IT DOESN'T GET ANY BETTER

I WAS ON MY WAY to Kennedy’s wedding, but I couldn’t find the church. I tried the Portuguese neighbourhood, the Italian neighbourhood, everywhere. I drove all around the city looking for it. It was called Our Lady of Perpetual Suffering, but all the churches I saw were named after men.

“Why are there so many churches?” I wanted to know. “I mean, who goes to these places?”

Lane, my date, just shook her head and kept brushing hair off herself. She was also my hair stylist, and she was covered in little pieces of hair, each of them a different colour. She was still wearing the same clothes she’d had on when she’d cut my hair: white silk blouse, camouflage pants, black military boots. I’d originally asked Mia to be my date, but I hadn’t called her since that incident with the gun.

“Don’t you have directions?” Lane asked at one point.

“I had the directions,” I explained, “but then I lost them when my apartment was robbed.”

“They took the directions?”

“They took everything,” I told her. “My whole life.”

“What would anybody want with directions to a wedding?”

“What would anybody want with my life?”

I STOPPED AT A 7-ELEVEN to look up the address. Somebody had thrown up in a corner of the phone booth. The churches section of the yellow pages had been ripped out. I looked in the white pages, but there was no listing. It started to rain again while I was in there. When I went back to the car, Lane had a bottle of water and a piece of paper that she passed to me. The directions to the church were written on it.

“Where’d you get this?” I asked.

“I went in to get some water,” she said, holding up the bottle. “The guy behind the counter was Hispanic, so I figured he might know where the church was.”

“Isn’t that racial profiling or something like that?” I asked.

“He gave me the address,” she pointed out.

“You’ve just saved my life,” I said. I went to hug her, but she warded me off with the water bottle.

“Remember,” she said, “this isn’t that kind of date.”

I’D ONLY ASKED LANE to be my date that morning, when I was getting my hair cut for the wedding. My appointment was at nine. Lane was the only person working in the salon, although there was a man sleeping on the couch beside the sinks at the back. The phone was ringing the whole time I was in there, but Lane never once looked at it.

“I was at this party last night,” she said by way of greeting. “I took these pills and now I can’t sleep.” She wrapped the apron around me like she was tucking in a child.

“I have a party to go to myself tonight,” I said.

“I’m so tired,” she went on. “I keep hallucinating, like I’m dreaming even though I’m awake.”

“How long do these pills last?” I asked her.

“I don’t know,” she said. “But if it goes on much longer, I might lose my mind.” She laughed as she began cutting my hair, but I wasn’t really sure why.

“Well, if you’re still up later, maybe you’d like to come to this party,” I said.

She stopped cutting and looked at me in the mirror. The man on the couch let out a long sigh and rolled over, but he didn’t wake up.

“It’s a wedding party,” I added. “There’ll be lots of other people there.”

“You know I’m a dyke, don’t you?” she asked.

“That’s all right,” I said.

“I know it’s all right,” she said.

“The drinks will be free,” I added.

She ruffled my hair with the hand that held the scissors. “As long as we’re straight on that,” she said.

WE FOUND THE CHURCH between two abandoned warehouses a few blocks away from the 7-Eleven. The building looked like it had once been a garage. The Virgin Mary had been painted over the front door, but someone had spray-painted out the baby Jesus. Now she just held a black circle.

We went inside and found the place empty except for a man in a priest’s robe. He was sweeping piles of confetti across the floor, but he paused long enough to look at us. “We’re closed for a private event,” he said, “but we’ll be open again later tonight.”

“We’re here for the wedding,” I said.

“Oh, that.” He leaned on the broom and gazed at Lane. “You just missed them,” he said.

“But we’re not even an hour late,” I said, pointing at my watch.

“They were in and out in half an hour,” he said. “But they made an awful mess in that time. Someone was even drinking vodka in one of the pews.” He nodded at the floor, but I didn’t see any bottles anywhere.

