Father of the Bride (3 page)

“I’m going back to that hotel we passed and wash up,” he announced.

“Nonsense,” said Mrs. Banks. “You can wash at the Dunstans’. They probably have running water.”

The fact that it was about twice the size of his own establishment seemed to add fuel to his agitation.

“I prefer to wash at the hotel,” said Mr. Banks with dignity. She sensed that this was not the time to cross him.

When they drew up in front of the hotel he did not suggest that she get out, but hurried through the revolving doors. On his return, ten minutes later, it was obvious that he was more composed. The interior of the sedan immediately took on the Saturday night odor of a bar-and-grill.

“Stanley Banks, you’ve been drinking.”

Mr. Banks did not take his eyes off the road ahead. “Why is it,” he asked, “that a person can’t take a casual drink without being accused of ‘drinking’? It does seem to me that a man over fifty—”

“I think it’s perfectly outrageous for you to meet the Dunstans smelling like an old whiskey bottle. It’s humiliating, that’s what it is. What in the world’s gotten into you? And Sunday morning, too.”

“What’s Sunday morning got to do with it?” asked Mr. Banks, hoping to divert the argument. But Mrs. Banks was still being difficult when they turned in at the Dunstans’ entrance.

•  •  •

The first meeting of in-laws is comparable to the original hookup of the Lewis and Clark Expedition with the Rocky Mountain Indians.

For a split second the two families stared at one another.

In the latter instance it is recorded that for a brief moment after the encounter both sides glared at one another with mingled hostility and curiosity. At this point a false move would have been fatal. If anyone had so much as reached for his tobacco pouch the famous Journals would never have seen the light of day.

Then, each side finding the other apparently unarmed, the tension eased. The leaders stepped forward, embraced, rubbed noses and muttered “How.” Skins were spread and refreshments laid on them by squaws. The party was in the bag.

The Banks-Dunstan meeting followed similar lines. For a split second the two families stared at one another in the Dunstan entrance hall. During that instant Mrs. Banks took inventory of Mrs. Dunstan from hair-do to shoes. Mrs. Dunstan did the same for Mrs. Banks. Then, finding everything mutually satisfactory, they approached one another with outstretched arms, embraced and said, “My dear.”

The two males merely shook hands awkwardly and said in unison, “It certainly is nice to meet you.”

Mrs. Dunstan started to lead the way into the living room. “Would you like to wash your hands?” asked Mr. Dunstan.

“I’ve washed them,” said Mr. Banks, glancing at him suspiciously.

“I can’t tell you how crazy we are about your Kay,” said Mrs. Dunstan.

“Well, that’s just the way we feel about Buckley,” said Mrs. Banks.

“Yes indeed,” said Mr. Banks. Obviously something was called for.

As far as he was concerned that seemed about all there was to be said. He would have been quite ready to second a motion to adjourn.

The situation was saved by the appearance of a maid with a shaker full of martinis and a tray of hot hors d’oeuvres. Mr. Banks looked at this arrangement with pleased incredulity.

He took a martini and found it excellent. “I think we should drink to the bride and groom,” said Mr. Dunstan. Mr. Banks drank deeply and relaxed like a deflating balloon. Mr. Dunstan refilled the glasses.

Warmed by this unexpected hospitality and his previous wash-up at the hotel, Mr. Banks felt impelled to words. “This is an important occasion,” he said. “My wife and I have been looking forward to it for a long time. Personally I thought your son was a great fellow the moment I set eyes on him. Now that I’ve met his father and mother I like him even better. From here in I foresee that the Dunstan-Banks families will beat as one.”

“I am sure we’re going to be most congenial,” said Mrs. Dunstan apprehensively, “and do call us Doris and Herbert, not Mr. and Mrs. Dunstan.”

“And Stanley and Ellie,” said Mrs. Banks somewhat overeagerly.

There was an embarrassed silence.

“Have you ever been in Fairview Manor, Herbert?” asked Mr. Banks.

“No, we haven’t, Stanley. We’ve heard a lot about it, of course.”

“I love your house, Doris,” said Mrs. Banks, who had by this time sized up and appraised critically every article of furniture in the living room.

“Thank you, Ellie. We like it. I’m crazy to see yours. Buckley’s always talking about it.”

“Another, Stan?” asked Mr. Dunstan.

“Well, just to help you out, Herb,” said Mr. Banks.

His wife moved over beside him. “You’d better watch your step,” she muttered.

It was too late. The release from supertension was more than he could combat. He graciously helped his friend Herb finish up the shaker.

He graciously helped his friend Herb finish up the shaker.

