Halloween Is For Lovers, page 9
She clapped a smile back on. "Then there's the brunch, and all the presents, and then the opulent Bermuda honeymoon at Tucker’s Point, where I finally get pregnant with ..." She stopped herself. "I mean, when you get pregnant with your first of many babies. Doctor husband, big house, babies, babies, babies! It's all coming together for you." She hugged Lily, pressing her cheek to hers and smiling nervously, worried that the facade of happiness would crack and reveal the jealous monster inside.
Traveling Dead Man
Hugh yanked at the rusted metal door of the newspaper box and pulled out a copy of the Home News, the only newspaper in the whole wide world that cared about Cedargrove and the surrounding suburbs.
He quickly thumbed through it. A new director named to the Cedargrove Community Theater, an art walk to benefit an eye clinic in Nicaragua, somebody’s kid got into a good university on a golf scholarship. Quickly past the obits and birth announcements, the school lunch menus, the community calendar. The Cedargrove Rod and Gun Club was planning a Parents of Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender Children turkey shoot. Finally to the engagement announcements, and there it was, full page with a color picture. Hugh slumped as he saw Lily, almost smiling, wrapped in the arms of another man. He quickly skimmed the announcement, filling in between the lines with his skewed imagination.
Lily Gardner and Dr. Steven Moore, M.D., will marry this Sunday at Cedargrove Chapel. Rev. John "Lucky" Fanciollo, an interfaith minister, will perform a nondenominational twining of the souls.
Ms. Gardner, 29, was a hairstylist but she's been taking time off in recent years to figure stuff out and will probably stay at home to raise children and then do something like go back to school for therapeutic horse massage. She graduated from a state university with mid-level distinction and thought about getting a master’s when she couldn't find a job.
She is the daughter of Patricia J. Gardner of Highpoint and the late Nicholas Porth of Oregon. The bride's father dabbled in selling vinyl siding and replacement windows. Her mother is still very attractive, does a lot of Pilates and has a strong chin.
Dr. Moore, M.D., 33, is the head of expensive surgery at a prestigious private hospital where you can valet-park your car. He graduated magna cum laude from Harvard, received his doctorate from Stanford and went on to receive an MBA from a super-expensive private school in France where you get to drink real Champagne during lectures. He is the son of George L. Moore and Carole L. Moore. They have a vacation home in Vero Beach, Florida. It's nice, right on the beach, with a screened-in tennis court and all Viking appliances in both the indoor and outdoor kitchens. The bridegroom's mother retired as the wealthy lady who had absolutely no reason to be unhappy but was generally unhappy. His father is the founder, chairman of the board, president and CEO of a global baby furniture manufacturer and retailer that bears his name, Moore Baby Beds.
The couple met while volunteering for some house-building for the poor organization that needed their money more than their half-assed attempt at carpentry.
The rehearsal dinner will be at Frederick, the bridegroom's homestead.
"Where's Frederick?" Hugh tore the announcement out of the paper and stuffed it in his pocket.
“Who’s Frederick?" Morton bobbed and weaved in and out of a dream state, looking around him. "We have a guy named Frederick hanging out with us? My name's Morton." He offered his hand to Hugh for a shake.
Hugh rebuffed him, hands at his side. "No offense, but this is the most important night of my ..." He had a sudden realization that the evening was flying by and he was running out of time. "Thanks for your help, but I've got something very important I need to do, and I don't have much time."
Morton, dejected, sheathed his hand in his pants pocket. "I get it. You're getting tired of dragging around an old drunk on Halloween. It's just that ... I don't know, I feel like I'm supposed to be helping you. I know it's crazy."
"Yeah, well, you're not helping, you're slowing me down."
"I'm sorry, it's ..., I'll ... I don't know, sorry." Morton, who was already depressed, deflated even more.
"Listen, it's just ... If it was any other Halloween night, but this one, this is my one night, my only chance."
