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Father of the Bride

By Eve Black

©September 25, 1998

Daryn

The Darling’s three-bedroom on the Upper East Side said it all. The dining room was expensive and sterile, dominated by an ungainly stainless steel and glass table. Of its four comfortless seats one was empty.

“It’s your fault,” Amanda scolded Daryn.

“You right of course, Mother,” Andrea nodded. “But that’s water under the bridge.”

“Filling my granddaughter’s head with that ‘true love’ rubbish.”

“I only wanted her to be happy—” Daryn labored.

“Happy?!?”

“Yes. As in happily married.”

Andrea patted Daryn’s hand, “That’s an oxymoron, Dearest.”

Amanda shook her head, baffled. “How could Tabatha dump Paris to go off with that—that—that—"

“Carnival artist,” Andrea finished.

“Paris has the makings of the perfect husband—virile, handsome, and filthy rich. Not like your—your—"

“Daryn, Mother.”

Again, Amanda shook her head, this time that her only daughter had married someone so obviously beneath her socially—and a weakling to boot—all fuzzy and squishy on the inside with nurturing and caring applesauce.

“Daryn is rich, Mother.”

“What are we to do? All the arrangements are made for the wedding. All the invitations are long gone. I can’t possibly cancel the thing. I couldn’t face the scandal–the laughter–the humiliation.

“No need to cancel anything, Mother. We do have four months after all. I’ll just have to go collect Tabatha–bring her back to her senses and back home.”

“Andrea,” Daryn said. “Maybe we shouldn’t— “

“Quiet…Dear.”

Daryn was quiet.

“I know she’s somewhere in New Orleans. I’ll find her.” Andrea gathered her purse, making sure all her credit cards were properly packed. “While I’m gone, you’re the boss…Mother.”

“Boss.” Amanda curled her lip into something like a smile, loving the taste of the word in her mouth.

“Keep the wedding on schedule–by any means necessary.”

“You can depend on me.”

“You’ll stay here naturally in the master bedroom.”

“What about me, Dearest?” Daryn grumbled.

“You? You’ll sleep in Tabatha’s room, Darling.” Andrea gave Daryn an antiseptic peck on the forehead. “And do try to stay out of Mother’s way while I’m gone, won’t you?”

“Yes, Dear.”

Amanda

After Daryn had gone to bed, Amanda sat alone on the leather sectional.

Absently, she picked up the photograph of Tabatha from the end table. Her granddaughter was gorgeous, something she found both odious and déclassé somehow. True beauty, she had maintained, was not something you were born with–but something you purchased.

To say that Tabatha favored her father was understatement. She had not a smidge of her mother in her.

In the photograph, Daryn strained on tiptoes to kiss his teenage daughter on the forehead. Amanda shook her head in disapproval.

And the girl not even in heels, she disapproved.

She was getting nowhere. So, she decided to go to bed.

As Amanda passed her granddaughter’s room, she noticed the door was ajar, so she glanced in.

Daryn lay snuggled in Tabatha’s fluffy bed, most likely she decided off in Never-Never Land playing with the other lost boys. He looked quite at home in a room that was still disdainfully girlish for someone about to be married.

In the dim light through the gap in the doorway, anyone would have mistaken the father for his daughter.

Once in bed, Amanda lay atop the covers, trying to come up with some fabrication that could possibly account for Tabatha and Andrea’s absence so proximate to the nuptials.

“Damn these hot flashes.”

Even in her lightest nightgown, Amanda was a boil. In such a state, she couldn’t possibly be expected to come up with a workable solution.

She went directly to the bathroom and up to the medicine cabinet she had already claimed as her own. It overflowed with a plethora of uppers and downers and other essentials, all of them prescribed and potent.

“There you are.” She undid the childproof cap, popped one of the purple lozenges onto the piazza of her tongue and gulped it down with a swig of tap water.

They helped a little. But she’d have to get her Dr. Gold to up the dosage again.

Amanda stared at the ordinary vial in her hand, something tickling the back of her mind like a sneeze that wouldn’t come.

What had Dr. Gold said?

Estradiol was a manufactured estrogen—the most potent of the female hormone. It helped a menopausal woman–maintaining her breasts, keeping her from growing a beard, giving her curves, and keeping her soft.

“I wonder…” Amanda mused. I wonder if it would work on say…a husband?

Breakfast

“Good morning, Daryn,” Amanda smiled.

