Backstab (18 page)

Now that I thought about the chase, I did it all wrong. I should have headed toward the building and tried to get to the front door. But it happened so quick, all I could think about was getting away. I'd recovered enough to realize I
was shivering, and the dirty napkins smelled like cold bacon grease and old eggs and were sticky with syrup. I was thinking about moving, when the laundry truck driver banged open the door and said, “I've told you guys about using my laundry shed as a sleeping area. This isn't a motel.”

I started laughing. And laughing and laughing and laughing. I couldn't stop. I had tears in my eyes. The laundryman looked scared, and ran to the Deliveries Only door. Marlene came out and said, “Francesca, what the hell happened to you?”

Good question. My coat was ripped on the right sleeve and striped with black grease. My shoes were gone and my stockings were in shreds. But suddenly, I felt good. Very good. “Someone tried to kill me,” I said cheerfully. “I didn't imagine it. Burt and Ralph were murdered, and I'm going to find out who did it.”

T
he next day, I had no time to look at death. I had to deal with the facts of life. Elvis was getting married, and he wanted me at the wedding. He was waiting for me when I got in to work.

Louise, the “Family” department secretary, grabbed me as I passed the copy desk. “Do you know that guy?” she said, lowering her voice and pointing. I could see him sitting near my desk, his drink-sogged nose glowing. I thought I saw a woman sitting next to him.

“Sure. That's Elvis Fairmount, one of the South Side's most noted barflies.”

“Looks like a drunk to me, too,” said Louise. “He insists on seeing you. He's got a woman with him, but she looks okay. I gave them coffee and chairs.”

“Good God. After that treatment, they're still here? Elvis must be desperate.” The
Gazette
's coffee looked and tasted like something that
leaked out of your car.
Gazette
chairs were instruments of torture. I think the paper bought them used from jury rooms.

The minute I got to my desk, Elvis popped the question: “Edna here and I want to get hitched tomorrow. We want you to be our best man—or woman—or person, however you're supposed to say it. We need a witness. The guy who was supposed to do it had a heart attack last night. We got the license and everything. Edna's boss is going to be one, but we need two and we can't find no other witness on short notice. Unless you stand up for us tomorrow, we'll have to postpone our wedding until the guy recovers.”

Elvis gave Edna a lovesick look. I'd have to be a hardhearted creature to ignore his plea. Fortunately, I was. “I'm sorry, Elvis, but you don't want me for your witness. I'm no great believer in marriage. I'm not even married.”

“That's okay,” Elvis said. “We aren't that crazy about it, either. But her daughter from California wants to visit us, and she's real religious, and she won't stay in a house where people are living in sin. So we decided to tie the knot. We love each other and we don't want to listen to her lecture us, and we thought maybe you could write about us if you wanted. We don't care what you say.”

I said yes. This match was based on mutual need. They needed a witness in a hurry. I needed a quick column.

Elvis must have been in his sixties, and Edna looked ten years younger. Elvis was so skinny, I
figured he kept rocks in the pockets of his brown polyester pants so he wouldn't blow away. Edna picked out his clothes, and she kept her man color-coordinated. Today Elvis was wearing a brown suit, yellow shirt and socks, and a brown-and-yellow striped tie. Edna, his bride, sat beside him. She looked so small, so pretty and pink-cheeked. She was a delicate woman with little pearl earrings and softly crimped hair. She looked like your favorite aunt. “What do you like most about Elvis?” I asked Auntie Edna.

“He's the home of the whopper,” she said, giggling and patting his polyester knee. I nearly fell over. I'll never look at polyester pants the same way again. Now I knew what was weighing Elvis down.

Elvis popped the question to me Tuesday morning, and I said yes. Now it was 2:00
A.M
. Wednesday, the day of the wedding. I didn't know how the bride and groom were feeling, but I was scared for them. This was serious. These two people were going to be tied together for life. It made you think. I switched on the night-stand light and sat up in our unblessed bed.

“What's wrong?” asked Lyle sleepily.

“I think I'm making a mistake,” I said. “Why am I helping Elvis and Edna get married? They're living together now. If they have a fight and Edna wants to leave Elvis, or vice versa, she packs her suitcase and walks out the door. If they tie the knot, they can't get out unless they pay some lawyer thousands of dollars.”

Lyle got up, wrapped his dressing gown
around himself, and sat next to me on the bed. Monty, his big gray cat, wrapped his tail around his paws and sat on the other side. Both were ready to listen. At that hour, Monty looked the smartest of the three of us. “Ever hear of palimony?” said Lyle. “Even singles don't always walk out now without paying lawyers.”

“I don't think Edna and Elvis are rich enough for those problems,” I said.

“How long have they been living together?” asked Lyle.

“Two years.”

“Why are you worried? They're not kids. They love each other and want to be together permanently. Anyway, he might find it sexy to make love to a married woman. I'd like to try it some time,” he said.

I didn't want to joke. I wanted to worry. “Lyle, what if things go wrong for Edna and Elvis? I know he drinks.”

“She knows it, too. If she's living with him, there are no surprises after marriage.”

“What if they have an argument some Saturday night and Edna shoots him? I'll be responsible. I was a witness. I helped make that wedding possible.”

“She'll be responsible,” he said. “She pulled the trigger. I've never seen a husband-wife murder story yet that mentions the witnesses at their wedding.”

I didn't laugh. I didn't answer. I just sat there.

“Francesca, Edna is not your mother,” he said, gathering me into his arms. “Some people
do live happily ever after. Some marriages do work out. Theirs might. Ours would. Will you marry me?”

“No. I love you, but I can't marry you.”

