Dead and Breakfast (The New Orleans Go Cup Chronicles Book 2) (17 page)

Angela’s mother was standing by, wringing both hands as usual. She had been told by the photographer to remove the clear plastic covers on all her furniture, otherwise the flash would bounce off the plastic and explode light into the pictures causing overexposure or starbursts. This was probably the first time the furniture had ever been exposed to elements in the real world since it had arrived there some thirty years ago. She made a point of reminding all of us that the furniture was a wedding gift to her and Angela’s father from Nana, who stood with hands clasped at her waist sending a disapproving look at us over Mrs. Fortunata’s shoulder. Angela’s mother, with the help of Nana, the Scowler, scanned the bridesmaids continuously looking for a drink or food in someone’s hands that might spill onto the prized sofa and soil it. When Angela’s mother was not commanded to stand in a photo she would pick up the plastic furniture covers, ready to replace them as soon as the last flash went off. As soon as the photographer said he was done, Angela’s mother shooed everyone off the sofa and began to replace the plastic covers even while Angela whined to be unbuttoned.

***

When the photos were over I hurriedly changed so Angela, her mother and old eagle eye Nana didn’t have a chance to look me over. Don’t misunderstand, it was still an ugly dress, only a tad less ugly than what the others were wearing. Even with Frank’s modifications, which I must say made the wearing of it much more tolerable, there was no way I would put this wicked thing on again…ever…to go anywhere…for any reason.

The buses hauled the entire wedding party to the church rehearsal then to the Court of Two Sisters in the French Quarter for the evening. Mr. Fortunato had booked rooms for the entire wedding party at the Hotel Monteleone, walking distance from the restaurant, for the night. The buses would pick us up from the Monteleone and bring us to the church the next morning. Angela was getting married at a church on St. Charles Avenue reputed to have the longest aisle for brides to walk down in the City of New Orleans.

After the wedding ceremony, limos would pick us up from church and transport the happily married couple with their entourage to the Italian suburb of New Orleans—Metairie—and the Italian reception venue of choice—The Veranda. There was no mistaking The Veranda as Italian owned, operated and frequented because the semi circular drive was lined in an assortment of marble statues, all copies of great Italian sculptures. The oversized leaded, and bulletproof, glass doors opened to an entryway that looked over marble floors that zigzagged and changed configuration, color and design at every doorway for a dizzying effect if you looked down too long. Everything was exaggerated, oversized and overdone.

Their true claim to fame was the food the Veranda served at weddings—New Orleans style food, i.e. crab cakes, crab etouffee, oyster patties, and Italian food, i.e. Veal Parmesan, pastas and cannoli pastries. There was no end to the liquor served, all top shelf ending with Frangelico and Amaretto liquors. If it was Italian or made in Italy it was served here.

I asked Jiff to be my date to the wedding but I really couldn’t imagine how it would help our relationship subjecting him to the rehearsal at the church and the dinner afterwards. Dante would be there and with so many people involved it would take hours to get them organized just to walk down the aisle and back. The church rehearsal had all the makings of a Chinese fire drill. Instead of joining me for the evening of Italian mayhem, Jiff was going to the church for the ceremony and then he’d meet me at The Veranda afterwards for the cocktail reception. Unlike wedding receptions elsewhere with sit down dinners, New Orleans wedding receptions are cocktail parties with endless trays of drinks, champagne and large appetizer portions served while everyone dances to live music. While the party was in full swing, after the wedding cake was cut and the bouquet and garter had been tossed, I was going to change out of the dress and Jiff and I planned to duck out to go somewhere else.

I assumed Dante would continue to avoid me as he’d been doing for the last several weeks, and we would only have to walk together down the aisle and out of the church to the waiting limos after the wedding. How hard could it be to be civil to one another? Besides, he was probably bringing Hanky Panky as his date. She should get a good laugh at my expense when she got an eyeful of me in this dress.

