 arms but the skirt is huge, floor-length with a train and twenty
yards of fabric. I could hide ten midgets under it. I feel like a parade float, but
Mama is making much of me; she's fussing and taking pictures and trying to get
me to put on more makeup. Alicia and Charisse and Helen and Ruth are all
fluttering around in their matching sage green velvet bridesmaids' outfits. Since
Charisse and Ruth are both short and Alicia and Helen are both tall they look like
some oddly assorted Girl Scouts but we've all agreed to be cool about it when
Mama's around. They are comparing the dye jobs on their shoes and arguing
about who should get to catch the bouquet. Helen says, "Charisse, you're already
engaged, you shouldn't even be trying to catch it," and Charisse shrugs and says,
"Insurance. With Gomez you never know."
(1:48 p.m.)
Henry: I'm sitting on a radiator in a musty room full of boxes of prayer books.
Gomez is pacing back and forth, smoking. He looks terrific in his tux. I feel like
I'm impersonating a game show host. Gomez paces and flicks his ashes into a
teacup. He's making me even more nervous than I already am.
"You've got the ring?" I ask for the gazillionth time.
"Yeah. I've got the ring."
He stops pacing for a moment and looks at me. "Want a drink?"
"Yeah." Gomez produces a flask and hands it to me. I uncap it and take a
swallow. It's very smooth Scotch. I take another mouthful and hand it back. I can
hear people laughing and talking out in the vestibule. I'm sweating, and my head
aches. The room is very warm. I stand up and open the window, hang my head
out, breathe. It's still raining.
There's a noise in the shrubbery. I open the window farther and look down.
There I am, sitting in the dirt, under the window, soaking wet, panting. He grins
at me and gives me the thumbs up.
(1:55 p.m.)
Clare: We're all standing in the vestibule of the church. Daddy says, "Let's get
this show on the road," and knocks on the door of the room Henry is dressing in.
Gomez sticks his head out and says, "Give us a minute." He throws me a look
that makes my stomach clench and pulls his head in and shuts the door. I am
walking toward the door when Gomez opens it again, and Henry appears, doing
up his cuff links. He's wet, dirty, and unshaven. He looks about forty. But he's
here, and he gives me a triumphant smile as he walks through the doors of the
church and down the aisle.
Sunday, June 13, 1976 (Henry is 30)
Henry: I am lying on the floor in my old bedroom. I'm alone, and it's a perfect
summer night in an unknown year. I lie there swearing and feeling like an idiot
for a while. Then I get up and go into the kitchen and help myself to several of
Dad's beers.
Saturday, October 23, 1993 (Henry is 38, and 30, Clare is 22)
(2:37p.m.)
Clare: We are standing at the altar. Henry turns to me and says, "I, Henry, take
you, Clare, to be my wife. I promise to be true to you in good times and in bad,
in sickness and in health. I will love you and honor you all the days of my life." I
think: remember this. I repeat the promise to him. Father Compton smiles at us and
says,".. .What God has joined, men must not divide." I think: that's not really the
problem. Henry slides the thin silver ring over my finger into place above the
engagement ring. I place his plain gold band on his finger, the only time he will
ever wear it. The Mass proceeds, and I think this is all that matters: he's here, I'm
here, it doesn't matter how, as long as he's with me. Father Compton blesses us, and
says, "The Mass is ended, go in peace." We walk down the aisle, arm in arm,
together.
(6:26p.m.)
Henry: The reception is just getting underway. The caterers are rushing back and
forth with steel carts and covered trays. People are arriving and checking their
coats. The rain has finally stopped. The South Haven Yacht Club is on North
Beach, a 1920s building done up in paneling and leather, red carpet, and
paintings of ships. It's dark out now, but the lighthouse
is blinking away out on the pier. I'm standing at a window, drinking
Glenlivet, waiting for Clare, who has been whisked away by her mother for some
reason I'm not privy to. I see Gomez and Ben's reflections, heading toward me,
and I turn.
Ben looks worried. "How are you?"
"I'm okay. Can you guys do me a favor?" They nod. "Gomez, go back to the
church. I'm there, waiting in the vestibule. Pick me up, and bring me here.
Smuggle me into the downstairs men's John and leave me there. Ben, keep an eye
on me," (I point at my chest) "and when I tell you to, grab my tux and bring it to
me in the men's room. Okay?"
Gomez asks, "How much time do we have?"
"Not much."
He nods, and walks away. Charisse approaches, and Gomez kisses her on the
forehead and continues on. I turn to Ben, who looks tired. "How are you?" I ask
him.
Ben sighs. "Kind of fatigued. Um, Henry?"
"Hmm?"
"When are you coming from?"
"2002."
"Can you.. .Look, I know you don't like this, but..."
"What? It's okay, Ben. Whatever you want. It's a special occasion."