I kissed him and got out of bed. He looked sad but soon fell back asleep. Monty curled up at his feet and slept, too. I spent a restless night, wandering through the house like a ghost, wishing I had the courage to marry Lyle. I knew there was no other man for me. But every time I saw us standing before a minister, I saw myself standing at my parents' grave. They had not been parted in death, but they should have separated in life. They shouldn't have married at all, and I didn't want to make that mistake.

The night matched my mood. It was typical St. Louis weather. Another false spring day had turned suddenly cold by sundown. The temperature dropped forty degrees in a few hours. Lightning flashed. The wind moaned and lashed the tree branches outside Lyle's window. By morning there was snow, light, fluffy flakes like someone had cut open a feather pillow. The snow melted when it hit the streets, but it frosted the yards like icing on a wedding cake. By midmorning the sun was out. The snow sparkled. Elvis and Edna would have a fine day for marrying. I put on a suit and went off to their wedding.

Edna and Elvis wanted their ceremony at the Fit-Mor Footwear Factory, a depressing old redbrick building behind the railroad tracks. For Elvis and Edna, it was as romantic as the lily pond at Tower Grove Park. She was a secretary
and he ran a forklift in the Fit-Mor warehouse. They met at the office copier, when he sneaked in to copy some receipts for his taxes. It was love at first sight. They wanted to marry at the place where they met. Edna's boss, Sadie, a sweet woman in her fifties, was delighted. Sadie was as romantic as a young girl, and she appointed herself mother of the bride. Today, Sadie was a valentine in bright red from her lips to her shoe tips. She opened the office door for me.

“Francesca, I'm just thrilled you're here,” she said. “I recognize you from your picture in the paper. It's an honor. We're almost ready.”

I could see frantic wedding preparations were going on. The whole Fit-Mor front office had chipped in to make this wedding work. Three women were hanging white paper bells and crepe paper streamers over the dusty metal desks. A fourth was taking all the risqué cartoons off the filing cabinets. Two men were unrolling a white runner down the main aisle, to cover the cracked and speckled tile. A woman arranged flowers on the file cabinets. Other office workers brought in Corning Ware bowls filled with bean dip, artichoke dip, taco salad, and mostaccioli for the buffet after the ceremony. Sadie had cooked and sliced a whole ham. Now a young guy came in toting a big bucket with four iced bottles of champagne. There were white ribbons on the handles.

I could see that Elvis was a bald-faced liar. Any one of these people would have stood up for that low-down lying groom. Wait till I saw him. I
did see him, dipping into the bean dip at the buffet. Everyone else was occupied with chores at the moment. No one was near him. Good.

“Elvis, you awfully wedded weasel!” I hissed. “You lied to me. You didn't need me for a witness. You could have asked anyone in this office.”

“Yeah, but I promised Edna I'd get her wedding announced in the paper, and I didn't want to pay the
City Gazette
's hundred-dollar fee. I figured if I got you to stand up for us, you'd write about it, and I'd get a wedding announcement for free. Besides, you'd do a better job of writing it and more people would read it,” he said, giving me his most sincere smile.

“It's too late for flattery, you four-flushing faker. You're starting your wedding with a lie.”

“I am not,” Elvis said, with surprising energy and indignation. “I love Edna and she loves me and I'm glad her daughter's visit gives us a reason to get married. We want to be together forever.” He spoke with great dignity for a man waving a corn chip full of bean dip. “Besides, you'll get your story, and that's all you care about anyway.”

I winced. That hit home. Maybe I couldn't marry Lyle because I was already married—to my work. I didn't want to argue with Elvis on his wedding day. “Peace, Elvis,” I said. “I'm here. I might do the story anyway, if you give me decent quotes. And I wish you much happiness.”

“Thanks,” he said, and he did look happy. “She's terrific.”

I caught a glimpse of the bride, carrying a clothing bag into a back office. Friends and family had begun arriving. They were standing around or sitting on desks, drinking white wine and looking happier than most people do in an office. Sadie announced that it was time for the wedding. Someone put the office phones on the answering machine. Someone else popped a tape of Elvis (the other Elvis) singing “Love Me Tender” into a boom box, and pretty Edna tottered down the aisle on powder-blue spike heels, wearing a powder-blue lace dress and a dyed-to-match corsage.

Elvis was also dyed-to-match in a powder-blue suit, dark blue shirt and socks, and blue striped tie. He was wearing a big grin, as Edna walked down the long rows of desks to the copier. Her Elvis took her hand.

It was the preacher's job to make sure the couple matched permanently. He wore a navy blue suit, set off with specks of dandruff, a bad haircut, and a pious look. Only the two witnesses broke the color scheme. Sadie was wearing red. And I realized, to my horror, that my suit was black. How festive.

The wedding party stood at the office high altar, the copying machine. It was decorated with white bows, candles, and flowers. “Ought to keep it this way all the time,” whispered Edna. “Only time the damn thing's ever done what it's supposed to.”

The phone nearest the copier rang twice, then
stopped. “Good,” said Elvis. “That makes it a double-ring ceremony.” Everyone laughed.

“This is a marriage that can't be duplicated,” the preacher said. “Edna and Elvis wanted to have their marriage take place at the spot where they first fell in love. They also wanted you, their family, friends, and co-workers, to be with them today to celebrate their love.

“Do you, Edna, accept Elvis as your lawful husband?”

“I do,” she said, and shyly took his hand.

Elvis also took Edna for his lawful wife. He said the beautiful old vows: “I, Elvis, take you, Edna, for my lawful spouse, to have and to hold, from this day forward…”

Edna recited her part: “…for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part.”

Then the preacher weighed in with: “Having said that, in the presence of Edna and Elvis's family and friends, and these witnesses, Sadie and Francesca, and by the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife from this day forward. What therefore has been joined together, let no one put asunder.