Chapter 3

MacKenzie

The sounds of preparation awaken me before the sun even makes its appearance. I can hear my mother’s professional voice, the one she uses when there are orders to be given. There must be a great many people to order around because she rarely pauses for breath. It is my wedding day—the day all girls dream of.

I recognize the queasiness in my stomach as excitement. I have to turn on a light to find the bottle of Pepto in my nightstand. How ironic it is that I should be so scared on what is supposed to be the happiest day of my life. I want to call Abby and tell her but reason that she is probably still asleep, as all sane people must be. I know better than to get into Mom’s way. She’ll have me loading flowers or ironing someone’s uniform, even if I’m the bride. Instead, I decide to take a walk while the air is still cool. I sneak out the patio doors, a cup of coffee in my hand and begin strolling through Mom’s landscaped garden. I have to admire her—she seems to do things so perfectly. Whether it is flower gardening or wedding planning, she seems to come by it naturally. I hoped I could be just like her, but there would be a huge learning curve between then and where I am now.

My dress has come together even better than I had expected. Using the pictures we’d taken at the store, Abby and I used Photoshop to put together a creamy confection that maximizes my bosom and minimizes my butt. Abby swears there’s nothing wrong with my butt, but of course, each of us has one body part we’re required to hate. In my case, it’s my butt. On the other hand, Antonio says he loves it best. That must be why I’m marrying him.

We’ve even managed to find a design that suits Abby, making her appear less stooped and more statuesque. Since I consider her hair to be her worst feature, we would compromise by giving her an updo. That has the benefit of controlling her wayward frizz and minimizing her hair’s overall visual impact. Mom has ordered a make-up beautician to come by the house later this morning. She will bring a couple of assistants, and all fourteen of us, perhaps even Mom, will have our makeup and hair professionally done. Mom has allocated the top one for me, naturally. We’ve gone ahead with the Grecian theme, and it was decided that Mom is going to wear gold lamé. I’m not sure how that will look, but it seems to make her happy, so who am I to complain if we look like a Vegas mob reunion?

I round the corner of the yard and spot my dad sitting on a bench, looking out over the grounds. I head toward him. “Dad? Did Mom run you out of the house?”

“Your mother? Oh, heck no. You’re right; it is too noisy to sleep in there, but then I’ve been awake for a while. No, I just came out to get a breath of fresh air before the sun runs me back indoors. Here, sit down beside me,” he says, patting the remainder of the bench. I sit down and hug him.

“I’m going to miss you, Dad.”

“Miss me? Did I miss something? You’re only going a few blocks away, you know.”

“That’s another thing. I want to thank you and Mom for the gift of the house. I’m really excited about decorating, and I know Antonio’s taste might not have been my own, so it’s a perfect way to settle it.”

“Is that so? I have to tell you, for a while there, I didn’t think I could pull it off. Antonio isn’t particularly pleased with my interference.”

“Really? I would think that would take one big thing off his list.”

Dad didn’t say anything but shifted his gaze out to the distance. I have a distinct feeling there is something he wants to tell me but isn’t going to do it, especially today. I hope it isn’t going to be one of those bridal night discussions. Surely to God, he knows I’m well-informed already in that department. But then, maybe not? Or maybe Mom has ordered him to have the talk. Either way, he is obviously deciding not to, and I’m grateful.

“May I ask you a question?”

He pats my thigh and puts his arm around my shoulders, pulling me closer toward him. That gesture brings back so many memories. Dad and I often sit on this very bench and have long talks at night as we watch the stars move in the heavens, and he explains how he’d made his fortune or what he has in mind for my future. Now, here we are again, and I have one very important question to ask him. “Do you think Antonio is the right man for me?”

“Well! That’s hardly what I expected to hear. So, I have to ask, is there some reason you think he’s not?”

“As much as I hate to admit it, Dad, there are times when you know better than I do. I think this may be one of those times. After all, this is the first fiancé I’ve ever had, and hopefully, the last. I know you and his dad pretty much engineered this whole thing, but what I’m not sure of is how much of it is Antonio’s idea. I’d hate to think that we both got railroaded into something that’s not going to work out.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that, Kitten. People like us always find a way to make things work out, you know that. There’s so much more to a marriage than love or intimacy, aside from the fact that it produces heirs. You have to look at this in the bigger picture. He comes from the right kind of family. They are like us, for lack of a better description. That alone will resolve half the problems you face in a marriage. You won’t be leaving this family, you’ll be adding a second one, and that gives you an even bigger base of power.”

“But Dad, what if I’m not getting married to form a power base? I know that’s a big deal for you, but for me it means nothing. I want to be married because my husband loves me and wants to have a family. I want to be married so I don’t look left behind. I want to decorate a big house and buy lots of pretty clothes. That may sound very vain but face it. It’s what you raised me to be.”

“And you do it so well, Mac,” he pats my thigh and chuckles.

