The Wedding: A Family's Coming Out Story (26 page)

            The
surprisingly cool Judaica salesman nodded, knowingly. “Women, always waiting
till the last minute!”
Whoops. So he didn’t get it yet.
Andrew and I
suppressed nervous smiles and dug through the selection. We found a simple white-on-white
pattern, and asked the salesman to hold up two corners while I held up the
other two. Andrew stood underneath to judge whether we’d have enough room for
everybody.

ANDREW   
We’d shared moments of
excitement before this, but standing under the billowing tallis, I was
transported a week forward. For the first time it was as if I stood in front of
Rabbi Bolton pledging my love to Doug.

DOUG   
I picked up on the faraway look
in Andrew’s eyes. Then I caught the eye of the salesman, who looked from me to
Andrew. Then he turned back to me again. Andrew stepped out from under the
chuppah
,
and we folded it up. The salesman carried it as we picked out woven black and
white
kipas
and went to check out. Once I’d signed the credit card
receipt, the salesman handed me the bag. He looked from me to Andrew, saying,
“I hope the two of you have many happy years together.”

            Andrew
and I glanced at each other, both relieved and surprised.

            You
never know, huh? It was just another lesson I’d learn in this crash course on
never
assume anything.

ANDREW   
Outside the store, I
asked the crew, “When we started that shoot, did you hear anything… funny?” The
audio man leaned forward, sharing a confidence: “You hear everything in this
job. Don’t worry, it’s just between us. And the answer to your next question is
no, the tape wasn’t rolling yet.”

            We
moved on to buying our wedding bands in the Diamond District. We didn’t
actually want diamonds, just white and gold or platinum bands to go with our
yellow gold engagement bands. Since nearly all the gold and diamond stores in
the midtown area are owned by devout Jews, we figured we might draw a few
stares. With a camera crew tagging along, it was a safe bet we’d attract
attention. But again, nobody seemed perturbed. You could say they all treated
us like our money was just as green as anybody else’s. It was more than that,
though. We were treated with respect. And looking back at the entire process from
a consumer’s point of view, we were extraordinarily lucky. Or maybe something
else was going on. We never actually encountered a cool response, let alone
hostility, from any merchant along the way. And there were many meetings,
rentals, and purchases we haven’t recounted, from party suppliers (where we
rented tablecloths and other odds and ends) to our sexagenarian invitation
designer. Every one of them was a pleasure.

            There
was more shooting to be done later that afternoon, back at our apartment. Diane
was out of town for the weekend, but was rushing back to New York to meet us at
home so she could rehearse her song with Doug, on-camera. Before that, Doug and
I had plans to visit Orna, a friend from graduate school, and her
then-boyfriend and later, husband, Nigel. When we arrived at their apartment,
they had a typically international group of friends gathered. Orna is Israeli,
so we had asked her help in translating our
ketubah
into Hebrew. A few
of the friends sitting around the living room also spoke Hebrew fluently. We’d
brought along a typed copy, in English naturally, and read it for the group.

           
On the
first day of September, 1996, Douglas, son of Fred and Estelle, says to Andrew,
“With this ring, I pledge to honor and treasure you, sweetening your days as
you sweeten mine. I shall share myself, trying ever to hear your heart, just as
my heart will always be open to you. And I shall strive to provide you with
comfort, sustain your will, and support your dreams. I give you my faith, my
respect, and my undying love.”

                Andrew,
son of Sheldon and Roslyn, says to Douglas, “With this ring, I promise to lift
your spirits as you lift mine, as we spend each day celebrating our love and
commitment. I pledge to be honest and faithful, to support and protect you, and
to be a source of strength in your life.”

                We
will always cherish each other’s uniqueness. We promise both to comfort and
challenge each other through life’s sorrow and joy; to share our intuition and
insight with one another; help one another achieve out full potential; and most
of all, to listen, always trying to truly hear. And we pledge to create a home
filled with reverence for learning, loving, generosity, and justice; a home
where diversity and creativity are honored, where we endeavor to touch the
lives of others, sharing our many blessings; where we remember wrongs from the
past, and work together for a greater future.