"Yeah, I get it." Morton turned and shuffled away but remembered something and turned back. "Take a right on Fuller, and then just follow that up to the top of the hill. Frederick, it's the biggest place in town, god-awful thing. It's like the south of France done by Disney in Vegas, can't miss it. Fifteen, twenty-minute walk, tops." He nodded with a half smile and shuffled away.
Hugh took in a deep breath, and as the smell of life filled him, he had a change of heart. Something about the Land of the Living was feeding his generous spirit. "Hey, listen, if you can walk a little faster and maybe sober up ... I could use some help."
Morton turned with a smile. "Sure thing." He took the schnapps bottle from his pocket and tossed it in the bushes. "Guess I'll be running alongside the wagon for a bit."
Hugh held out his hand. "By the way, I'm Hugh."
"I'm Mort—" Morton grabbed his hand and froze. "You're cold, you're ice cold."
Hugh yanked his hand back. "Listen, I ... It's a long story, but I really need to get up to that house."
Morton nodded and showed Hugh the way. Stumbling a few steps behind, he looked up at the Halloween moon and listened to the wind shimmer through the dry leaves. He lost track of all the nights he'd spent drunk and alone. This night was different and he wasn't sure if he should be thankful or scared.
They walked past a nicely remodeled farmhouse and a shadow called out to them from the backyard. "Pssst. Dude, ghost bro?"
Hugh stopped and squinted, straining to make out the dark figure that was trying to pull open the house’s cellar door.
"Can you give me a hand?" Fernback hadn't changed his clothes for his big night of haunting. His socks were now soaking wet, the flip-flops offering little protection from the autumn damp.
Hugh excused himself to Morton. "Just give me a sec."
Fernback tugged at the door handle. "I want to get down into the basement and start making noise so the bastard who got my liver will come down and blammo! Gonna scare the crap out of him."
Hugh helped him heave the door open. "Good luck."
Fernback gave him the thumbs-up and then disappeared down the dark cellar stairs.
What's Steve Hiding?
Dr. Steve Moore was an asshole.
It's not that he was unpleasant or mean. Actually, he was rather nice to be around. He was generous with his money and had good taste in wine. The problem with Dr. Steve Moore was that he was so wonderful he made everyone around him appear to be brain-damaged tubs of goo. The golden light shone on Dr. Steve Moore, and others only existed in the heavenly glow that reflected off him.
The term "Conventional Champion" comes to mind, but even that doesn't do him justice. A celebrated doctor, he was six feet tall and solid, with a full head of windblown sandy blond locks. A wealthy businessman, he held several patents for medical devices that he dreamt up and jotted down on the back of cocktail napkins while attending various charity balls. He was heir to a baby furniture empire and the world record holder for barefoot waterskiing. Both speed and distance.
But every so often, just a notion of something amiss deep inside him showed in a nervous dart of his endlessly azure eyes.
He exited a small door under the stairs that led to the basement. He took special care to double-check that each of the three deadbolts was locked. Tugging at the doorknob, he reassured himself that the door, and what it led to, was secure.
Lily popped into the hallway and Steve spun in his black, size-twelve Dansko clogs. "Lily? You scared me. What are you doing down here? Shouldn't you be getting ready?
"I am ready." She looked behind him at the small door. Stepping in front of it, he yelled with his body language, don't go down there!
"Isn't it bad luck for us to see each other before the wedding?" He smiled.
"We're going to see each other at the rehearsal dinner in like forty-five minutes. What's down there?" She reached for the door and he moved to block her.
"Nothing," he popped, with a shaky smile.
"Nothing? Then why are you always going down there?"
"Well, you got me, my little flower." He put his arm around her and dragged her away from the door. "It's nothing you need to worry about."
"Well, I am worried about it. We're getting married in twelve hours and I don't think we should have any secrets."
"No secrets? No secrets?!? A marriage without secrets is like ... I don't know, it's like a jelly doughnut with no jelly inside, or there's jelly inside but it's clearly marked on the wrapper what flavor of jelly it is. Where's the suspense? Where's the magic? Where's that sudden burst of excitement when you bite into it and there's all this cherry stuff dripping down your chin." Steve struggled with analogies and he often confused sexual innuendos with double entendres; it was his only area of deficiency. "Lil, secrets are the building blocks of the relationship and they form the foundation of a healthy marriage. Secrets and things filled with mystery fruit jelly, if you know what I'm talking about." He winked and nodded. "Maybe I should save the latter for the honeymoon."
