Our Family Wedding: VI

Previously: Our Family Wedding: V (Father of the Groom)

Velda

There is nothing I love better than the sound of silence.
As the preacher pauses dramatically at that unnecessary part of the wedding service,
I can feel the nervous energy rise to a crescendo in the room.
You could hear a feather drop as they all stop breathing.
Even though most of them expect that it will be another part of the service,
simply a formality, they cannot help their excitement,
their anticipation of something extraordinary.

And then that familiar voice comes from the back of the room:

"I DO"... A wildly interesting choice of words.

I smile in spite of myself. I had not expected him to do it. Some people, you have no need to meet them before you conclude, and rightly so, that they are spineless. But he has surprised me, and very few people surprise Velda.

I turn my attention from the back of the church to look into the faces around me.

Every guest looks confused, shocked, wildly curious. I can hear their minds working, spinning the gossip tales they would tell as soon as they can make a dignified exit out of the chapel without running for the oak doors.

The Bride: pale as a ghost, her lips moving, no words really getting formed.

The Groom: if looks could kill.... well, it's no secret that he is capable of murder.

The Groom's Father: Bored, irritated, a man with more important things on his mind.

The Mother of the Bride: Mortified. I know that at this moment there is nothing else on her mind besides what people will say, what the gossip rags will print about the scandal that is about to unfold here. I know because that is exactly what I would be thinking.

After all, she is my daughter...

I was born on the fast track. No one recalls if the first word I ever said was "More", but it is most certainly the first thought I ever formed in my pretty little head. More. I have always wanted more. More than those humble two rooms that formed the house I was raised in, with my entire family, all six of us. More than my father's job at the Postal Office, and my mother's teaching job at the Catholic School up the street. More than the tiny shop out front that we all took turns managing, earning pennies to keep the roof over our heads and the clothes on our backs. More than the regular occurrence of a free novel and a bright pencil for once again being the smartest pupil in the class. More than that whistle, that longing look, the scribbled poems and whispered words that men lavished on me. There was only one thing I never needed more of: I was more than beautiful, and everyone knew it.

Working hard, being a great student and settling for the best jobs in the world would not give me the life I wanted. My parents were smart, educated and they worked harder than all the wealthy people I knew, and they worked themselves to the bone day after weary day. I wanted to be like the women I read about and only saw in magazines; they had the world at their feet and everyone scrambled to do their bidding. I watched them, I learned to act like them and talk like them and think like them. I watched their men too, they owned everything, even the women. That was the life I chose, all I needed was a fortune to call my own. As soon as I was old enough I was out of school, choosing to use my beauty and my intelligence for a far greater purpose. I was married and divorced a few times, each time ending up even richer than anyone imagined I could get away with.

People always thought I was too beautiful to be smart.

George's family did too. They underestimated me. He was 79, battling the weakness that comes with old age, confused that his mind was as sharp as the days when he built the largest business empire in the country as his body died a little more every day. While everybody rallied around, his sons and protegés, treating him with disdain and waiting for him to die and leave them chunks of his life's work, I became his friend. I was not even thirty, and I devoted two years to him, showing him the time of his life. He taught me how to rule an empire. "Owning wealth is wonderful", he always said, "but you have to control the people around you. You have to own them." I gave him the one gift he asked of me in return for the one thing I wanted: we spent the last few months together  in a secluded villa outside the country, and when his only daughter was born, I was a heiress with more money than I knew what to do with. We had both won. He showed them all, leaving them with nothing, and I finally had what I wanted, a kingdom to rule. A mysterious heiress, that is what they call me. Some even say I killed him myself after he signed the will.

I bought the villa the morning he died, hired the best caregivers in the world for my daughter, and I returned alone. For six years she was raised in the villa by herself protected from the world, even years later I explained her away as a child whose parents, close friends, had died tragically in another country. I told myself it was for her safety.

I had inherited a fortune legitimately. And it was time for me to enjoy it.

But I have always looked after her. She has never worked a day in her life, and everything she owns has been handed to her on a platter of gold, including her husband, her marriage. I ask for nothing in return from her, from all of them, except complete obedience. I own them, all of them in this room, their businesses, their homes, their secrets.

It is not a secret that I do not approve of this laughable charade, this wedding that will never be. But even the most powerful people get tired of pulling all the strings and working behind the scenes. I am an old woman, ready to dance with the devil for eternity and pay for my many sins. It is not enough to be rich and famous and powerful and then die while no one is watching. I want more. And I have found my stage.

I look at all their faces again and smile to myself.

Coming soon: Our Family Wedding: One Stranger

Our Family Wedding: Part V

Previously:  Our Family Wedding IV (Mother Of The Bride)

The Father of the Groom

Nine hours before I have to be on a plane to Mexico.

Six hours ago, I should have been in a meeting with the Diplomat in Canada.

Oil in Canada will not wait for my son's wedding.

My Son. 