DOUG   
For
half an hour we hashed out the challenges of translating idiomatic language.
Even though many present were strangers, the act of working together as a
group, and maneuvering through the interpretation of Hebrew that would be
written on our
ketubah
and read aloud at our wedding, gave me a rush. It
was a tangible connection to a tradition I wasn’t even aware I’d felt estranged
from all my life. And it was different from trying on our tuxedos. That was a
visceral thrill. This moved me right down to my genes.

Time:
August 28 – September 1, 1996

ANDREW   
The task of packing for
the trip fell to me, as usual. Whenever it comes time to organize bags for
travel, Doug will be running around from edit to edit, and ask if I’ll take
care of it. Then he’ll complain I’ve overstuffed them, and packed only the clothes
that I like to see him wearing. Only five days until we stomp on the glass, and
I wondered,
Am I ready for a lifetime of bickering over baggage?

            Once
I arrived in Montreal, my parents wanted to get together for dinner in Thursday
night, when Doug was set to fly in.

DOUG   
My last stop before the airport
was the
Turning Point
office, where I finished up some work, then I
stuck my head in to say good-bye to Janice Tomlin, one of the show’s senior
producers. She offered firsthand advice that stayed in the back of my mind all
weekend: “Don’t sweat details at this point. You’ve done all that already. Now
just try to have a good time. Do you have somebody else who can do the worrying
for you?” The party planner’s assistant, Shelley, was the point person for all
the minutiae. “Good. Now forget about it and enjoy yourself.” She gave me a hug
and sent me off. As I zipped through the office to the elevator, s few
coworkers called out their good-byes and congratulations. By the time I’d hit
the ground floor and headed through the network lobby, the sun was blazing onto
the street outside. Suddenly all the work was behind me, and stepping onto the
pavement, I broke into a gigantic grin, wondering about the weekend that lay
ahead.
Finally, after so many times when we’d nearly given up, finally… it’s
about to begin.

            In
Montreal, Andrew was at the airport to pick me up, with my friend George in
tow. We’d all exchanged big hugs and kisses at the curb and popped into the car
when George cried out from the backseat.

            “Ohhhhh!
You won’t believe who Terry, Monica, and I ran into last night on the street!”
Terry is an old mutual friend, Monica her new flame; for Terry, the first of
the female variety. I couldn’t think of anyone else George knew who was in town
yet.

            “Lynn
and Michelle?” I asked, remembering my sister and niece had come in early.

            “No,
I got together with Lynn and Michelle today. Last night Terry, Monica, and I
are all standing on some downtown street, no idea where in heaven’s name we
are, huge map unfolded like
turistas
, and a charming woman asks if we’re
lost. With both of my hands wrapped around this enormous map, I cackled, ‘How
could you tell?’ We all had a good laugh, and she asked what brought us to
Montreal. We said our friend was getting married, and she cocked her head when
she asked the names of the wedding party. When I told her Wythe and Merling,
she said, ‘You’re looking at the mother of one of the grooms!’”

            You
can always count on George for a good story, but this was above and beyond the
call of duty. What a lovely way to start things off, with a serendipitous brush
with his new extended family, there on a street corner three thousand miles
from home.

            “Thank
God that’s what brought you together, not a fender bender in the parking lot! I
can see it now – you lock bumpers, get out of your cars hollering at each
other, exchange driver’s licenses, and you see the Merling family name staring
back at you!”

ROSLYN
   
I was
most anxious about Thursday night’s informal dinner with Lynn, Michelle, and
Doug’s friends George, Geri, and her husband, Steve. I was looking forward to
meeting everyone, but I worried that Sheldon might retract into his shell. But
after only a few minutes at the restaurant, I knew the evening would go just
fine. He was obviously enjoying himself. Later that night, Sheldon said,
“Everybody’s very nice, they’re terrific people.” It was a signal that the rest
of the weekend might get easier.