“I think dinner is ready,” said Mrs. Dunstan, who had known it for a long time.

She led the way toward the dining room. “You’ve got a wonderful place here, Edith,” said Mr. Banks, falling in beside her.

“Doris,” she said. “Won’t you sit there, Ellie. And now we want to hear all about our new daughter.”

“I’m afraid there isn’t much to tell,” said Mrs. Banks.

“Nonsense,” said Mr. Banks. “Would you like to hear the story about how Ellie left Kay in her baby carriage outside the A. & P. and then forgot about her and went home?”

He told them in hilarious detail. A flood of memories and anecdotes poured from him like a mountain brook. He took them through Kay’s childhood and school days step by step. Then, as a kind of appendix, he gave them a detailed account of his own boyhood, early manhood and married life. Occasionally one of the Dunstans broke in with a comment. Toward the end of the meal they ceased to compete.

After dinner Mr. Banks picked out a comfortable-looking chair in the darkest corner of the living room. He felt suddenly drowsy. “Now,” he said, “you must tell us all about Buckley.” The desire to take just forty winks became overpowering. As Buckley entered his first year in high school Mr. Banks’ eyes closed and he was instantly asleep.

•  •  •

They drove back to Fairview Manor late in the afternoon, Mrs. Banks at the controls. Mr. Banks felt relaxed and happy. It was hard for him to understand why he had dreaded this meeting so much. He sought in vain among his acquaintances for a finer family than the Dunstans. Certainly no one could have been easier to talk to. He hummed a contented little song. Mrs. Banks said nothing.

   3   

FINANCIAL MATTERS

It was quite clear to Mr. Banks that things couldn’t drift along like this forever. When two people decided to get married they announced their engagement and then there was a wedding. The only question was when.

As his mind focused on the actual ceremony he began to have secret qualms about it. Weddings had never meant much to him one way or the other. They were pleasant parties where he was apt to run into a lot of people whom he had not seen lately. Now, when he considered his role as father of the bride, it became alarmingly apparent that he was slated to play a lead part in what looked more and more to him like a public spectacle. Unconsciously he was experiencing the first symptoms of aisle-shyness.

When it came to discussing the date, therefore, he was like a man who has rashly committed himself to go swimming in a glacial stream. His idea was either to get the affair over as quickly as possible or else postpone it to a point so far distant in time that, like death, he wouldn’t have to worry about it for the present at least.

Mrs. Banks, on the other hand, looked at the matter more from the point of view of a stage manager. How long would it take to prepare the costumes, build the scenery and collect the props? She concluded that, working day and night, the production might be staged in three months—not a minute earlier.

During the discussions that followed Buckley remained unusually silent. He was obviously a young man who was not used to getting married and these unfolding and complex plans seemed to bewilder him. As he listened to his future mother-in-law he became gradually panic-stricken. He explained to her with desperate finality that he was a simple fellow who wanted no trappings or lugs. His idea of a wedding was a little ivy-covered chapel in some lovely country spot where he and Kay could walk down the aisle hand in hand.

Mr. Banks decided to switch the conversation into lighter vein. Buckley was inclined to have a heavy touch at moments. He said that was a fine idea. He liked it. The trouble was that the only kind of ivy that grew around Fairview Manor was poisonous and the only place that approximated a lovely country spot was the golf course.

Kay interrupted. This was scarcely the time for cheap comedy. And besides, everyone seemed to have forgotten an important point. This was
her
wedding.
She
was the one who was getting married—not Pops or Mom. Buckley of course—but it was
her
wedding nonetheless and she didn’t propose to be pushed around by
anybody.
She would marry
when
and
where
the spirit moved her. Perhaps it would be in two weeks, perhaps in six
months.

What was more, there was no need for all this fussing. Her mother didn’t need to raise a
hand
—not a finger. When she (Kay) gave the word everything would fall into place. That was the way she and Buckley were going to live. Simply and without all this
effort.
She had seen
nothing
but fuss and feathers all her life. Now she wanted no more of it. That might as well be understood.

He watched with dismay as the storm raged around him.

From this point on the conversation began to resemble the Chicago wheat pit on the day of a big break. It was Buckley’s first family free-for-all. Quite obviously it upset him. From where he sat, in a corner of the living room, it seemed like the breakup of basic relationships. He watched with dismay as the storm raged. Then, like a tropical hurricane, it was unexpectedly over. Instead of the tangled and broken wreckage which he had anticipated, he was astonished to learn that it had been harmoniously agreed that the wedding would take place on Friday, June 10, at four-thirty p.m. at St. George’s Church.