I could not control the loud scoff that escaped my lips with that thought if I tried. But quickly I remember where I am as my wife tightens her grip on my upper arm, reminding me to behave myself. I attempt to stare her down with a black look; a futile attempt really, the woman has never been a pushover. Or we wouldn't be here. A supportive family putting on a lavish ceremony for our disowned, undeserving son. The bane of my existence. A murderer, a waste. If I had my way he would be far away, a destitute, not living off my wealth like he has a right to it. But his mother always has the last word, and because she wants us to be here, we are here. 

For a man known in many circles as someone to be feared, my wife has a big influence on most of my actions. Lesser men would say she is controlling, or she wears the pants in our home. I say, I love her, and why not indulge the woman who has sacrificed most of her life and her dignity to give me a wonderful home? I know I am a difficult man, and yet she has never complained. Letting her have her way is only one of the ways I reward her for pleasing me. 

What she doesn't know, what no one else knows, is that there is another woman who holds the reins on my decisions even more firmly than my wife does. She is my confidante, my advisor, and her wishes to me are law. I look to my left and watch in fond amusement as she sits still in her pew, her back straight, eyes fixed on an unseen object in the front of the chapel. Velda. Tough matriarch. The single most fearful woman in the room. And my benefactor.

 No one remembers now, but there was a time when my now-sprawling empire was only a far-fetched dream. I was a young man with big dreams, and no means of ever achieving them. And then I met this mysterious heiress who changed my whole life in one afternoon. No one really knows the source of Velda's wealth, and naturally I was curious, but when she offered me her unlimited means to pursue my dreams of tapping into the earth's liquid gold, I asked no questions. In seven years, I was wealthier than I had ever imagined. And now, thirty years later, Velda still remains in the background, giving advice, planning the great future, pulling the strings, learning my many secrets...

Like my son. I remember her words clearly, many years ago when I had gone to her, mad with fury, murder on my mind. My wife had come home with good news: after three years of trying unsuccessfully to have a child, she was finally pregnant. I knew without a doubt that she had been unfaithful, it was impossible for me to have children. Velda had listened quietly, without judgement, speaking only after I had said all that was on my mind. Then she looked me in the eyes and said firmly "You will go home, tell your wife that you are happy and excited about the news, and you will love that child like he was your own. You need a heir. No one needs to ever know that you are impotent. No one." It was difficult, but she was right. I had discovered very early that I was unable to ever have children. But I kept it a secret and to my shame and discomfort I allowed my wife to deal with the guilt that it was her fault and that somehow, she had failed me. But Velda was right, I could never accuse her of anything if I wanted to keep my secret. So I accepted my first son, and my twin daughters, knowing every day of their lives that they were proof of the greatest betrayal from the woman I loved with my whole being.

However, a secret I could live with turned out to be almost too much to handle as our son grew from a delightful boy into a reckless young man. The ungrateful bastard has caused me and his mother more grief than any other problems we have ever had to deal with. From the bad behavior all through his younger years, to more dangerous activities as a teenager, all culminating in the murder of an innocent man outside a bar abroad. At every turn, his mother has pleaded and I have obliged her, paying the best lawyers money could buy to make all his troubles go away. But after he was convicted I knew that he could never inherit my empire. His mother asks why I hate him so much, it is not hard to point at his actions instead of his conception...

I look away from him and exchange a nod and smile with the Best Man. He could be my heir. He had lost his family at a young age, and my wife had convinced me to officially adopt him as my own. It was the best decision we ever made. He is everything I want in a son: smart, respectful, responsible. Velda agreed. It was also a brilliant coincidence that he was in love with Velda's god-daughter. We had it all planned out, we would wait until she was done with college, and guide them gently into a lasting relationship together. He would be my heir, she would be Velda's heiress, as well as her father's. Together, we would create the greatest empire in the country, and I would finally have a son I could be proud of.

But as she walks down the aisle towards the wrong son I have no choice but to accept that even without a penny to his name, he has again thwarted my plans, reminding me why I hate him so much. But there is still time to put our plans together. Velda has a plan and she is patient. So am I.

We all face the priest.

"Dearly Beloved, we are gathered here today in the sight of God, and in the face of these witnesses, to join this Man and this Woman together..."

This needs to be over soon. I glance at Velda and her displeasure is evident on her face. I always wondered why she never said anything. For a woman so powerful and vocal in society and business and politics, she never seems to exert much influence in her family. But as I have learned, things are never as they seem with her. The priest continues to drone on and on about the sanctity of marriage, I tune him out as I rehearse again the few words I have prepared to sway the Board of the new company I am acquiring.

"Now, if anyone knows of any reason why these two should not be joined together in Holy Matrimony, speak now, or forever hold your peace..."


The silence gets my attention and I look around. Everyone is staring at the one person who dared to interrupt this joyous occasion. And for the first time, Velda is smiling...


Coming soon: Our Family Wedding VI (Velda)

Our Family Wedding: IV

Previously: Our Family Wedding III (The Best Man)

Mother of the Bride

FIFTY FIVE years old and still as dumb as the day I got here.

Every day since I have had breasts, I have gotten myself into one kind of trouble or another. And it always comes back to bite me right where it hurts...

Or at least leer at me, like my son-in-law's best man is doing right now... in front of 350 guests.

What an irreverent imp!

