Bride & Groom

out and over. That shithead knew that I was having dinner with Ceci and Althea, so I assumed that for some reason, he was in town after all and that he’d decided to look for me. Hah! And that he’d gotten lost. There was a little light coming from his car. And I pulled up and got out and went over to it. I did not suspect one single thing. And there he was in the back with that piece of hypocritical pornography in lard, Francie Julong.” Rita squeezed her eyes shut.
    I said, “Rita, I am so sorry.”
    “On a public street! There he was with that gushy, smarmy little pig! That lump of lying filth! Turning tricks in cars! What did I ever do to either of them to deserve this?”
    Steve said, “Nothing. Not a thing. Rita, you’re beautiful. You’re intelligent. Any man who cheats on you has something seriously wrong with him.”
    “I could kill him,” Rita said. “I could kill her, too.”
     

CHAPTER 30
     
    “My objection to bridal showers,” I told Rita and Leah, “is that marriage is not about things. ”
    “In your case,” said Leah, “it’s about dogs.”
    At two o’clock on Sunday afternoon, the three of us were crammed into Rita’s bathroom, where my friend and my cousin were trying to do something about my hair and my face in time for my shower.
    “Not exclusively, although I would like it if Rowdy and Kimi would shape up so India doesn’t steal the show. That hurts!”
    Rita refastened a clip in my hair. “As everyone’s mother used to say, you have to suffer to be beautiful. Leah, she needs more blush.”
    Rita had asked Steve and me to say nothing to anyone about Artie Spicer and the scene she’d witnessed. Before Leah’s arrival, she’d showered, soaked her face in ice water, and performed various cosmetic miracles. Her eyes weren’t swollen, her face wasn’t puffy, her makeup was careful, and her lightly highlighted hair was sleek and snazzy. I could see tension in her jaw and shoulders, but she looked good enough to fool everyone else.
    “Also,” I said, “I hate the idea of extorting presents.”
    “Your implication,” said Leah, “is that whereas other brides are gross materialists, you are a saint.”
    Rita did something to my eyebrows. “Rites of passage are inherently social transitions. Your loved ones want to participate.”
    “Loved ones! You make them sound like the dearly departed. And I’m sure you’ve done enough to me. I need to get dressed. I can groom a malamute for the showring in less time than you’re wasting on me.”
    Leah ordered me to close my eyes. “If Rowdy and Kimi hollered like this on the grooming table, you’d muzzle them. Hold still and behave yourself, or you won’t get any treats.”
    “You’re not giving me any now.”
    “Ceci and Althea will, but only if I tell them that you were a good, good girl.”
    Leah evidently gave the elderly sisters a positive report. When we arrived at their house just before four o’clock, the dining room table and sideboard were laden with what I’ll refrain from describing as liver goodies for people. Ceci’s china, silver, and crystal displayed cakes, pastries, strawberries, raspberries, and dainty sandwiches with the crusts cut off. A fire burned in the living-room fireplace, and flowers were everywhere. Ceci, dressed in champagne, flitted nervously about.
    Althea, looking a thousand years old and none the worse for it, was resplendent in lavender. “Do you know the poem about old women and purple? I’ve faded beyond it.” She sat in her wheelchair amid the potted palms in the conservatory area at the far end of the living room. “Holly, move close to me so I can see you properly. There! You look marvelous.”
    “Thank you. Leah made me wear black. Rita tried to veto it, but Leah has a gift for getting her own way.”
     “Skill in getting one’s own way is not to be disparaged. Ceci enjoys the same gift.”
    “They both put it to good use with dogs. I don’t look funereal?”
    “Not in the least. You are all sophistication.”
    “I bought the suit for Paris. The dogs won’t be with us, so I didn’t have to worry about camouflaging undercoat.”
    At my insistence, we’d kept the guest list for the shower to about twenty-five. Although Rita was one of the hostesses, Ceci had insisted on having the shower at her house. The wedding, which was only a week away, had swollen beyond our original vision of a small, intimate gathering, and I’d been determined not to stick Ceci and