The Wedding Party (27 page)

“He quit,” Ed said. “Went to work somewhere else.”

“Oh.” Hmm. He didn't even come by to say goodbye.

Well, what did you expect? she asked herself. You were distant, you avoided him, then you had a huge fantasy in his presence that he interpreted as you falling asleep. And you capped it off by bolting.

When she got home the house was empty. She dropped her purse and tote on the kitchen chair, kicked off her shoes and peeled off her panty hose right there, poured a glass of wine and went outside to the patio. There she relaxed on the chaise and asked herself, for the thousandth time, if she'd been wise, or if she'd made an error in judgment. In the first flush of red wine she considered that she'd used the best possible judgment for the situation, but she wanted him. Wanted him.

It was almost time for the ten o'clock news, when her dad came into the house with the dog. Beau found her at once. He bounded through the house in search, then nosed open the back door and leaped onto the patio, jumping expectantly around the lounge where she reclined.

“Well, young man, did you have a run?” she asked, petting his head and rubbing his ears. He instantly calmed to soak up the attention; the Great Dane sat politely, all one hundred and twenty pounds of him. And her dad was then behind him, winding the leash up as he came outside.

“Yes, the lad has had a good run. Have you been out, Pam?”

“No. As a matter of fact, I'm only getting home from work.”

“You've been putting in some very long days lately. You know what they say about all work and no play.”

“Dad? When was the last time I asked your romantic advice?”

He moved over to the chaise, and she slid her legs to the right so he could sit. “It's been a very long time. You almost never ask, and when I intrude, you usually tell me to butt out.”

“Rudely?” she asked.

“Absolutely,” he returned.

“All right, I have a question for you. What do you think about dating when there's an age difference? A considerable age difference. Say, fifteen years.”

“Well, I say that the age difference matters when you're young and when you're old. Right now, it won't matter at all. But later, when you're older, imagine how old he'll be.”

She smiled at him. Of course he would assume she was considering an older man.

“You remember Charlie Broadman? He's seventy-
five and his wife is fifty-five. He's a damn happy man, but I don't know his wife well enough to ask her if she's still happy. Look at them sometime, see if the picture they make together is something you could live with.”

“I remember when he married her. She was young. Thirty-five? Didn't he have children nearly her age?”

“Something like that,” her dad said. “So, there's some serious space between them that I'm sure didn't matter so much when they were thirty-five and fifty-five. And I expect she keeps him young. But Pam, the bigger question is, how much time does anyone have? You might avoid a relationship because of the age difference, and he may never get to the age when it will really make a difference. Or, perhaps you'll be the one to go. We don't know these things, after all.”

Pam's mother had died when Pam was twenty-five. Her mother had only been fifty. And her dad, now seventy, was the picture of health and vitality.

She touched his hand. “Dad. He's twenty-five.”

The look that came over her father's face was priceless, worth a fortune if captured on film. His white eyebrows shot upward, his mouth made a perfect O and his cheeks became rosy as his eyes glittered. He recovered quickly, patted his daughter's hand and said, “Pam, dear girl. Some people don't recognize a gift when it sneaks up on them and bites them in the butt.”

 

Charlene went alone to the small, dark, quiet Italian restaurant at about seven. She ordered lasagna, anti-pasto and garlic bread to go. Then she went to St.
Rose's emergency room. She hoped Dennis hadn't eaten yet, because she had to make amends for things she had no intention of telling him about. Things like sleeping with Jake, not thinking about Dennis much, not missing him, not wanting to get into bed with him even now, and mostly for not wanting to marry him and fully intending to do so anyway. She knew she was a little unstable, but she was dangerously practical. She knew what she needed, what she had to do. She wasn't going to continue stumbling stupidly through life making bad romantic decisions and go into old age without connections she could depend upon.

But Dennis wasn't at St. Rose's.

“Could he be working in another part of the hospital?” she asked the receptionist in the E.R.

“I doubt it,” she said. “Dennis doesn't float. He's assigned to the E.R. permanently. But, just to be sure, I'll page him for you.”

Charlene tapped her finger impatiently on the desk, waiting for the phone to ring after the page. But it didn't. The receptionist paged again, and again there was no response.

Charlene went to Dennis's house and let herself in. It was, as usual, neat as a pin and tastefully decorated, as if it were a model home on display. But there was no one at home. She sat at his kitchen table and ate her half of the dinner, complemented by a glass of red wine from his wine rack. When she was done eating, she called Dennis's sister, Gwen, and to the sounds of kids and ruckus in the background, asked her when
she might be free for lunch. Gwen said anytime, and Charlene asked her for Friday. Then Gwen asked, “Are you and Dennis doing okay?”

