Dead and Breakfast (The New Orleans Go Cup Chronicles Book 2) (18 page)

When it was my turn to walk up the aisle, I saw my parents sitting on the aisle end of the pew so they had a good view of the procession and Jiff sitting, two pews behind them, also at the end of a row. He was looking at me coming up the center of church and smiling like he does whenever he sees me for the first time that day. That smile makes me feel like I’ve been scooped up in his arms and he is carrying me off into the sunset while I put my head on his shoulder. His smile and his look for me always melted my heart just like it was doing now.

In the same pew with Jiff was Julia, Frank and Woozie, all dolled up and looking spectacular. When I passed Jiff, he smiled at me and said “nice hat” just loud enough for me to hear when I looked at him. When I passed my parents, my dad mouthed, “smile” followed by a big toothy grin indicating I should do the same. My mother was in training to take over for The Scowler.

I looked up to the front of church just as the bridesmaid before me met her groomsman. They bowed their heads at the altar then parted to stand on either side of the altar. Dante stepped out to the middle of the aisle and turned so he was looking straight at me. I thought about where my underwear was and all of a sudden I could barely breathe. My head was thinking one thing and my heart was feeling another. I was so glad I didn’t have to say anything for at least an hour until the ceremony was over. I wasn’t sure what I was even going to say to Dante then.

It seemed the organist played for an eternity so that eighteen bridesmaids could all walk up to the altar and get in position before another eardrum-piercing trumpet blast announced the bride’s arrival.

The church ceremony, the music, the bride and groom were all a blur. The only thing clear to me was Dante waiting at the end of my long walk to the front of the church at the altar. He was watching me and when our eyes met, I felt weak in the knees with butterflies in my stomach. When I got to him I was almost breathless. He stepped forward, took my hand, squeezed it, we faced the altar together, then separated to stand in our appropriate spots on either side of Angela and Angelo. Those few seconds of him touching me sent my mind into a tailspin.

I couldn’t stop thinking of his hands on me back in the hotel room and now my underwear was in his pocket. I was in church, for heaven’s sake. I prayed to God no one needed to sneeze forcing Dante to reach for a handkerchief.

Catholic weddings are traditional with long-drawn-out ceremonies full of showing homage and asking for favors from the saints and patrons of families. But an Italian Catholic wedding was the all-out, hands-down, longest running ceremony with homages paid to every known saint, the bride’s mother, and the groom’s mother, in addition to an hour long mass. Each tribute required the bride to move around the church stopping at an altar or shrine, saying a prayer, lighting a candle or leaving a memento like a rose or flower. Her maid of honor (yes—me) goes with her, bending over in that dress and hat while holding a bushel basket to straighten the wedding gown behind her. Keeping the hat on my head while I bent over was a major accomplishment. I wanted to kiss Frank on the lips for removing the hoop, considering where my panties were, because every time I would have had to bend over in a hoop skirt I would have mooned everyone in the church. Finally, after the bride and groom thanked and prayed to every patron saint and statue in the church, it was time for Angela and Angelo to repeat their vows after the priest. Then, we all heard the long awaited, “You may now kiss the bride.” After their wedding smooch, the priest announced, “Ladies and Gentlemen, Mr. and Mrs. Angelo Tuddo.”

A trumpet blasted, again ringing in an encore of babies wailing while the church bells rang, birds sang—if only in my head—indicating the ceremony was over and it was time for the bride and groom to go forth and live happily ever after. Dante stepped up to take my arm and escorted me out of the church. As soon as he touched me I wanted to find an empty pew to make out in. He took my arm and pulled me tightly against him, which was possible given the alterations, Frank had made on the dress.
Where was that dang hoop when I needed it?

Outside the church Dante wouldn’t let go of my arm. We were the first couple out of the church right after the bride and groom. Before Jiff, Julia, Frank and Woozie could exit the church, Dante ushered me over to the waiting limo and pushed me inside. We were the only ones in it and he closed the door and hit the electronic lock while the entire wedding party was outside greeting and laughing with the invited guests exiting the church.

“I have something of yours,” he said. Then his mouth was kissing my neck.

