The Wedding Bet (8 page)

“I’ll make up some reason to disappear.”

“They want people to be surprised. Good news is that I’ll be at the party to monitor things. If one gets any lovey-dovey feelings I clip them off like unripe bulbs.” He placed a box of items in my lap.

I burst out laughing. “Fake broken arm cast. Buck teeth. Why don’t I just say I can’t dance? I was prepared to wear orthopedic shoes.”

“Olivia and Cynthia won’t believe you’re making an honest effort. As you explained it, I understand you must make an attempt to at finding someone to marry. Saying you can’t dance doesn’t fit that definition.”

“Neither does wearing a fake broken arm cast.”

“You can say the doctor gave it to you because you recently strained your arm.”

“The buck teeth.”

“You just came back from an acting class.”

“The lace?”

“You’re looking for a moral man. Not a get-into-your-pant’s man?”

“I guess I’m ready, then.”

“Are you sure, Miss Bedrosian?”

He nodded his dark locks like I was a young woman going to a debutante ball. Officiating the honor or not giving me away. I never understood that whole debutante thing, although Cynthia found life without such arcane rituals unbearable. I guessed this was okay since he actually was preserving my sexual womanhood, making sure I didn’t give it away too soon. “Positive. I can handle a few romantic men.”

* * * *

PR Man suggested I wear the short black mini skirt and hot pink stretchy top and high black heels and a clutch purse. I suggested back I’d look like a slut. He said that’s fine because none of these conservative men wanted a slut for a wife. That’s why they went to the Lover’s Dance Hall and not to a bar downtown. My super-heroine senses started buzzing. PR Man obviously refused to accept that Pretty Woman syndrome.

Men who had the means wanted sluts, at least for one night. I felt better knowing that his sense of priorities obviously came up from his lower mind. However, I was not about to become an unwitting victim of his unknowing procreational urges. I was not about to lose this Wedding Bet. So I wore a long blue, green, red, pink and yellow floral dress that flopped over my sandals. Then I got in my car and drove to the hall.

* * * *

Romantic drama of the night started early as my eyes were assaulted by the presence of not one, but two men on live steeds. One on a white horse to my right; one on a black horse to my left—both wore shining battle armor to impress me. The white horse knight wore shining silver armor. The black horse knight wore spotless gleaming black armor. I didn’t notice if they carried lances.

I hoped not. Not that I like sharp gleaming swords any better. Thankfully the car aisles were too small for horses. I parked in the back of the Grantor’s hall’s front parking lot giving me time to strategize. My love warriors forced, by elements out of their control, needed to wait for me. I carried a small shoulder purse of basic black.

I looked to the right and then left. The horse of the white horse neighed as if bored. That wasn’t a good sign. I wondered if they were mumbling indecent jealous slurs to each other. The Grantor’s hall door was over to the left. So the black knight scored an advantage. I kept thinking about the buck tooth and the fake cast. I leaned back into my car to retrieve a bigger shoulder bag to hide them. I planned on putting on the Snap-On-arm cast; PR Man must have procured from a magic shop.

Wearing the fake plastic cast into the Lover’s Dance, however, given my two suitors, who nodded to me as I stretched over the front car seat to get the shoulder bag, I realized this made no sense. I didn’t have time to put it on. How would I run into the hall and avoid them if I bound up one half of my forward motion? I narrowed my eyes as the horses moved closer to my narrow aisle.

I calmly walked down the aisle toward both men. Who was I kidding? Two Princes of Steeds begging to date little ol me. I wasn’t famous or anything. Well, not for a day or so yet, I figured. I never noticed new bus ads for a day or more, unless a wedding bride graced the eight wheeled oblong public vehicle.

I moved down six rows of neat, orderly cars looking at my doom or from their perspective my future husband. I wanted to ascribe Cynthia’s beau to the black knight and Olivia sponsored beau to the white knight. But what difference did it make?

Suddenly with only three rows of cars remaining, I veered a hard left and took off running. My sandals slapped the parking lot pavement. My purse jostled against my left hip. The shoulder bag with the fake buck teeth, and cast bobbing up and down on the right.

Their horses started off with snorts. The white knight needing to run an end run dash for the Grantor’s hall door. The black knight turned and bolted straight for the white horse. Clash and clang of armor filled the night. Galloping hooves pounded the pavement. The black knight nearly crashed into the white knight speeding forward. I looked back running like in my 100-yard dash track days. My stride and arm movements still as girly as they were back then. I neared the last two rows and was almost safe without having to deal with their overly generous personalities.

Then I heard the two men’s armor smashing against one another as they brought out their swords and fought while chasing after me. I ran faster. The buck teeth jumped right out of my shoulder bag. Someone would wonder about them later in the night. I hoped it wasn’t me. Lots of old people in their sixties attended these days. I lifted my flowery dress off the avement for more speed. In such long gowns, no wonder women lack safety.

I especially hated violence. I wanted no part of one of the other dying. They rushed forward to catch me, as I made an isosceles angle for the hall door, as a crowd of women watched and yelled, and screamed. My sandals clattered loudly. I held the shoulder bag closer. I couldn’t lose the fake cast. Although those outside might wonder how I suddenly broke my arm and got a doctor to plaster it up in the ladies room. I couldn’t worry about that either. My feet hit the steps as the waiting party laughed and hooted and hollered as the knights skidded their fast steeds as best they could to a stop. I fought my way through them and opened the door.

