Write me a Letter

doubt, maybe some kids breaking things, plus those valet parkers—”
    ”—Plus the band,” said Mr. Lubinski. ”All five pieces.”
    ”Plus all five pieces,” I said, ”of zonked-out accordion players, so why take a chance? Better get temporary coverage for everything and everyone including God knows how many Rolls-Royces and Mercedes-Benzes, let alone guests who choke on a bone in one of those cold fishballs I saw piled up on the goodies tables. Frankly, I was hoping for chicken a la king, its got more class.”
    ”Oh, oh,” said Mr. Lubinski then. ”Action stations.” He gestured with a thumb over the parapet where a white Cadillac was pulling up in front of the house. He downed the last of his champagne and left us alone with the rest of the bottle of Mumm’s.
    ”What a sweet man,” my favorite blonde said.
    ‘Yeah,” I said. ”But not as sweet as you.” She gave me a quick kiss.
    ”I wonder where the blushing bride is,” she said. ”And what she’s doing.”
    ”Ask me a tough one,” I said. ”She’s in the room directly under us where all the giggling is coming from and what she is doing is telling dirty jokes with the bridesmaids.” I poured us out the last of the bubbles.
    There was a pause, then she said idly, ”You ever think of getting married, Victor?”
    ”Sure,” I said promptly.
    ”You do?” She seemed surprised.
    ”All the time. I just can’t decide who to get married to.”
    ”Ha-ha,” she said.
    ”OK,” I said. ”I have, from time to time, thought about walking down the aisle with you, Evonne Louise Shirley.”
    ”And?”
    ”That’s all,” I said. ”I have, from time to time, thought about marrying you.” She turned away. There was just enough breeze to disturb the tendrils at the back of her neck. I disturbed them a little more with my free hand, took a big drink, then a bigger breath, cleared my throat, then asked her ever so casually, ”What about you, do you want to get married? To me, naturally.”
    ”Naturally.” She turned and gazed at me for a long moment with those blue, blue eyes of hers. Finally she sighed and said, ”Almost.”
    I said, ”I know exactly what you mean, honey,” although I wasn’t at all sure I did. She put her head against my shoulder and hugged me. I hugged her right back. After a moment or two she disentangled herself, then shook out her coiffure.
    ”Come on, babe,” she said. ”Time to mingle.”
    ”Right here?”
    ”Down there.” She pointed to the patio where fifteen or twenty guests were already mingling pretty well without us. As we watched, the bride, Rachael, and her six bridesmaids made their entrance from the room below us while at the same time from the room facing theirs the groom and his six ushers or whatever you call them made their appearance. The bride wore white, her attendants identical pretty, long white summer coats over their dresses. The groom wore black, while his team sported white tuxedo jackets worn with navy blue trousers, and with a red carnation in each lapel. I forgot to mention the bridesmaids all had red carnations pinned in their tresses.
    Down we went.
    Mingle we did. While we were so doing I borrowed a couple of red carnations from one of the vases for me and Evonne.
    During the next couple of hours we ate, drank, mingled, even danced, when the band finally struck up after the speeches, wandered, and met people. We met Yoav, the groom, whose suit was too big for him and who looked like he’d been dragged to the reception by his hair; Rachael, the bride, who looked like she’d been crying and drinking; Rebecca Lubinski, the bride’s mother, who said her feet were killing her; assorted guests; the perspiring head of the catering team; and during one of their breaks, three members of the band, two out back who were sharing a companionable reefer and one up on the sun roof. I even met the elderly rabbi, and Mrs. Rabbi,
    ”Try the potato salad,” he said. ”It’s delicious.”
    ”Is it kosher?” I said.
    ”If it isn’t, don’t tell me,” he said.
    I did try it; it was delicious, it had capers in it. I also essayed the chopped liver, the pastrami, the lox, the cole slaw, and the cold tongue. The horseradish was red, also red hot. I gave the fish balls a miss. I kept my eyes as well as my mouth open.
    At one stage I strolled down to visit Frank, taking with me, in a glass in one pocket, a hefty slug of bourbon, which Annie had told me would be much appreciated. I noticed