I have stooped really low many times in the past years, but my daughter's best friend is a mistake that I will never be able to explain, if it ever got out. It had meant nothing at first when I started to flirt with him at a wedding many months ago. Ever since I turned fifty I had been feeling old, and something inside of me craved attention, and passion, anything to feel young and attractive again. Imagine my surprise and delight when I discovered that he wanted me too. What started out as thinly veiled banter quickly escalated, and before I knew it we were upstairs together in the Mayor's Manor while the entire city partied the night away at the biggest wedding of the year. It was so exciting, knowing we could be discovered at any time. I know that a part of me wanted to be caught. How envious would my friends have been? Only I could still command the attention and ardor of a twenty-something years young man. Just what I needed...

But at the back of my mind was one thought... He is in love with my daughter...

I have seen the way he looks at her with naked, intense longing when he thinks no one is watching. For so many years I was convinced that he was the one for her. No one has ever been as devoted to her as he is. All her life he has followed her everywhere like a lost puppy. I shake my head in bemusement. I have always been surprised that she does not seem to notice his desire. I see myself in her, a self-absorbed princess who barely notices anyone else in the room but herself. She is spoiled, just like me, and she feeds off the adoration of others, expecting nothing less than their undivided attention at all times. But I feel no sympathy for her love-struck friend, he had his chance through all the years he wasted being just friends with her. Good thing he has kept our affair to himself, no reason to create a scandal. what was I thinking? If this ever got out... If any of the things I have done ever get out...

I distract myself from my wayward thoughts by checking everything over one more time with my well trained eye. The flower arrangements are beautiful, flawless, they will be imitated by many brides in the coming months. The guests are seated just the way I planned, beautiful people in prime spots for the pictures, and the others tucked neatly in corners where they will not be photographed. I should commend the ushers for doing a neat job. Everyone is right where I want them to be; everyone except Aunt Velda, of course. No one tells her what to do. If only she would just smile. It is a happy day! It should be a happy day...

My baby is finally about to marry the man of her dreams. He is a charming young man, from a highly respectable family. And even when I voiced my fears about the speed of their courtship, her father insisted that it is a good match. I know what he really means is that merging his company and the new in-laws' in the future is a good idea. But still, he is her father...

Or is he?

The first time I was introduced to my future son-in-law, my heart stopped. Memories of the early days of my marriage came flooding back. My wedding was a grand affair, much like this one. I was the talk of the town for many months. But wedded life was not what I expected. My new, rich husband had no time for me. Gone was the attentive, dashing man that courted me for many months. Suddenly he was busy at all hours of the day. I spent many lonely afternoons while I listened in on business conference calls and pretended to be interested in his new ideas and his work. My young ambitious husband was caught up with building his empire.

I was bored out of my mind, tired of shopping, tired of long days at the spa. Being a trophy wife was starting to feel like a chore. Until he suggested that I take my first vacation: he pointed to the globe on his desk "pick any point on the map. I'll pay for it". My first holiday was an exotic island: it was a wonderful time. The sights, the food, the men: charming gentlemen, older, more worldly, distinguished and very determined. It was not hard to break my vows and allow myself to be seduced. It was my delicious secret. As my husband got busier I took more trips, until I discovered I was pregnant... I was always afraid my secret would be discovered when she was born. But she looks exactly like me, she always has... maybe I am afraid for nothing, but I wonder every day...

I could hardly wait to be done with dinner as she introduced her boyfriend to the entire family. And as soon as I could get away I was on the phone with the man I had always feared to be her father. He assured me coldly that I was mistaken. There was no way on earth my daughter is his. Now I know my fears were unfounded. Whoever her father is, my daughter is not getting married to his son.

Or is she?

The music begins and I watch with tears in my eyes as my beautiful daughter floats down the aisle on my husband's arm. She is so beautiful. At least I got that right. My heart swells with love for her, but it leaves an after-taste of intense fear...

"Dearly Beloved, we are gathered here today in the sight of God, and in the face of these witnesses, to join this Man and this Woman together..."

My palms are sweaty now. My heart beating in fear. Can I allow her to take this big step without ever really knowing for sure? Can I trust the word of a man I hardly know? Would he be so cold as to allow a marriage between his only son and his daughter? What kind of mother am I? I have not prepared her to be a married woman. What if she ends up like me? Makes my mistakes? She knows nothing about being a wife, nothing about making compromises and sacrifices for another person. She is not ready... The thoughts are tumbling over themselves in my head...

"Now, if anyone knows of any reason why these two should not be joined together in Holy Matrimony, speak now, or forever hold your peace..."


I feel dizzy. Now is the time. She will hate me forever. Before I allow my head to stop me from doing what my heart knows is right, I hear the words whispered over the nervous silence of the chapel "I DO"

Coming soon: Our Family Wedding V (The Father of the Groom)

Our Family Wedding: Part III

Previously: Our Family Wedding II (The Groom)

The Best Man

Weddings.
Weddings Weddings Weddings.

