Read Online Separating Riches by Mairsile Leabhair - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Mairsile Leabhair
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Father. It’s Blackie, and I need a favor. What? No, I’m not drunk and I’m not in jail. I just got married, and—”
“You? Married? Who in the hell did you marry and how much did you pay him?” he asked condescendingly.
One, two, three… “I married Chris today, Father, and I was hoping you’d call your hotel, the Blackstone Hotel here in San Francisco, and arrange a wedding feast for my wife and our guests? Oh and we’d like to honeymoon in the presidential suite, if you can swing that, too?”
“Of course I can swing that, but I’m not going to.”
“Why the fuck not, Father?” I lasted all of two minutes, a new record for me.
“You didn’t bother to invite your mother and me to the wedding, why should I bother to help you now?”
“It was a spur of the moment decision. You probably haven’t heard yet, but the Supreme Court ruled on the marriage equality case and now it’s legal for me to marry my sweetheart.”
“Yes, I am aware, but I never thought that you’d rush out and get married," he said, contemptuously.
“If it’s any consolation, Chris’ parents weren’t there either. Look, I’m sorry I didn’t call you, but we plan to have a formal wedding later, and you and mother will definitely be invited.”
“Well,” he sighed, “if I’m not too busy, I’ll try to make it.”
My father didn’t know this, but his guilt trip never worked on me. I had to smother a laugh before I played my last card, which was to use the same ploy.
“Father, regardless of whether you help me or not, Chris and I would very much like for Mother and you to join us at our wedding dinner. There’s a three-star restaurant right across the street from City Hall, and—”
“No. You know my sensitive stomach can’t handle a second-rate restaurant,” he snarked. “I’ll make some calls and we’ll go to my hotel,” he said like it had been his idea all along. “Give me an hour and we’ll meet you there.”
“Thanks, Father. I appreciate you doing this for us.”
“Well… all right. I’ll see you in a little bit,” he said, and hung up.
Excellent! Chris and I will stay overnight in the rainbow city by the bay, and celebrate our love for each other. I wonder if she’ll agree to christening the living room, bathroom, reading room and dining room of the hotel suite.
Wedding Dinner — Chris Blackstone-Livingston , Melinda Blackstone-Livingston, Robert & Elizabeth Blackstone, Norma Shelby, George Kirk, and Staff
We were led into a grandiose, oblong ballroom, large enough to accommodate more than five hundred people. There was a large round table on the left side of the room, beside several buffet tables, lined up, four in a row. The dining table was the prettiest that I had ever seen with blue and white silk tablecloths, royal blue satin napkins, silver utensils, silver plates, and crystal wine glasses. In the center of the table was an ice sculpture with two women kissing. As George would say, “Divine.”
On the opposite side of the room was a dance floor with a mirror ball sparkling overhead. Against the wall was a large stage with huge speakers and band instruments ready to play. There was an open bar along the wall down from the stage. How on earth did they pull all this together so fast?
The food was vast and delicious. Each table had an unbelievable entrée that I knew from mother’s fundraising dinners were incredibly expensive. One table had red meat like Kobe beef from Japan and bone-in American Wagyu ribeye steaks, another table had Red King Crab, Coffin Bay King Oysters from Australia and King Salmon from Alaska. The third buffet table had butternut squash lasagna, roast aubergine with goat's cheese and toasted flatbread, La Bonnotte potatoes, Almas Caviar, and Kopi Luwak coffee. But it was when I saw the dessert table with the Godiva chocolate raspberry truffle ice cream that I truly began to salivate.
I remembered when I was a kid that my mother would let me
“You? Married? Who in the hell did you marry and how much did you pay him?” he asked condescendingly.
One, two, three… “I married Chris today, Father, and I was hoping you’d call your hotel, the Blackstone Hotel here in San Francisco, and arrange a wedding feast for my wife and our guests? Oh and we’d like to honeymoon in the presidential suite, if you can swing that, too?”
“Of course I can swing that, but I’m not going to.”
“Why the fuck not, Father?” I lasted all of two minutes, a new record for me.
“You didn’t bother to invite your mother and me to the wedding, why should I bother to help you now?”
“It was a spur of the moment decision. You probably haven’t heard yet, but the Supreme Court ruled on the marriage equality case and now it’s legal for me to marry my sweetheart.”
“Yes, I am aware, but I never thought that you’d rush out and get married," he said, contemptuously.
“If it’s any consolation, Chris’ parents weren’t there either. Look, I’m sorry I didn’t call you, but we plan to have a formal wedding later, and you and mother will definitely be invited.”
“Well,” he sighed, “if I’m not too busy, I’ll try to make it.”
My father didn’t know this, but his guilt trip never worked on me. I had to smother a laugh before I played my last card, which was to use the same ploy.
“Father, regardless of whether you help me or not, Chris and I would very much like for Mother and you to join us at our wedding dinner. There’s a three-star restaurant right across the street from City Hall, and—”
“No. You know my sensitive stomach can’t handle a second-rate restaurant,” he snarked. “I’ll make some calls and we’ll go to my hotel,” he said like it had been his idea all along. “Give me an hour and we’ll meet you there.”
“Thanks, Father. I appreciate you doing this for us.”
“Well… all right. I’ll see you in a little bit,” he said, and hung up.
Excellent! Chris and I will stay overnight in the rainbow city by the bay, and celebrate our love for each other. I wonder if she’ll agree to christening the living room, bathroom, reading room and dining room of the hotel suite.
Wedding Dinner — Chris Blackstone-Livingston , Melinda Blackstone-Livingston, Robert & Elizabeth Blackstone, Norma Shelby, George Kirk, and Staff
We were led into a grandiose, oblong ballroom, large enough to accommodate more than five hundred people. There was a large round table on the left side of the room, beside several buffet tables, lined up, four in a row. The dining table was the prettiest that I had ever seen with blue and white silk tablecloths, royal blue satin napkins, silver utensils, silver plates, and crystal wine glasses. In the center of the table was an ice sculpture with two women kissing. As George would say, “Divine.”
On the opposite side of the room was a dance floor with a mirror ball sparkling overhead. Against the wall was a large stage with huge speakers and band instruments ready to play. There was an open bar along the wall down from the stage. How on earth did they pull all this together so fast?
The food was vast and delicious. Each table had an unbelievable entrée that I knew from mother’s fundraising dinners were incredibly expensive. One table had red meat like Kobe beef from Japan and bone-in American Wagyu ribeye steaks, another table had Red King Crab, Coffin Bay King Oysters from Australia and King Salmon from Alaska. The third buffet table had butternut squash lasagna, roast aubergine with goat's cheese and toasted flatbread, La Bonnotte potatoes, Almas Caviar, and Kopi Luwak coffee. But it was when I saw the dessert table with the Godiva chocolate raspberry truffle ice cream that I truly began to salivate.
I remembered when I was a kid that my mother would let me
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