Claire at Sixteen (12 page)

Evvie wanted a big wedding, Claire knew, with flowers and food and celebration. The kind of wedding Megs had been deprived of when she married Nicky. But she'd give it up for Sybil.

Claire thought about her own wedding. In twenty-four hours it would be over with. Of course, it was just a sham, it wouldn't count once the annulment went through; it would be as though it had never happened. But still, it was the first time she'd get married, and for all she knew, it would be the last. Claire had never really pictured herself married the way Nicky and Megs were married, the way Evvie and Sam were going to be. She liked the idea of flings and affairs and men falling madly in love with her and giving her emeralds and rubies and maybe the occasional star sapphire. She'd stay beautiful and desired until she grew bored with it, and then she'd sell the surplus jewels and move to the south of France and become a mysterious recluse. Maybe she'd write her memoirs.

She supposed she'd have to put this incident with Scotty in those memoirs. It would be amusing forty years from now and maybe even noble. And even if it didn't become amusing and noble, and stayed tawdry and deceitful, it was all for Sybil, and Sybil was worth a little degradation.

Claire was awake when Evvie got up the next morning, but she pretended to be still sleeping. She couldn't deal with conversation, with questions about her plans for the day. It was easier to keep her eyes closed and her breathing steady, and sure enough, she fooled Evvie. Evvie was easy to fool.

When she heard Evvie walk down the apartment stairs and leave the building, Claire got up, went to the kitchen, and had a cold slice of pizza for breakfast. She wondered if Scotty was awake yet. He was to arrive at the apartment at ten, and then they'd get the next shuttle to New York. It was almost nine now. Claire supposed in six hours, eight maximum, she'd be married.

It was hard deciding what to wear to her wedding, especially since she hadn't brought all that much with her to Evvie's. Claire finally decided on a white blouse, a red pullover sweater, and a gray skirt. The white was so she'd feel a little more traditional. Claire tried to figure out something old, something new. Everything she had on was old, and she had borrowed a pair of panty hose from Evvie, so that took care of that. New and blue were going to be the tricky ones. Claire ransacked Evvie's drawers until she found a blatantly unused handkerchief, clearly one of Aunt Grace's gifts, that had little blue flowers embroidered on it. It might not have been perfect, but it was blue enough and new enough for the occasion.

She took her shower and dressed quickly, then threw a change of underwear into her overnight bag, since she'd undoubtedly be spending the night at the Hugheses. Claire knew there was something else she wanted, and then she realized what it was. Evvie had a picture of all of them, Nicky and Megs and Evvie and Thea and Claire and Sybil. It was nothing more than a snapshot, and it had been taken years before, but there were hardly any pictures of the six of them together. Claire wasn't sure why she was being so sentimental about it, but she wanted the picture with her, so she borrowed that as well. Next she left Evvie a carefully worded note, claiming she'd gotten homesick and had decided to go back to Missouri early. There was a real good chance Evvie wouldn't believe it, but she probably wouldn't call Megs to discuss it for another day or so, and by then, everything would have been taken care of.

Scotty showed up on time, which Claire regarded as an excellent omen. “I can't believe we're doing this,” he said in lieu of hello. “This is totally crazy.”

“Have you ever done anything totally crazy in your life?” Claire asked him.

“Never,” Scotty said.

“That's reason enough,” Claire said. “You're nineteen years old, Scotty. That's way too young to be predictable. Did you cover things with Clark?”

“I told him I was going to Jennifer's for the day,” Scotty replied. “And from there to my parents'. He doesn't have Jennifer's number, and even if he did, I don't see why he'd call. He said I could return the car to him after New Year's. I've never lied to Clark before, Claire. I don't think I've ever lied to anybody. Not about something really important.”

“Lying is good for you,” Claire said, putting her coat on. “It cleanses the soul.”

Scotty laughed. “I think you believe that,” he said.

Claire gave him a quick kiss. “Let's get going,” she said. “The sooner we leave, the sooner this is all over with.”

“I don't see what the hurry is,” Scotty declared. “We both have alibis. Why not spend the morning here, and then go to New York.”