The air is steaming again with the sweet aroma of desperate women. I do not know what it is about happy weddings that creates sad, lonely, ready-for-anything women. They are everywhere, and they are always trying to prove something. Its funny that by June every year you can already spot the serial wedding-hounds. Like Daisy - Lord bless those endless legs - and her exotic frienemy, Jummai. It would be awesome to get them together in one room. That would be a party. And then there were the older women who prowled weddings looking for fresh blood to make them feel young again. Those were the ones who let loose with such abandon that would make their younger competition blush. Almost everything I know, all the tricks that have women coming back to beg for more, I learned from an older woman.

Speaking of older women, it is taking a lot of restraint not to wink at The Mother of The Bride as she sits over there primly, doing her darnedest not to look at me. But her respectable attire does not fool me one bit. There is a feisty nymph inside those respectable motherly clothes. But this is not the time or place; and whether or not I get a repeat performance from her, something inside me knows that I will get her alone in a room again and watch those eyes grow dark with wanting me. Not that I really want to, but I never do what I should do. For now, I put my lecherous thoughts aside and turn my attention with the rest of the guests as they rise up to welcome the Bride.

The glowing, blushing bride.
My girl.

I have known her since high school when she was a sassy little know-it-all, and many years later I still feel that intense sense of protectiveness towards her. Even now, I want to snarl at every man in the chapel and growl

"Mine. She's Mine"

The same way I almost did when my best friend proudly announced to me that he was going to make her his. But I held back, I reasoned that he could only be taunting me into admitting what he had hinted at all these years - that I was in love with her. Besides, she was not remotely his type, and everyone knew he was still disgustingly in love with the ex-girlfriend who dumped him and fled to Europe. Wonder what happened to her... It was a huge shock to me when she shyly came to me and told me that she had decided to date him. "He's sooooo perfect," she had crooned, all smiles, as she gushed excitedly about him. I could not believe my ears, I had never imagined that someone like her could be remotely interested in someone like him and I truly regretted introducing them...

She had just graduated from college and had come for a two week visit, to relax and catch up. I think deep down I was hoping that now that she was all grown up, something would blossom between us. Unfortunately, my best friend had shown up uninvited to talk about his runaway girlfriend and see if I had any new information about her. It was a funny story really: he swore to everyone that he had done nothing wrong and that he was in love with her, but her family protected her from him like he was the devil. After many weeks, the subject was tiring and I just wanted him gone. So I did the selfish thing and asked her to take him to a local bar while I finished up the imaginary work I brought home from work.  I knew she would not be impressed with him and would find an excuse to get rid of him soon enough. But something must have happened that night because a complete change came over him and he started to pursue her ardently... and now, in less than a year, they are getting married... and I am still surprised by it all.

I look at her smiling and glowing as she floats down the aisle and I literally stop breathing. It's no secret by now that I am in love with her. I have always loved her. But when someone has so much power over you, you do everything you can not to fall into their hands. Because then they can really hurt you. So the more I loved her the more distance I put between us. And now it is too late; because how do I say to the only person I have ever loved "I love you, but I slept with your mother six months ago, because I wanted you....." I feel the sting of tears as I realize I am losing her forever and I look away. The mistake I make is looking sideways at my best friend...

The look in his eyes as he watches her coming down the aisle is cold, hateful. If I did not know him I would say he had the look of a killer, and even though he is not looking at me I shiver a little.


"Dearly Beloved, we are gathered here today in the sight of God, and in the face of these witnesses, to join this Man and this Woman together..."

Who is this man?

I have known him very well for years. And even when he has been away in school or taking care of family business we have managed to stay in touch. And I owe him my life: after my parents died and I had no one, his family took me in as one of them. They are responsible for my education, my comfortable life, everything. But they have always had their secrets. And as I look at her over his shoulder I feel the cold hands of fear squeezing me so hard that I can hardly breathe. I cannot, will not, let her marry this cold stranger...

"Now, if anyone knows of any reason why these two should not be joined together in Holy Matrimony, speak now, or forever hold your peace..."


I open my mouth to speak, and before the words are formed I hear them whispered and echoed throughout the chapel "I DO"

No one is as surprised as I am...

Coming soon: Our Family Wedding IV (Mother of the Bride)

Our Family Wedding: Part II

Previously: Our Family Wedding: Part I (Bride)

Groom

Once upon a time I had given up hope that good things could happen to me.
Really good things.

But as the doors of the Chapel open up to let in the radiant sun and her, I realize that every good thing I want is right there at the end of the petal-covered aisle, in a dreamy white dress that made me think of a field of flowers, a hammock swaying lightly in the breeze, a lazy summer day in a village in France. She is the girl of my dreams, my treasure, my answer, my whole world. I watch her face light up as she walks confidently into the chapel, a princess claiming her kingdom, and I feel my heart quicken. It is finally happening. This woman with her beautiful mind and gorgeous body and infectious smile is about to become mine. That beautiful smile slips off her lips for a second, I follow her gaze to the middle of the room, and I see him. He is a nobody, someone she cheated with earlier on in our relationship. I knew the entire time, and it was over almost before it started.

It is the only time she has ever cheated. I make sure.

