A Marvelous Monday, page 8
“Yeah she is,” Dwayne, his childhood friend called out.
A wail went through the church as the pastor performed the ceremony, rings were exchanged, and Scott and Zelda said their I-dos. The wail came from Scott’s sister Sarah, who Krista Berger, Scott’s mother, popped across the mouth with her fan.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you Mrs. and Mrs. Scottie Berger,” Pastor Goodman pronounced. “The reception will be in the C-Wing of the Berger Estate. If you ain’t invited, don’t be running up to them people’s house trying to be nosy. It ain’t neighborly.”
“Pastor, you going?” Somebody from the crowd called.
“Of course, I’m going. I was invited,” the Pastor told them. His eyes zoomed in on Lula, who looked like she was dressed to attend the second arrival of Jesus. A wide grin covered his round black face, and he stepped down and approached Lula. “I haven’t had the pleasure, Madam. I am Otis T. Goodman. Reverend Otis T. Goodman, and who might you be?”
“I am unamused at your country boy antics, you old pimp in a pulpit,” Lula said.
“Oh, you a feisty one ain’t cha?” Pastor Goodman said. “Please tell me you are moving to Kentucky with your lovely daughter.”
It worked. Lula blushed like a leathery-faced school girl. “That is my granddaughter who married the Berger boy.”
“Granddaughter! Hush your mouth,” Pastor Goodman said. “That strapping young man, is that your grandson?”
“Yes, these are my only two grandbabies,” Lula said with pride.
“Fine looking grandkids, but I gotta be honest with you,” Pastor Goodman said. “Your great-grands may not be so lucky. Especially if your grandson is gonna marry that redheaded one and you seen them Bergers. Them some strong genes Jacob Berger got.”
“Lord yes! I am going to have to pray in a dark closet tonight for my wicked thoughts,” Lula said.
“Pray twice,” Pastor Goodman said. “You might need to light a candle and hope the looks skip a generation.”
“Amen to that,” Lula said.
“Might I escort you up to the house for the reception? I hate to arrive alone,” Pastor Goodman said, adding emphasis to the alone.
“I would be honored,” Lula said, taking his arm.
“ZELDA, WHY DIDN’T YOU tell us!”
“I wanted to be your bridesmaid!”
“You look so pretty!”
“Scott, you ole dog. This was a shocker!”
The statements kept coming while Zelda and Scott posed for photos with family and friends. Music played in the background as the Bergers met the Fitzsimmons and two families morphed into one over ham and Ellison’s collard greens, which were so tender they melted on the tongue.
Scott and Zelda sneaked away after the photos to change into comfortable clothing while they danced, played games with the crowd, and shared cake. Robert and Misha were the only two children present, and they ran through the small gathering of people, nearly knocking over the table with the cakes.
Thanks to Zelda’s fast hands, she caught the boy before he ruined dessert. She noticed a greasy spot on his forehead and went to wipe it off.
“Don’t wipe it off, Auntie Zee,” Robert said. “Your Grandma put it there. She said she appointed my head with oil to rebuke Satan and his demons from taking over my body.”
“You mean anointed, Robert?”
“Yeah, that’s the word,” he said wearing the cape she had made him. “I don’t want Satan and his demons to get me, Auntie Zee, please leave the oil on my head.”
“Good grief,” Scott mumbled. “Between your grandma and Rebekah trying to mouth kiss your brother, I am ready for these people to go home, Mrs. Berger.”
“Say that again,” Zelda said.
“Mrs. Berger,” he repeated. “My wife. That dress was amazing and a perfect choice. Worth every damned penny.”
“And you were right, Scott. Today was perfect for the wedding. It is a marvelous Monday if there ever was one, and just right,” she said. “Had I needed to plan one, I would have lost my mind. This was nice and simple and everyone was here.”
“Dance. Dance. Dance,” the family started to shout, so Scott led his wife, the new Mrs. Berger onto the dance floor for their first dance as husband and wife.