“We can’t be doing this here,” I attempted to say through deep breaths while he moved his mouth from my neck, working down to my chest, kissing me. “This is making me nervous. I have Jiff meeting me.”

“Do you want me to stop?” he asked, and started biting my ear.

My hormones answered him, “I want us to be anywhere but here, preferably somewhere we could take our clothes off.”

A tapping on the tinted glass window indicated other people needed to get in the vehicle.

Once the door unlocked the flood of hats and tuxedos overwhelmed us. Since I was the one with the most maneuverability, I had to sit on Dante’s lap to make room for the other bridesmaids and their hoop skirts. The hats were all pushing each other and they bent down around our heads like umbrellas. We were both hidden under mine and Dante had his hands all over me pulling me against him kissing my neck. I was on fire for Dante and wanted to be alone with him, not going to a party with six hundred people and where my date would be waiting for me.

Chapter Eighteen

The bridal party spilled out of the limos at the reception hall and I spotted Julia, Frank and Woozie among the guests talking with Jiff before we were ushered upstairs to a second floor private bridal room of The Veranda. Here, the photographer could take photos while the entire wedding party was in one place before we scattered all over the reception like bugs when you turn on a light. The Tuddos, Angelo the groom and his father, who looked like three hundred pound bookends, were in no way walking up the curving stairwell to the second floor. Instead they got onto motorized scooters waiting at the door for them to ride around the reception. Due to their combined weight—a few cannoli over the freight elevator’s limit—they had to take turns in the lift to the second floor where they exited right next to the catering stairs used for the kitchen staff to bring up food and drinks. They scooted out the elevator, grabbed a drink and made their way into the room with the rest of us. This exclusive area on the second floor was off limits to the rest of the guests with its own powder rooms and bathrooms for the bridal party to freshen up and relax for a few minutes without waiting in the lines for rest rooms or food service downstairs. The powder rooms were oversized, filled with sofas and settees to accommodate trying to sit in any and all dresses they have probably seen over the years. The ladies could sit a few minutes, freshen up for the photos or rest their feet from tight shoes.

After all of the women made their initial ladies’ room stop we were commanded to pose in several group shots of the entire wedding party. This was the first time we had all been in one place in our wedding attire. One entire wall of the private salon was painted with a southern columned mansion like Tara, the plantation home in
Gone With The Wind
. After trying every conceivable configuration to get all eighteen bridesmaids and seventeen hoops in one photo, the photographer said some of the bridesmaids had to remove the hoops and stand behind the dresses with hoops in the front row so we all could get in the picture. The otherwise happy going, smiling Mr. Fortunato went into a rage over the fact he spent all this money on this particular photographer who should have a wide-angle lens. The photographer, also Italian, began waving his arms around as much as Mr. Fortunato and screamed Rome didn’t have this many Italians in one place when they elected a new Pope. He went on to say he had the largest wide-angle lens sold on planet earth and he still couldn’t get us all in without doing a panorama shot. For that, we all had to remain absolutely still, no breathing; no blinking and he could not believe that was ever going to happen. He looked at bubble-gum-girl popping one when he yelled this. The hoops had to go.

Little Tony went to work offering his assistance to any woman who needed help with her hoop removal. When he got close to me, Dante stepped in front of him and he slithered off to annoy someone else.

The bridesmaids who had purses could leave them in this room since it was only open to the bridal party. I had stuffed my small purse in the bushel basket of flowers and decided to leave it in the room to pick up when I was ready to leave. I brought my lipstick, mirror, cell phone, house key and driver’s license. I folded a twenty-dollar bill around my driver’s license and house key and put it down the front of my dress. The rest I’d take my chances on being here when I was ready to leave.

After all the repositioning for the bridal party photos, a wait staff arrived via the back stairwell from the kitchen with food and champagne to toast the bride and groom. When the photographer was finished Mr. Fortunato was smiling and slapping him on the back like the good buddies they always were before the wide-angle lens, screaming match.

Dante did not move from my side. He got me another glass of champagne for the toast to the bride and groom after he took the one Little Tony had given me and put the empty glass on a tray after pouring it into a plant.

“What’s wrong with you?” I asked through clenched teeth with a big fake smile on my face. “This is his sister’s wedding. Little Tony is just trying to be nice.”

