Going to the Chapel (8 page)

“I’m sure Mr. Malote will be back for the actual funeral.” I guess that’s what’s troubling her. I know it’s kind of troubling me.

Miss Billings shakes her head. “It wasn’t a love match, that’s for sure. Him up in Canada and her down here having to wait for a proper dress for her viewing.”

“But he sent a dress, just now.”

Miss Billings shakes her head. “It’s something her husband should have done—going through her closet, picking out a slip to go with the dress and maybe some earrings—that is the kind of thing that should be done by someone who loved the deceased. You don’t just ask someone to do that for you—I don’t care how important you are.”

“Maybe this Aaron guy is her brother,” I say. “Maybe he loved her, too.”

“I bet he forgot to send a slip,” Miss Billings says as she starts to lift the lid off the dress box. “A slip always makes the dress lie—”

“Oh.” Miss Billings stops talking and we both stare at the dress. It is fire-engine red and there isn’t much of it.

“I don’t think you wear a slip with that dress.” I finally find my voice. The material looks like silk and the neckline on that dress must plunge to the midriff. It’s a dress for dancing, not dying.

Miss Billings looks down the hall at Room B. “I can tell you one thing. That man’s not her brother. I’ll have to ask Mr. Z about this.”

“Do you think Mr. Z will be upset?” I figure there’s no reason to try and make sure Mr. Z is in a good mood when I ask him about using the place over Thanksgiving weekend. I know the answer will be no. But I don’t want him to think I don’t properly respect the Big M.

“Mr. Z has seen it all,” Miss Billings says calmly. “He and I have over twenty years in the business. I’ll just let him know so he can have something substituted for Mrs. Malote’s dress. He has a line in the contract that the family signs about suitable clothing. No one reads it, of course, but it’s there when we need it. We both feel a responsibility to the deceased to see they are treated with dignity.”

“I suppose they thought a picture of her in that dress in the casket would get them some publicity for the movie her husband is making,” I say.

“Probably,” Miss Billings says as she stands up and puts the lid back on the dress box. “But then, this is Hollywood. And tabloids love a death almost as much as they love a wedding.”

“I don’t suppose anyone has ever used this place for a wedding,” I say. Maybe I don’t need to bother Mr. Z. “There’s probably a policy against using the facility for anything but funerals, isn’t there? You know, because of the dignity and everything.”

Miss Billings starts to walk toward the door marked Private that is across from her desk area. She stops and looks back at me. “There’s no policy like that that I
know of. Why? Are you thinking of getting married? I could do your makeup.”

“No, not me. It’s my cousin. I promised I would ask if she could use the Big M for her wedding. She’s run into some problems in finding a place and my aunt suggested maybe we could use the Big M. I said I’d ask even though I know it’s not possible.”

“Well, I’m sure Mr. Z would do whatever he could to help you. He’s been real pleased with the way you don’t complain about doing the filing.”

“I don’t mind filing.”

“You’re the only one of the customer service reps who will do any of it. He and I both appreciate that. It keeps things running smooth.”

“I like reading the forms to see who’s coming up for their viewing.”

Miss Billings nods as she turns back to face the door again. “I’ll see what I can do about your cousin’s wedding.”

I start to feel a little alarmed. “No, that’s fine, really. I know there’s always a funeral going on.”

“It doesn’t hurt to ask,” Miss Billings says. “That’s always been my motto.”

Okay, so I’m having a little trouble breathing. I look up at the ceiling just in case my dad is looking down at this one.

Miss Billings comes back out of the office. “Mr. Z has a minute to talk to you. Why don’t you go in?”

I take a deep breath and tell myself I can do this. Mr. Z has always seemed like a nice person. I certainly don’t need to be afraid to ask him my question.

I take a few steps and I am inside Mr. Z’s office for
the first time. Mr. Z doesn’t spend a lot of time in his office so I usually see him out and around pointing out the features of a casket or something. He is partial to the caskets that are lined with that new ultrasoft satin.

“Miss Billings tells me you’d like to use the facilities here,” Mr. Z says as he looks up from his desk. He has a catalog lying open on top of a folder or two.