He knew it wouldn’t be the last one. Not even close. As the song reached the refrain, other couples joined them on the floor—his friends Dwayne and Sheila, Ralphie and Brittany, Chris and Debra, and Mark and Pearline. Michael held Pip close, and even Pastor Goodman tripped the light fantastic with Grandma Lula.
Jacob and Krista stared into each other’s eyes, still in awe of the perfectly quaint wedding their son had pulled off with Zelda. Jo-Jo, the only single man of Scott’s friends, was happy to receive the mouth kiss from Rebekah and a dance.
To Zelda Fitsimmons Berger, it could not have been more ideal. The afternoon morphed into the evening as friends wished them well and departed the C-wing of the Berger Estate. Michael, who found his way into Scott’s garage, came running out of the yellow room when he heard what sounded like two cats fighting, only to discover his Grandmother in the back seat with Pastor Goodman, smooching like teenagers.
“Michael, where are you going?” Zelda asked.
“I was looking for your new car, then saw all of Scott’s and Grandma making out with the Pastor,” he said. “This has been a traumatic day, Zelda. And you, all married now. You could have warned us.”
“That would have ruined the surprise,” she said, touching his arm.
“You look radiant, Sis. I am truly happy for you,” he said. “I also like the watch. It’s nice.”
“Scott loves it, too,” she said, handing a box to him. “I got you one as well, to say thank you for putting up with me, taking care of me, and loving me as I am. Flawed. A pain in the ass and spoiled. You are the best brother in the world.”
“Ah girl, stop it before I get all choked up,” he said. “When I get home, I will go to the bank and disconnect the accounts.”
“Please don’t,” Zelda said. “If anything were to happen to either of us, the other could have instant access and there wouldn’t be an inheritance tax.”
“You think something is going to happen to you?” he asked looking at her with concern.
“No, but you are planning to travel for a year,” she said. “What if you get kidnapped by Mexican drug lords or Somali pirates?”
“I’m just going to show them pics of your kids and say we don’t have any money. We have to pay for the orthodontia, laser hair removal, and plastic surgery for your chilluns, Zee,” he said, laughing.
“And if I get kidnapped, I’m going to show them pics of your sandy-headed kids with slanted hazel eyes and big heads like their daddy,” she told him.
“Sandy-haired is fine versus them teeffes your kids gonna get,” Michael said, pausing to look at Zelda. “Honestly, I’m proud of you.”
“Proud of me?”
“Yes, you picked a husband based on the man, not his looks,” he said. “It takes a strong woman to see past the outside packaging and get to know the actual man. I like him a lot and consider him to be my friend. He will be a good husband and father.”
“You will be as well,” she said. “After all, you did a damned great job with me.”
“I love you and I’m going to miss you,” Michael said.
“When you get back from your year off, you will be an Uncle by then,” she told him.
“Looking forward to it, Mrs. Berger,” he said. “Still sounds funny to me.”
“You and me both, brother,” she said, hugging him tightly.
THE NIGHT WANED AND doggy bags were packed by the guests who left as the evening grew late. Krista reminded Zelda that she would need to send thank you cards to all the guest and gift givers of presents which were destined to start arriving tomorrow. However, first, she needed to sign a card for the pastor.
It took several tries as she found herself stuck in her own head, practicing her name on the white linen sheets of paper.
Zelda Marie Fitzsimmons- Berger.
Zelda M. Berger
Zelda Berger
Zelda M.F. Berger
Laughing she scribbled:
Zelda Mo-ferckin’ Berger
Scott called to her to come to bed, Diamond begged for a treat, and an exhausted Chandler bid her goodnight.
“Goodnight, Mrs. Berger,” Chandler said to Zelda.
“Goodnight, Chandler,” she said to him. Earlier in the day, she’d also been in his room, leaving a gift on the nightstand for him as well. He would be the father of her children’s playmates. His son would be Scott Jr’s first best friend. In her heart, she prayed he would be as good to their son as Chandler was to Jacob’s.
Besides, everyone needs a good friend to get them through the rough patches. The journey had been long and she was still healing but in time...hell, all she had was time. Right now, it was time for bed.
“Good night, Mr. Berger,” she said, snuggling against the warmth of his hairy body. “I love you.”
