Jack with a Twist (25 page)

W
e’re all squashed into Judge Martin’s chambers for an impromptu wedding ceremony the following week. After having swept me off my feet the week before, Jack informed me that he refused to take another chance that I might get away from him, and insisted on marrying me as soon as humanly possible.

Which turned out to be the following Tuesday—the day we were supposed to go to trial.

We’ve turned the three rooms that make up Judge Martin’s chambers into an ad hoc wedding hall, with his personal chamber being used for the ceremony, his law clerk’s office being used as the bride’s room, and his assistant’s office in the middle, which connects the two, as a long, makeshift wedding aisle. Our immediate families and best friends are crushed into Judge Martin’s chamber, standing room only, while they wait for me to make my entrance.

I’m out in the law clerk’s office, just waiting to be called into the ceremony—not quite walking down the aisle, but more of walking down the hallway, if anything—and do one final check for my something old, something new, something borrowed and something blue.

My something old is Jack’s grandmother’s engagement ring, which I took immediate repossession of from his coat pocket the second we left the Waldorf-Astoria.

Oh, please. As if the diamond ring wouldn’t be the first thing on your mind the second you got the guy back.

My something new is a custom-made wedding gown made lovingly stitch by stitch by Monique. Apparently, when I took on her case and then told her that I couldn’t buy her dress since it would be a conflict of interest, she decided right then and there that she would make it anyway and give it to me as a wedding gift. She kept throwing me off the scent by fitting me for fake muslins whenever I came to meet with her at her brownstone, but she ended up making me the exact dress that she sketched for me that first day in her studio. Good thing Jack and I ended up back together since I seriously doubt that you can resell one-of-a-kind couture. Especially one-of-a-kind couture that’s a size ten.

My something borrowed is the pair of ruby earrings that Vanessa decided to buy from Moishe that day we went wedding ring shopping. They look absolutely perfect, especially since I’ve got my hair tied up loosely and they peek out from the waves falling down from the top of my head. These earrings also satisfy my grandmother and Aunt Devorah to no end, both of whom insisted that I wear at least
something
red, so as to ward off the evil eye which would undoubtedly be following me on my wedding day.

My something blue is the baby-blue garter that my mother wore at her own wedding. And as a special wedding gift to me, she didn’t even say a word about the fact that the fit was a bit snug, to say the least.

Vanessa has been taking her maid of honor duties very seriously, and in addition to having
the
Vera Wang whip up gorgeous navy bridesmaids’ dresses for her and Jack’s sisters at the last minute (another favor courtesy of her mother), she also insisted that, as maid of honor, she be allowed to plan the reception. So, we’ll be heading over to her mother’s downtown art gallery after the ceremony for the reception. (“She lives for this stuff and would actually be offended if you
didn’t
have it there.”)

She also (as part of her duties, of course) did me the favor of posting bail for my wedding videographer,
yet again
(yes, that’s two federal arraignments in the course of one engagement, for those of you who are keeping count), since I felt that it wouldn’t help relax me to have to go down to the Manhattan Detention Center
yet again
just days before my wedding. Unfortunately for Vanessa, these charges were much more serious than the last—something about filming someone’s honeymoon down in Mexico and sticking some contraband into his camera case—so, Vanessa actually ended up referring the case to one of our friends from law school who practices criminal law. But on a lighter note, now my mobster wedding videographer owes Vanessa “a solid,” should she ever choose to cash it in. She was none too pleased about the whole situation, solid or no solid, to be sure, but she did it with a smile since she’s such a good maid of honor.

(Note to self: Must look into whether or not the solid I owe Jay can be traded for the solid that Jay now owes Vanessa. There really should be somewhere to look this sort of stuff up on the Internet.)

“You ready to go, BB?” my father asks me as Judge Martin’s assistant buzzes us on the law clerk’s intercom to let us know that it’s time to come into the judge’s chamber.

“For God’s sake, Barry,” my mother says, “why are you asking her that? Do you want to give her
another
chance to run away?” And then to me: “We’re going.”

“Let’s go,” I say, and then we do.

Jack breaks the glass with his foot and we are officially husband and wife.

“You may now kiss the bride,” Judge Martin says and Jack takes me into his arms and kisses me. I can feel a camera flash go off as we kiss and I have a feeling that this will be one of those perfect photos that you keep framed in your house forever and ever. And then it becomes a family heirloom and eventually your kids all fight over who will get to keep it since they all chipped in equally for that really really
really
expensive sterling silver picture frame from Tiffany’s for your thirtieth wedding anniversary and then they all start laughing about that funny story when Mom and Dad fought and almost broke up while registering at Tiffany’s and then they all forget what they were even fighting about in the first place. You know, a picture like that.