ANDREW   
By the time dessert
rolled around, my father loosened up completely. Doug’s niece Michelle has a
picky palate, and Doug and I always try cajoling her into trying a new dish. My
father loves showing off the city, its culture, its food, whatever. Michelle
was skittish about ordering any of the strange desserts we recommended. “You
oughta try the crème brûlée. It’s great here, I’m telling you,” my father
teased. Then George jumped in, “Oh, absolutely. You must. And if you twist my
arm
verrry
hard, I’ll give you a hand with it.” Michelle squirmed,
unconvinced. But neither Daddy nor George would let her off the hook until she
bit.

            It
was a microcosm of the weekend, with my sixty-something Jewish father from Quebec
and George, the thirty-something gay WASP, introducing Michelle, the teenage
Jewish girl from California, to her first French dessert. She wasn’t the only
one who’d get a taste of something new before the weekend was up. That night’s
dinner started the weekend off like a pebble dropped in a pond. Each event
after that was a new, wider ripple, creating an expanding – and ever more
diverse – circle And Michelle managed to polish off her dessert – with a little
help from her new extended family.

            The
next morning, Doug and I had our last meeting with Rabbi Bolton. She wisely
asked for copies of our vows, so she could prompt us if we blanked. After a few
rabbinical words of wisdom, Doug and I squeezed in an hour of sunbathing and
then hurried over to Eaton’s for the wedding rehearsal. My father, Mr.
Punctual, was already there, foot tapping, visibly irritated.

DOUG   
I didn’t want to spend all
weekend running fifteen minutes late to everything. But to Andrew, fifteen
minutes late means on time. Just one of the many quirks I’d soon be saddled
with for a lifetime. Did I wonder if it was too late to back out? Well, just a
wee bit. But after all, we’d put up with each other’s quirks for five years
already. What’s another fifty?

            We
both knew Sheldon was going to be there early – if anything, in hopes that an
early start would mean an early end. But we weren’t the only ones who were
late. Almost everyone else we expected was even more delinquent that Andrew and
I. No one looked at the rehearsal as a big deal, but it seemed like a good idea
for the
chuppah
holders and other key people to get their bearings. I
suppose I was particularly keen on having a rehearsal since I was the one who’d
pushed the idea of a rehearsal dinner. And we couldn’t really have a rehearsal
dinner without a rehearsal, now could we? The rehearsal was half-baked by
design, since we knew the restaurant serves all day. So we had to wend our way
between the few scattered tables of late lunchers while we mimed our walks up
and down the imaginary aisle. The run-through was pretty aimless until Louie
showed up. He commandeered the rehearsal and we wrapped up in a few minutes.

            From
there we moved to Mitchell’s apartment. Andrew’s brother had generously offered
to throw us a cocktail party that evening, before the rehearsal dinner.

            Everyone
from the rehearsal, except Sheldon and Roslyn, walked through downtown from
Eaton’s to Mitchell’s apartment a mile or so away. We stopped along the way to
clown around for a few pictures with a life-size sculpture of a crowd scene on
McGill College Street. (I didn’t find out until we got the pictures developed
that Louie had been standing in front with his zipper down and a finger
protruding from his fly.) Soon after, on the walk to Mitchell’s, I heard Louie
make a crack about “all the cameras they’re having at the wedding. So when do
the crews pull up?” From that point on, I was determined to make the wedding my
sole focus, and forget about
Turning Point
.

ANDREW   
Next up was the
rehearsal dinner at my parents’ house, after a pit stop at the hotel. Like us,
most of our friends were staying at the Loews Hotel Vogue, a half mile from
Eaton’s. We could have stayed with my parents, as we usually do when visiting
Montreal. This weekend, though, I knew we’d need our own space, physically and
emotionally. Just one more ledger line to add to our magically expanding
budget, but it was worth it. When we got back to the room, we found a tray laid
out with a bottle of Cristal, two champagne flutes, a goblet with strawberries,
and a silver ladle filled with what appeared to be crème fraîche. The note was
from the
Turning Point
staff, wishing us a wonderful wedding. So much
for Doug’s forgetting about
Turning Point
. But it was a charming gesture
that lent our room a little extra elegance.