I have never had to confront her with the knowledge, but it is good to know that I know everything about her, all her secrets, just the way it should be. I should have him escorted out after the ceremony however, just to further mark my territory. I dismiss him and turn my attention back to her. She really is beautiful, and I knew from that first day I met her that I would do anything I could to be here at the end of this aisle. And here we are. It feels like everything in my life is finally going to be alright. She steps up beside me smelling of vanilla and daisies and she holds my hand as we face the priest.

The priest smiles at us and pats our shoulders. I cringe inwardly. I do not like priests....


"Dearly Beloved, we are gathered here today in the sight of God, and in the face of these witnesses, to join this Man and this Woman together in holy matrimony; which is honorable, instituted of God..."


God. Yeah right.
For me there has only been one reason ever to get married.
God has nothing to do with it. Or maybe he does.
Meeting her when I did was definitely a miracle.
My best friend had talked about his cute, spoilt little rich princess friend forever. At first I thought he had a thing for her, he could never shut up about all the things she did while they were in high school, and all the time she was in her private exclusive college in a far away part of the world. But he insisted over and over that she was not his type, and was too quick to shove us together that first day at his apartment. Just the miracle I needed...


No one here knows that I am the Black Sheep of my family. The Fallen Heir. The disgraced son. Only my mother's pleading and my father's pride have prevented it from becoming a national scandal. I can just picture the headlines: "Oil Magnate's Son disowned and banished from Family Business""Family Secrets: What Really Happened Abroad"
Luckily, I have been spared the public humiliation. But as much as we present a united front to the world, my father has ensured that I will have to depend on him for as long as he lived or face the world with all that I have done, with no hope of ever having the kind of money I am accustomed to. The money that is my birthright. Oh how I hate the sanctimonious bastard!! 


Sure I made some mistakes; I got caught up, I did some dangerous things. That's what young men do. The drugs are only for fun, an escape to free my head of the tediousness of too many years of school. At first the arrests were minor, overnight. A bar fight here, a drunken misdemeanor there. A warning phone call from the old man, a tearful, pleading visit from mother dearest. Always, the news was covered up quickly, the records quietly buried. Until that one night. I still swear that he was alive when I left him on the sidewalk, bloody and whimpering like a fool. But the cops showed up later at my condo with warrants and handcuffs: Everyone had heard me threaten to kill him. Everyone saw me beat the crap out of him. No one saw him move after I left. Manslaughter. I got 7 years because my father got the best lawyers money could buy, and served 5 years for being the best behaved inmate they ever saw. But it was too late. He had cut me off, without him I was as good as a pauper. No education, living under his roof and taking scraps from his lofty table, knowing that I would never touch a dime of his money. 


So I had to marry a princess, someone with an empire waiting to be taken over. The first few did not work out. They always ran away, they said I was too angry, too violent. And then my true love walked into my life. The first of two daughters of one of the few men whose wealth could rival my father's. He would need a capable son-in-law, and I vowed that I would be that man. It was not hard to explain away my lack of a degree or my absence from the face of the earth for 5 years, our family has holdings in many corners of the world and an education is second only to wealth in our world. My family would never reveal their secret, and the truth was too far-fetched for anyone who wasn't looking to imagine... It was a whirlwind romance, but who could blame us? I am a man in love - who wouldn't love their meal ticket? She is smitten. Her sappy parents are happy. My family is relieved and too eager to help me at my game. Everybody wins... 

"Now, if anyone knows of any reason why these two should not be joined together in Holy Matrimony, speak now, or forever hold your peace..."

I scoff inside. Who would dare mess with me now....? Until I hear the words, barely above a whisper, "I DO" I turn around with a murderous glare in my eyes...

Coming soon: Our Family Wedding: Part III (Best Man)

Our Family Wedding: Part I

Bride

Something Blue is really really tight...

I wiggle a little as the elastic band of my pale blue garter digs into the tender flesh of my left thigh. Serves me right for allowing my jealous younger sister order my wedding lingerie; she must have picked a small size on purpose. Now I am really looking forward to the garter-toss, not just because of the magic of having my future husband touch me intimately - in front of everyone we know. That is the part of the ceremony I have looked forward to since we agreed not to be intimate a whole month before the wedding.

But first, I have to get married.

The string quartet strikes the first chords of the wedding march.
There's a smile and a thumbs up from the wedding planner.
Daddy smiles proudly as he kisses my forehead and pulls the tulle veil over my eyes.
And we glide towards the aisle, just like we practiced.

Until we step into the doorway of the chapel hall and my eyes stop on him, standing there looking as irresistible as the first day I saw him. The music in my head screeches to a clanging halt. I feel like I have tripped over my dress but a glance at the guests show nothing is amiss. "How DARE he show up at my wedding?!" The smirk on his face tells me he knows I am uncomfortable, and he is fine with it. I turn my nose up inwardly and continue gliding. Our affair only lasted a few nights, a long long time ago, and unless he has pictures, I will be denying any claims he ever makes. Since then, I have had bigger problems to worry about.

