157 - I'm Yours

“Tinkerhell,” David greeted as she stepped out of the limo and slung a duffel bag over her shoulder.  “How are you?  You look demonically beautiful, as always.”

Petey smiled and lifted her cheek to receive his kiss. “Hi, David.  Thanks.”  Taking in his long, black coat and dark slacks, she said, “You look quite dapper, yourself.”

“Hello, Goldilocks,” Gavin drawled, materializing from the depths of the vehicle with her dress  bag and a hatbox.

“Hey, Gavin.” 

That was pretty amusing.  David wasn’t giving it back to Gavin like he did everyone else.  He must be unsure as to how far he could push her Fairy Gaymother.

“Ready for your big day, Tink?” 

She readily turned over her duffel when he offered to take it, and tucked chilled hands in the over-sized pocket of her hoodie.  January in Jersey was cold.   Here, on the edge of the Navesink River, it was quite reminiscent of Pittsburgh and the cool, damp air that would blow off of the Allegheny and Monongahela Rivers.  Nostalgia aside, it might be nice to spend January in a warm climate for a change, someday. 

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

Aside from the neurotic fit she’d permitted to consume her the entire way?  After she’d quoted the third literary work highlighting a tragic romance, Gavin had threatened to gag her.  He swore he would have, but he’d be damned if would ruin his cosmetic skillfulness by smudging her lip gloss with a sock.

“I don’t know.  That whole ball and chain thing I guess.  It freaks some people out.”

“Oh, not our precious Peteykins.  She’s got the chains and a brass set of balls to go with them, isn’t that right Ms. Bronte?”

Thick eyebrows knit together and David’s eyes darted back and forth between her and Gavin, trying to find the right dose of sarcasm for the moment.  There must not have been a right dose.

“Um, ok.”  He zeroed in on Petey, Gavin clearly putting him out of his element.  “ Tink?  I’ve been meaning to ask.  Did you and Jon write your own vows, or should I stick with the traditional ones?  I have a few words of my own…”

The toe of Petey’s sparkly pink tennis shoe bumped against the first step of the stoop and she didn’t move any further.    She hadn’t thought about vows.  At all. 

You’re an idiot.  The ceremony that seals the rest of your life to another person and you haven’t given the first thought to what you’re going to promise him?

What was significant, yet appropriate to set the foundation for a marriage like theirs?

An excerpt from One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest?

What vows could possibly outline the depths of her insecurity at this moment?  What if she sucked as a wife?  Was he going to decide to hook up with a mistress in every city?  Someone who understood him better than she did?  And how could she be expected to know him?  They’d only met weeks ago.  Did he feel an obligation because of her haywire life and occasional psychological instability?  What was it going to be like when sex wasn’t the focal point of their relationship?  Would they have anything to talk about?

“I'm not asking you to forgive me. I'll never understand or forgive myself. And if a bullet gets me, so help me, I'll laugh at myself for being an idiot.”

Gavin threw his head back and blew a visible breath straight up into the cold air.  “Christ.  Here we go again….  Where the hell is that man of hers?  Somebody get him.  Now!”

David darted that same befuddled look at Gavin as he had before, but he spoke to Petey.  “What are you talking about, a bullet?”

“She’s reciting some romantic literary tragedy,” Gavin spat, breezing past her to throw open Dorothea’s front door without so much as a perfunctory knock.  “Where the hell is Jon Bon Jovi?”

She heard it all going on around her, but she was helpless to do anything but let her mind drive itself on autopilot.  It was the only thing keeping her from disintegrating into a babbling puddle of nonsense on the front steps of the big house. 

“There's one thing I do know... and that is that I love you, Scarlett. In spite of you and me and the whole silly world going to pieces around us, I love you.”

“Is… Is that Gone With the Wind?”

“How many Scarletts do you know, Curly?” Gavin threw back over his shoulder before drawing up short.  He’d almost barreled his chest into Dorothea’s face. 

“Gavin what are you screaming about?”

“Her,” he huffed.  “She’s been reciting for damn-near two hours.  She’s completely freaked out about this marriage gig.  Jon has to talk to her.”

“I just sent him upstairs and told him he couldn’t see her before the wedding.”

“Patience?”  Her mother sidled through the door, her arm slipping around Petey’s shoulders.  She gently urged, “Come inside, dear.  We’ll find Henry.  You know he always soothes you.”

“Aren’t you listening to me, Mother Teresa?”  Gavin twice snapped his fingers next to her ear.  “Need JBJ.  Stat.”  He whirled on Dorothea, who still stood inside the doorway.  “And you, Snarkalicious…  I think a bridal meltdown trumps your heterosexual wedding traditions.” 

There was going to be a brawl on the stoop and Petey was helpless to referee.  The card-carrying genius that she was could only mutter, “Because we're alike. Bad lots, both of us. Selfish and shrewd. But able to look things in the eyes as we call them by their right names.”