“We've been under a lot of stress lately, with my mom's newly found condition,” Charlene said.

“He told me all about that. I'm so sorry. Peaches is doing all right, though?”

“Remarkable, under the circumstances.”

“I've been worried, Charlene. I thought maybe something was wrong. Dennis has been acting…well…sulky. Quiet. Unlike himself.”

She had noticed; this was her fault. She wasn't sure she could still undo the damage, but she said, “I'll pay closer attention and see if there's something bothering him.”

“I didn't mean to put it on you,” Gwen said. “As if you don't have enough.”

“Oh, you didn't, Gwen. Caring about Dennis is my greatest pleasure.”

Gwen sighed. “You two are so amazingly sweet. I'll look forward to lunch.”

Amazingly sweet, Charlene thought. Lunch would be fine. Gwen was top-notch. But the real reason Charlene called was so Gwen could say, “Would you like to speak to Dennis? He's right here.”

She watched a little television as she worked on the note she was going to leave him. She tore up several versions that ranged from
Where are you, you bastard?
to
I'm sure there's a reason we've had this mis-communication.
She thought a lot about Dr. Malone, the young, tall, beautiful, seventeen-year-old doctor. It
would be hard to lose to her, she secretly admitted to herself.

At ten-thirty, about a half hour before the evening shift wrapped up, she called Dennis's cell phone. His voice mail came on and she left the message. “Hi, it's me, and I'm still up if you want to come over after work. I'm just missing you. Call me back on my cell. I'm on my way home from Mother's.”

Fifteen minutes slowly dragged by before her phone rang. “Hi, Charlene. Thanks for the offer, but I'm exhausted.”

“Oh, poor you. Long day in the E.R.?”

“You can't imagine. I'm going to need to get right in bed.”

“Want some company? I could drive over to your place…”

“Oh, not tonight. Forgive me? I'm done in.”

“Don't give it a thought. Let's talk tomorrow. Maybe we'll finally get to have that slow, quiet, wonderful Italian dinner…hmm?”

“That would be nice. Have a nice sleep.”

“Love you,” she said.

“You too,” he replied.

It took a few minutes for the truth to settle in. She slowly packed up every trace that she'd ever been in his house, including the bottle of wine minus one glass. She turned off the lights, locked the door behind her and drove away.

The curse of the Pomeroy women had struck again.

S
pending the night with Agatha had been the farthest thing from Dennis's plans. Indeed, he had considered it a stroke of good fortune to learn that Charlene was in her office and not at some doctor's appointment with her mother, or at Jasper's, where there was no privacy. If he didn't catch her at the office, he wouldn't find her alone until she finally went home, late at night.

At last, a private moment? He went there after work with the purpose of having a serious talk with her about their future, or the lack thereof. Talking to her there, where she would be at her professional best, was the perfect setting for this difficult discussion.

Catch her, he did, but in the arms of her ex-husband. And she'd been crying. Again. Dennis was unable to go on. Not only was she crying…she was crying with
him.

Dennis had never been bothered by jealousy and he wasn't jealous now. But he was angry. Regardless of all the stressful events in the past few weeks, Charlene should be moving closer to him, basking in the warmth of intimacy. Instead, she was becoming more emotionally unavailable by the day, all the while scream
ing about how much she wanted to get married. Indeed, all evidence pointed to Charlene not being in love with him, yet desperately insisting they marry. And soon. And every time he turned around, he was running into Jake! He hadn't seen so much of Jake in five years as he had in the past few weeks. This was getting too ridiculous. All he wanted was for this fiasco to end.

So he made up a lie. There was, of course, no double shift.

In a snit, he drove to Agatha's house, parked in the driveway and went into her backyard garden where she kept a small patio table and two chairs. He felt instantly serene, at peace again. All the tension of un-finished business with Charlene was gone. All the anger at finding her with Jake disappeared. He forgot there was anything to be upset about.

He paged Agatha, left his number and held his small phone as he waited only moments before it rang.

She gave herself away at once by the breathless, hopeful tone in her voice. “Yes, Dennis?”

It made him smile. “Guess where I'm calling you from?”

“I can't imagine.”

“Your garden. I'm through for the day. What are the chances you can get away?”