I smile at everyone, but I avoid making eye contact with those on the groom's side of the aisle.
Everyone is smiling. Except Aunt Velda.
I wish Aunt Velda would smile one day in her life, sigh.
Even her ever-sour and disapproving face cannot dampen my mood today.
I see some people dab at tears in their eyes, so sweet.
Even the Best Man seems to have tears sparkling right there on his long lashes.
I look away from him quickly.
The flower arrangements look absolutely gorgeous, Mother sure deserves a medal.
Everything looks wonderful. Everyone looks wonderful.
Finally, when I cannot take it anymore, I look at Him.
My Love. The Man of All My Dreams.
He looks so handsome. And ecstatic, and only slightly terrified.

As I step beside him I take his hand and squeeze reassuringly, and we face the priest.


"Dearly Beloved, we are gathered here today...." 

The words take me back to another wedding, only six months ago... I was standing in the bridal train for one of my best friends when I started to feel like I would faint, right there on the marble floors of Our Lady of Fatima. Nausea rolled over me in waves. I was so frightened that it took a minute to realize what was happening. Morning Sickness. Only it was 3pm on a sunny afternoon in front of hundreds of guests at a huge society wedding. I concentrated with all my strength to hold my smile in place and not give in to the urge to run out of the hall and find the nearest restroom. Inside I was shaking. A wedding was not the place to do anything without getting everyone's attention. I looked around at all my friends in the hall and realized I could not tell anyone what was happening to me, not with the high stakes involved. Good thing my fiancée was away on a business trip. I survived the long wedding ceremony and attempted to sneak into the bathroom two times during the exhausting reception ceremony to empty my already empty stomach. Hours later, I escaped with wedding-planning excuses and drove to a pharmacy far out of town to purchase as many different brands of home pregnancy tests as I could find. Later that night, I sat on the bathroom floor shaking my head in disbelief as all six of them told me what I had known and ignored for weeks:

Pregnant.

Possibly pregnant for my fiancée, or the one man he feared and hated the most, even though they were closely related. It was a chance I could not take, not now that I had found The One. So I did the only reasonable thing: I took an unplanned shopping trip alone, and I got rid of it. Quietly. I never told another soul. No one would ever know now...

"If anyone knows of any reason why these two should not be joined together in Holy Matrimony, speak now, or forever hold your peace..."

I smiled nervously at my husband-to be and caressed my now-empty womb softly as I congratulated myself again on averting a disaster... Until someone broke the silence... "I DO"

Coming soon: Our Family Wedding: Part II (Groom)

Strange Bedfellows

There she was. The most beautiful woman I had ever seen.
She was at my door, saying Yes...


I remember meeting her for the first time. She was so beautiful, I was dumbstruck at the sight of her. I barely heard my best friend, Tunde, mutter to me under his breath "PJ, pick your jaw off the floor and say hello to my woman...” Tunde had spoken about her endlessly for weeks, and even though I had vowed not to get involved in his numerous brief affairs, I started to take him seriously. I mean, Tunde was gushing about this girl, I had to meet her.


I have been Tunde’s unofficial wingman since our early days in Law School, and many years later it is still not an easy job. Not because he has any trouble getting the girl; Tunde’s preying prowess is legendary and he has never needed me as his right hand. My job usually begins when he’s done with them; I’m the best friend, the one who should know what they did wrong and how they can fix it, who knows the secrets to keeping his attention; sometimes they blame me for wanting him to myself and turning him against them, and after being caught in the middle one too many times, I refused to meet any of his 'temporary girlfriends'. But he insisted that Shalewa was different, and at one time even hinted that she could be The One.


That first night I met her, I was sold. She was everything any man could want. Beautiful, smart, just a little naughty and very confident, every girl in the room at our favorite hangout paled in comparison, every other girl Tunde ever dated really. They were so happy together, and when I asked her what an angel like her was doing with a devil like Tunde, she said “Love finds us where we least expect it,” like that summed it all up. I congratulated him; he had definitely found a keeper. And I wisely kept my confusing, growing attraction to her a secret. It was weird, Tunde and I are never attracted to the same type of people.


But their fairytale was not to last. A few months later Tunde was up to his old tricks again. And Shalewa turned to me. It was another heart to patch up and send away, but this time I did not mind one bit. I seized my opportunity to get close to her and got to know her. Up close, she was even more amazing than I had thought. And against all the rules, I persuaded Tunde to give the relationship another shot. But he wasn’t having it; his reason was “She’s too perfect. I can’t stand those innocent eyes judging me every time I dare to do something human”. Classic Tunde. It was either the girl was not good enough, or she was too good for him…


A few weeks ago I saw her at a friend’s party and convinced her to ditch the party and grab drinks with me. It was the alcohol that did it: one minute we were sitting at the bar, just two friends talking about old times, and the next we were on my couch and she was pouring out her heart to me. It was like old times really, she always said I was easy to talk to. But this time I did not just listen. While she was telling me how every man she had been with had selfishly tried to mold her, I was staring at her lush lips…