“Let him be nice to one of the other seventeen girls here,” Dante said and clinked his glass to mine. “Stay away from him.”

“Please stop this. You’re acting like you have me in protective custody.” I took my champagne glass and tried to step away from him. He was starting to make me extremely nervous, standing close to me and acting like my personal bodyguard. This would have to stop by the time we got downstairs with the rest of the guests, where my parents and my date were waiting for me.

With the photographs done, the wedding party started downstairs for the mandatory Bride/Groom and Father/Daughter dances and so the newly married couple could greet and welcome their invited guests. Angela’s mother and father were all smiles and led the way. Angela hopped on the back of the groom’s scooter and rode around the reception with him much like she was on the back of a motorcycle with her wedding gown hiked up around her. Mr. Tuddo was scooting around the reception helping himself to anything on a tray that was in arm’s reach. Mrs. Tuddo—all ninety-eight nervous pounds of her—tried to run interference with the cannoli trays but she was obviously losing a lifetime battle in that war. The bridesmaids, while happy to rid themselves of the hats and baskets, struggled getting down the stairs in hoops. They were advised by Angela’s mother in English and by Nana, the Scowler, in Italian, that they could not, would not, take off the hoops until Angela and Angelo left for their honeymoon later in the night. I saw Little Tony hanging to the back of the room with some of his gal pals. I’m sure they planned to snort up another line or two before joining everyone on the dance floor.

Downstairs the Levee Men were already onstage and played for the bridal party to dance. This was the only time that the groom and his father left the scooters the entire evening. Angela and her father danced, then the other obligatory couples, Angela’s mother and the groom, the bride and groom and then entire wedding party followed suit. Dante grabbed my arm taking me to the dance floor just as I spotted Jiff talking with my dad at the bar. I could imagine the conversation my father was into. He was holding up a wine bottle and giving Jiff all the details of how great he thought it was to have a vineyard with your own wine named after you. Jiff’s family could buy a vineyard if they wanted their name on a wine label.

Dante whirled me around the dance floor leading me in classic spins and turns to a waltz.

“Where did you learn to dance like this?” I asked. “I’ve never danced with you where you lead. I always lead. This feels weird, but nice. I like it.”

“I’ve been taking lessons for this big event just to dance with you,” he said, twirling and spinning me through dance moves with ease and confidence across the floor.

“Dance lessons? Where did you take dance lessons?” While I waited for his answer, I wondered if I was the only person here whose body had not been taken over by the pod people again? Everyone was acting the opposite of how they normally acted.

“My partner, Hanky, is a ballroom dance instructor. She’s been teaching me.” He led me through a double spin and back into his arms. “We’re not…weren’t… dating.”

“Aww. I bet you want me to feel bad for not liking Hanky now, don’t you?” I said. I put a finger to my lips and looked up toward the ceiling before I added, “Wait, let me think…I don’t feel bad and I still don’t like her.”

“Look, I know you’re here with that guy, but I’m taking you home tonight…don’t argue. I still have something that belongs to you.” The music stopped and Dante put his hand into his pocket. Jiff appeared and was standing next to us.

“Detective, nice to see you outside of our usual meetings. Please call me Jiff.” Jiff held out his hand for Dante to shake.

Dante hesitated not taking his hand out of his pocket while I held my breath. I thought he was going to hand my underwear to Jiff or worse, do a second line around the floor with his new found dancing talent waiving my underwear in the air over his head for all to see. After a long, awkward moment Dante shook Jiff’s hand leaving the spoils of our earlier encounter hidden in his pocket.

“You can call me Detective Deedler.” He said to Jiff, nodded to me then walked off toward the bar.

Jiff and I exchanged startled looks while I exhaled the breath I had been holding. I thought this was odd even for Dante. “Sorry for his behavior, but I’m not my brother’s keeper,” I said.

“I don’t think he wants to be your brother,” Jiff said. Then he waved his hand dismissing the Dante thing and looking me over said, “On you that dress looks…”

“Like the Superdome… a Mardi Gras float?” I cut him off with a big smile.