Sorry. I just get a little worked up at weddings.

But we kiss and we smile and then, there being no aisle for Jack and I to then walk down, we simply spin around into the arms of our families and friends.

With all that we went through with the planning of our big formal wedding, we never once considered what it was that
we
actually wanted as a couple. Did we want the traditional Long Island temple wedding that my parents dreamed of, with our friends and family close, and God, undoubtedly, that much closer? Or did we want the fabulous, splashy Manhattan hotel wedding, with a fancy wedding planner, designer food and guest list that read like a Manhattan phone book?

As I look around Judge Martin’s chambers, with his various diplomas and certificates on the wall (papered and painted circa 1979), institutional carpeting and run-down leather couch and visitors’ chairs, I can’t help but think that what I got was the most perfect wedding in the world.

“You’re married!” Vanessa calls out, grabbing me for a hug. “I can’t believe it!”

For so long, it was Vanessa who was the married one, and me as the crazy single friend, and I’m just so happy that she’s got someone new in her life to share this day with her. I just couldn’t be as happy as I am today if I thought Vanessa felt lonely or sad.

“So when is this mystery man of yours going to show his face?” I whisper into her ear.

“He’s actually meeting us after the ceremony at my mom’s art gallery,” Vanessa says. Her face is glowing as she says it.

“Meeting your best friend and your parents at the same time?” I ask. “You are truly one brave woman.”

“I have a feeling that it’ll be okay,” she says, looking down.

Judge Martin’s intercom goes off and his assistant announces that our cars are here, ready to take us to Millie’s gallery for the reception.

“Our chariots await!” my father calls out as we each file out of chambers.

There’s something incredibly sexy and fun about being downtown at the federal courthouse—where I normally wear my most conservative suit—being all dressed up in my wedding dress instead. Sort of like that time I went to a friend’s wedding in Chicago and we all went out at 3:00 a.m. after the wedding, still in our formal wear, to go and get authentic deep-dish pizza. Vanessa said that she felt that way, too, in her gorgeous custom-made bridesmaid dress.

When I told this to Jack, he suggested taking the subway downtown to make my fantasy complete. Instead of screaming at him
Have you lost your goddamned mind, you idiot, even suggesting such a thing? I don’t even take the subway when I’m wearing fancy jeans, much less my wedding dress!
at the top of my lungs, I simply told him that I didn’t need the subway to complete my fantasy, since my fantasy was complete by being married to him.

See how good I am at being a wife
already?

I
t is an old Jewish custom, dating back to the time of Rebecca, that the bride and groom must go to a private room after the wedding ceremony and be alone for the first time. Since Jack and I were living together for almost a year before our wedding, we most certainly have had occasion to “be alone” together, but, nonetheless, my father made sure that, the second we got to the art gallery for the reception, we went back into Millie’s office to have our time in the
Yichud.

“We’re finally married,” Jack says, as he grabs me and gives me a kiss. It’s not the sweet and innocent and totally family-appropriate type of kiss that he gave me in Judge Martin’s chambers. This kiss is serious, earnest, burning—downright smoldering. It’s a kiss that tells me everything I need to know about the type of life we are going to have together: Jack loves me and always will.

And I love Jack and always will.

We kiss shamelessly for God knows how long when finally one of us realizes that it might be bad form to spend the whole of your wedding making out with your new husband in your best friend’s mother’s art gallery office. It’s actually Jack who says it, because I don’t really see a problem with it.

“We’re finally married,” I say to Jack as I touch up my lip gloss in the reflection of Millie’s huge floor-to-ceiling window. You’d think a former model like Millie would be vain enough to have a mirror somewhere in her office….

“You didn’t think I’d let you get away from me again?” Jack says.

“I was hoping you wouldn’t,” I say, turning around to look at my new husband. “I was really hoping you wouldn’t.”

Jack and I finally walk out into the reception and I’m awestruck by how Millie’s created such an ethereal space out of her art gallery. Sure, it’s in a huge penthouse loft in Tribeca, with fourteen-foot ceilings and views looking out to the water that make you feel like you’re in a movie. Sure, it’s all exposed brick and original wood, framed perfectly by its many picture windows on each of the four walls. But, for the reception, she’s taken out the huge eight-foot white walls, normally arranged like Stonehenge, on which the art is displayed, and has replaced them with tables dressed in crisp white linens with chairs dressed to match. She’s got tiny little white lights strewn across the ceiling, making you feel like you’re outside on a crisp summer’s night.