“I want to kiss you so badly”
The words were out before the thought formed itself in my head. She laughed. Just a soft, disbelieving laugh, like you would politely laugh at a bad joke told by your boss’ wife. But then she looked at my face, and I could sense her bewilderment.
“Why?” she asked softly.
I told her. When you’re in love with someone, you see everything about them and I saw everything about Shalewa. I told her how I love her sense of humor, how laughing at herself only made her more beautiful in my eyes. I love how her eyes sparkle when she faces a challenge, whether it was a game of charades or suggesting a new restaurant for dinner to Tunde and I. I love how honest she is, how she never makes excuses and how she always puts others first. I love that dimple that only shows up when she’s thinking up some mischief, and the graceful way she moves. I love how she accepted me as a friend and never thought to punish me for Tunde’s actions, and how easy it is to talk to her about how much I love her.
And then I tried to kiss her.
She was off the couch in a split second.
“We can’t do this PJ. I like you too, a lot, but Tunde is still a factor and I know I’m not ready for this.” 
She said that last word with all the emphasis she could muster. I knew I was asking her to take a huge step, but I pretended I was too drunk to notice. I turned on the charm -Tunde was a good example after all- and told her all the reasons she would want to be with me. She knew, and I knew that Tunde would not be the least bit interested, and as I sensed her hesitation I moved in for the kill. She wanted me too; she just couldn’t convince herself that it was right. And as she walked away from my couch and my life, I implored her to think about it one more time. “Love finds us where we least expect it, remember?”


Two hours later I was jarred from sad sleep by the insistent ringing of the doorbell. My first thought was "Tunde". She told him, and he was here to raise hell. I opened the door to find Shalewa standing there, an uncertain half-smile on her face.
“I have been in my car, thinking.”
I tried to respond to her but no words came out.
“Tunde never noticed my dimple, you know? Not in six months.”
Still nothing. She sighed.
“If it’s okay with you, I just want to be held tonight”


I was still speechless but I opened the door wider for her to come in and before I knew it was coming she kissed me. It was amazing. I kissed her back with all the pent up longing I had and as I started to nibble my way down her creamy neck I heard her muffled question.
“What?”
“I said ‘how long have you known’?”
“Known what?”
“That you were a lesbian. I would never have guessed”
I smiled and went right back to kissing her neck. No point telling her she was my first. I wondered for a brief second how this would look to my long-term boyfriend who was all the way in Europe, and if I would ever tell him. And then I focused on Shalewa…


-Pelumi J. O, Esq.

"Your Boyfriend Will Kill You"

The note was stuck to the front door of my apartment, 2D, and in my rush to rip it off I almost dropped the paper bag full of groceries on the hard floor. I looked around the dark empty hallway frantically, searching for movement, like whoever put it there would still be lurking around. I wondered who else had seen it, this proof of my shame and my fear.

"Your boyfriend will kill you"

I was even more afraid that HE could have seen it. 

In my head I knew it was impossible: 

he was away, doing construction work at that country home,
the kind he says he will build for me...someday

But still I was afraid. 
This would make him really angry.

He told me never to make him mad

Never to tell anyone our business.

And I didn't, I swear I didn't. Not even my Momma.

But I have done something wrong. Someone knows, and it is my fault.

I rushed into my tiny studio apartment and bolted the door, away from their prying eyes.

The groceries forgotten right by the door, I half-ran to my bathroom and knelt by the cleaning cabinet. My heart was pounding as I searched for the old, discarded box of dryer sheets that had been damaged by the leaking faucet, now kept in a dry corner because they contained a secret he must never find. "Someone knows" The others were undiscovered, right there where I hid them beneath the vanilla-scented sheets. I spread them out on the cold bathroom floor.

The pretty white card in the mail on Valentine's day: "Your boyfriend will kill you"

The back of the crumpled block-party invitation under my windshield wipers last month: "Your boyfriend will kill you" 

This lipstick-scrawled note on my apartment door: "Your boyfriend will kill you"

Someone knew. And they were warning me. Get out now.

"You need to get out. Now." Those were the last words my only remaining friend said to me before I threw her out of my apartment and vowed never to speak to her again. Everyone else had long given up on me, frustrated that I would not leave a man they all knew was bad news. She had come to see me, uninvited, and when I wouldn't open the door she used the spare key I had given her long ago. I was crouched in the corner of my kitchen, my lips bleeding, my left eye swollen shut, and holding on to the pieces of my shattered spirit by a tiny thread. Still, I wouldn't tell her. But she knew. She begged me to go to the Police with her, offered me her place to stay so I could be away from him and expressed concern for my safety. But I turned on her. He had told me never to listen to her. She was single, lonely and obviously jealous that someone loved me. So I stuck a knife in the only person who still cared enough for me, I stuck it where it would hurt the most, and I twisted it until she hated me too. And then I was alone.


Now someone else knew. 
I tried to think who it could be. 
The beautiful couple with the cute baby in 3D.
Ms Mae, the sweet old lady down in 1D.
Tara in 2C who used to invite me to drinks with her friends.
Or David, the cute, concerned medical student in 2E.
Any of them could have heard us through the thin walls.
Really, it could be anyone else...