At her mother’s persistent urging, she finally dragged her scuffed shoes up and over the two steps that stood between her and the marble foyer.  The others trooped in behind her, shutting the cold out with a slam of the massive door.  She tentatively permitted her thoughts to stray away from Margaret Mitchell’s saga and back to her own life, but not to Jon.  To her state of attire.

“Dorothea, where can Patience change into her gown?”

“One of the guest rooms upstairs.  I’ll show you the way.”

“Petey?  What’s wrong?  Are you sick?” 

Candace.  The high-pitched, slightly whiny question pushed away any remaining fog and demanded that Petey be lucid. 

I can’t let her see me like this.

She commanded her lips to curve upward and, in the process, reclaimed her customary critical thinking skills.  Easing out from under her mother’s concerned arm, she took a deep breath and called up an affable, “Hi, Candace.  I’m glad you could come.”

“Oh?  So this is Candace?” Gavin gave her a thorough once-over before presenting his hand.  “I’m the maid of honor, but you may call me Gavin.  And you may call me at my salon tomorrow to fix that botched dye-job.”

Candace dropped his hand like a hot potato and drew back.  Her appalled gasp was overshadowed by Dorothea’s outright and David’s choked laughter. 

“Delightful little ensemble you’re wearing, there girlfriend.  Especially those thigh-high boots.  Classy.”  He cocked his head and asked with curious innocence, “So I guess you’re going to work after this?  Couldn’t find anybody to cover your corner tonight?”

“Gavin!” 

Petey needn’t have worried.  Candace didn’t get the viciously pointed barb.  Her face contorted into a bewildered rumple, and she offered a breathy, “Huh?  Tony didn’t tell me anything about working tonight.    I know you’ve been out a while, but you’re not working tonight, are you Petey?  It’s your wedding night.” 

I should let Gavin devour her like the shark he is. Survival of the fittest and all that.

But she just smiled as though Candace had asked the most natural, reasonable question in the world.  “No, I’m not.  But I am going to be late for my own wedding if I don’t get dressed.  I’ll see you after the ceremony Candace.”

“Petey, you can have the yellow guest room,” Dorothea managed while smothering a grin.  “The one you stayed in at New Year’s.  Can you find it okay?”

“Sure.  Thanks, Dorothea.”   With that, she and her wedding party – her mother and Gavin – trouped up the staircase. 

Behind them, Dorothea was doling out instructions for the remaining guests in the foyer.  “David, Tico is in the living room, or Jon and Richie are in the big blue bedroom.  Take your pick.  Candace, you can come with me.  I’ll introduce you to the other guests.”

Dorothea was getting a big thank you gift.  Huge, in fact.  Maybe a car?

☠ ☢ ☠

“Dammit, Jon, don’t lecture me!  I’m not a fuckin’ kid and this is not your concern.”  Richie shrugged angrily into his jacket and glared at Jon. The pink tie with the black skulls was perfectly tied – without Jon or Tony’s assistance.  In fact, Tony, sensing the direction the wind was blowing, had bailed before they ever reached the guest room.  Something about Candace was offered up as a lame excuse.

Having more than had his fill of this whole cockamamie situation, Jon threw his hands into the air. 

“You know what?  That’s cool.  This is my wedding day – which is in the week following Hell freezing over on a calendar – and I’m not going to stress over your damn love life.  Do what you wanna do, but when it’s over, just remember that Denny and I are the ones who will be there to pick up the pieces.  We always are.”

Richie’s mouth flew open to offer a few more choice words, but Lemma’s barreling in the door cut him short. 

He copped a dramatic pose and rattled off, “Okay, I know I heard about it, but that’s the first time I’ve ever seen her do that reciting shit.  It’s  a little bit creepy.”

Jon and Richie both snapped their eyes toward Dave, but Jon found his voice first.  “Petey’s reciting?  Why?  What’s wrong?”

Blond curls shook along with his head and his eyebrows lifted high.  “You got me, man.  Gavin said she’d been doing it for the last couple of hours and was freaked out about getting married.  He was on his way to get you when D stopped him.”

Stopped him?  The one time Petey’s friend had done something Jon wholeheartedly approved of and Dottie had tried to stop him?  To hell with that.

He strode toward the door, his hand wrapped around the knob before David could grab his shoulder and drag him to a halt.  “Wait.  She’s okay now.  I mean, at least, she seemed to be.  She talked to Candace for a minute, yelled at Gavin, and then came upstairs to get dressed.”

Okay.  That was good, but…  Dammit.

This was exactly what he’d been afraid of earlier.  She was thinking too much again, and worrying about shit.    How was he going to convince her of that with Doberman Dottie running the halls? Starting a fight with his ex was not going to create blissful wedding memories.  For anybody.

Scrambling for an answer, last night popped into his head.  The way she’d been so adamantly possessive.  Could that be it? 

Please let it be that simple.

He whipped the phone out of his pocket while his two friends looked on.  Even if it didn’t address every issue going through that overachiever brain of hers, he hoped it would be enough to temporarily stave off the anxiety until he could get to her.  Until he could convince her he truly meant it.

[3:30 PM]JON: I’m yours.

 

 Next post:  Thursday, August 30