Later she might tell him that it would mean breaking an appointment. “Excellent. In another hour, that is.” The 6:00 p.m. date she would cancel was with a rather obnoxious bride and her even more obnoxious mother. She would gladly refund their deposit if they'd
just get angry enough to go elsewhere. “Now, tell me, Dennis, if you were a key to the rear door, hiding somewhere nearby, where would you be?”

He looked around and spied a potted begonia near the back door. “Under the flowerpot?”

“Precisely. Help yourself, if you like.”

She was there within the hour. When he heard her key in the door, his heart began to hammer inside his breast and he was a goner. He hadn't felt like this since he was a young man…a virile young man. He stood next to the dining table, a glass in his hand. When she was inside, he put the glass down and, without a second's hesitation, she was across the room and in his arms, his lips devouring hers and hers surrendering passionately. All talking aside, he swept her up into his arms and bore her across the little house to the bedroom before he put her again on her feet. Their lips never parted as they pulled and tore at each other's clothing. The scrubs were easily dispensed with and lay in a heap, but the wedding planner's pastel suit took a little more doing, what with all the silk and stockings and whatnot. For the first time in forever, Agatha didn't bother to gently fold away her things, and was happy to see her clothing lay in an urgent pile with his while they tumbled onto the bed.

For Dennis it was like a rebirth. He hadn't wanted a woman with this kind of fever since Sarah, and though there had been women in his life, he had been certain it would never be like that again. And for Agatha, it was like breathing clear air again after years of taking only painful breaths. Quickly sated, they lay
naked against each other, holding tightly to what they both secretly feared could be fleeting. And for a very long time they were completely silent.

It was Agatha who finally spoke. “Does this mean…?”

He sighed deeply, a sound of disappointment. “I'm sorry—it doesn't mean I've been able to finally have that talk with Charlene.” He lifted himself up on an elbow and looked down into her bright eyes. “I lied to her.”

“Oh, Dennis…”

“I'll lie again, Agatha. Again and again. I can't help myself anymore. I wanted to be the perfect gentleman and dissolve my commitment to Charlene before taking another step into this relationship with you, but I failed. I went to her office specifically to talk to her, but she was in a bad place, her ex-husband was there and she'd spent the morning in court declaring her mother incompetent to make her own medical and financial decisions.” He shrugged. “I flat out lost my nerve.”

“Are you sure you weren't angry that she was there with her ex-husband?”

“I'm sure I
was
angry about that! But not because I was jealous. I've been trying to get a private word with her for two weeks. But he seems to have no trouble getting an appearance.” He sighed. “I just wanted to get out of there.”

“Well,” she said, touching his cheek with tenderness. “What's done is done.”

In truth, it didn't matter to Agatha. She wanted him
to end his engagement, but whether he did or not, she could no more resist him than he could her.

“It would be tidier if I'd done things the way I planned.”

“That goes without saying, Dennis. But, well, here we are.”

He kissed her gently. “Aggie, I never thought I could be this happy again. I think of nothing all day and all night but you. And how I want you. And how I can't live without you.”

Her eyes welled with tears. “I haven't been called Aggie since I was a girl.”

He pulled her close, held her tight and rolled onto his back, bringing her atop him. She was light as a feather; tiny and trim. Her skin was white and freckly, the hair on her head colored a tame brown while the hair down there was the fiery red that matched her hidden spirit, the spirit that seemed to come to life just for him.

Just thinking that way brought him to life again. At first the sensation caused her eyes to widen in surprised response, then they fluttered closed as her lips found his. Their kiss was long and deep and at its end she said, “I'm wanton, Dennis. I don't care about anything but being here, like this, with you. I'm wicked, cruel, because I don't care about poor Charlene and all her problems. I don't care if you lie. I don't even care if I'm stupid. All that matters to me is this. Right now.” She kissed him again. “I didn't think I'd ever feel this again. I thought I was dead down there.”

A devious smile curved his lips just as he moved his hips. “Far from dead, love. Far, far from dead.”

As suited as they seemed to be for spending hours, if not days, abed, romping, laughing, talking and making love, even the most passionate of lovers needs nourishment. They showered, and while Dennis wore one of her oversize white terry robes, Aggie phoned the corner Italian bistro and ordered a meal of spaghetti and meatballs to go.

She waited just behind a small brunette who apparently had similar notions. “Yes,” she heard the woman say, “I thought I'd take it to my fiancéat work. He's had to pull a double shift tonight.”

“This is a lucky guy,” the waiter said. “My girl, she expects me to bring home the pasta every night.”

Agatha and Dennis enjoyed their takeout by candlelight with Chianti and bread, and it took them no time at all to find themselves back in bed. She wanted the night to never end. By his behavior, he was of a like mind.

