The Feast of Love - Charles Baxter [81]
I got instantly depressed. Ordinarily I have high spirits. This scene was getting worse and worse and worse and worse and worse and worse and worse and worse, like an event out of somebody else’s life that you don’t even want to hear about in a story. What had happened to how holy we were, Oscar and me? I had fallen low, I could see that, thanks to economics, the hunger for money in a hurry, and I was worried about dragging Oscar down with me. Thinking about foyers can corrupt you, I guess. “Janey,” I said, “did you ever think when we were in fifth grade that we’d be having this conversation?”
“I didn’t think we’d be having this conversation last week.”
“So who is this guy?”
“I don’t know. Just some ordinary horrible guy I met. He’s harmless. Some typical man with eyes. The world is full of them.”
“Is it safe?”
“Sure. Nothing’ll happen. This guy is all middle-aged and bald and a wimp and a loser. Besides, honey, Oscar — well, I’ve seen him naked, right? That boyfriend of yours is strong. He may have done drugs once, but he can sure handle himself. I mean, he looks like a tough motherfucker.” She stopped to sigh admiringly. “Though I know how sweet he is and everything.” She reached around and scratched her back and looked annoyed, like I should be doing it for her, the scratching.
“That money,” I said. “How much was it? I want to get this right.”
She named the sum, and then she said, “Maybe I can get it higher, but I doubt it. It’s already a huge lot.”
“Well, I’ll ask Oscar. But I don’t think so. I really don’t think so.” I waited. “I mean, we’re broke, and we could use the money and everything . . .”
“Well, it’s like being sex workers for one night. One night only. Putting on a show for a lonely guy. Hey, I hear you guys are getting married. Wow. You’re so traditional.”
“You heard that?”
“Yeah, word gets out. Congratulations.” She started to shake my hand, thought better of it, and stopped in midair.
“Thanks. We’re gonna do it in a week or two.”
“Where?”
“Well, my boss, this guy, Bradley Smith, he’s offered us his back yard for the reception.”
“Who’s going to perform it? Like, the minister?”
“We’re going down to city hall first. You know: the clerk. The clerk does it.”
“Hey,” she said, “you remember that guy, Buddy Preston, from school?” I nodded. “Well, he’s made himself into one of those ministers you become if you send in a matchbook application and twenty dollars. He could marry you, and it’d be legal. He’s married a couple of people lately.” She ran her fingers through her hair. “A couple of people we knew from school. I forget their names. He does it as a sideline. He makes a little money from it. I saw one of his weddings a while ago. It was a real wedding. And he’s a friend of ours. Well, not a friend. But an acquaintance. I mean, you remember him, right? He lives out in Dexter now.”
I gave her a long stare. I was super-irritated. “Do I look zany to you?”
“Well, no.”
“This is my wedding I’m talking about. Jesus, Janey. I want a proper city hall wedding. I don’t want some quack minister. Come on, Janey. Have some respect for my feelings, would you please?”
“Okay, sorry.”
I took a sip of my lemonade. I don’t drink coffee, it’s bad for you. “Oscar and me, we don’t go to church or anything, so we gotta settle for city hall.”
“Let me see your ring.” I showed it to her. I held out my hand in her direction, and she put my hand in her hand. I knew that was the thrill for her, my fingers touching hers, not the ring. “Wow. It’s real pretty. A stone and the whole nine yards. Is that gold? Where’d you get it?”
“I didn’t get it. Oscar got it. He bought it for me.”
“Where’d he get it? Is it, like, an engagement ring?”
“Sort of. It’s a real short engagement, though. He bought it at the jewelry department at the mall. He made a special trip.” I didn’t want it to seem like I was gloating, so I didn’t say anything more about my ring, which had a genuine zirconium diamond in it. It wasn’t glass, if that’s what you’re thinking.
She leaned back and examined the ceiling.