“Good morning, Amanda.” He seated himself opposite her at the small breakfast table in the kitchen.

“Please, you must call me mother.”

“But I thought you told me—"

“I don’t care what you thought I told you,” she said, the smile draining from her face.

“Yes…Mother.”

“Now the first thing we have to set right in this household is proper diet. We want you looking fit and trim for my granddaughter’s wedding.”

“Yes, Mother.”

“You’re to take one pill from each of the bottles every morning.”

The variety and quantity of bottles Amanda had arrayed on the table astounded Daryn. “But I feel fine.”

“Believe me,” Amanda grinned “With luck, in no time at all you’ll be a completely different you.”

While Amanda talked, Daryn swallowed his pills. The last and hardest to get down was the purple lozenge.

“You’ll need two of those, Love. We’ll want to put a little meat on those bones.”

“You can try, but I’ve always been scrawny.”

“Trust me. Mother does know best.”

As Time Goes By

After that morning and every morning after that, each and every happening about Daryn seemed both fascinating and removed. He likened himself as some angelic voyeur, preening down from above, wrapped in a warm pinkish cloud, looking and tasting something like cotton candy.

He lost all interest in his own friends and hobbies–even foregoing his perennial search for a career that suited his peculiar gifts and temperament.

“Hello, Darling residence,” Daryn smiled into the telephone almost exactly one month later.

“You’re back,” some schoolgirl smiled back.

“Who is this?”

“Vicky, You Dunce. Anyway, you’ve just got to hear what’s happened between Mathew and me.

Whoever this Vicky was she was both licentious and a chatterbox. Not that Daryn didn’t find every syllable wondrous–if a little embarrassing and eye opening.

Whenever possible he’d interject random, you-don’t-says, good-for-youse and serves-him-rights.

“I’m sorry,” he finally admitted, pitching his voice as low as he could. “But I’m afraid Tabitha is not here.”

“She’s not? Then who is this?”

“This is Daryn, her father.”

“Wow! Tabatha was right. You are wonderful to talk to.”

“Thanks. Anyway, for what it’s worth. Mathew sounds like a complete and total jerk. I’m sure someone as beautiful and intelligent as you can do far better than that.”

“You’re right. Bye.”

“Girls,” Daryn said, reluctantly putting the telephone into its cradle.

Breakfast Again

“Good morning, my pretty,” Amanda said, kissing Daryn on his cheek.

Then the society matron seated herself grandly at the breakfast table, quite pleased with herself.

Daryn’s face was smooth and soft, lacking even a trace of stubble or shadow. His once pathetic beard and mustache had been rendered delicate peach-fuzz.

“Morning, Mother,” Daryn giggled.

“My don’t you look comfortable in that running outfit.”

“You don’t think it’s a bit much do you? I found it among Tabatha’s things?” It was shiny pink nylon with a loose jacket and stirrup pants. Underneath he wore a baggy white tee shirt. Daryn had it zipped as far up as it would go, even though it was not cold at all.

“Stand up, turn around, let me see.”

Self-conscious, but obedient Daryn stood and turned about slowly.

“Oh, yes. The fit is excellent.”

Amanda stifled an urge to wolf-whistle. Daryn had put on weight despite his protestations the prior month. His derriere had plumped out nicely, the seam in the seat of the pants, nesting seductively in the depth of the new cleavage of his bottom.

Cleavage was also apparent between the fleshy mounds that now ornamented his upper chest.

He’d put on inches in his hips and buttocks but had actually a few in his waist.

His arms, rather than being skinny and sinewy, were now smooth and attractively softened—in a girlish sort of seductive way.

“Actually, I’m glad I found this. None of my cloths seem to fit me at all anymore.”

“I think, as time goes by, you’ll find a lot of other things among Tabatha’s that you can wear.”

“Not that I enjoy wearing women’s—"

“I know, Kitten. Now, do take your pills like a good boy.”

Touchup

“Just a touch up,” Amanda smiled beatifically. She and Daryn sat at opposite ends of the salon sofa.

“But I like the way I look.”

“Nonsense. Everyone is searching for the fountain of youth.”

“Well, not me. All my life I’ve looked like a juvenile. A few wrinkles, now I’m finally getting some respect.”

“Look, My Child. You do want to look you best when you give your daughter away, don’t you?”

“Of course I do, Mother.”

The nurse interrupted them saying, “Dr. Gold will see you now.”

The doctor’s inner sanctum sanctorum was mahogany and manly.