Someplace in the dark, the trill of his cell phone rang out and he sat upright. He listened for quite a while, but let it go. Then he dialed up his voice mail and heard the message. Next, he called her and made his excuses. And then, of course, he pulled Agatha into his arms again.

“You've lied once more,” she whispered to him.

“I have,” he said. “I couldn't leave now. It would be too hard.”

“You know, it's been said that if a man will lie to
his girlfriend to be unfaithful with you, he'll one day lie to you to be unfaithful with another.”

“Has it now? And is that what you fear?”

She turned her head. “I'm a wretch. I don't even care.” She turned back. “How could I care? Answer me that. This is the first time I've felt alive in five years.”

“And for me,” he said, “it's been twenty.”

 

At a respectable time the next morning, Dennis called Charlene and said, “I guess the timing was wrong last night. We're like ships passing in the night. Want to try again?”

She took the call on speakerphone at her desk, while, as usual, she did about three things at once. “I have a hearing at eleven, so I can't guarantee lunch, and a client I've been putting off for some time now has asked to meet with me late in the business day. What if it were to be a late dinner? Eight or after?”

“I'll take what I can get. Would you like me to drive out to your place?”

“Since I don't know when I can get there, let me call you?”

“I'll wait to hear from you. Don't work too hard.”

She looked at her desk, at the calendar, at the stack of files. “Okay, sure,” she said, and clicked off the phone. “Dammit!” she cursed. Again she hadn't said goodbye. And Dennis was already feeling wounded. No wonder he wanted to postpone the wedding. He was probably feeling completely unloved.

But she honestly didn't think about it…or him…again.

The court hearing was a painful plea from her clients to turn off the respirator and disconnect the IVs from their nineteen-year-old son. Ordinarily, this wouldn't require a court hearing, but there was apparently some brain activity. He was morbidly injured, however. Even if he survived, it would only be with partial use of his mind, devastating injuries and terrible pain.

The court was convinced. Charlene was unable to feel a great deal of victory in that. She wished her clients well and promised to stop by the hospital later in the day to see how things were going.

The next appointment of the day was a stately woman of sixty to whom she had to deliver potentially tragic news. Mrs. Polk was convinced her husband was having an affair with a much younger woman. “I'm afraid our detective brought us much more damaging information than you suspected. It seems Mr. Polk has another family, including children, whom he keeps in a very nice home in San Jose. We were unable to ascertain whether he has committed bigamy, but the relationship appears to have been long term.” She passed Mrs. Polk a file folder that included pictures of her husband with a woman in her late thirties and two teenage children. “I'm not certain whether these teenagers are your husband's. How would you like to proceed?”

Mrs. Polk pursed her lips and lifted her chin. Charlene could see her struggle against tears. The Polks
were quite well-to-do. It would give Charlene considerable pleasure to settle Mrs. Polk with a handsome retirement and let the old fool live out his days with the other woman.

“With this information at hand, we could secure a no-fault divorce and—”

Mrs. Polk lifted her hand regally, to indicate Charlene should stop. “I'm going to have to think about this,” she said. Her voice was faint. Weak. “I'll be in touch.” She stood to leave, took three steps toward the door and fainted.

“Shit,” Charlene swore, jumping from her desk. “Pam!” she yelled. She was always ready for tears, but she was never prepared for a faint. It didn't happen all that often, but it wasn't unheard of.

“Call 911. I'm not letting her drive home.” By the time she'd said that much, Mrs. Polk was already coming around, but because of her age she was taken to the hospital for an examination.

Charlene had promised to meet Sherry Omagi, the owner of the goose, Frankie, and go with her to her ex-husband's house. Kim Omagi had taken the goose in a fit of anger, but had finally relented and agreed to return Frankie. “What I won't do for money,” Charlene said to Pam as she left for the day.

Fifteen minutes later, exhausted by the typical events of a long day in family law, she pulled up in front of Kim Omagi's house and parked right behind Sherry's car. These people are nuts, she thought, and not for the first time. Even though she'd represented people in custody fights over dogs and cats and horses,
even over a tankful of fish once, she couldn't get over feeling that this was beyond crazy.

Sherry got out of her car and waited on the sidewalk. She was wearing a big grin. “I have a surprise for Frankie. I got him a playmate. Johnny. I might be going into the goose business pretty soon.”

“Well, now, that makes some sense,” Charlene said. But she didn't ask any questions because she was pretty sure Sherry had no intention of breeding these geese for down comforters or Christmas dinner.