As I I entered, Olivia greeted me with her usual mom-knows-best smile. The fact that my real mom was somewhere in the Punjab of India in the third year of her round the world tour, didn’t faze Olivia. I also heard upon entering the door, someone frantically calling my name, “Megan! Megan!” I didn’t know which knight called for me the white knight or the black. So when Olivia greeted me at the door, I felt some relief.

Dealing with Olivia fell on the easy side of the social equation. And as much as the Great Goddess knows and understands everything, I was sure Olivia thought she knew best for my romantic life. Problem when others interfered in your romantic life is they begin to push off their own dating preferences on you. As you reject their date prospects, you also reject your perspective a natural marriage counselor’s feelings and taste.

“There two crazies on horseback in armor chasing me,” I panted. “I hope this wasn’t your idea of a romantic date, Olivia.”

Before she could answer, I saw her mouth drop open and her eyes stare in amazement. “Two knights? I…I.”

I heard this awful clanking as the bushel of women parted like the Red Sea and the white horse knight in his silver armor awkwardly moved past them. He made for me and Olivia.

“I have to go!” I rushed off into the hall, asking repeatedly for the ladies room. One social mom of about eighty wearing the bright white gym shoes of a teen age girl tennis phenom, pointed to the hallway.  “Around to your left! Hurry!”

I rushed down the hallway, turned left, unable to fathom why she said hurry. Was something wrong? Had I split my dress down the middle in the back? When I entered the empty bathroom, I sighed. I lay my back on the door. Then seeing all the stalls, I rushed into the furthest one in the back. The stall was empty and clean. I lowered the lid. I sat on the toilet and fumbled with the fake cast. I dropped it on the floor as two younger women entered the bathroom.

“I don’t know where she went.”

“That was too funny. Two armored knights a white and black vying for her affection.”

I remained motionless. First, I heard one girl opening up what sounded like a tube of lipstick. Then I heard one of the girl open a compact.

“Maybe if I wear more blush makeup, I can attract two armored romantic knights?”

“My lips needed more lip gloss from biting my lips during all the excitement. Besides, blushing from running isn’t exactly a beauty fad yet,” said the other girl.

“Yeah, but think of it. The black armored knight rode away. And the white armored knight is still here. He’s Mr. Hector Contofalsky.”

“The famous plastic surgeon from Hollywood California? That’s Contofalsky, Hector?”

“How many more Contofalsky’s can there be?”

I heard her compact close. They were about to leave. At least, I knew one of the heavy metal suitor’s identities.

“Hector’s rich.”

“We’d better get back out there before the wanted girl runs away again.”

The two younger women laughed and left the bathroom quiet.

I struggled fitting the cast on my right arm. Only to discover that it fit my left arm. What good was that? I counted on this cast in eluding several activities, dancing, and too much drinking. Now I had no excuse for ninety of the possible romantic events this Lover’s Dance might bring. I cursed PR Man’s name. How did he make that mistake?

I took a deep breath and stood up. After leaving the stall, I realized how helpless I looked. I came up with a ruse to explain my non-broken arm during my dash from the car. I applied a little lip gloss to give myself a real lie as my alibi. I walked out into the now crowded hall of people walking back and forth. Nineties dance music played.

“There you are,” said Cynthia. “Did you meet Hector yet?”

The tall dark and handsome man with long locks of curly hair took my hand and kissed the back of it.

I admit. He had the flare of romance. His dark eyes seemed Spanish. “No. I haven’t met Hector yet.” I wanted to kiss the lips of the lips that kissed my hand.

“You’re gorgeous. Surely you must be taken.”

“No, my sweet, I assure you I am single.”

“Single today? Single Tonight? Or just plain single?” I turned to Cynthia. “Where did you fly him in from California?”

“Yes. I did!” Cynthia’s jaw dropped. “Hector Contofalsky is a famous plastic surgeon from Hollywood. I know a few people who entered the film business after his fine work altered their face.”

“Oh do you think I need some work, Sir Contofalsky?” I flattered and baited the white knight, having the advantage of knowing who he was.”

“No. You are perfect. In fact, “he paused, “I was wondering if you like this next dance?”

“I can’t,” I whispered and turned to Cynthia and then to Hector. “You see there were two knights, a black armored one and a white armored one chasing me in the parking lot. I’m afraid they might still be out there. And I don’t want anyone to be trampled or cut by all that heavy metal.”

“I assure you the white knight is not out there, My sweet Megan.” He bowed and kissed my hand again.

“He belongs on the silver screen not behind the actresses who use his services, Cynthia.”

“I know,” Cynthia blushed.

“Is it my imagination or does every romantic man these days talk, slow and sensual like Antonio Banderas?”

Cynthia and I chortled.

“I knew you’d love finding a man to marry,” Cynthia said, as Olivia rushed up to us from the dance hall.

“Olivia!” I exclaimed, trying to avoid the dance. “Nice to meet you here.”

“Cut the act. You’ve met Hector. You like him?” Olivia pushed me closer to Hector.