“Was it a nice wedding at least?” Lane asked.

“Nice?” The priest looked up at the ceiling of the church. There were spider webs in the rafters. “They called her parents on a cell phone during the ceremony. I had to say all the vows into this phone so they could hear me.” He shook his head and went back to sweeping. “I don’t know these people,” he said. “I’ve never seen them before, and I doubt I’ll ever see them again.”

Lane lit a cigarette and looked around the empty room. “I don’t suppose they said where they were going?”

“It’s all right,” I told her. “I know where the reception is.”

“You know where it is?” Lane said. “Why didn’t we just go there then? We could have skipped this whole church thing.”

“If it wasn’t for the money,” the priest sighed.

“Was there a woman with them?” I asked. “One with a tattoo of Marilyn Monroe here?” I pointed at my stomach, just above my belly button.

“There were women, yes,” the priest said, sweeping the confetti towards us, “but I don’t know about any tattoos.”

“Marilyn Monroe?” Lane asked.

“Let’s get out of here,” I said to her.

“Everyone always leaves,” the priest said, following us with the broom, “but nobody ever comes.”

BACK IN THE CAR, Lane laughed and brushed more hair from her clothes. “I can’t believe it,” she said. “You ask me out on a date, but you’re after another woman.”

“It’s not another woman,” I said, “it’s my ex-wife.”

She looked at me. “Is that supposed to be better?” she asked.

“I heard she’d be here,” I said. “I haven’t seen her in a year.”

“Well, this is certainly going to be an interesting night,” Lane said. She took a long drink from the water bottle.

“What do you care, anyway?” I asked. “You’re a dyke, remember?”

“Oh, I remember,” she said.

“So what does it really matter then?”

“It’s the principle of the thing.”

THERE WAS A FIGHT going on in the parking lot of the reception hall when we pulled in. There were three or four men involved, I couldn’t quite tell, and another three or four standing around, watching. They all stopped what they were doing and looked into the headlights, even the fighters, until we were past them.

“Were those your friends?” Lane asked.

“My friends don’t wear rented tuxes,” I told her.

I parked beside an SUV with a white dog in the front seat. It was a big dog, the size of a German shepherd but more expensive-looking. It started barking at Lane as soon she got out of the car.

“Hello, doggie,” she said in a baby voice and put her hand on the window. The dog bit at the glass, trying to get at her.

“I really don’t think you should do that,” I said.

“I’d be mad too if I was locked up in this all day,” she told the dog. She kicked the side door of the SUV, and its alarm went off. The dog threw itself at the window now, leaving smears of saliva on the glass.

“It’s probably thirsty,” Lane said. She put the bottle of water up to the open crack at the top of the window and poured the rest of its contents inside. The dog lunged at it, snarling its way through the water. “You see?” Lane said, tossing the empty bottle aside.

We went past the fighting men. There were three of them now, I saw, rolling around on the ground, in and out of puddles formed by the rain. Each of them seemed to be fighting the other two. And the men around them were dirty and wiping blood from their own faces and hands. One of them, who had his arm around the neck of the man beside him, lifted his beer bottle to us as we passed. None of them said anything, though, and the only sound was the grunts of the fighting men. We went inside.

The hall was actually two large rooms separated by a hallway that held the washrooms. There seemed to be a different wedding reception taking place in each room. I looked in the room to the right but didn’t recognize anyone there. The bride was dancing in the middle of the room to an old Whitney Houston song. She looked as if her nose had been broken a number of times. I wasn’t sure, but I thought the man she was dancing with might have been her father. She also looked as if she wouldn’t be able to stand up without his help. Everyone else was sitting at their tables, watching them dance.

“Are these your friends?” Lane asked.

“Do these look like my friends?” I asked.

“I really wouldn’t know,” she said.

“These don’t look like anybody’s friends,” I said.

