Tick Tock

managed to ad-lib additional lyrics to “Here Comes the Bride,” adding lines like “she looks so groovy, like she stepped out of a movie,” without diminishing the beauty and solemnity of the piece. Indeed, if anything, his version enormously enriched the old standard, and he sounded fifty years younger than he was, not like a crooner at the twilight of his life but like a young swinger in the days of the Dorsey Brothers and Duke Ellington.
    When Tommy handed the nosegay to Del and took her arm to lead her to the altar, his heart swelled with love.
    The minister was mercifully swift in the performance of his sacred duties, and precisely when it was needed,
    Roland Ironwright cut open a fresh orange and produced the wedding band from the heart of the fruit.
    After the minister pronounced them man and wife at 11:34 in the morning, less than eighteen hours after they had first met, Tommy and Deliverance indulged in another kiss of earthshaking power, only the second they had ever shared, and the onlookers applauded joyously.
    From his place in front of the band, Frank called out to Del's Mother, “Hey, Sheila, you wonderful broad, come up here and do this number with me!”
    Del's mother joined him, and they shared a microphone to belt out an up-tempo rendition of “I've Got You Under My Skin,” which served as a recessional.
    In the receiving line outside, Del reminded everyone about the reception at the grand ballroom of the Mirage at seven o'clock that evening. It promised to be the party of the year.
    When the two of them were alone again with Scootie in the back of the limousine, returning to the hotel, Del said to Tommy, “Are you tired yet?”
    “I don't understand it, but I feel as if I just woke up from the longest sleep on record. I've got so much energy it's absurd.”
    “Lovely,” she said, snuggling against him.
    He put his arm around her, suddenly excited by the warmth of her and by the exquisite perfection with which her supple body moulded to his.
    “We're not going back to the hotel,” she told him.
    “What? Why not?”
    “I told Mummingford to take us to the airport. We're flying back to Orange County right away.”
    “But I thought… I mean… aren't we going to… Oh, Del, I want to be alone with you.”
    “I'm not going to ask you to consummate until you know all of my secrets,” she said.
    “But I want to consummate,” he said. “I want to consummate this morning, as soon as possible, right here in the limo!”
    “Have you been eating too much tofu?” she asked coquettishly.
    “If we go back to Orange County, we'll miss our own party this evening.”
    “It's less than an hour flight each way. We have maybe two hours of business when we get there. We'll make it back with time to spare.” She put a hand in his lap. “With time to consummate.”
     
    In her house on Balboa Peninsula, Del led Tommy upstairs to the studio where she created her paintings.
    Canvases were hung on all sides, and others stood in stacks against one wall, at least a hundred altogether. Most of them were exceedingly strange landscapes of places that could never exist on this world, scenes of such stunning beauty that the sight of them brought tears to Tommy's eyes.
    “I painted these by remote viewing,” she said, “but someday I hope to travel there.”
    “Where?”
    “I'll tell you later.”
    Eight paintings were different from all the others. They were portraits of Tommy, rendered with a photographic realism equal to that with which the landscapes had been painted.
    Blinking in astonishment, he said, “When did you do these?”
    “Over the past two years. That's how long I've been having dreams about you. I knew you were the one, my destiny, and then last night you just walked into the restaurant and ordered two cheeseburgers.”
     
    The living room in the Phan house in Huntington Beach was remarkably similar to the living room of the Dai House, although the furnishings were somewhat more expensive. A painting of Jesus, revealing His Sacred Heart, hung on one wall, and in a corner was a Buddhist shrine.
    Mother Phan sat in her favourite armchair, slack-jawed and pale, having taken the news of the wedding as though she had been hit in the face with a skillet.
    Scootie licked one of her hands consolingly, but she didn't seem to be aware of the dog.
    Del sat on the sofa with Tommy, holding his hand. “First, Mrs. Phan, I want you to understand that the Payne's and the Phan's could be the most wonderful combination of families imaginable, a