“No,” Claire said. “If we don't go now, we might never get out of here.”

“Would that be so bad?” Scotty asked.

Claire sighed. She owed it to him, she supposed, to give him one last chance to weasel out. “If you don't want to go through with this, fine,” she said. “But don't expect me to hop into bed with you now or ever.”

“We're not going to be hopping into bed after we get married, either,” Scotty complained. “Not if we want an annulment.”

“But once the annulment's granted, we can have a great time,” Claire said. “It'll drive your parents crazy. Come on, Scotty. Try for the impossible. Make an honest woman out of me.”

Scotty laughed, but he took Claire's overnight bag, and escorted her out. Soon they were at the airport, awaiting the eleven o'clock shuttle. Claire thought about how lucky she was to have a friend like Scotty. Maybe they could cheat once or twice until the annulment came through. She owed him that much.

They hardly talked on the flight to New York. Claire tried rehearsing what she would say to Sebastian Prescott. It would be odd meeting Nicky's father, and the circumstances hardly guaranteed a warm family reunion. What if he didn't come through with the money? But that was impossible. If Claire could get Scotty, who had barely known she was alive a week ago, to marry her, then she could certainly force his grandfather—and hers—to shell out a few thousand for Sybil.

The plane landed smoothly, and Scotty and Claire gathered their things. “What happens next?” he asked her. “I've never done this before.”

“Neither have I,” Claire said. “I suppose we get a cab, and ask the driver what to do.”

So they did. The cabbie, Claire was relieved to see, was about fifty, and looked as though he'd driven at least one of everything during his thirty years on the job.

“We've come to New York to get married,” she confided. “Only we don't know how.”

“You say, ‘I do,' and he gives you a ring,” the cabbie replied. “I've been married twenty-six years myself. Great institution. I didn't think you young people believed in it anymore.”

“I guess we're old-fashioned,” Claire said. “We're eloping. His parents think we're too young, but we aren't. We love each other, and we know we can make it work.”

Scotty stared at Claire. “Right,” he said.

“So where do we go?” Claire asked.

“City hall,” the cabbie said. “I'll get you there in no time flat.”

No time flat turned out to be the longest twenty minutes of Claire's life. She kept expecting Scotty to jump out of the cab and leave her not merely deserted at the altar, but with the cabdriver to pay as well. Fortunately, the cabbie kept telling them about his marriage, and kids, and grandkid on the way. His voice had a soothing quality, and Claire suspected the tight grip she kept on Scotty's arm didn't hurt, either.

“Good luck, kids,” the cabbie said, after Scotty had paid him and given him what seemed to Claire to be an enormous tip. “I hope married life is good to you.”

“Thank you,” Claire said. On impulse, she leaned over and gave the cabbie a kiss on the cheek. There were tips, and there were tips. The cabbie grinned, and Claire felt as though he had blessed the marriage. It wasn't much, but like everything else, it would have to do.

City hall was enormous, filled with wrong hallways to go down, but eventually Scotty and Claire found themselves at the right office. They waited on line until it was their turn.

“We want to get married,” Claire said.

“Fill out this form,” the clerk said.

So Scotty and Claire filled out the form. Claire added two years to her birthdate, but except for that, there was nothing that required deceit. They handed the form back to the clerk.

“You look kind of young,” the clerk said to Scotty. “Wanna show me some I.D.”

Claire handed over her fake I.D. while Scotty showed his driver's license. “Okay,” the clerk said. “Cash or check?”

Scotty paid by cash. Getting married cost less than the cab ride from the airport.

“Now where do we go?” Claire asked.

“I don't know,” the clerk said. “Where do you want to go?”

“We want to get married,” Claire said. “Right away.”

“There's a twenty-four-hour waiting period,” the clerk replied.

“What?” Claire said.

“Twenty-four hours,” the clerk said. “Come back this time tomorrow, and someone'll marry you.”

“But the
World Almanac
said there was no waiting period,” Claire said.