“Amanda, you look wonderful,” the doctor said, half rising from behind his massive desk and graciously sweeping his hand toward two waiting chairs.

Dr. Gold himself was not particularly impressive—neither young nor old—handsome nor grotesque. His only salient feature, two piercing blue-eyes, swimming behind bifocals.

“Thanks to you.”

“And you must be, Dorothy,” he said, smiling oddly at him, like he was not what he’d expected. Daryn hated when he disappointed people. And here they’d just met.

“Daryn,” he corrected.

Turning to Amanda the doctor said, “You’re absolutely right, Amanda. The resemblance is amazing.”

Dr. Gold stared at the photographs arrayed across his desktop. Daryn recognized them as his daughter’s portfolio from her brief stint as a hopeful model.

The modern-day shaman shook his head sagely, grappling with some ethical monster in the interior of his head.

“Kinky,” he finally pronounced. “But I like it.”

“Wonderful,” Amanda grinned and clapped her hands together like she’d just purchased an Armani suit at half-off.

As the doctor talked, he scribbled unintelligible notes on his note pad.

“A minor brow lift, naturally.”

“Naturally.”

“We’ll add a little more swoop and lilt to the bridge of the nose and tidy up the nostrils.”

Amanda bobbed her head enthusiastically.

“A tasteful reduction of the sub-orbital ridges. And of course, rasping down that bad-old Adam’s Apple. Always a dead give-away, you know.”

“Seems like a lot,” Daryn finally got in.

“Don’t worry,” Amanda tut-tutted. “All the fast-track business executives are having it done these days.”

Daryn nodded, feeling a bit better.

Dr. Gold rubbed his hands together, but not for warmth. “It’ll run you—"

“Beauty is priceless,” Amanda said, willing to forgive Dr. Gold’s major faux pas.

“Exactly,” the doctor agreed.

“Daryn,” Amanda smiled, standing. “Pay the man.”

“Will you take a check?”

“My Love,” Dr. Gold winked. “We take everything.”

Surrogate

Dr. Gold was as good as his name. Within four weeks the bandages were off, and the bruises and swellings were a thing of the past.

Daryn was of two minds. Most off, he was pleased. He did look quite a bit younger. And most definitely no one would mistake him for a schoolboy.

What put him off was that he reminded himself of someone he’d met–only he couldn’t exactly put his finger on who the chap was.

“It’s only fair,” Amanda said.

“Fair? How can my modeling my daughter’s wedding gown in her stead be fair?”

“You’re the one that filled her head with that momentous nonsense. Lighten up. It’ll be our little secret. You should know you’re the right size. You’ve been wearing her things for almost three months now.”

She had a point there. Her things fit him to the T, if a might disconcertingly snug about the chest.

“You’re mad. Do you know that?”

“You think so? Well, why don’t you just prove it them? I’m sure you love to see me eat humble pie.”

“Why, yes. Yes, I would.”

One hour later, Daryn arrived at dress shop for Tabatha’s fitting.

“I’m Max,’ smiled what could only be the proprietor of the dress shop. “And you must be Tabatha.”

“Why, yes. I guess, I am. At least for today. Amanda, told you about me?”

“She lied.”

Daryn was glad. This mad charade was falling apart at its seams already. There was simply no way he could pass himself off as his daughter.

“You are even pretty than she promised.”

“Ah…thanks.” Daryn blushed appropriately, but not for the appropriate reason.

“The changing room is in the back. I’ve laid out everything for you.”

“Right then.” Daryn wandered into the backroom where the man had pointed and shut the door.

Daryn must have seen his wife dress and undress maybe ten thousand times– yet he could barely remember anything.

Right, he thought. Panties first, then corset, then stockings and lastly petticoat.

The corset slid on easily enough but seemed a bit confining. He certainly didn’t care for the way it squashed him up front, accentuating his disgraceful and unmanly tonnage, lifting, and supporting the pair, showing a deep V between. It also gave him a funny feeling in his derrière, lifting and separating them as well.

The stockings were a bother, but he ultimately prevailed.

“Are you ready?” Max piped, rapping on Daryn’s door.

“Don’t you have a bathrobe out there or something?”

“Don’t be coy, Luv.” Max yanked, opened the door, and dragged Daryn out by the arm. “It’s okay. Girls don’t do a thing for me. As long as you don’t have a dick, I’m not interested.”

That did not make Daryn feel any safer.