I thought about what they were trying to tell me: I was a victim, and in grave danger.
The first time he hit me, I was so surprised I walked in a daze for days.
I wouldn't speak to him, I swore it was over.
All the books and magazines and TV shows warn that you should leave him at the first hint of violence.
But they don't tell you how you will feel when he shows up at your door with flowers and repentant tears in his eyes... I forgave him instantly. After all, it was only a slap and I had brought it on myself by being too inquisitive about his problems at work.
But then it happened again. 
He had made me jealous by flirting with the sexy bartender all night at my office party and I was not in the mood for lovemaking. He hit me again, over and over, and then he forced himself on me. 


That was four months ago, when he still had his nice job at the bank, before he was fired for suspected fraud. (But it wasn't his fault. He told me everything and I understood and believed him. I became the most important person in his life and he promised that his temper would always be under control.)
Now he hits me all the time. It was hard to tell anyone at the beginning, to admit that I had chosen the wrong man in spite of all their concerns. Now, I can't tell them until I have fixed this problem, somehow.


I am not that girl, you know. The dumb one with low self esteem and all sorts of issues from a bad childhood. I come from a wonderful, stable, loving family. I know I am beautiful, smart, capable of being with any man that I choose. I know that he has no right to treat me like he does. But somehow I am still here, with him, and someone else is concerned for my life... 


I am so tired now. I wish I had the strength to do the right thing for myself, but I am just so tired.
*******************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************

A few weeks ago I witnessed physical abuse for the first time, between someone really close to me and her boyfriend. She has refused to admit that there is a problem and for now there is little we can do unless we actually see it happen again. But I cannot stop thinking about it... -Dami

Good Little Girl...1

My screams pierced the still air and startled the cleaning lady two floors beneath us....

I could not breathe
I welcomed my Sweet Death
But just as quickly as it came it was over,
and I was alive again.

The room itself was alive with the sounds of heavy breathing and the scent of our almost violent struggle. As I wiggled from underneath his crushing weight, I thought to myself that everyone who had called him an animal was not mistaken, but it was not because he was a ruthless businessman. He grunted in protest and tried out to hold on to me as I slithered away on the crumpled satin sheets out of his reach. Still, I could not hide my satisfied smile as I recalled the things he had done all night with his hands, his mouth, his lithe athletic body. Delicious things; some magical, some savage. He was gentle and rough and soulful and wicked.

Like Father,

Like Son.

Yes, definitely just like his son.

After my breathing returned to normal, I got up from the massive bed and as I pranced around the room proudly, I could feel him watching me from under carefully hooded eyes as I flaunted my lush, naked body. My body is another weapon in my carefully crafted arsenal, and even now that I have my prey I can't help myself. I picked up my skirt from where someone - I don't remember who - had tossed it on the floor and idly dropped it somewhere else. I found my ripped stockings and carefully hid them in the trash, it is not yet time for him to get caught. I liked to set the timing for these things. Timing was the difference between hurt, and crushing pain. Everything I did was slow, deliberate; prolonging the silence as I waited for him to break that silence that always descended when we came back to earth...

And I remembered...

I have always hated silence.
When HE started coming to me, I would pray to die
as the silence closed in on me while I laid there
afraid to move, even afraid to breathe.
HE told me that first day that if I made a sound he would kill me.
When I thought of death, I thought of my mother
and I knew I never wanted to die.
So I lay there unmoving until HE thundered up the stairs demanding his breakfast.
But his son, he was not usually silent.
His son liked to talk, mostly about high school, upcoming football games
College scholarships, tailgate parties 
sometimes his son would ask me questions 
"are you hurt? did you like it? are you crying?"
His son would sometimes apologize. 
But just like his father it always ended in silence 
as he awkwardly dressed himself and left me to my helpless tears. 
I was only a little girl...

I was so far away in my memories that I jumped when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I don't remember walking to the large windows of the penthouse suite that overlooked the rainy city and I certainly did not hear him calling my name. Meena. Princess. But as soon as I turned around the shadows were gone from my face and I was a playful seductress again, teasing him and playing the part of the helpless victim of his seasoned charm. I smiled inwardly as I allowed myself to be coaxed back to his bed. Eight minutes later, the guests next door called the concierge for the sixth time and requested to be moved to another room, on another floor.

"Good little girl"

I woke up again at noon.
Finally it was time to leave.
I never stay past daybreak, but I have been breaking many of my own rules lately. I enjoyed being here. This man did not scare me, he worshipped me, almost like a dying man rescued at sea by a mysterious siren. Inexplicably, I was drawn to him too. Some times, I allowed myself to imagine what it would be like to be with this wonderful, powerful man instead of his insecure spineless son. But I always crushed those wayward thoughts,
before I was punished for being disobedient.

My thoughts always made me feel guilty and suddenly I could not wait to be away from him. I dressed up hurriedly and made arrangements to return home before he roused from sleep. I said my goodbyes quickly, promised to do meet him at the next rendezvous and rushed downstairs to meet the car that was to take to the airport. I barely made it on time, and as the plane taxied off the runway to take me back home, I congratulated myself on our third successful getaway.

"Good little girl"

Those who have known me say I am the devil's own, and maybe they are not wrong.

Beautiful, mysterious, orphaned. And very sick.
There was only one rule I never broke:
Like Father, Like Son.
Just the way I was raised...

to be continued