“Different on you… better than the others. What did you do to it?” he said taking it all in as he looked me up and down, holding my hand and twirling me. When I faced him again he pulled me into him and kissed my forehead saying, “You’re the most beautiful Mardi Gras float in the room.”

“Frank customized it for me and got rid of that miserable hoop the others are still wearing.” I looked around at the bridesmaids dancing at arm’s length while their dates were trying to lean in over the hoop. I was still in his arms so I looked up at him and said, “It looks like you met my dad.”

“Yes, he said he recognized me from the parade. I didn’t think anyone noticed that kiss between you and me, but your dad told me otherwise. In fact, he also told me Dante was standing right next to us working a detail that night. Why didn’t you tell me that?”

I shrugged.

“He’s a nice guy, your dad, and he really likes the wine being served,” Jiff said.

“Yes. Chianti. Who knew? He’s usually a Jameson’s man, Irish, you know? Have you met my mother?” I asked hoping that awful social requirement was behind me and added a note to self to talk to my dad later about sharing information.

“No, not yet.”

“Well, she’s German like you, but don’t expect that to carry any weight with her. She’s equally indifferent to everyone, my date, Dante, German, Irish, Italian, it doesn’t matter. I’m just warning you. Please don’t take offense.”

“I’ll be on my best behavior. She might like me. Would you like me to get you a glass of wine or champagne?” We walked toward the bar where my dad was standing talking with Woozie. Jiff ordered a glass of champagne for me, and Chianti for himself. The bartender poured each drink into a 12 oz. white stadium cup commonly thrown in Mardi Gras parades. This one had the couples’ black and white photo along with the date to commemorate this happy day. “Oh, they are serving red wine and champagne in white wedding go cups. How unusual,” Jiff said studying the cups from every angle and top to bottom.

I knew it would be a mistake to expose him to this mega Italian throw down where the norm in this world was Chianti in a go cup while in Jiff’s world it would be Dom Perignon in crystal flutes.

We turned to leave the bar and stepped over to where my parents and Woozie were standing.

My mother, with her stellar ability to make everyone feel uncomfortable in her presence, totally ignored Jiff when I introduced him and cut me off asking, “Have you seen your sister?”

“I just seen Sherry. She went outside with one of them Deedler twins…to smoke,” Woozie answered her.

“Smoke?” She made a beeline for the exit leaving the three of us to chat.

“Sherry’s right over there,” my dad said, nodding his head in her direction and smiling. Woozie acted like she didn’t hear him.

“Really? Maybe it was someone else with one of the twins,” I said. If Woozie had my back, I had hers.

My dad launched into questions, asking Woozie when was she coming back to their house to work when the music started up again and it was loud. Woozie was pointing to her ears and shaking her head like she couldn’t hear him. Why couldn’t it have started up two minutes ago so I could have avoided my mother? We put our glasses—correction—go cups down on a table and went to dance.

We caught the band’s attention and waved hello to Maurice and the other members we knew. Julia and Frank were dancing and walked up to talk to us when the song finished.

“Julia, go stand somewhere else in that dress. You’re making me look worse,” I said to her. Frank had on the seersucker suit he said he would wear with a bowtie and was carrying a small clutch. It might have been Julia’s but I was afraid to ask.

“You know, there’s a guy here I swear I’ve seen before,” Julia said. “I just can’t place him. He’s short.”

“Where is he? Point him out,” I answered. “Is this someone you might want to dance with?”

“No, he’s about five feet tall, and kinda greasy looking. I haven’t seen him since y’all arrived. He’s in the wedding party. I saw him when you all came in and went upstairs. I just feel like I know him from somewhere,” she said.

“You must mean Little Tony. He’s the bride’s brother.” I couldn’t imagine from where or why Julia would know Little Tony. “He’s a goof, avoid him like the plague.”

Dante appeared and asked for the next dance. Jiff looked annoyed but being the gentleman he was he said, “Sure. I’ll go say hi to Maurice,” and excused himself. Julia and Frank went to dance but not before I saw the big eye roll she directed at me.

I kept a smile on my face, but through clenched teeth I asked, “What are you doing? I have a date and you’re being rude to him and making me uncomfortable.” I was starting to get good at talking while smiling. “Stop this.”