“Good,” Max nodded. “You’re not wearing any makeup. I don’t know why girls can’t understand that war point is for spinsters. Youth needs no cosmetics. You’re prefect. Now, stand here like a good girl, won’t you?”

Daryn ascended into a spotlight atop a raised dais, surrounded on three sides by full-length mirrors, Max blockaded his egress on the fourth. In the clinging garments, he felt much more than naked.

He turned to face Max, afraid to face the come-hither maiden he’d glimpsed in the reflections.

“Other way, Honey” Max said sweetly, giving Daryn a pat on his rump.

Daryn stared at himself in front view and profile, embarrassed as all get out, most particularly at the stiffing of his manhood.

Meanwhile, Max whipped his tape measurer about Daryn like tamer to lioness.

“This will never do. They’re wrong–all wrong. But I can fix it,” Max quipped, talking to Daryn doppelganger in the mirror. “I am, after all, a genius.”

As Max seamed, he hummed a tuneless hum in a eunuch key. He sat on a stool, looking every bit the toad upon a toadstool, nestled in a nest of pearl satin and silk.

“You’ve modeled before?” Max lisped out of the blue, thread tangled in his teeth, scaring Daryn out of his wits.

“I--”

“Hips? Boyish. Waist? Waspish. Breasts? Vampish. Do you know you’re a full C cup, Sugar?”

“Is that good?” Daryn worried.

“Good. Any woman would kill for your svelte figure and those perkies?”

“Well, Mother makes sure I do take vitamins and watch my diet.”

“Okay,” Max said. “Now, this is only a trial run. Just to get a look-see. For God’s sake, don’t peak in the mirror.”

Max threw the mounds of satin and silk over Daryn head, raining down upon him like Zeus in Golden Cloud enveloping what’s-her-face.

Daryn couldn’t breathe. The mountains of fabric hung and clung about him. Their weight dragging him under like those garments–having their full drink–dragged Ophelia to her untimely demise.

Just as suddenly, his head was in the clear.

Max fussed–tucking here–fluffing there.

“Okay your Highness. Behold.”

In the mirror Daryn saw his daughter captured in a prism of beauty, like a maiden enshrouded in snow, within a watery globe of crystal. In his face, he saw her face and the hope and majesty of an everywoman: The hope for true love–the love for and by a handsome husband–the love for and by one’s children–God’s greatest gift.

There was a radiance in her face–no–a rapture. The culmination, wish-come-true of every princess, that someday her prince would come. And she would step out into the world as woman.

This gown was the stage upon which this morality play would be played.

Armored within her satins and silks a woman stood proof against disappointment, age, and loss. It was a shield against the perfidies of life. It was promise and surety and everything else all rolled into one–something outside of time and of itself–a certain star.

Daryn knew his daughter and what she was and ever hoped to be caught in that gown. The joy of her joys filled his eyes over brimming with warm and gentle tears, as the warm drops of a spring shower might bedew the pedal of the sweetest rose.

“Hair,” Daryn intoned, breaking the spell. He had to do something about his hair–grow it out. “A gown this lush and opulent deserves tousled lustrous tresses to match.”

“Exactly,” Max smiled.

“It’s beautiful,” Darin murmured.

“We try.” Max said graciously, sharing the wonder of Daryn’s wonder. “Now then, there’s much to do. I’ll have to let it out here and cinch it there. Now for your part, don’t get fat! Watch yourself. So may girls lose it so near the prize.”

“Oh, I will.” Daryn nodded, agreeable and pliant like any schoolgirl.

Daryn was not a man of strong desire nor great ambition. His only wish had been to be a good husband and loving father. The only two things he’d ever done well.

But in the glow of that afterglow, he vowed to himself one further quest. He would wear that gown again.

Game Afoot

“Any news from Andrea,” Daryn asked at breakfast.

“Yes. She’s in Bismarck, North Dakota of all places.”

“Still, no luck I take.”

“Luck has nothing to do with it.

“But four months?”

“My daughter is like me. Once we get something into our heads we make it happen.”

“Any clues?”

“Plenty. Only just when she’s about to place her hand on Tabatha, the girl and her Lothario are off to the next squalid local. What kind of life is that?”

“Sounds exciting.”

The look on Amanda’s face told Daryn it was time to change the subject.

“And what of Paris?”

“You’ll know that better than I after tonight.”

“Tonight?”

“You will be having dinner with him–just the two of you—very romantic.”