“I love you too, Mrs. Berger. The sound of that makes my heart beat faster,” he said. “These past two weeks have been amazing. My life is fucking awesome!”
“Yes, you are one to be envied,” she said, yawning.
“Damn straight, I’m Scott Ham-moferckin’ Berger!” he said, chuckling as his hand touched the soft skin on her thigh. “The happiest man on the planet.”
Epilogue
Dear Diary,
I know it has been a while since we have last spoken, but the past year has been a whirlwind on a theme park ride that has left my knees weak and my stomach queasy. In so many ways, I want to say that it has been easy, but as you well know, based on my previous wording, my life has been a journey. Here is where I tell and confess to you all the things I have learned during the process, but why waste the time stating the obvious. At times, I feel as if my life has been a study in character development by an author trying to get the emotions just right in the next best-selling novel. Other times, it sincerely feels as if this was someone’s life that I was privy to watch and report back to the paper as if it were an additional entry in a sensationalized courtroom drama. Let me tell you, the drama has been plenty.
Let’s start with the drama queen herself, Grandma Lula. Hold on to your pearls for this one. She lived with me and Scott for nearly three months. That woman nearly drove Chandler crazy with the greasy pots of food she left sitting in the kitchen for him to clean until finally, he let her have it with both barrels and banned her from the kitchen unless she was getting herself a bit of libation. For some odd reason, she respects Chandler and got out of his way.
I wish to hell she had gotten out of mine sooner. During her three-month residency on lessons in patience with old people, every week we looked at a different senior living facility. A few we even visited twice, and each time it was the same excuse, not quite right or the people were talking down to her as if she were mentally incatabulated. Scott tried to explain that using made-up words would make people think that. As it turns out, she was holding out on us. Grandma’s last month here, she married Pastor Goodman. Yeah, that still has the same effect on me as walking into a bathroom and seeing curly hairs on the bar of soap on the sink. I cringe each time I see them together, but hey, she finally gets to be the first lady at a church.
The church that Scott and I got married in is also the same church where Pip and Michael said their vows as well. Currently, the two of them are in Katmandu, and he is learning chanting techniques from a monk name Po. I must confess that for a minute there I didn’t think it was going to happen between the two of them, although she’d gotten her engagement ring before me. It was her mother, Demeter, who was the final straw in a container on the bench in sipping straw free Los Angeles.
Michael met Pip’s mother the Tuesday after our wedding. It wasn’t tantalizing, to say the least. She took exception to her daughter marrying a mutt. Yes. You read that write. Just as I wrote the words, you read it right. Since Michael was a black Pilipino, Demeter didn’t feel as if he were good enough for her daughter, whom she had lofty goals of marrying her off to a rich man who would keep her blue-eyed baby in style. Then Demeter found out that Michael was an engineer. She became nice suddenly, but when he said he planned to quit his job and backpack through Europe for a year, he was back to being a mutt.
“No daughter of mine is going to go traipsing off through that land of miscreants, washing her panties in a sink every night,” Demeter yelled.
Pip, being Pip, completely blew her mother of the well without using a bucket to draw up the liquid.
“Momma, much of our lives we washed our panties in the sink because we didn’t have a washer,” Pip corrected the woman. “I will sell this house and put your ass in a nursing home and send you cigarette and beer money each month if you don’t shut your mouth about my man.”
From that point on, Demeter has been cordial to Michael. It doesn’t matter much since they have been gone for nearly six months. The three months that Grandma was with me was the same amount of time it took him to sell the house and move all of his stuff to Cincinnati and put it in storage. The great thing was, he rented a huge truck and moved him and Wilke at the same time.
Poppa Bear is seeing the lady who worked in our house during his stay, Aster Colwater. She’s a nice lady who comes and cooks for him. On a clear night, I can see the two of them holding hands on the front porch of the little blue cottage. He seems really happy here. Wilke enjoys the fishing outings with Jacob and Scott, and my father-in-law is ecstatic to have another man around the place. Some evenings, when Aster is not on the front porch with Wilke, the distinct bucked tooth profile of Jacob is outlined against the waning rays of sunlight. It pleases me to say that Poppa Bear has a friend. He is even nice to Lula once a month during family dinners with the whole clan but he said Pastor Goodman takes too long on the blessing.