“Oh, I know it won’t work,” I say in a rush. “I just promised my aunt that I would ask you. You see my cousin’s wedding plans got messed up and now she doesn’t have anyplace to hold her wedding and it’s for Thanksgiving weekend and that’s so soon everything else is booked and none of the hotels will take her and, well, I promised my aunt I would ask if we could use this place. You don’t have to worry about it. I know it won’t work. I just wanted to be able to say I had asked.”

I take a deep breath when I have finished.

Mr. Z nods. “Is this the aunt you told me about? The one who raised you?”

I nod. “Aunt Inga is great.”

“She’s out in—what is it—Blythe?”

“That’s east of Palm Springs. It’s not too far from here.”

Mr. Z is looking thoughtful and a little sad. “It’s important to stay close to your family,” he says. “If I had one thing I could do over in my life it would be to stay closer to my family.”

I never thought about Mr. Z’s family. “Where is your family?”

“Most of them are buried in the village in Italy where I grew up. Only my brother is still living and
he’s in Florida. I haven’t talked to him in over twenty years.”

Mr. Z has a long face and he sort of looks mournful most of the time anyway, but when his eyes look sad, too, I don’t like it.

“I’m sorry.” I think back to the Cameron brothers, you know the ones who were not talking because they had a fight over who was supposed to be the executor of their mother’s estate.

“I’ve thought a lot about my brother this week,” Mr. Z says, so I know I wasn’t the only one touched by the brothers’ story. Mr. Z might have even talked to Robert Cameron more than I did. Mr. Z continues, “I can’t even remember why we got mad and stopped calling each other on the telephone. We used to talk every week.”

“Maybe if you talked to him now,” I say, and then stop myself because twenty years is a long time and maybe his brother is…well, you know, departed from this world. As I’ve said before, more people die than you would think—or, at least, more than I ever thought did. I mean, I had my dad die, but that was a long time ago.

“I called directory assistance this morning and got his telephone number,” Mr. Z says as he shuffles the folders on his desk and pulls out a small piece of paper with a number scribbled on it. “Do you know I didn’t even have my brother’s telephone number anymore? How could I not have my brother’s telephone number? How did we ever get that far apart?”

I don’t think an answer is required, but I’m glad he got the number. I’m sure dead people don’t keep their
phone bills paid so they wouldn’t be listed in any directory.

Mr. Z is still looking at that piece of paper in his hand, so we are both a little startled by the ring of my cell phone. Of course, it’s not a ring like a telephone makes. It’s more like a happy tune from a kid’s song.

“Sorry.” I reach down to detach my phone from its place on my belt. “I’ll just turn the ringer down. It’ll only take a message.”

“But it might be important,” Mr. Z protests. “Maybe it’s your brother calling.”

“I don’t have a brother.”

“Well, maybe it’s your aunt,” he says with a wave of his hand. “We wouldn’t want to keep her waiting if she wants to talk to you. Family is important. You can take the call here while I finish looking at this catalog.”

I reach for my cell phone and check the number. Sure enough, it is my aunt Inga.

“Hi,” I answer the phone, but I try to keep my voice quiet out of respect for where I am.

“Julie, is that you?”

Aunt Inga always says that when I answer the phone. I don’t think she quite trusts the telephone company to get her to the right person. I suppose it is a miracle that they do when you think about how many people have phones. “Yes, it’s me, Aunt Inga. How’s everything?”

“We’ve got trouble.”

“I know about the wedding plans. I’ve been thinking there are lots of places in Los Angeles to have a wedding.”

“Have you asked your Mr. Z yet?”

“I’m in his office now, but I’m sure he’s already booked. Thanksgiving weekend is less than two weeks away.”

I hear Mr. Z rustle his catalog pages and I look up to see him looking at me.

“When?” I hear Mr. Z whisper.

“I’m sorry, Aunt Inga,” I say into the cell phone. “Mr. Z has a question. I’ll be right back.”

I put my hand over the mouthpiece on the phone and look at Mr. Z. “What?”

“This wedding, when is it?” he says.

“The day after Thanksgiving,” I say. “But I completely understand that you’ll be booked.”

“Thanksgiving is such a nice holiday,” Mr. Z says and he gets a distant look in his eyes before zeroing in on me again. “All the families they get together in this country?”

“Well, yes, they do. Most of them anyway.”

“I’ll take a holiday,” Mr. Z says with a slap to his desk that makes the room shake a little. “If a man can’t take a holiday to be with his family, what is the good of living? Yes, I’ll close the Big M.”