I see Vanessa from across the floor with her father and the new guy she’s dating. I’m shocked to see that this new guy is actually someone I know. The new guy is also someone who her father already knows. It’s someone Vanessa knows, too. Very well, I might add.

Her husband. Well, ex-husband as the case may be, but the fact remains that Vanessa’s here with Marcus. And they’re holding hands and giggling like two children. Two children who are madly in love.

Jack and I walk over to the other happy couple of the evening and say hello.

“Congratulations,” Marcus says to me. “May I kiss the bride?”

“Of course,” I say.

As he leans over to kiss me I look over his shoulder at Vanessa. She just shrugs and laughs.

“May I kiss the bridesmaid?” Jack says and gives Vanessa a big hug.

“I’m the maid of honor!” Vanessa says.

“I beg your pardon,” Jack says, “May I kiss the maid of honor?”

“Because I didn’t do all this,” Vanessa goes on, throwing her arms out wide so as to indicate that she’s talking about the reception, “to
not
get top billing.”

“Of course you get top billing,” I say, just as a waiter breezes by with a platter of mini hot dogs. Jack and I both grab one at the same time.

“These are my favorite,” I say, dipping my mini hot dog into the mustard and then grabbing for a cocktail napkin. I have to do a double take when I look at the monogram—BSJ—for Brooke and Jack Solomon.

We are officially husband and wife.

“Mine too!” Jack says, dipping his mini hot dog into the mustard and then popping the whole thing into his mouth.

“I know,” Vanessa says, smiling. “A good maid of honor does her research.”

And she had. In fact, all of Jack’s and my favorites were there: a potato bar in one corner, a caviar station in the other, tuna tartar and tiny vegetable dumplings being passed around by elegant waiters in pristine white jackets, and even a martini bar.

And then, of course, there’s lots of kosher meat, lovingly supplied by my dad.

As Jack and I approach the prime rib carving station, I overhear my father trying to convince Jack’s mother to taste a tiny piece of his meat.

I assure you, this conversation does not sound even
half
as dirty as I just made it out to be.

And, anyway, get your mind out of the gutter, you horn dog, I’m talking about my wedding day here, for God’s sake!

“It’s kosher,” my father pleads. “It’s blessed by a higher power.”

“That’s really not the issue, Barry,” Joan says, eyeing a crudité platter nearby.

“Then what is the issue?” he asks, “I’d really love for you to love my meat.”

Okay, yes, I admit, that last part does sound a bit off.

“I just like to watch my weight,” Joan says, running her hands across her hips without even knowing it.

“It’s your son’s wedding,” my father says, lowering his voice and talking to her like he’s a high-school senior who’s got a freshman girl in his car after curfew. “Live a little.”

“It’s not just that, Barry,” she says. “I’ve had a lifetime struggle with my weight, and sticking to a vegetarian diet is really the only way I’ve found that helps me to keep the weight off.”

“Is that what it is?” my father asks. “My Mimi eats my meat all the time and still stays thin as a rail. I can get you some really lean cuts that are low in fat, but will load you up with protein, so that you don’t feel hungry when you’re dieting.”

After then assuring her that her figure is gorgeous anyway, my father promises to get Joan what he called his “Mimi cuts” that would help her to diet more effectively. I could have sworn that I later even heard my mom giving Joan some of her best diet tips.

Which is odd, seeing as she never really shares them with me.

The band begins to play and Jack puts his hand out for me to take. I can’t help but recall that other time that Jack and I danced at a wedding—when we were at my ex-boyfriend’s wedding and I was pretending that Jack was my Scottish fiancé so that I could keep my dignity ever-so-slightly intact. Long story.) It was at
that
wedding, on
that
dance floor, that I realized that Jack was the man of my dreams and that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him.

We’ve had countless ups and downs since that night—too many even to think about—but we finally made it here. To the day of all days. Our wedding day. Where we’re dancing as husband and wife, and I truly couldn’t be happier.

Now, here, in the middle of Millie’s art gallery, I look around the room and see friends and family. All of the people who mean the most to us in this world. My parents, Jack’s parents, Jack’s sisters and brothers-in-law and Vanessa…All here for us. To celebrate this day with us.

It may not be the Pierre Hotel in Manhattan and it may not be a temple on the South Shore of Long Island, but all in all, I couldn’t have had a more perfect wedding if I’d actually planned it myself.

It is the happiest day of my life.