***

At the church, the rehearsal went way better than I ever could have imagined. The boatload of Italians remained quiet listened to the priest and followed his directions. The bridesmaids all marched up and down the aisle with military precision in the correct order and met our waiting groomsman, then stood exactly where we were told. When the priest indicated what he would say when the ceremony was over, we all turned in unison, met our escorts and proceeded down the aisle flawlessly. Even the young children, flower girls and ring bearers, listened and did their part without crying or throwing tantrums. The rehearsal moved as if pod people had taken the place of the entire wedding party with the exception of me. No one really had time to speak or stand next to each other very long. Dante and I avoided eye contact and he remained distant. It was just as well because the ordeal with Julia was putting a strain on me. The case against Julia was definitely in the police’s favor and while I didn’t want to be the one to spill a state secret I was hoping Dante might tell me something Julia could use.

As we exited the church Dante dropped my arm like it was on fire and the real members of the wedding party shed the pod people and returned to their normal, arm waving, screaming selves. Mr. Tuddo was waiting outside of church and instructed us all, over his bullhorn, to remain with our bridesmaid or groomsman, and sit together on the buses. It would make it easier to find our names on the placement cards when we arrived at the restaurant. He said we were all seated together in pairs. Dante and I would be joined at the hip all evening.

The bus ride wasn’t bad since there were a lot of distractions. It seemed the bridesmaids could only communicate by yelling at each other in conversation and then letting out a long scream to indicate their side of the communication was over. They all talked—correction, screamed—at once to each other or their groomsman. Dante and I rode in silence, acting profoundly interested in everything being screamed around us rather than with each other.

There were two long parallel tables with the future bride, groom and their parents on the dais table across the end of both. And there they were, Brandy Alexander’s name and Dante Deedler’s name, side by side at the end of one table up against the dais. Dante was wedged between the head table and me. When we squeezed into the tightly configured seats, our thighs were touching. I didn’t say a word except “excuse me” every time I bumped him with my elbow or foot. I never looked at him. I started to press my thigh into his a little more as the evening progressed and the wine flowed. I increased how many times I accidently bumped him with my elbow or foot. I could see it out of my peripheral vision that the vein on his neck was working overtime indicating he was at the boiling point but he refused to speak to me.

As soon as dinner was over, he excused himself and left. I stayed and chatted with a couple of people sitting near me, but when I saw Little Tony making his way in my direction, I decided it was time to go. During dinner I’d discovered we were paired or in foursomes to share rooms at the hotel. I was lucky enough to be roomies with two bridesmaids and Angela. Oh boy, a slumber party with a bunch of yats gossiping all night. Why couldn’t any of these women have a conversation without screaming? My ears would be ringing for a week.

Angela’s parents were in the adjoining room via a door they closed but did not lock so Angela could run back and forth between her friends and parents whining about every detail that might ruin her perfect day.

***

The morning of the wedding, when I woke up and opened my eyes I could have sworn the heavens parted and I heard the celestial “Ahhhhh” of angels singing. The bridesmaids were all abuzz getting dressed, doing their hair—more teasing— and trying to wrestle the hoops into place. Finally, someone knocked on our hotel room door and when it opened Little Tony stood there and advised all the bridesmaids it was almost time to get in the limos and head for the church. He said someone would come back for us in five minutes. The bridal party, Angela and her parents, all the flower girls and ring bearers would be leaving shortly. The girls began rushing about, frantically putting on last minute lipstick applications, looking for their hats, gathering the flower baskets and making final adjustments to the hoops.

When the second knock came and the door opened it was Dante, who held the door for us. I was the last one out and as I passed him he grabbed me around my waist and pulled me backwards into the room. He didn’t say a word. He looked at me and nodded his head up and down asking for approval. I nodded yes. He held up one finger to his lips to indicate we needed to be quiet.

He removed my hat and threw it on the bed. I dropped the basket. He reached down and started at my feet gathering up yards of my dress and holding it up until he got both hands to my waist and then, pulling me into him, he reached around and put his hands on my rear. He lifted me up and I wrapped my legs around him. He walked me over to the door between the rooms. He leaned my back onto the closed adjoining door of the Fortunatas’ room. I could hear the Fortunatas yelling at each other on the other side. Angela’s mother was telling Angela how beautiful she looked while Mr. Donnato was yelling he couldn’t find his keys. Angela was screaming it was time to go. They were only a couple of feet away from us and the fact they could open the door any second and we could fall into their room bumped me to the top of my arousal meter. Once I had my legs around his waist and my arms around his neck, his hands were pulling off my panties and his mouth was all over my face. He pulled at my underwear and I pulled my legs up one at a time while one of his hands stayed on my rear and he could get them off with the other. I could not think of anything else but kissing him. When he got the panties off, he put me down. He put my panties in his tuxedo pocket and walked out the room.