Lily stood her ground, arms folded. "Secrets destroy marriages."
"You are one hundred percent wrong on that, Lil. Think about it this way: down the road after we have settled down, won't it be nice to think that I still have a mysterious side that you don't know about?"
"Actually, no, you having a mysterious side kind of scares me."
"Irregardless of how you feel about it now—"
She interrupted him. "It's regardless. Irregardless is not a word."
He ignored her. "Think of it this way: a few years down the road, we're comfortable, I have my practice, my companies, my charities, my world records. You'll have the kids and your routines and, you know, maybe some hobbies. But maybe, all of a sudden, we're getting a little bored. I don't know, maybe things get a little humdrum. You know... How was your day, hon? Pasta in front of the TV again? Didn't you wear that sweater yesterday?" He turned her around and held both her shoulders, gently shaking her. "Won't it be nice to have a secret, or let's call it a surprise. A crazy surprise that could burst out at any moment."
"Burst?" She turned away from him. "The idea of you having a secret surprise that bursts out unexpectedly makes me very uncomfortable."
Steve put a hand on her shoulder, the other to his lips, and he bowed his head to think. "Let me put it another way. You like birthdays. What do you like about birthdays?"
"Parties, cake, presents ..."
"Exactly. Surprise! Secret surprise. What's in the nicely wrapped box? It's a secret but you'll be surprised when it bursts open."
"Bursts open?" Lily cocked her head, confused.
Steve slowly pushed her to the foot of the grand staircase leading to Frederick's east wing. "Surprise party! Hooray, all your friends are here. Surprise! See what I'm getting at, Lil? Secrets are the seeds of wonderful surprises that grow into acres of bumper marriage crops." He seductively raised an eyebrow. "Then we can harvest, and harvest and harvest ..." He bit his lower lip, nodding, and he pretended to drive a tractor.
She interrupted. "There's kind of a difference between secrets and surprises. Surprises are generally good, secrets are typically more ... devious."
Steve wagged his finger. "Irregardless, my blossom, we're debating sematistics.“
“What?”
“Semaphoristics, we’re debating trivial… semaphores.”
“What does this have to do with signal flags?”
Steve ignored her question, “I mean, why is a haunted house fun? Because of the secrets inside ..." He pushed her up a few stairs and turned to leave. "I've got to rehearse my dinner speech."
She shook her head as she slowly climbed the stairs and mumbled under her breath, "Haunted house?"
He quickly turned back to her. "Lil, just so we're clear. Never go into my secret room in the basement."
She stood on the stairs, numb.
He clapped his hands and rubbed them together. "I am so psyched to get married." He turned and bopped down the hall but quickly came skidding back to the foot of the stairs. "Another thing, Lil, you know that pole barn way out on the back forty? The one with no windows and the razor wire fence around it? Sort of looks like it has a retractable roof?"
"Retractable roof, like it opens?" Her face pinched in confusion.
"Don't try and go in there, either." He clapped his hands together and let out a little cheer. "Hooray! So many surprise secrets! Best marriage ever!" He bopped and jived back down the hall.
Gilda swept down the stairs and scooped Lily up. "Where have you been? We have to get ready for dinner."
Lily shook her head slowly, still in a haze of confusion. "I thought ... I thought I was ready." She stared down the hall at Steve as he walked away. "Now ... I'm not so sure."
Dead Guy at the Door
The wall protecting Frederick was impressive: nine feet of laid-up fieldstone topped with wrought iron spikes. Every twenty feet along the top, a lantern with a hand-blown mantle caged in tarnished brass gave off a warm glow. A person had to climb up onto the wall to notice that each of the hundred or more lanterns had a bronze badge with a running fox affixed to the base with an embossed F, for Frederick, above it.