Did I happen to mention that I reached out to Wilke’s son, my stepbrother, and he actually came to dinner on Sunday? It is a tenuous relationship, but after I explained everything to him about my stepfather and Wilke’s reasons for staying, it took a bit of the sting out of the bite, but time is a cruel lover. She can love you one minute and fuck you up the next. We shall see.
What else do I need to tell you?
Oh! Yes, Jacob was about to retire, but then Pip married Michael and took off for the great unknown, which left him to oversee the grant portions of the museum. Initially, he despised it, grumbling all the way through, but like his son, he has a knack for numbers and managed to secure four more grants for the digitization project, and he’s working like a fiend. Krista is happy because he is not under her heels.
I am happy because it frees Krista up to be with me. What can I say? That woman is the world’s best Mom. She is the mother I always wanted and am so grateful to have in my life. My time with her has been amazing, and I kid you not, I call her every day like she is my best girlfriend and we chat away and share recipes, and of course, she was the driving force behind the nursery, which I absolutely love. Hold your horses, we will get to that portion, but there is more I have to fill you in on.
You remember Scott’s sister, Rebekah, the one that likes to kiss everybody on the mouth? Well, she kissed Jo-Jo on the mouth at our reception and he kissed her back. Oh come on, you remember Jo-Jo from my Frickin’ Fantastic Friday, he is part of Scott’s Vent Club – you know, the dude I thought was gay who helped me make the baked beans. Well, he’s not. He and Rebekah are getting married next year, and he actually got a gig in Vegas. Turns out he is a pretty awesome ventriloquist and so is she. They have a husband and wife act about marriage with ventriloquist dummies. It is all the rage on the Strip and draws huge crowds. The name of the show is Being Married to a Dummy.
My marriage is going extremely well, but I still don’t have that island yet. Shortly after I turned in my articles on ComiCon to Mr. Ridgeway, he took exception to all the websites which featured Scott as Conan the Barbarian. My old boss was furious that I allowed others to scoop me on the story. That is journalism talk for someone beating me to the punch, especially considering I was, at the time, engaged to the man who once was Little Scottie, The Ventriloquist Wonder. That became another sore spot for Nathan, who was miffed that he didn’t get invited to the wedding that I really didn’t know I was having.
He took it as a slight against him personally and suggested we terminate our relationship. That was just fine by me since it gave me time to devote all my efforts to the Berger Vent Magazine, which has doubled in subscription thanks in large part to Jo-Jo and Rebekah’s show in Vegas. She plugs it at the end of each show, as I am told. The new layout of the magazine with fresh articles on all things doll related and conference-related keeps the readers engaged. Pip is also visiting ventriloquism locations all over Europe as they travel and sending me back articles. She has a column in the magazine called “Pippi Travels the World.” The subscribers love it, and she has also met a few of the overseas Vent lovers, adding pictures which are included on the website. There is a new interest in the old art, and my hunky hubby is selling more vent dolls than they can make. He has so many back orders that he is bringing work home. I swear if I find any more eyeballs in my kitchen sink, I will shoot that man.
I can’t, though. Scott is amazing as a lover, a husband and yes, a father. A few months ago, Samuel Michael Berger came into this world and changed my entire existence. When we did the math, both Scott and I realized that I conceived him in New York. I go to sleep some nights thinking I was impregnated by Conan the Barbarian. I chuckle at it because Samuel looks like a little Barbarian.
Grandma Lula said, “Good Lord, that child was born with muscles, a six-pack, and a mustache with sideburns.”
It’s true. The child has feathery soft sideburns and a baby ‘stache. He is adorable. Each time he hears my voice, he reacts as if he is been spoken to by an angel. He’s my angel. I have never known a love so pure. As much as Grandma Lula talks about my son, she cannot keep her hands off him. She takes care of him while I work and ever so often when I come home from work, there is a spot of oil on his forehead.