We went into the other room. All the tables had been pulled to the walls here, and everyone was dancing in the empty space in the middle of the room. I didn’t recognize the music, and I also didn’t recognize most of the people here. I looked around for Kennedy and spotted him by the gift table, taking photos of the crowd with a digital camera.

“This way,” I told Lane.

“I think I’m going to get a drink,” she said. She pushed her way through the crowd, to the bar on the other side of the room.

Kennedy was staring at a picture of himself in the camera when I got to him. “We just missed you at the church,” I told him.

He looked up from the camera and grinned when he saw me. “Hey, I thought maybe you weren’t going to make it,” he said.

“I don’t think I know anyone here,” I said.

“These things are like high school reunions,” he said, nodding.

“Where is she?” I asked, glancing around the room.

He pointed to a woman on the dance floor. She was in the middle of the crowd but she was dancing alone, as everyone kept a few feet away from her. Her eyes were closed. She was wearing a white bridal gown. I actually took a step toward her before I realized she didn’t look anything like Rachel.

“Who’s that?” I asked.

“That’s my wife,” Kennedy said.

The more I stared at her, the more familiar she looked. Then I remembered her. She was one of the women that Kennedy had danced with that night I’d gone over to his place and wound up with Mia. He didn’t even know her then, and now here he was, marrying her.

“Where’s my wife?” I asked.

“What are you talking about?” Kennedy asked, looking at me.

“You told me Rachel would be here,” I said.

“I don’t know where Rachel is,” he said, shaking his head.

“You said she’d be here when you invited me to the wedding,” I said. “You said you’d found her.”

“I said I’d found some photographs of Rachel,” Kennedy said. “I said I’d bring them to the wedding.” He handed the camera to me. “They’re in here, somewhere near the beginning.”

I looked down at the camera in my hand. It was warm from him holding it, and slick with sweat. “So she’s not here?” I asked.

“She’s never been here,” he said and moved off into the crowd.

I started to go through the pictures in the camera, looking for Rachel, but just then Lane appeared at my side, a gin and tonic in each hand. “You have to pay for the drinks here,” she said.

“All right,” I said.

“You said they’d be free,” she went on.

“I’ll get them,” I told her.

“I’ve already paid for these ones,” she said, “but you’re getting the rest.” She took a sip of one of the drinks, then she saw Kennedy’s wife. She watched her for a moment and then smiled. “I think I’m going to dance now,” she said.

I went around the edge of the room, looking for a quiet place where I could sit down and look at the pictures in the camera. But there were people everywhere, standing or sitting in groups, talking and laughing and watching me pass. I went out into the hall, just as Kennedy was coming out of the restroom.

“Hey, let me see that for a moment,” he said, taking the camera from me. He went up to the door of the other room and started taking photos.

“What are you doing?” I asked him. “That’s not your party.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” he said. He took a photo of the other bride as she ran past him and outside. She was gagging and covering her mouth with one hand, while dragging one of the bridesmaids behind her with the other. “This is going to make a great album,” Kennedy said.

“Be careful with that,” I told him. “I haven’t looked at all the pictures yet.”

He didn’t answer me, though, because just then one of the fighting men from outside came in and saw him standing there with the camera. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” this man asked.

Kennedy didn’t answer him, just grinned and took his picture.

“You goddamn perverts,” the other man said. He lunged forward, but Kennedy stepped behind me, so the man hit me instead, punching me in the face. I fell backward, into Kennedy, who shoved me forward again, back at the other man. He caught me, holding me in his arms for what seemed like moments, and then dropped me to the wood-tiled floor. Down here, everything smelled like lemons.

When I managed to lift my head again, I saw Kennedy wrestling with the other man. The camera had fallen to the floor, and the other man was stomping on it while holding Kennedy in a headlock. Little pieces of the camera were flying everywhere.