Hugh got close enough to see every whisker of the fox on the lantern as Morton hoisted him up onto the wall with a grunt. "Can you make it?"
It was a testament to their lack of breaking-and-entering skills that they decided to breach the wall in a spot where it was most illuminated. Hugh wasn't thinking about getting caught, he was thinking the wall would be easier to climb if he could see what he was doing.
He grabbed hold of the iron spikes and tried to lift himself up, but it was no use. His biceps had atrophied in the Kingdom. At least that's what he told himself. He had never been much of an athlete. The last time he had done a pull-up was in seventh grade.
He held on and looked over the wall at the house. A single room in Frederick's east wing glowed with a golden light. For Hugh there was no doubt Lily was inside. He doubled his effort. "Can you push me any higher?"
Morton growled and lifted him as high as he could and Hugh swung a leg up onto the ledge. He wedged the toe of his wedding shoe between two iron spikes and strained to drag the rest of his body up over the wall. He could feel her on the other side. If he could just get over this wall, his dream would come true. Just one jagged spiked barrier left between love and life and ...
"Ahhh!" Hugh let go and fell on top of Morton.
"It's no use, it's too high."
Morton was lying in the dirt, moaning, "Awww."
"Are you okay?"
"No." Morton got to his knees and brushed the leaves out of his hair. "I'm sober and it hurts."
"What hurts? Did you break something?"
"No, that little tumble was nothing. Sober hurts. It's been a while." He rubbed his face with his hands.
"There's got to be another way to get in there. We should try the gate." Hugh looked down the wall, where a catering truck was waiting for Frederick's gate to open. "We'll hide in the bushes and after a car goes through we'll run in behind it before the gate closes."
Morton got to his feet. "It's worth a shot."
In Frederick's east-wing master suite, Lily sat at the dressing table, staring at herself in the mirror. Gilda stood behind her and gently brushed her hair. "Let's try and go through this again. The best man does what for a living?"
Lily sighed. "I'm not sure, some kind of venture capital medical law thing. But he has a fiancée."
"So? Until the marriage license is signed he's fair game. Maybe he'll have second thoughts, get cold feet. Then I'll swoop in like a buzzard with a pair of wool socks. All sorts of craziness can happen between now and the wedding day. I don't have to tell you that."
Gilda's sharp words sliced between Lily's ribs and she deflated. The little bit of fake happiness she was able to generate on her wedding eve spilled out.
"Oh, Lil, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it. But gosh, that whole thing with that last guy—"
"His name was Hugh."
"What if you got stuck with him? I mean, talk about lucky."
Gilda's knife twisted and Lily slumped against the dressing table.
"Now come on, Lil, you have to admit that Steve is a once-in-a-lifetime whopper of a catch." Gilda looked off in the distance with dreamy eyes and pictured Steve. "He's like a powerful trophy buck and when you go to gut him his insides are full of cash." Sometimes Gilda let her guard down and little hints about her lower-middle-class upbringing in a family of sportsmen slipped out. "I mean, talk about a silver lining to that whole dumped-at-the-altar fiasco. No offense, but Steve is about a billion times better than, what was his name again?"
"But I loved him." Lily started to tear up.
"I know, I know, honey. Don't start crying on me, you'll ruin your makeup. I'm just saying, things couldn't have turned out better for you. And it's sad that he dumped you in front of everyone and then died, but hey, life goes on. Life is for the living. You deserve to be happy."
"I'm not happy." Lily's head collapsed on the dressing table and she started to sob. "I think I'm making a big mistake."
Gilda rubbed her shoulders and took on the persona of a junior high football coach. "Come on now, Lil, don't cry. Chin up, there, kiddo. I mean, look at the doc you’re marrying, look at this house, look at all those luxury cars, look at that boat he has, I mean, scratch boat, that is one hell of a classy yacht. Most people don't have houses decorated as tastefully as that yacht. This is it, this is your big break. Every girl’s dream, you know, your chance to be kept in a means that are noticeably better than that of any of your friends or sorority sisters. Isn't that enough to make you happy?"
