Jack With a Twist

“But I thought you were sold? Didn’t you just say a half hour ago that they play the exact type of music that you want for our wedding?” he says.

I shrug in response.

“And, her band looks great. Don’t you want a good-looking band that’s fronted by a gorgeous woman like Savannah?” Jack asks.

“We’re finding another band.”

“You know what I think? I think your judgment is clouded because of this litigation,” Jack says, pulling his chair closer to mine. “Why don’t we talk settlement on our case and then that will clear your head for more important things—like our wedding?”

“Well, I didn’t want to do this, but—” I say as I lean back in my chair from Jack and put my hand inside my dress.

“No, please do,” Jack says, his eyes following my hand intently as I fish around the inside of my dress. “I insist. Do you need some help with that?”

“No, I think I’ve got it,” I say, as my fingers wrap around the thing I’d been groping for. Jack stands in front of me, eyes wide and glued to my chest like a sixth-grader as I pull out the papers. Now, I don’t know exactly what Jack expected me to pull out from the inside of my dress. How exciting could a thing that would fit inside of the folds of my dress be? I guess it was just the excitement of seeing my hands so close to my breasts.

But, unfortunately for Jack, the thing that I was looking for wasn’t anything sexy or spicy—it was a set of discovery requests of my own.

“Counselor,” I say, pausing for effect and giving the statement the requisite pageantry that such a statement deserved, “consider yourself served.”

14

“I hate that one,” Vanessa tells me, “it makes your finger look fat.”

“Have you been hanging out with my mother?” I say, looking up at her.

“I called it fat,” she says, “not fleshy. There’s a difference.”

“Which is worse?” I ask as she takes the ring I’ve just tried on and puts it onto her own slender finger.

“See? Fat,” she reports. “And I have very thin fingers.”

I knew I shouldn’t have brought someone who’s skinnier than me shopping. Even if it is only ring shopping, who ever wants to look fat? I should have just brought Rosalyn. The other day at lunch, she volunteered to come with me, but it was hard to get a word in edgewise throughout the whole lunch as she regaled me with tale after tale of how she works a full caseload, but still manages to carve time out from her work for each and every one of her son’s Little League games.

Anyway, I thought it was more appropriate to bring Vanessa, my maid/matron of honor. Even if I haven’t asked her yet to be in my wedding party, she’s still my best friend.

We’re on 47th Street, the Diamond District, at a friend of my father’s who is supposed to be giving us an amazing deal on wedding bands. (“If he doesn’t discount it by at least half,” my father cautioned, “you are to call me immediately.”)

It’s been difficult to find something that will match Jack’s grandmother’s engagement ring. An Asscher cut diamond with regal trillions flanking it on either side and channel-set diamonds around the rest of the platinum band, I’m finding it difficult to match its old-fashioned traditional style with the more modern wedding bands that I like. Moishe (his real name) told me that it will be impossible to find a ring that’s in my personal style to match the engagement ring, but I just know that if we try hard enough, we’ll be able to make the two styles come together beautifully.

“That one’s no good,” Moishe says, taking the ring from Vanessa and putting it back in the showcase. “Let me run downstairs and take a look at the other stuff we’ve got. You two look at earrings while I’m gone.”

I should mention here that I find it very disconcerting that an Orthodox Jewish man with a painful comb-over who weighs more than Vanessa and me combined has better taste in diamonds and assorted other baubles than Vanessa and me combined.

“So, my divorce is moving along quickly,” Vanessa says as we walk over to the earring display case.

“Oh, my God, Van,” I say, “is this too hard for you? Maybe we shouldn’t be doing this today.”

“Of course not!” she says, pointing to a pair of delicate ruby studs. “I can be happy for you even though my world is falling apart.”

“Your world is not falling apart,” I say, motioning for Moishe’s son to come open the display case for us.

“Yes, it is,” Vanessa says, looking at me, “but I’m okay with it.”

“No, it’s not,” I say, as Moishe’s son rubs the ruby earrings with alcohol so that Vanessa can try them on, “you have your friends, your family, your apartment.”

“Friends?” she says as Moishe’s son hands her the earrings to try on, “I don’t have any friends. My so-called best friend hasn’t even asked me to be in her wedding party.”

“I wanted to!” I say, “but it never seemed like the right time. Of course I want you to be in my wedding party! You are my wedding party! Vanessa, will you be my matron of honor?”

“No,” she says, looking at her reflection in the mirror with the earrings on.

“Was I supposed to get down on one knee for that or something?” I ask. “Maybe that’s why I got such a chilly reception when I asked Jack’s sisters. Is there some bridesmaid protocol that I’m not aware of?”

“You asked them before me?” Vanessa says, eyes widening in disbelief.

“Is that why you said no?” I ask.

“No,” she says, looking at me, “it’s because by your wedding I’ll be a maid. Not a matron anymore.”

I grab Vanessa and give her a hug. Vanessa’s not really a hugger, but as I hold her to me, I feel her hug me back.

“Let’s just leave,” I whisper into Vanessa’s ear, “I’ll come back later.”

“No way,” Vanessa says, pulling back. “This is your day to look at wedding bands. It’s all about you.”

“No, it’s not,” I say, “it’s all about the lunch after the wedding ring shopping. I think we’ve done enough for one day and there’s a Burger Heaven right around the corner. Let’s go get burgers and fries and talk all afternoon. We can always come back later if we want.”

“Okay,” Vanessa says and we make a beeline to the door.

“Ladies!” Moishe says as he huffs and puffs on his way back up from the basement.

“Don’t worry, Moishe,” I say, walking back to his counter, “I’ll come back this week and we can finish up then.”

“No—” he says, but I cut him off. These guys on 47th Street can be so pushy! I guess he doesn’t realize that after the deal he made with my father, it’s a foregone conclusion that I’ll be getting Jack’s and my wedding bands from him.

“Moishe,” I say, putting my hand on top of his, “you don’t have to worry. We’re not going to go to someone else. It’s just that we’ve had enough jewelry shopping for one day.”

“Brooke—” he says.

“I promise you! We’re not going to anyone else!” I say with a laugh, looking back at Vanessa, who is nodding as if to say, “After all of the time and expertise you’ve expended with us, would we go to someone else?” Moishe is finally able to get a word in edgewise.

“The earrings,” he says, as his son puts his hand out.

Vanessa’s hand flies to her ears upon realizing that she is, in fact, still wearing the ruby studs, and she begins to quickly take them out of her ears.

“I knew that,” she says.

I ask you, is there any greater pleasure in life than a burger and fries with a Vanilla Coke? There’s nothing that such a combo cannot fix. It’s comfort food at its best—the perfect mix of salty and sweet. For God’s sake, it is the American Way. Vanessa and I sit at a booth at Burger Heaven where I’ve thankfully got her mind off her