hand.
Instead of watching the line of beautiful bridesmaids as they entered the procession, each on the arm of a groomsman, I turned to Wesley and whispered, âComing down the aisle. See the guy with the longish black hair?â
We remained silent as they passed right by our row.
âWhat a body,â Holly sighed. âWho is he?â
âDonât know.â
âHeâs the best man,â Wes said, softly. âMaybe the groomâs brother.â
âToo old. Too Euro,â I answered.
But before we could go on, the violins and cellos began playing âHere Comes The Bride,â and we all stood and turned our heads to watch Sara Silver make her grand entrance.
I had to admit, Vivian had done a stunning job with this wedding ceremony. In the semidark, amid hundreds of flickering candles, among the animals frozen in history, the bride made a striking entrance. Dressed in a slender sheath of white burn-out silk that I was positive must be a Vera Wang gown, Sara Silver was escorted down the aisle by a man too old to be her father. Deep Pockets Grandpa, I was guessing. And then I recognized Grandpaâs face. Iâll be damned. It was a face I recognized from old T.V. reruns.
I watched Sara pass, moving slowly to the lush music, like a virgin princess in a mystical jungle. At the head of the aisle she was met by Brent Bell, her husband to be. Together, they walked up to the clergyman who was officiating at the service.
At that moment, the darkened display case behind the bridal party suddenly lit up. The diorama that extended across the entire back wall of the Hall of Large Mammals could now be seen. In it, two African elephants were engaged in a primitive, animal act. A large bull with immense tusks was up on his two hind legs. The female looked resigned.
Love, I was reminded, could be ferocious.
Chapter 7
I crossed the deserted foyer and peeked through a pair of double-high doors. While the bride and groom were busy taking their vows, I had slipped out of the ceremony to take a look around. Weddings make me jumpy.
A few last-minute workmen were adjusting tall ficus trees around the impressive Hall of Small Mammals, a twin in size and shape to the one where the nuptials were now in progress across the way. Twenty-five tables, swathed in the finest beaded Indian organza, sparkled, their skirts refracting tiny gleams picked up from the diffuse lighting. The most amazing ice sculptures, perfect frozen replicas of a haunting list of endangered species, graced the center of each table.
Here, too, the dozen exhibit cases set into the walls provided the main source of illumination. In one, a family of beavers was at work on a dam. In the next, a porcupine stood alert beside a pond. Across the way, wolves stood on a winterscape knoll, snouts raised, mouths forming Oâs, suggesting eternally silent howls. Nature under glassâa mixture of creepy and curious, tacky and touching.
Tacky and touching. Well, that could also describe the state of my late relationship with my former boyfriend, Arlo Zar. The trouble with weddings was they made you introspective about the state of your own love life. How romantic they could be when you were sitting on theaisle holding hands with someone you cared about. How alienating when you were just getting over a man you thought would be around for a while longer.
I couldnât go back and face the wedding vows, and I was determined to find Vivian Duncan. Down one hallway, I discovered double fire doors held open with pegs. Beyond them, a large tented structure bustled with activity. Ah, the food. Stepping from the tomb-quiet museum into the noise and swirl of the cooking area brought with it the delicious aromas of simmering sauces and expensive spices.
âMadeline Bean!â
âFreddie Fox!â
The big man stood near a giant trough, its eighty gallons of water coming to the boil, his round face shiny from steam. Freddie, the chef/owner
Instead of watching the line of beautiful bridesmaids as they entered the procession, each on the arm of a groomsman, I turned to Wesley and whispered, âComing down the aisle. See the guy with the longish black hair?â
We remained silent as they passed right by our row.
âWhat a body,â Holly sighed. âWho is he?â
âDonât know.â
âHeâs the best man,â Wes said, softly. âMaybe the groomâs brother.â
âToo old. Too Euro,â I answered.
But before we could go on, the violins and cellos began playing âHere Comes The Bride,â and we all stood and turned our heads to watch Sara Silver make her grand entrance.
I had to admit, Vivian had done a stunning job with this wedding ceremony. In the semidark, amid hundreds of flickering candles, among the animals frozen in history, the bride made a striking entrance. Dressed in a slender sheath of white burn-out silk that I was positive must be a Vera Wang gown, Sara Silver was escorted down the aisle by a man too old to be her father. Deep Pockets Grandpa, I was guessing. And then I recognized Grandpaâs face. Iâll be damned. It was a face I recognized from old T.V. reruns.
I watched Sara pass, moving slowly to the lush music, like a virgin princess in a mystical jungle. At the head of the aisle she was met by Brent Bell, her husband to be. Together, they walked up to the clergyman who was officiating at the service.
At that moment, the darkened display case behind the bridal party suddenly lit up. The diorama that extended across the entire back wall of the Hall of Large Mammals could now be seen. In it, two African elephants were engaged in a primitive, animal act. A large bull with immense tusks was up on his two hind legs. The female looked resigned.
Love, I was reminded, could be ferocious.
Chapter 7
I crossed the deserted foyer and peeked through a pair of double-high doors. While the bride and groom were busy taking their vows, I had slipped out of the ceremony to take a look around. Weddings make me jumpy.
A few last-minute workmen were adjusting tall ficus trees around the impressive Hall of Small Mammals, a twin in size and shape to the one where the nuptials were now in progress across the way. Twenty-five tables, swathed in the finest beaded Indian organza, sparkled, their skirts refracting tiny gleams picked up from the diffuse lighting. The most amazing ice sculptures, perfect frozen replicas of a haunting list of endangered species, graced the center of each table.
Here, too, the dozen exhibit cases set into the walls provided the main source of illumination. In one, a family of beavers was at work on a dam. In the next, a porcupine stood alert beside a pond. Across the way, wolves stood on a winterscape knoll, snouts raised, mouths forming Oâs, suggesting eternally silent howls. Nature under glassâa mixture of creepy and curious, tacky and touching.
Tacky and touching. Well, that could also describe the state of my late relationship with my former boyfriend, Arlo Zar. The trouble with weddings was they made you introspective about the state of your own love life. How romantic they could be when you were sitting on theaisle holding hands with someone you cared about. How alienating when you were just getting over a man you thought would be around for a while longer.
I couldnât go back and face the wedding vows, and I was determined to find Vivian Duncan. Down one hallway, I discovered double fire doors held open with pegs. Beyond them, a large tented structure bustled with activity. Ah, the food. Stepping from the tomb-quiet museum into the noise and swirl of the cooking area brought with it the delicious aromas of simmering sauces and expensive spices.
âMadeline Bean!â
âFreddie Fox!â
The big man stood near a giant trough, its eighty gallons of water coming to the boil, his round face shiny from steam. Freddie, the chef/owner
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