“Impossible!” Daryn squeaked, stamping a dainty foot. “He’s in love with the woman for God’s sake. He’ll spot an imposter in an instance.”

“Difficult perhaps. But Paris is only a man after all.”

“But what will we talk about? What will I say?”

Amanda smiled. “You’ll talk about exactly what he wants to talk about. And don’t worry, you won’t have to say anything. Just radiate adoration and admiration that you are one so blessed by the Gods.”

Dinner with Paris

“Amanda,” Daryn said, from his bedroom.

“Yes, My Lovely,” Amanda answered absently. She sat at the dining room table sorting the day’s mail. The bills would be paid. Andrea’s mail would be forwarded to her. Junk mail and Daryn’s both went immediately into the waist bin.

“What kind of fiancé would spend so much time away from his dearly beloved?”

Amanda winced. “A particularly important business one. That’s who.”

“But I mean if he loves me–I mean loves my daughter–wouldn’t he be underfoot all the time?”

“Now, with my first husband,” Amanda patiently explained. “I saw him maybe once a month. And that was before we were man and wife.”

“But were you happy?” Daryn said, coming into living room.

“I was-”

The look on Amanda’s face was as priceless as the look on Daryn’s. He filled out his Channel little black dress like a Saks Fifth Avenue manikin.

“Does it look, okay?” Daryn ran his hands down his sides, smoothing away phantom folds and wrinkles that weren’t there.

Amanda was at sea. She saw refracted in Daryn’s face, her granddaughter’s, her daughter’s, and hers. The cast on Daryn’s face was matchless–a sustained disbelief that someone could add to the beauty of something already so beautiful. The truth of the matter was that the exact obverse was true.

“You hate it.” Daryn sulked, punishing his lower lip.

“No. It’s not that at all. It’s just that—”

“I look ludicrous, don’t I.”

Amanda knew she had not been the best of mothers. The truth is she had been a terrible mother.

“You are beautiful, Daryn. I’m proud that you’re my son-in-law.”

Daryn wasn’t sure how to take that–so he took it for a compliment.

“Thanks, Mother.”

Thankfully, the buzz of the doorman broke the interlude before Amanda was forced to say something both insulting and characteristic.

“Love you.” Daryn kissed Amanda warmly on her cheek–grabbed his wrap and purse and left.

“Love you,” Amanda said to no one.

Going

“Jeepers! You look stunning, Tabatha,” Paris greeted as soon as Daryn entered the lobby. He was attired quite tastefully, all in Brooks Brother.

“Thanks.” Daryn smiled, spun about, and did a graceful curtsey.

Now, exactly when did I learn to curtsey? Daryn wondered.

“But you forgot something,” Paris motioned Daryn to him.

Daryn leaned in close so Paris could remove whatever embarrassment clung to him.

Instead, Paris kissed him full on the month, long and deep.

Daryn gazed up into Paris’ perfect green eyes, so taken aback that his knee buckled and would have plopped him to the carpet, except that Paris sustained him.

“I’m the luckiest chap in the world,” Paris admitted, when they both came up for air.

“And I’m the…”

Just what am I? Daryn quizzed himself as he was led outside.

After that auspicious start it just got better.

“How’s work?” was the incantation that opened the portals of Paris’s vast and boundless world.

Seated in the back of the silver-gray Mercedes limousine, Paris rhapsodized endlessly about the world outside.

Wow, Daryn thought.

He found all he needed or wanted to utter was a hum or a haw whenever he sensed Paris had negotiated a crucial or critical passage.

“My goodness,” Paris grinned, when the chauffeur opened the door. “Here we are already. Well, like they say, when you’re in love time flies like an arrow–but fruit flies like a banana.”

“What?”

“It’s a joke, Love.”

“Really,” Daryn smiled.

Coming

Dinning was dazzling. The intercourse continued mesmerizing. Paris was an Angel.

How could someone so young, Daryn wondered. Be so wonderful?

To complement his joy and excitement Daryn had overindulged in the champagne Paris kept ordering.

“Pumpkin time, My Love.”

When Daryn stood, he wobbled slightly on his heels, as much from too much champagne as too much enchantment.

“A little too much of the Bubbly,” he hiccupped daintily.

“My. You do know how you get when you’ve had a little too much to drink,” Paris grinned.

“How do I get?”

“Insatiable,” Paris answered, engulfing him in a strong protective arm and practically carrying him into the limousine.