"Tell me: am I still alive?" Ben isn't looking at me; he stares at the band,
tuning up in the ballroom.
"Yes. You're doing fine. I just saw you a few days ago; we played pool."
Ben lets his breath out in a rush. "Thank you."
"No problem." Tears are welling up in Ben's eyes. I offer him my
handkerchief, and he takes it, but then hands it back unused and goes off in
search of the men's room.
(7:04 p.m.)
Clare: Everyone is sitting down to dinner and no one can find Henry. I ask
Gomez if he's seen him, and Gomez just gives me one of his Gomez looks and
says that he's sure Henry will be here any minute. Kimy comes up to us, looking
very fragile and worried in her rose silk dress. "Where is Henry?" she asks me.
"I don't know, Kimy."
She pulls me toward her and whispers in my ear, "I saw his young friend Ben
carrying a pile of clothing out of the Lounge." Oh, no. If Henry has snapped back
to his present it will be hard to explain. Maybe I could say that there was an
emergency? Some kind of library emergency that required Henry's immediate
attention. But all his co-workers are here. Maybe I could say Henry has amnesia,
has wandered away....
"There he is," Kimy says. She squeezes my hand. Henry is standing in the
doorway scanning the crowd, and sees us. He comes running over.
I kiss him. "Howdy, stranger." He is back in the present, my younger Henry,
the one who belongs here. Henry takes my arm, and Kimy's arm, and leads us in
to dinner. Kimy chuckles, and says something to Henry that I don't catch.
"What'd she say?" I ask as we sit down. "She asked me if we were planning a
ménage a trois for the wedding night." I turn lobster red. Kimy winks at me.
(7:16 p.m.)
Henry: I'm hanging out in the club Library, eating canapés and reading a
sumptuously bound and probably never opened first edition of Heart of Darkness.
Out of the corner of my eye I see the manager of the club speeding toward me. I
close the book and replace it on the shelf.
"I'm sorry, sir, I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to leave." No shirt, no shoes, no
service.
"Okay." I stand up, and as the manager turns his back blood rushes to my
head and I vanish. I come to on our kitchen floor on March 2, 2002, laughing. I've
always wanted to do that.
(7:21 p.m.)
Clare: Gomez is making a speech: "Dear Clare, and Henry, family and friends,
members of the jury... wait, scratch that. Dearly beloved, we have gathered here
this evening on the shores of the Land of Singledom to wave our handkerchiefs at
Clare and Henry as they embark together on their voyage on the Good Ship
Matrimony. And while we are sad to watch them bid farewell to the joys of single
life, we are confident that the much-ballyhooed state of Wedded Bliss will be a
more than adequate new address. Some of us may even join them there shortly
unless we can think of a way to avoid it. And so, let us have a toast: to Clare
Abshire DeTamble, a beautiful artbabe who deserves every happiness that may
befall her in her new world. And to Henry DeTamble, a damn fine fellow and a
lucky son of a bitch: may the Sea of Life stretch before you like glass, and may
you always have the wind at your backs. To the happy couple!" Gomez leans
over and kisses me on the mouth, and I catch his eyes for a moment, and then the
moment is gone.
(8:48 p.m.)
Henry: We have cut and eaten the wedding cake. Clare has thrown her bouquet
(Charisse caught it) and I have thrown Clare's garter (Ben, of all people, caught
that). The band is playing Take the A Train, and people are dancing. I have danced
with Clare, and Kimy, Alicia, and Charisse; now I am dancing with Helen, who is
pretty hot stuff, and Clare is dancing with Gomez. As I casually twirl Helen I see
Celia Attley cut in on Gomez, who in turn cuts in on me. As he whirls Helen
away I join the crowd by the bar and watch Clare dancing with Celia. Ben joins
me. He's drinking seltzer. I order vodka and tonic. Ben is wearing Clare's garter
around his arm like he's in mourning.
"Who's that?" he asks me.
"Celia Attley. Ingrid's girlfriend."
"That's weird."
"Yep."
"What's with that guy Gomez?"
"What do you mean?"
Ben stares at me and then turns his head. "Never mind."
(10:23 p.m.)
Clare: It's over. We have kissed and hugged our way out of the club, have driven
off in our shaving-cream-and-tin-can-covered car. I pull up in front of the Dew
Drop Inn, a tiny, tacky motel on Silver Lake. Henry is asleep. I get out, check in,
get the desk guy to help me walk Henry into our room and dump him on the
bed. The guy brings in the luggage, eyeballs my wedding dress and Henry's inert
state, and smirks at me. I tip him. He leaves. I remove Henry's shoes, loosen his
tie. I take off my dress and lay it over the armchair.
I'm standing in the bathroom, shivering in my slip and brushing my teeth. In
the mirror I can see Henry lying on the bed. He's