he was depressed–this was after Liz left him for the second time–but it never seemed to affect his performance in bed or in the kitchen. Not like Peter."
"Peter? Peter Ustinov?"
"O’Toole. Here we go." Lulla poured the flour mixture into the hot drippings. It disappeared. "It takes a moment to thicken up," she said hopefully, but after several minutes of combined staring into the pot, it was no thicker.
"I think we need more flour," she said, "and a larger bowl. A much larger bowl. And another glass of wine."
Luke fetched them, and after a good deal of stirring, she added the mixture to the drippings, which immediately began to thicken up. "Oh, good," she said, stirring, "as John Gielgud used to say, ‘If at first you don’t succeed’ . . . oh, dear."
"What did he say that for–oh, dear," Luke said, peering into the pot where the drippings had abruptly thickened into a solid, globular mass.
"That’s not what gravy’s supposed to look like," Aunt Lulla said.
"No," Luke said. "We seem to have made a lard ball."
They both looked at it awhile.
"I don’t suppose we could pass it off as a very large dumpling," Aunt Lulla suggested.
"No," Luke said, trying to chop at it with the fork.
"And I don’t suppose it’ll go down the garbage disposal. Could we stick sesame seeds on it and hang it on a tree and pretend it was a suet ball for the birds?"
"Not unless we want PETA and the Humane Society after us. Besides, wouldn’t that be cannibalism?"
"You’re right," Aunt Lulla said. "But we’ve got to do something with it before your mother gets here. I suppose Yucca Mountain’s too far away," she said thoughtfully. "You wouldn’t have any acid on hand, would you?"
At 4:23 p.m., Slim Rushmore, on KFLG out of Flagstaff, Arizona, made a valiant effort to change the subject on his talk radio show to school vouchers, usually a sure-fire issue, but his callers weren’t having any of it. "This snow is a clear sign the Apocalypse is near," a woman from Colorado Springs informed him. "In the Book of Daniel, it says that God will send snow ‘to purge and to make them white, even to the time of the end,’ and the Book of Psalms promises us ‘snow and vapours, stormy wind fulfilling his word,’ and in the Book of Isaiah . . ."
After the fourth Scripture (from Job: "For God saith to the snow, Be thou on the earth") Slim cut her off and took a call from Dwayne in Poplar Bluffs.
"You know what started all this, don’t you?" Dwayne said belligerently. "When the commies put fluoride in the water back in the fifties."
At 4:25 p.m., the country club called the church to say they were closing, none of the food and only two of the staff could get there, and anybody who was still trying to have a wedding in this weather was crazy. "I’ll tell her," Paula said and went to find Stacey.
"She’s in putting on her wedding dress," the viola player said.
Paula moaned.
"Yeah, I know," he said. "I tried to explain to her that the rest of the quartet was not coming, but I didn’t get anywhere." He looked at her quizzically. "I’m not getting anywhere with you either, am I?" he asked, and Jim walked in.
He was covered in snow. "The car got stuck," he said.
"Where are Kindra and David?"
"They closed Houston," he said, pulling Paula aside, "and Newark. And I just talked to Stacey’s mom. She’s stuck in Lavoy. They just closed the highway. There’s no way she can get here. What are we going to do?"
"You have to tell her the wedding has to be called off," Paula said. "You don’t have any other option. And you have to do it now, before the guests try to come to the church."
"You obviously haven’t been out there lately," he said. "Trust me, nobody’s going to come out in that."
"Then you clearly have to cancel."
"I know," he said worriedly. "It’s just . . . she’ll be so disappointed."
Disappointed is not the word that springs to mind, Paula thought, and realized she had no idea how Stacey would react. She’d never seen her not get her way. I wonder what she’ll do, she thought curiously, and started back into the vestry to change out of her bridesmaid dress.
"Wait," Jim said, grabbing her hand. "You have to help me tell her."
This is asking way too much, Paula thought. I want you to marry me, not her. "I–" she said.
"I can’t do this without you," he said. "Please?"
She extricated her hand. "Okay," she said, and they went into the changing room, where Stacey was in her wedding dress, looking at herself in the mirror.
"Stacey, we have to talk," Jim said, after a glance at Paula. "I just heard from your mother. She’s not going to be able to get here. She’s stuck at a truck stop outside Lavoy."
"She can’t be," Stacey said to her reflection. "She’s bringing my veil." She turned to smile at Paula. "It was my great-grandmother’s. It’s lace, with this snowflake pattern."
"Kindra and David can’t get here either," Jim said. He glanced at Paula and then plunged ahead. "We’re going to have to reschedule the wedding."
"Reschedule?" Stacey said as if she’d never heard the word before. Which she probably hasn’t, Paula thought. "We can’t reschedule. A Christmas Eve wedding has to be on Christmas Eve."
"I know, honey, but–"
"Nobody’s going to be able to get here," Paula said. "They’ve closed the roads."
The minister came in. "The governor’s declared a snow emergency and a ban on unnecessary travel. You’ve decided to cancel?" she said hopefully.
"Cancel?" Stacey said, adjusting her train. "What are you talking about? Everything will be fine."
And for one mad moment, Paula could almost see Stacey pulling it off, the weather magically clearing, the rest of the string quartet showing up, the flowers and Kindra and David and the veil all arriving in the next thirty-five minutes. She looked over at the windows. The snow, reflected softly in the candlelight, was coming down harder than ever.
"We don’t have any other choice than to reschedule," Jim said. "Your mother can’t get here, your maid of honor and my best man can’t get here–"
"Tell them to take a different flight," Stacey said.
Paula tried. "Stacey, I don’t think you realize, this is a major snowstorm. Airports all over the country are closed–"
"Including here," the viola player said, poking his head in. "It was just on the news."
"Well, then, go get them," Stacey said, adjusting the drape of her skirt.
Paula’d lost the thread of this conversation. "Who?"
"Kindra and David." She adjusted the neckline of her gown.
"To Houston?" Jim said, looking helplessly at Paula.