And now, here they were, waiting on yellow oak chairs in the hall, while one couple after another passed in and out of the judge’s office with the classic stars in their eyes.
Laura, who was sitting quietly in her chair, said, “They all look so happy,” and drew courage from the fact.
“They’re scared witless,” Jack said, pacing up and down in front of her.
“Jack!” Laura exclaimed, appalled. “They’ll hear you.”
“Ours will be a happier marriage than any of these,” he said with a contemptuous wave of his hand. He sat down suddenly beside her. “Ours could be damn near perfect, Laura, if we work at it a little. You know that? We won’t have to face the usual pitfalls. Ours will be different…better.”
“I hope so, Jack,” she said in a near whisper, and a little thrill of passionate hope went through her.
“Will you try, honey?” he asked.
“I will. With all my heart I will.” She gave him a tremulous smile. “I want this to work, Jack, as much as you do. I’ll give it all I’ve got. I want terribly for it to be right.” And she meant it.
“Then it will,” he said and his smile gave her a needed shot of confidence.
Laura had had some bad nights since she said yes to him. Awful hours of yearning for Tris had tormented her. Stray unwelcome thoughts of Beebo had hurt her even more.
There were the lonely times when she thought about herself and Jack, so different, so dear to each other, and wondered if marital intimacy might not ruin it all with its innocent vulgarity. She tried to imagine Jack shaving in the morning…the toilet flushing…his wrinkled pajamas, still warm from sleep, tossed on the floor…his naked loneliness mutely reproaching her. The idea of living with a man…a man…made her think of her father, her huge heavy domineering father, with his aggressive maleness stamped all over his body.
But for the most part, Laura tried not to think at all. She let Jack do her thinking. She let Jack make the plans. She let Jack take her by the hand and lead her where he deemed it best for her to go. And, trusting him, she went.
So here they were outside Judge Sterling Webster’s door with its glass window and neatly stenciled name, and they were next in line. Their predecessors in the marriage mill were slower than the rest, or so it seemed. And by the time they came out Jack was very nervous.
He herded her in ahead of him, and Judge Webster, as dignified and antique as his name, stood to greet them with an extended hand.
In less than five minutes he pronounced them man and wife and they signed the certificate of marriage. Jack turned to Laura and kissed his tall and trembling young wife on her cheek. He gave the Judge ten dollars, and then he took Laura’s arm and steered her out again to let the next impatient couple take over.
Laura had to sit down for a minute on one of the limed oak chairs and cover her face with her hands. Jack leaned over her and said, “You’re setting a lousy example, Mother. Every female here is watching you and figuring me for a wife-beater. Come on, Mrs. Mann.”
She looked up and saw him grinning at her, and it gave her a lift. She grasped his hand and let him pull her to her feet. He was beaming, and Laura had to smile at all the nervous cynicism of half an hour ago.
They went straight to the apartment to rest for a while before they went out to dinner. Jack had made reservations for them at the Stork Club.
“We’ll have a proper honeymoon at Christmastime,” he said, when they reached the house on East Fifty-third. “I’ll take a month off then. I have it coming.”
Ignoring Laura’s protests, he insisted on carrying her across the threshold. He swung her up easily, to their mutual pleasure.
“Jack, I think you’re the world’s worst sentimentalist,” she teased him when he set her down, but he denied it at once.
“God forbid!” he said. “I just don’t want anything to go wrong. We’re going to do it all right, right from the start.”
“And you’re superstitious.”
He laughed with delight. “Laura,” he said and came to take her hands. “I’m so happy. You’ve made me so happy.”
“I haven’t done a thing, yet,” she said, wondering a little at him, at his uncontainable good spirits.
“You’ve married me. That’s something,” he said. “I’m a married man. God Almighty, think of it!”
“If you were any prouder you’d explode,” she giggled.
“I just may,” he said. And they gazed at each other with a huge, wordless approval and relief.
“This calls for a celebration,” he said suddenly. “I got a little something—”
“Oh, Jack, no drinking,” she said. “I don’t have to have a drink, really. I don’t want you to get started.”
“No nagging on our wedding day,” he said and produced a bottle of champagne from the refrigerator. He poured her a glassful and himself a swallow. “Medicinal,” he explained, and they toasted each other. He made her drink all of hers and kept pace with her with ginger ale. “I feel so good, by God, I don’t even need it,” he said, and laughed.
Laura watched him affectionately. She had never seen him so animated, so happy. He glowed with it. He was almost handsome, with his brilliant eyes and his proud smile. It made her feel a little like crying, and she stopped him in the middle of a delirious tirade of compliments to say, “Jack, please. You embarrass me. I’m afraid I won’t live up to it all.”
“Oh, but you will. I’ll beat you if you don’t,” he said, laughing, and kissed her cheek. And she caught his hands and kissed them.
“You’d think we were a couple of normal people,” she said.
He sobered a little, sitting down on the floor in front of her. “They have no monopoly on happiness, Mother.