I screamed and grabbed hold of the man’s foot. He was wearing one of those shiny dress shoes, the kind you can only get with rented tuxes. He screamed back at me and tried to kick me with his other foot but lost his balance instead. He fell to the floor, taking Kennedy with him, and I heard rather than saw his head bounce off the floor. I got on my knees and grabbed the camera, looked at the picture screen. It was black, a crack running straight down the middle of it. I hit every button I could see on the camera. The screen stayed black.

“Jesus,” Kennedy said behind me, “I think you killed him.”

I turned around and looked at the other man. He was spasming on the floor, limbs jerking back and forth, his eyes rolled back so only the whites were showing.

“Me?” I said. “You were the one who started this.” I could barely breathe. I thought I was going to faint.

“But you were the one who kicked his ass,” Kennedy said. He pulled me to my feet and put his arms around me. “This is the best wedding I’ve been to yet,” he said and kissed me.

It wasn’t what I really wanted, but it was something.

LATER, WHEN THE other groom — I knew he was the other groom because he was the only person wearing a white jacket — came in and started fighting with Kennedy, I went back into Kennedy’s reception room to get Lane. She was dancing with Kennedy’s wife, and when I went up to them and told her I was leaving, she just waved me away. I went back into the hall again. Kennedy and the other groom were rolling around on the floor and over the guy having the seizure, biting and clawing at each other and laughing. I went back out into the rain.

Outside, the other bride was sitting in the middle of the parking lot. Somehow, the white dog from the SUV had gotten loose and it was attacking her, trying to get underneath her wedding gown to bite at her ankles. She’d kick it away, and then it would come back again, lunging underneath the gown. The white silk was torn all along the bottom of the dress now and stained from sitting on the wet ground. The woman was crying when I walked past her. “I just want to go home,” she kept saying to the dog. It barked at her and didn’t pay any attention to me at all.

I stopped and watched this for a moment, then said, “I’ll give you a ride.” I helped her to her feet. She’d lost one of her shoes somewhere, so she took my arm as I led her to the car. The dog followed, growling and biting at her heels.

There was a couple making out in the front seat of the SUV. I wasn’t sure if they were the owners or not, because the car alarm was still going off. I unlocked the passenger door of my car, and the woman got in. The dog got up on its hind legs and looked in at her as soon as I closed the door. Its tail was wagging furiously.

“Where are you staying?” I asked her when I got in on the driver’s side.

“The Holiday Inn,” she said. She’d stopped crying now, but she made no move to wipe the mascara from her face. There was still a bit of vomit on her chin. She looked like a raccoon.

“Is that where your husband’s staying?” I asked.

“Of course that’s where he’s staying,” she said. “Where else would he go?”

“I just want to make sure he’ll know where to find you,” I told her.

On the way out of the parking lot, the headlights caught a fox in the shrubs. It looked like it had a kitten in its mouth, but I wasn’t certain because it ran off.

“Is this your first wedding?” I asked the woman.

“This is my only wedding,” she said. Then, “Do you have any cigarettes?”

“I don’t smoke,” I said. “But I’m sure you can get some from one of the hotel’s vending machines.”

“I don’t have any money,” she said.

“It’s your wedding night,” I said. “Think of all the money you just made.”

“No, what I mean is that this dress doesn’t have any pockets.”

“On our wedding night,” I went on, “we piled all the money we got on the bed and made love in it. We didn’t even count it until we were done. Nearly six thousand dollars. We left a hundred- dollar tip for the maid. For luck, my wife said.”

“Where’s your wife now?” she asked me.

“She’s dead,” I told her. It was true. I knew now I was never going to see Rachel again.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” the woman said.

I shook my head. “I’ve never had that much money since,” I said.

She didn’t say anything for a moment, just looked out the side window. I could see strands of the dog’s saliva still on the window, trapped in her reflection. “This is it then,” she sighed. “The best night of my life.”

“It doesn’t get any better,” I agreed.

© Peter Darbyshire

 
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