“So, if I understand what you were saying, you’re telling me that the engineering of the foundation of this marriage is sound, and that’s half the battle?”

“I think you understand me well.”

“Well, it’s not exactly what I wanted to hear, but it’s kind of late to do anything about it.”

Dad turns to face me. “Is there something here I need to know about?”

“I guess not. You probably already have sized up Antonio and know exactly who he is. If anyone, it’s probably me who needs to learn.” Dad looks puzzled, and I’m sorry I said anything. I knew he had his heart set on my being happy.

I pat his knee and stand up. “It’s okay, Dad. I’m pretty sure I know what I’m getting myself into, and I’m okay with that. There are a lot of girls who would give their right arm to be in my place. My best friend, for one.”

“You think Abby has a thing for Antonio?”

I wait a moment before answering. “You know, now that I’ve said it, it’s probably the opposite. Abby doesn’t like Antonio for some reason. I think nothing would make her happier than if I were to jump in the car and drive to Disney World today. But then Abby can’t afford to be too picky, and she’s objective. She doesn’t have the advantages I do. She’s smart, but not in all the ways it counts.”

“I think you’re going to be just fine, Mac. You’ve got a pretty good head on your shoulders, and from what I’m hearing, a pretty good grasp of the way the world works. Come here and give your old man a hug and then get yourself inside and let your mother take over.”

I do as he asks, and even though I haven’t really gotten an answer, I do feel a sense of relief as I head back to the house.

* * *

Our wedding is planned to be held in a small, historic chapel on the edge of the bay. There won’t be room for all the people we want to invite inside, so it’s planned that the ceremony will take place inside with just our immediate family, and then our vows will be repeated, and we’ll be introduced as husband and wife to our guests on the lawns outside the chapel. There are white tents with air conditioning lined up throughout the property. I had to fight Mom to not make things so fancy. She’s always inclined to go overboard on things, and while I want this to be a society wedding, at some point, it becomes more about the planning and less about the wedding itself. Abby agrees with me, and we worked on Mom in advance, but there is only so much you can do with her.

There are flocks of peacocks wandering amongst the tents, and white ribbon boxes are being opened sporadically to release flocks of white doves. Everywhere you look, there are fountains; some with water, some with champagne, others with chocolate or strawberries or wine. Waiters circulate constantly with trays of food that can be eaten while standing as you visit, or if you prefer, a sit-down meal is available inside the tents. For the children, there is an area of small carnival rides with clowns and fairy-tale characters in costume. For the older guests who can’t handle the heat, Mom has brought in modified mobile housing with multiple bedrooms where the guests can take a nap. She has thought of everything, except me.

Abby has gone ahead, and it’s planned that I will ride with Dad in a white Rolls-Royce. Guests are encouraged to arrive early so they can witness my entrance to the chapel and secure a good viewing location after we emerge. At some point, it passes the ridiculous and becomes almost hideously ostentatious. It could be a coronation except Mom overlooked having the Buckingham Guard on hand.

There is an entire orchestra assembled on the side lawn. It contains no fewer than six harps and a dozen violins that play heavenly music as a prelude to Lohengrin’s Wedding March. Mom is certainly in her glory. All I can think of is getting between the sheets with my virile, strong, lover groom.

Having been attended to all morning by the makeup and hair people, I’m wearing my gown and in the Rolls-Royce, bound for the chapel. Dad is sitting next to me, and the entire wedding party is following us in white limousines. There is a little confusion when we first arrive as to which groomsman is assigned to which bridesmaid, but they are good sports and work it out. The orchestra is striking up its beginning cords, and Dad and I take our position. Abby had been right, it seemed, for the processional did take more than a half hour. By the time I enter the chapel, it is so crowded, I can’t even pick out Antonio. As the wedding march begins, Dad and I do our stutter step down the aisle as flowers fall from some sort of netting Mom had placed in the chapel ceiling.

People are watching as I pass by them. I see my family on one side, even down to Aunt Zelda who flew in from New York City to take part in the festivities. Unfortunately, she has inherited the family chin … recessive and hairy. I’m so glad I take after Dad’s side.

I’m coming up on Antonio’s parents now. His mother really is gorgeous, although I think a neckline that is open to the waist might be a bit too much for a wedding—but it’s her boobs she’ll be tucking all night. She has an odd look in her eyes—well, odder than normal. She seems nervous. Antonio’s dad looks sharp in his tux. He’s nodding to all the right people, and I’m surprised he didn’t ask everyone to wear their business card as a nametag. He’s here for the connections, and my dad is supposed to make them happen.

We’ve finally arrived at the altar, and I turn to take Antonio’s hand. He’s not there? Where is he? The orchestra continues to play, unsure what else to do, and that’s when I begin to hear the undertone of whispers that tell me something is wrong. I look over my shoulder at Abby whose face is uncharacteristically frozen. She is supposed to take my bridal bouquet once Antonio raises my veil, but again, he’s still missing. My eyes travel down the channel of bridesmaids and groomsmen. I’m thinking he’s pulling a joke on me and will pop out of the line, probably drunk and potty-mouthed. He’s not showing up, though. The minister is no help—like the others, his face is frozen. I feel like I’m in some kind of nightmare tableau—the kind you see on the Hallmark channel but everything turns out all right in the end.