“Where to?” the chauffeur asked.

“Around the park, I think,” Paris winked. Then he leaned over, closed the window between them and the driver, and put on some tasteful music.

What was it? The flash of the streetlamps as they flew by silently round Central Park. Paris, everyone acknowledged, was handsome enough for three men.

And Daryn? Well, Daryn was feeling as frothy and beautiful as any vintage champagne in long stem crystal. Or was it the promise of his first forbidden kiss?

Daryn wasn’t exactly sure when he crossed the line between temptation and transgression. But when he found the other man’s erection in his delicate hand he knew he was in trouble.

And now that he had the thing in-hand as it were, he hadn’t a clue as to what he should do with it. It certainly wouldn’t fit back into its lair in its current condition.

Daryn had never been this close to an erection before. Not even his own–though he had tried.

Under close inspection like this they were quite absurd–all throb and veins and such. Maybe, he conjectured, that’s why women liked them so–made them feel superior.

At its apex was a drop of pristine dew–or perhaps an exotic pearl from the orient. Maybe that was the ticket, something raw, delectable, and off-putting like Japanese Tobiko and Ikura.

While he was deliberating, his tongue of its own accord snaked out and lapped the dab up.

It tasted of locker room and perversion.

So, like Pandora’s ice cream, once you’d opened the tin, it was impossible to close it up until you’d got all that tasty cream in you.

When Daryn raised his head he had a whole new perspective on carnal affairs–as well as a mouth full of goo– and not a tissue to be had.

Gentleman that he was–he swallowed. One must never, after all, speak with one’s mouth full.

“Tissue?”

“Anytime,” Paris said, a dreamy look on his face.

“Never mind.”

“That was heaven, Angel. I’ve never had better.”

“I missed you.”

“I’m so glad you dropped all the blather about waiting till we were married and all.”

“Oh.” Daryn was mortified. He’d both misjudged his daughter and sold himself cheap. On the bright side though, Paris had said he was the best. And him only a novice. Anyway, Paris was the man he was supposed to marry.

“Good night, Love,” Paris said at the curb. “Soon.”

“Soon, My Love,” Daryn cooed, feeling both saucy bride-to-be and dumbfounded husband, father and father-in-law-to-be.

Rehearsal

Daryn was extremely uncomfortable even though he was dressed quite comfortably. He wore snug blue jeans that hugged his curves, a loose white shirt opened at the collar that played up his cleavage, and squeaky white sneakers.

What he found uncomfortable was the elegant white veil sitting on top of his head. It should be sitting on his daughter’s.

“This is ridiculous. I can’t possibly do this.” Daryn was desperately trying to remain calm.

“And why is that, Angel?” Amanda asked, fussing with her collar.

“No one is here is here is why. Tabatha is not her because she out chasing what-is-his-name. Andrea is not here because she is out chasing Tabatha. And I’m not because I’m here…” He’d started out well enough but somehow, he’d mucked up the ending.

“And? Come on let’s have it all out.”

“Who’s to give me away?” Daryn moped.

Amanda considered that. “We certainly can’t have you giving yourself away now, can we? Somehow that wouldn’t seem proper.”

“No, it wouldn’t,” Daryn agreed wholeheartedly.

“There’s nothing for it then, but I must give you away myself.”

“Really! Would you?” Daryn beamed, instantly the radiant bride.

“Believe you me, Daryn, there is nothing I’d rather do than give you a way to someone else to have and to hold until death do you part.”

“Mother, you’re wonderful.” And just to prove it he gave her a gracious kiss on her sere cheek.

“Please, Sweetums,” Amanda winced. “You’ll smug my makeup.”

“Sorry.” Daryn stared down the aisle, his face flush with anticipation, brandishing his stand-in bouquet proudly.

“No more nonsense now.” Amanda dropped the white veil over his face. “Ready?”

“Ready.” Darrin stepped forward sprightly on the ball of his right foot. In his mind his train trailed along obsequiously in tow. The organ music swelled and the crowd inhaled as one, everyone awestruck by the vision of maidenhood that strolled—confident of his place in the scheme of things—into the cathedral.

Everything went without a hitch right up to the I-do’s.

Paris, towering over Daryn pulled back the veil and gazed longingly into his misty eyes.

Then they kissed.

“Oh my,” Amanda sobbed, actually in tears. “Don’t mind me. I always cry at weddings.”

“Soon,” Paris whispered.