            The
bathroom came equipped with a double Jacuzzi, and we made the most of it,
taking a fifteen-minute sanity break in the bubble-filled whirlpool. Looking
like a kid with foam dripping from my chin, I got an idea. “When the crew comes
to shoot us on Sunday, let’s ask the photographer to take some shots while we
have another bubble bath, and we’ll use the champagne and strawberries as
props. WE can give a copy of the photo to your friends at
Turning Point
–
after
the show airs.”

            “You
mean we’ll keep the video cameras outside, right?” Doug got his
I’m-a-producer-listen-to-the-expert look. “Because if they get that shot on
tape, you know it’ll end up in the show.”

            “Of
course!” I was starting to look forward to the shoot on Sunday. Our
photographer, David Sternfeld, would follow us around, along with Enrique, who
was taping our wedding video, which
Turning Point
would get a copy of.
Rebecca Wharton, Denise’s associate producer, would come along too, and
probably ask a few questions at some point during the day. Though it promised
to be fun, I was still battling with my anxiety over public displays of
affection.

            After
our fingers had puckered like prunes, we went to my parents’, and before Doug
tells you, I’ll just say, we were fifteen minutes late. What were they going to
do, start without us? Just about everybody was already there, including most of
our friends in the wedding party.

            We
had appetizers in the backyard while my sister Debbie, her husband Abraham,
Doug’s sister Lynn, his niece Michelle, my parents, and our friends all did the
getting-to-know-you waltz. Later I passed Louie and Abraham chatting on the
patio. Doug was introducing them, and he pointed out to Louie that Abraham is
Brazilian. One of Louie’s many nicknames is Mr. International. He’s fluent in
Spanish, and speaks several other languages more than passably.

            “Oh!”
Louie exclaimed, then said something in Portuguese to Abraham, to show he knew
the lingo. Then in English, he threw in, “My old lover was Brazilian!”

            You
think that would give them something in common, but it didn’t look that way.

DOUG   
After and uneventful dinner, we
sat around the living room. I’d asked several of our friends to prepare a few
things to say. When I was at Geri’s rehearsal dinner five years before, I loved
how that part of the evening allowed everyone to share a common bond, days
before the ceremony. You know how, when you go to a big party, and you meet a
stranger, often you’ll initiate a conversation by referring to your host? “So,
how do you know Bob?” Well, I found that the speeches at Geri’s rehearsal
dinner gave everyone an opportunity to do just that, but in a much more
formalized way. “How do you know…” took on a more significant meaning, as if to
say, “What history do you share?” I’d hoped that this evening might offer us
the same opportunity. In trying to dig out the subtext here, I’m making it all
sound very heavy. In essence, if the evening was done right, it would be a lot
of laughs, like a roast. Of course, the risk with any roast is that someone
will stick the fork in too deep and draw blood. The people most likely to
skewer me were George and Louie. Andrew wasn’t likely to get poked and prodded
much, because a couple of his oldest friends, Maxine and Lorne, hadn’t come. I
knew nobody would say anything too risqué, since everyone was well behaved at
Mitchell’s party. But I wondered how Sheldon would hold up if the stories got
in the least bit racy. We weren’t driving in his car anymore, and he couldn’t
just turn up the stereo if he wanted to tune out.

SHELDON   
Before the party that
night, Roslyn asked me, “Are you nervous about tonight?” and I said, “At this
stage in the game, to tell you the truth, I’m nothing.” I’d take my
tranquilizer, so to speak. For a year, I’d been adjusting to the idea that this
was going to happen. And recently I’d been hearing a new refrain from various
corners – Roslyn, Denise Schreiner, some of our friends:
Sure, you’re
anxious now. You’ll feel different after this is over.
And I knew it was
probably true, I’d feel better later. Would it be relief or joy? That, I
couldn’t tell.

DOUG   
I don’t think I was the only
one glancing over at Sheldon to gauge his response. George went first. As he
told sanitized stories of our bawdier days, I waited for a truly embarrassing
pearl to drop. But George was the model of charm and etiquette, as always. He
closed by reminiscing about the night we were out dancing and the club closed
by playing the “Blue Danube” just before 2:00 A.M: “I don’t know if I’m the
only one here to have waltzed with Doug, but I can say he does it
well
.”