I stood there breathless and leaning on the door until I could get steady on my feet. It took me a few minutes for me to compose myself. With trembling hands I put on fresh lipstick and sort of glided down the stairs on weak knees to meet the rest of the bridal party. I was so hot inside I thought people would step back from the heat that was radiating off me.

“Oh, good, here’s Brandy, now we can all go.” Mr. Donnato kissed me on the cheek, held the door open and helped me into the limo. I guess he had found his keys.

At the back of the church Little Tony was buzzing around any bridesmaid that would give him a cordial response. He was supposed to be escorting guests to their seats on the proper side of the church, either the groom’s side or the bride’s side. He was also supposed to walk Angela’s mother to her seat so the wedding could commence. Most of us ignored him. I noticed bubble-gum-girl and another one of the Italian cousins with the high-hat-hair break away from our cluster and follow Little Tony into an alcove off the entry way. They were standing with their backs to me in a huddle blocked from the others by a curved wall. The church collection baskets were stored there out of sight. I moved a step away from the bridal party but stood close enough to look like I was still with the group. I could see Little Tony setting up lines of coke on the back of his hand and the three of them were snorting with a rolled up dollar bill.

Angela and her parents were going to wring Little Tony’s neck if they caught him doing this in church while he was delegated as the family representative to be greeting and escorting guests. He was going to be high along with two of the bridal bimbos for the whole wedding. I moved back to the wedding party and took my place as maid of honor in front of Angela. Mr. Donnato was beaming and so proud to be escorting his daughter on her wedding day.

Finally, Angela’s mother decided it was time to start the wedding and she needed to be seated, so she started the search for Little Tony. One of the bridesmaids not partaking in the pre-wedding snort pointed toward the alcove when Mr. Donnato starting asking where he was. Little Tony made a glassy eyed appearance to walk his mother to her seat. Mr. Donnato gave him a slap on the back of his head when Little Tony stood next to his parents. A church custodian opened the doors from the vestibule where we were waiting, revealing the six hundred or so guests turned in their seats and looking to the back where we all stood.

He straightened his tuxedo jacket by pulling it down from the bottom, held out his arm for his mother to take and then walked her up to her seat high fiving every guy he knew sitting on the aisle.

Mr. Donnato said, “I’m gonna kill that little bastard.”

Angela started pleading, “Da-a-a-a-ddy, ple-e-e-e-ase, not toda-a-a-a-ay.”

“OK, OK, don’t worry baby, I’ll kill him tomorrow.” He hushed her. “You look beautiful, don’t worry about your worthless brother right now.”

Little Tony finally got his mother to her seat when trumpets blasted, indicating the wedding could commence. The trumpets were so loud they scared all the children in the wedding party, who started crying. When they saw all the guests turned in their seats looking back at them it sent them into a screaming frenzy. No one could coerce them into participating. The mothers of the flower girls carried crying babies up the aisle while they hid their faces on their mother’s shoulders. The ring bearers had a similar experience except they shouted “NO” when their mothers tried to pick them up and walk with them. They threw themselves on the floor of the church screaming, and their fathers had to pick them up and move to a seat sending the rings up the aisle with an unemotional third party. The eighteen bridesmaids who had been bivouacking all around the back of the church migrated to their places in the lineup. The bridesmaids who had a nose full from Little Tony were acting bizarre, which came as no surprise to most of us. One all but jogged up the aisle and the other had to be pushed along by the bridesmaid behind her because she was walking so slowly she didn’t seem to be moving at all. When she got to the front of the church she drifted behind the groomsman she met and stood next to him on the wrong side. One of the bridesmaids already in position had to move her to her proper spot, which wasn’t easy, maneuvering around in the hoops.