“Soon, My Love.”

Here Comes the Bride

“Where are they?” Daryn just about shrieked. “Did she or did she not find them?” He was pacing about in tiny little circles in the church vestibule, waiting for his grand entrance.

“Well, you could say that Andrea is right on top of them.”

“Then she’s coming with them.”

“In a manner of speaking, yes.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Does the word ménage à trois mean anything to you?”

“That’s three words.”

“Never mind.”

The wedding guests, seated in their pews were getting restless.

“I can’t,” Daryn said, staring down at his white satin slingbacks peeking out from beneath his gown.

“Buck up, Lad, you did great at the rehearsal.”

“Rehearsal!”

“Shss,” Amanda hissed, glancing out at the throng.

“This is bloody awful! In twenty minutes, I’m going to be Mrs. Paris Munchkin.”

“You’re right. Why don’t you keep your maiden name?”

“Because,” Daryn hissed back, wrinkling up his pretty made-up little puss. “I’m not a maiden.”

“Don’t worry you can still wear white these days.”

“Mother,” Daryn moaned. “I can’t get married. I’m already married to your daughter.

Amanda toasted Daryn, looking scrumptious in her Christian Dior and took a swig of her Chardonnay.

“I can’t. I simply can’t.” Daryn reached up threatening to rest both veil and tiara from his coiffure.

Amanda grabbed both the man’s wrists, easily forcing his hands down to his sides and shoved him rudely into the church wall.

“Listen, Princess,” she snarled. “You’ll do exactly what I tell you to do. I’ve had it up to here with your sniveling, can’t-do attitude. You are about to have the most talked about wedding on the Upper East Side, marry the most eligible bachelor in Manhattan, and I might add a nine-day-five-island honeymoon in to-die-for Hawaii. And all I hear is you gripping.”

“I’m sorry,” Daryn sobbed. “I guess, I’m just nervous, that’s all.”

“Sure, you are. I was too at my first wedding. And I’m a lot tougher than you are. Don’t worry it gets easier.”

“But, Amanda, the honeymoon?!”

“Honeymoon–Shoneymoon. You should get down on your knees and be thankful.”

“On my knees is not the position I’m concerned about.”

“What?”

Thankfully, the swell of the organ cut any clarification by Daryn mercifully short.

The wedding went as flawlessly as the rehearsal and was just as fleeting. Riding in the limousine beside Paris, Daryn stared once more through the glass at the passing shapes and colors, wondering why that which was most precious seemed passed so hastily.

It seemed in the blink of an eye he’d grown middle-aged and that his daughter was born, grew-up and left the nest and now here he was a blushing bride.

Paris squeezed his hand. “I love you so very much.”

“And I you,” Daryn said with a passion that shamed him.

The reception, the first dance as man and wife, everything flashed by Daryn like a dream.

He danced his cute little butt off, collected reams of checks in his cute little mailbag and oh-my-God the gifts.

His only thought however was when would his deception be uncovered. In his mind, he ticked off his crimes. He’d deluded Paris into thinking Tabatha loved him when she did not. He’d deceived Paris into loving him—a man who was old enough to be his father—in her stead. Lastly, he’d duped the lad into the sin of two men lying together.

How had things gotten so completely out of hand? Daryn knew the answer. He hadn’t lied in church—in front of family and friends–Daryn had said he loved Paris. And he did.

Daryn’s life was ruined. He had no truck with that. His fears were only for Paris.

“Why such a long face?” Amanda said, exhausted but happy, free of the last of the wedding guests. “It was the perfect wedding.”

Daryn was out of his wedding gown and into his traveling outfit, set for his flight to Hawaii.

“Perfect?” For a beautiful young newlywed just espoused to a handsome and well-to-do husband about to embark on the dream honeymoon he felt like crap.

He plopped himself atop his Louis Vuitton luggage. Glancing into a conveniently placed mirror he had to admit though that he still looked great.

His Paris was off getting ready himself, perhaps festooning tin cans, and bright ribbons to the Mercedes.

“It was a perfect wedding,” Amanda congratulated herself. “Just ask anyone.”

“Andrea is your daughter I’m told, so I’ll assume you had sex at least once in your life.”

“Please,” Amanda shivered. “Don’t remind me.”

“As you may remember, low those may years ago, the man goes on top the woman beneath and–”

“Spare me the shoddy details.”

“You seem to have forgotten, Mother, that in less than twenty-four hours Paris is going to find his round peg without a square hole.”