“Honey, the
World Almanac
ain't going to marry you,” the clerk said. “Come back tomorrow. Next.”

“Tomorrow,” Claire said as the next couple pushed her and Scotty aside. “Oh, Scotty.”

“It could be worse,” Scotty said.

“I don't see how,” Claire replied.

Scotty laughed. “We're in New York,” he declared. “I have cash, traveler's checks, and charge cards. Even if we don't get married, we can still have a great time.”

“We have to get married,” Claire said. “Oh, Scotty, you promised.”

“A great time until tomorrow,” Scotty said. “I swear, twenty-four and a half hours from now we'll be an old married couple. But in the meantime, let's have some fun.”

Claire looked up at Scotty. “It is true,” she said. “Once we get married, we won't be able to have any fun. At least not with each other.”

“My point exactly,” Scotty said.

“Could we stay at the Plaza?” Claire asked. “I've always dreamed of staying at the Plaza. And it's practically our honeymoon.”

“We'll try the Plaza first,” Scotty said. “If they're booked up, we'll find someplace else. A bed's a bed, after all.”

Claire tried to swallow her feelings of disappointment and disgust. Scotty was entitled to his fun, too. And the only way she could be sure he'd be by her side the next day, saying I do and committing to this marriage, was if she kept him busy and happy until the waiting period was over.

“I draw the line at bedbugs,” she said.

“I draw the line at you,” Scotty said, and as he bent down and kissed her, Claire wondered if he really thought a touch of cheap romance was going to make things fine for both of them.

C
HAPTER
N
INE

“Well, it wasn't the Plaza,” Scotty said as they checked out of their hotel the next morning. “But it was a great honeymoon, as far as I'm concerned.”

“The best we'll ever have,” Claire agreed. She squeezed Scotty's hand affectionately. They'd had dinner at a French restaurant, and had seen a Broadway show. It had been at least two years since she'd had a treat like that, and she was grateful to Scotty for providing it.

“We still have some time to kill,” Scotty declared. “Before the twenty-four hours are up. Have any ideas?”

“We should probably get something to eat,” Claire said. “I doubt either of us'll have much of an appetite afterward.”

Scotty laughed. “I've heard of prewedding jitters,” he said. “We're going to have the first case of postwedding jitters in history.”

“Not true,” Claire said. “At least half of Henry the Eighth's wives must have suffered from them.”

“I promise not to behead you,” Scotty said.

“It's not you I'm afraid of,” Claire said. “It's your parents.”

“Want to back out?” Scotty asked.

Claire did, with all her heart. Scotty was so sweet, and for the first time, she could picture really being involved with him, dates, and romance, the all-American boyfriend. She knew he was starting to care about her as well. He'd hardly mentioned Thea since they'd arrived in New York, and only once when they were in the hotel room together. Claire liked being important to someone. Except for Sybil, there wasn't anyone she could automatically think of who cherished her.

Claire knew the next twenty-four hours were going to be so ugly that anything Scotty felt for her would turn sour. Up until then, it hadn't mattered; Scotty was just a part of a plan. But the more she knew him, the more she liked him, and the more she regretted losing him.

“You're going to hate me when this is all over,” she said.

Scotty shook his head. “I'll never hate you,” he replied. “You've opened up a lot in me, Claire. I'll always be grateful.”

Claire smiled. Maybe in ten years he'd be grateful, but not until then. Of course, in ten years, she'd long have forgotten his existence, whether they married or not. Supposing she did back out, and they continued to see each other, send valentines, fall in love. Where would that lead? She would never marry Scotty, not really marry him. His family wasn't that rich, and he wasn't that interesting. So they'd see each other occasionally for a year, maybe two, drift apart or have a fight, end up fond of each other, or hating each other, or hardly remembering each other. And Sebastian Prescott would never pay for what he'd done to her family, and Sybil would remain a cripple. There were no valentines in the world worth that price. So what if Scotty hated her afterward? Thea already hated her, and Nicky probably did, too, and she got along fine. Claire suspected that by the time she was through, there'd be a long list of people who hated her. Big fat hairy deal.