esque gesture of affection. He thanked us all for coming and told us to enjoy the many exhibits about the life of Jesus Christ on the way out, helpfully pointing out that restrooms could be found between the crucifixion and the resurrection.
“Ava actually became an actress to overcome her severe shyness and now uses drama therapy with handicapped children at Mount Sinai….”
Enough with her good qualities already! I don’t hear anyone talking about Trip’s wonderful qualities up there. Maybe that was because Trip would never do anything unless there was some form of reward, monetary or otherwise, in it for him. But, I never heard them go on and on about one’s qualities this much at a wedding before. Granted, I never attended the wedding of someone quite so saintlike before, but still. I mean, I billed over two thousand hours last year! I sincerely doubt that my parents’ rabbi would be talking about that at my wedding.
This is why I much prefer a Jewish wedding ceremony. Twenty minutes long. You’re in, you’re out. Bring on the kosher cocktail franks.
“This can’t be real,” I thought but didn’t say. Or, I should say, I thought and meant not to say, but said. Oops.
“Actually, it is,” Jack whispered. “When I saw her on
“You are a litigator in a big firm in Manhattan,” I said to Jack. “How do you get home in time to see
“I think that the better question is why do you watch
“What’s wrong with
“Let’s just put it this way,” Vanessa explained, “you’re about one step away from watching Lifetime Television for Women.”
Vanessa and I snickered as the priest announced that it was time to kiss the bride.
Trip and Ava kissed as the audience stood and applauded.
19
Finally, some cocktail franks. Kosher or not, those things always hit the spot.
The cocktail hour was amazing. Now I know the meaning of “rubbing elbows.” The room was filled with Hollywood’s best and brightest, and there was little old me, rubbing elbows with them. Literally. Brushing by them elegantly and then smiling to say “hello.” Or, I should say, bumping into them very ungracefully and then checking my boobs to make sure that they were still in my dress, but you get my point. Glamorous actresses, brilliant directors, rich producers, the most successful agents and even a few sports stars had turned out for the wedding of the season. And I seriously doubt that it was the sushi bar that brought them there. Even though that was where my date had parked himself all night, I was sure that for the Hollywood folks, it took more than a spicy tuna roll to get them excited.
Vanessa and I, on the other hand, had parked ourselves at the caviar station. It was perfectly situated to the right of the vodka slide, but to the left of the kitchen doors, so that as the waitstaff came out with hors d’oeuvres, we missed nary a shrimp skewer, vegetable dumpling or smoked salmon on toast points between the two of us.
I left Vanessa over at the caviar station with a football player who had mistaken her for a famous model while I met Jack at the prime-rib carving station. He was being quizzed by old family friends of Ava’s parents.
“Where in Scotland are you originally from?” Mr. Martin was asking Jack.
“Who me?” he asked in a perfect Scottish accent. “Ah, yes, Perth. Perth. Lovely Perth.” He looked at me for approval, and I stood beaming from ear to ear. I was so happy I could have kissed him right then and there. In a platonic way, of course.
“Ah, yes, Perth! We’ve heard that it’s so beautiful there,” Mrs. Martin said.
“Beautiful,” Jack said as he sipped his drink.
“We were just there!” Mr. Martin said.
“You were?” Jack said, his vodka straight up practically coming out of his nose.
“Why yes!” Mrs. Martin explained. “We just got back from Scotland last week, you see.”
“You did?” Jack asked. I signaled for the waitress. This was going to be a very long cocktail hour.
“Yes,” Mrs. Martin explained. “But I’m afraid we never made it to Perth.”
“No, I’m afraid not,” Mr. Martin chimed in. “Is Perth near Edinburgh?”
“Edinburgh. Edinburgh, uh…no?” Jack guessed as he brushed his hand through his hair. I could tell he was trying to visualize the map from www.visitscotland.com in his mind, but I didn’t know how much that would help, since the map wasn’t drawn to scale. I offered nothing to the conversation as I stood next to him smiling like an idiot — I hadn’t studied where cities were in relation to each other, either, so I really couldn’t be mad at Jack for not knowing the answer himself. “Uh, well, Edinburgh is where Paris ought to be. Yes, that’s what I always say.”
Where was that cocktail waitress? Can’t she see that we’re thirsty over here?
“Oh,” Mrs. Martin said.
“Ever played St. Andrews?” Mr. Martin asked. Jack nodded and shrugged knowingly so as to say: “Don’t I always?”
“So, what’s your favorite part of Scotland?” Mrs. Martin asked.
“Ah, yes, well, that would be my own hometown,” Jack said. I put my hand on Jack’s shoulder as a show of support. He was recovering from the Edinburgh incident quite nicely.
“Well, isn’t that sweet?” Mrs. Martin asked.
“Yes, it is,” Mr. Martin agreed. “But come on, there have to be some other places you could tell us about. Tell us about some of the places that the tourists miss.”
“Uh, yes, of course,” Jack said as Mr. and Mrs. Martin looked on with anticipation. “Well, there’s Aberdeen, also known as the City of Roses, did you see that? It’s beautiful. And then there’s Stirling, the smallest city in all of Scotland, that’s quite beautiful, too. And then, of course, there are the famous lochs. Did you know that Loch Ness is actually the second largest loch? Not the first?” He was spewing off information quickly and in short snippets, as if he were a contestant on a game show.
“We did not know that!” Mrs. Martin said, clapping her hands together with excitement.
“What else do the tourists miss?” Mr. Martin asked, a big smile on his face.
“What else?” Jack said. “Did you know that over 790 islands make up the country of Scotland?”
“Yes, our tour guide told us that,” Mrs. Martin said. “What else?”
“Did you know that Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, author of the
“Yes,” Mrs. Martin said, eyes wide with anticipation for Jack’s next tidbit of information.
“Yes, of course, what else? What else, indeed. It’s just, goddamn. I’m sorry. I’m afraid that I can’t really talk about it. It’s times like these when you really think of family, you know. I just miss me mum so damn much!” And with that, he started to cry. While I stood in wide-eyed horror, it looked as if Mr. and Mrs. Martin really bought it. I guess he really is a pretty decent actor.
“Let’s make a toast,” Mr. Martin cried out, throwing his arms around Jack’s shoulders and walking him toward the bar. “A toast to Scotland!”
“Yes, of course!” Mrs. Martin said. “A toast to Scotland. To your mum! I’m sure she misses you as much as you miss her!” Mr. Martin put his arm around Jack and Mrs. Martin took my arm. They walked us to the bar as if they were our chaperones.
“We should get some sort of traditional Scottish drink,” Mr. Martin said to Mrs. Martin.
“Douglas, what should we get?” Mrs. Martin asked as we caught up with Jack and Mr. Martin at the bar.
“Traditional Scottish drink, ay?” Jack said. “Well, of course — that would be — Scotch!”