“You could say you have a headache.”

“Mother!”

“Okay, you could–you know–wink wink.”

“Mother!” Daryn shrieked appalled.

“Just a thought. Some men prefer it I’ve heard. Because it’s tighter and warmer and…”

“And?”

“It degrades women.”

“Not my Paris,” Daryn huffed.

“What can I say, you made your own bed—pardon the pun—now sleep in it. If you had chosen to use your noggin for something other than a very pretty place to wear a Jackie-O-Pillbox. By the way, timeless and classic.”

“Thank you,” Daryn smiled, crossing his legs and arms.

“We could have had you tidied up down below for your consummation,”

“I guess, I just didn’t think things through. It’s too late now though. It’s not fair. Really. Life tricked me. It was supposed to be a masquerade, that’s all. I didn’t mean to like it. And I most definitely did not mean to fall in love.”

“Daryn—"

“Mother,” Daryn shushed, looking about.

“You really are ever the hopeless romantic.”

“Bother.”

“Do you want me to tell the groom? I rather fancy I might enjoy the look on his face.”

“No. I’ll do it. And right away.”

“Paris, you rather fancy jokes, don’t you?”

“Of course I do, Love,” Paris answered, somewhere over the mid-pacific.

“Well, I’m not very good at telling them but here it goes,” Daryn frowned.

A man walks into a bar, orders a drink, and spots a beautiful woman walking arm-and-arm with a man into the men’s room.

He asks the bartender about her and is surprised to learn that she's a prostitute. He watches her as he drinks the entire night, amazed at how many men traipse back with her to little boy’s room.

Finally, he gets up to courage to say to her, "Is it true you're a lady of the night?"

"Yes, Sir. I am.”

"What do you charge?"

"$100 for a hand-job.”

“You must be joking.”

“See that Ferrari out the window there?"

The guy looks and most assuredly there is a shiny Ferrari parked out there.

"My hand-jobs alone paid for that.”

The guy mulls this over and decides to give her a go. He goes back with her and experiences the most unbelievable sex he's ever had.

Afterwards he gushes, "That was incredible.”

“Just wait till you try one of my blowjobs.”

“How much?” he says, already reaching for his billfold.

“$500–”

“Dollars! That’s highway robbery!”

“You see that penthouse behind the car?"

The guy looks and sees a swanky high-rise with a gorgeous penthouse at the top.

"I paid for that with what I made on my blowjobs."

Based on the hand-job the guy decides to go for it. He is not disappointed.

"I'm hooked,” he says after. “I’m in love! Tell me, what will it set me back to go all the way with you?"

She takes him by the hand and leads him out into the darkened and deserted street.

Pointing down the boulevard, the man glimpses between Manhattan. "You see that island?”

“My God, you can't possibly mean…"

She nods her head saying, “Yes. I'd own that island if I were really a woman.”

Paris started to laugh then thought better of it, settling for something shy of a smile.

“That’s a joke, right?”

“Yes. And I’m not really a woman.”

“Tabatha” Paris argued “I know you’re a woman.”

“That’s true. But you see I am not Tabatha.”

“Well, if you’re not then you’re her identical twin.”

“Warm. I’m her father.”

“Daryn?”

“Hi,” Daryn smiled, thrusting out his right hand.

“But where’s Tabatha?” Paris said, by reflex alone shaking Daryn’s hand.

“Andrea is out looking for her,” Daryn fibbed.

“I see,” Paris nodded. “That’s why no Andrea and obviously no Daryn.”

“Bingo.”

“Well,” Paris said, raising his eyebrows.

“Please, don’t hate me.”

“And why shouldn’t I?”

“Because…because I love you.”

“Love me?”

“Yes…”

Paris stopped shaking Daryn’s hand and squeezed it passionately.

“And I love you.”

“Come again?”

“Rest now, My Pretty,” Paris said sleepily. He grinned and lay his head on Daryn’s shoulder. “We’ll have plenty of time for talk and love in Hawaii.”

“Hawaii?”

“Yes. Our honeymoon, remember? You are my wife, you know. All done up right and proper in church and everything. You can’t just undo something like that, dear. After all you did swear to love me forever.”

“I do.”

“No, Dearest…you did.”

Daryn grinned at the prize on his shoulder, knowing there was no way he could possibly sleep.

And best of all he thought to himself, I don’t have to give any of the gifts back.

- End -

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