The chapel is getting hotter, clothes are beginning to itch, and the tongues have begun to wag. It isn’t until right then, and I swear this is true, that I realize what has happened. Everyone in the church must have already suspected.

I’m being stood up at the altar.

Antonio is not misplaced, he’s not passed out drunk in the minister’s office, and he’s not out back, kissing one of my distant cousins. He has simply decided not to show up. My knees buckle, and his best man catches me, scooping me up against his chest to carry me to the back of the chapel to the choir robe room. Someone hands me a glass of cold water, and Abby is standing behind me, her hands massaging my forehead to release the immense pressure that is building there.

“What happened?” is all I can repeatedly ask. “Where is Antonio?” No one seems to know, not even his own family. Their side of the chapel is filled to the limit, evidence that even they didn’t know he hadn’t planned follow-through. Word leaks out to those waiting on the lawns. I hear someone say that Mom had been put in a limousine and sent home; the calamity is just more than she can bear. The orchestra continues to play, and Abby takes charge, sending out word that the caterer should begin serving. There is no point in letting everything go to waste. It isn’t as if it will undo what Antonio has done.

A dozen bridesmaids have found their groomsman and begun dancing in an attempt to lighten the mood. The wedding planner is instructing her crew to surreptitiously remove the wedding gifts to a storage facility somewhere. What has begun as a wedding is now a very expensive lawn party, complete with peacocks, doves, and a bawling bride.

I feel as though a boulder has been placed on my chest. I’m having trouble breathing, and my head is swimming with dizziness. Dad called a doctor who gives me some sort of a sedative before placing me back in the Rolls Royce and taking me home. Abby rides with me while Dad stays behind and does his best to manage the now drunken festivities.

The next thing I know, I’m in my nightie and tucked into my bed. Abby, having shucked her maid of honor gown, borrowed a pair of my jeans and a T-shirt and is sitting soberly in a chair at the foot of my bed. There’s a cold cloth over my forehead. I push it aside as I sit up. Abby has a half-gallon of chocolate ice cream and two spoons in her lap. Getting up from her chair, she’s come over to the bed and sits down next to me, handing me one of the spoons. This is when I begin to cry.

Abby understands, perhaps better than anyone. She doesn’t tell me to stop crying or look for feeble excuses for why it happened. She doesn’t tell me I’m better off without him and that I’m lucky it has happened now instead of after we were married. She knows better. I even think she knows about the intense relief I’m feeling inside.

They say that trials and sorrow are character building, but I think they got it all wrong when they decided it is my character that needs improvement. Now that I’m thinking about it, it all makes sense. Antonio is unreliable, at best, and a narcissistic psychopath at worst. I’ve seen his evil side in glimpses every so often. I’ve written each of them off, wanting them to be figments of my own imagination, but they weren’t. They were the reason I questioned Dad this morning. I wonder if anyone else has seen it; if anyone else realizes what I was set to marry.

Abby offers to spend the night with me, just as she had when we were younger in college, and one of us was sick or upset. Mom pops in to see me briefly. “I’m fine, Mom, you go ahead and get some rest. You must be exhausted.” She nods and leaves.

This morning, Abby and I are up early. We’re going to grab some breakfast and leave with my car. Abby says she’ll call in sick, and I leave a note on the counter telling everyone that we’re going to get out of town for a few days. I know I can’t show my face anywhere without getting either looks of sympathy or comments that I’m lucky I got out when I did. These things are like funerals. No one knows what to say, but they all feel obligated to say something.

Abby and I head north to the Appalachian Mountains of Tennessee. We have some fun doing some tourist things; discover hiking in the mountains and in general, isolate ourselves from the rest of the world.

We’re having some good talks, and now I feel much better on our way home again. Abby is doing reconnaissance by phone while I drive. She’s calling all our friends, pretending she’s not with me and gathering the gossip so we know what we’re headed into.

Apparently, the sentiment is on my side, naturally. Everyone agrees that Antonio is an asshole and should be banished from the country club and all our inner circle activities. They all say that now, but we know it won’t happen. His family is too connected. Not to mention, he’s still a bachelor, and there will be plenty of girls who overlook what he did to me and try to grab him for themselves. They are welcome to him, as far as I’m concerned.

So, in the space of that day, my entire life changed. I’m no longer the envied girlfriend who will marry into even greater wealth and influence. I won’t hold my mother’s role of being the socialite everyone wants to know. I’m a castoff, a rejected woman. Whether it is my fault or not, it will always carry a certain stigma. The only thing I have control of is how I allow this to affect me. I’m done with my parents’ set of friends. If I ever marry, it will be to a poor man.