“You’re going to close the—” Had I heard him right? “Can you do that?”

“Of course, I can do that,” Mr. Z says and then he stands up. “Nothing is already booked for that weekend and you shall have your wedding day.”

“It’s really my cousin that’s getting married.” I stammer a little.

“Then your cousin shall have her wedding day here,” Mr. Z says with a flourish. “And I’ll take the time off and go to Florida.”

“To visit your brother?”

“If he will have me,” Mr. Z says as he strides over to the door and walks out of the room.

I am stunned. And sit there for a minute before I remember I have my cell phone in my hand.

“Aunt Inga?” I say when I put the cell phone to my ear.

“Julie?” my aunt answers. “I heard everything.”

“I’m not sure…” I begin to say and then my words dwindle. What can I say?

“I’m so glad we have the chapel arranged for the wedding,” Aunt Inga says in a calm voice just as if a miracle hasn’t occurred here. “That will take some worry off everyone’s mind now that Jerry’s gone.”

“Jerry? Where’d he go?” I am starting to breathe again. “You know, Aunt Inga, there are many other places Elaine could get married. The Pacific Ocean is right by here and it would make beautiful pictures.”

“It’s November. It might rain. Besides, what place could be better than a lovely wedding chapel that is all set up for weddings?”

What place indeed? “I’m not sure she’ll like the chapel here. You see, there’s a stained glass picture and—”

“We don’t have time to look for anyplace else,” Aunt Inga says. “Not when Jerry’s gone off.”

“Did he go somewhere for work?” Jerry has been known to go to Las Vegas now and again for a workshop on carburetors or engines or something like that. He and his friends probably go there sometimes, too, just to look around.

“No, he’s run away from home,” Aunt Inga says.

“He’s twenty-five years old. Technically, I don’t think he can run away from home.”

“Aunt Ruth says it’s all her fault. She thinks he ran off to follow the wedding planner. She says she knew she shouldn’t have picked a young stylish woman for a wedding planner, but Elaine said she wanted someone like that planning her wedding.”

“But I thought the wedding planner left days ago.”

“Well, where else could he be? Who else does he know? He didn’t go home last night and we’re all worried. He left some kind of a note, but it didn’t make any sense.”

“But how would he even find the wedding planner? Aren’t the police looking for her?”

“Well, she must have told Jerry where she lived before she left.”

I got a good look at the wedding planner and, trust me, she wasn’t the type to run off with my cousin Jerry. Not that Jerry isn’t cute in a mountain bear sort of a way. But the wedding planner looked more like the kind of woman who went for a professional man. Maybe a doctor or a lawyer or at least a white-collar thief. Someone with no grease on their hands, ever. No, I don’t see her and Jerry. “I thought you were worried about getting a place for Elaine’s wedding.”

“Oh, that,” Aunt Inga says. “I wasn’t worried about that. I’d already prayed that God would touch your Mr. Z’s heart and make him open the chapel up for Elaine. I knew that was taken care of.”

Well, I had nothing to say to that. I guess I should take a minute to tell you that, even though I try to keep my distance from God, I have seen too much in my life
not to believe He exists. It was never a “does-He-exist” or “doesn’t-He-exist” question in my mind. The whole thing is more complicated than that and I try not to think about it. To tell you the truth, God scares me a little. I’m afraid He’s too much like Aunt Ruth.

You know, Aunt Ruth would vote me and my mother out of the family if she could. After all, we’re the half family. Of course, she’s polite, but politeness can feel pretty cold. I’ve always wondered what it would be like if I did get to heaven and found out I was only half-welcome there, too.

“Well, I’m sure Jerry will come home soon,” I say. He doesn’t have to worry about being half family. “He would miss Aunt Gladys’s cooking before long.”

“Yeah, I’ll tell her that. Maybe she should make a big pan of lasagna. Jerry always liked her lasagna.”

“That’s a good idea,” I say. “Just be sure and relax. Don’t worry. I’m sure wherever Jerry is, he’s just fine.”

“You’re probably right,” Aunt Inga says. “He never did find those candles you know, the orange tapers that Elaine wanted. Most of the candles will have to be white now that we can’t find orange ones, but Elaine did so want a few orange ones to go in some centerpieces for the reception tables.”