Murder on K Street - Margaret Truman [58]
Rotondi slowly shook his head and was unable to stifle a smile. “You know what, Lyle?”
“Tell me, brother.”
“You will be president of the United States some day. You’ve got the cojones to pull it off.”
• • •
The week after graduation, Rotondi drove one of his sisters’ cars from Batavia to Greenwich, where Lyle put him up in a suite at a local motel. He arrived two days before the wedding, in time to attend the bachelor party at a historic pub in the center of town, and the rehearsal dinner that was catered at Jeannette’s home, also the site of the wedding itself.
There were a dozen men at the bachelor party, including Lyle’s father, with whom Rotondi had spent time over the course of his four years at the university. The elder Simmons, a gruff, no-nonsense sort of man for whom laughing appeared to be painful, was overtly uncomfortable in the midst of the over-the-top, forced masculine gaiety. It was evident to Phil that the father was not pleased that his only son had opted to marry straight out of college. He confirmed that to Rotondi later in the evening when they found themselves apart from the others.
“Lyle’s got himself a great wife,” Rotondi said.
“She’s nice,” Mr. Simmons said. “I like her. But I would have preferred for them to wait until Lyle’s established in his career.”
“Well,” Rotondi started to say, “there’s—”
“I know, I know. There’s a kid coming. Four years of college and he’s never heard of condoms.” He laid a large hand on Rotondi’s shoulder. “You ever need anything, Phil, you come to me. I consider you and Lyle brothers. Call anytime. Got that?” He walked away, his posture less erect than when Rotondi had last seen him.
The number of toasts Lyle made during the party increased with the consumption of drinks. He directed a few at Phil, which made him uncomfortable. At one point, he announced, “When I’m president of the United States, you’re looking at my attorney general, Mr. Philip Rotondi, my best friend.” Glasses were raised to Phil, which he halfheartedly acknowledged.
When everyone spilled out of the pub and into the street, Lyle tried to coax Phil back to Jeannette’s house to continue the evening.
“Not tonight, Lyle,” Rotondi said. “See you at the rehearsal dinner.”
He sat in his suite and watched a made-for-TV movie, River of Gold, with Ray Milland and Suzanne Pleshette. His attention kept shifting from the screen—Why would someone like Ray Milland get involved in such a stupid film? he asked himself—to his thoughts about the wedding and his being there. Jeannette’s parents seemed like nice people, wealthy but not ostentatious. He wondered whether things would have turned out differently if he’d agreed to accompany her home over the Christmas break. Probably not. They’d turned out the way they had because deep down, it was what he wanted.
He felt awkward during the rehearsal dinner. Jeannette had mentioned earlier in the year that she’d told her parents all about him, and had showed them a photograph of the two of them taken at a school function. Were they comparing him with Lyle during the dinner? He felt they were—and wished they wouldn’t. He left as soon after dessert as proper etiquette allowed and went back to the hotel. One more day, he thought.
The following afternoon, he fulfilled his assignment as Lyle’s best man. The ceremony was held on the Boynton family’s sprawling estate on a picture-perfect June day. Jeannette looked, of course, radiant in her gown; the dressmaker had artfully arranged the layers of silk and satin to camouflage the beginning of a bulge in her belly. At the appropriate time, Rotondi dutifully handed the ring to Lyle; he joined the applause after the minister had pronounced Lyle and Jeannette man and wife, and suggested that the groom could now kiss the bride.
A wooden dance floor had been set up on the grounds by the caterers, and an offshoot eight-piece band