I Just Want My Pants Back Part 16

"Yeah." I opened my eyes and looked over at her. Her eyes were still closed. She looked tiny under the covers. I watched her mouth move.

"My cemetery plot is in New Jersey. Can you believe that? I haven't been to Jersey in twenty years." She leaned her head to the side and yawned. Her hair fell across her face, obscuring it. "So long, New York," she whispered. "Howdy, East Orange."

We both fell asleep. A little later a nurse woke me up and kicked me out. Visiting hours were over. I'd have to come back tomorrow after nine.

Three days later I fought my way through Port Authority commuters and got on a Red and Tan bus. My suit jacket was folded on my lap. I put my headphones on and stared out the window. We made it through the tunnel and rolled into New Jersey.

19.

My suit felt a little itchy and my heart was pounding. The setting sun grew warm against my back; I could feel myself sweating and wished I could just loosen my d.a.m.n tie. I took a breath and tried to swallow the lump in my throat. Then I leaned into the microphone, and began. "h.e.l.lo, my name is Jason Strider, and I've been a close friend of Stacey's and Eric's for many years."

I stood on a small dais built on the sand of the bay in Westhampton, facing the seated congregation of wedding guests. They were smiling and fanning themselves. Tiki torches lined the area. "For those of you who know Stacey and Eric well, you know that they've always done things their own way. So tonight, instead of a traditional rabbi, they asked me to officiate over their marriage. I do so now with great honor, and...with a certificate I received over the Internet." A rea.s.suring group chuckle wafted toward me. I continued, "Let us open with the blessing over the wine."

I said the prayer and handed the silver chalice to Stacey, who sipped from it, and then pa.s.sed it to Eric, who did the same. It was so quiet you could hear the bay lapping up against the pilings, and the occasional seagull caw. I began the ceremony proper and I started to feel more and more confident. I knew it by heart. I had rehea.r.s.ed like a hundred times in front of my bathroom mirror. The only thing I hadn't practiced was actually holding the microphone. It was pretty hard to act casual with it; I imagined I looked a bit like a thirteen-year-old holding a cigarette awkwardly, pretending he knew how to smoke. I instantly had a newfound respect for Wink Martindale.

As I spoke, my eyes flitted between the bride and groom, and the audience behind them. Well, as much of the audience as I could see through the happy couple, their parents on either side, and the best men and bridesmaids who surrounded them. Some of the bridesmaids, mostly Stacey's family members, were pretty attractive, actually. They all wore fairly sheer "champagne" satin dresses held up by spaghetti straps, and almost all wore them quite well. Stacey had some good genetics, it turned out. I tried to avoid looking at them so as not to be distracted, especially since Tina was also a bridesmaid and I just knew if we locked eyes I'd be done, I'd fall straight into nervous hysterics.

I started by saying that even though I was so honored when Stacey and Eric first asked me to preside over their wedding, I was also incredibly intimidated. The truth was I was no expert on love, yet in a short time I was expected to stand in front of all of their friends and family and pontificate about the subject. "Time pa.s.sed, the wedding was getting closer, and I was getting worried. What I was going to say? Finally, just two weeks ago, while the three of us had dinner together, it hit me. Now, as a side note, this was the one dinner I actually bought them, instead of the other way around. So, it was already a magical night." Eric flashed me a grin, his eyes already starting to well up. "But I digress."

I began to tell the story of how Stacey and Eric had gotten into a fight, about appetizers of all things. "Eric really wanted to have those minihot dogs at the wedding, the pigs in blankets. But Stacey didn't think those were really cla.s.sy enough for such an important night. And as I sat there, picking at my french fries, I watched them work it out. It was like they were in their own little world. They went back and forth, really listening to each other's feelings. When one got loud the other would calm that one, and soon they were laughing about the silliness of the whole thing. It was a trivial little fight, a tiny blip in their lives. And yet for me, it was telling." A breeze started up; I patted the top of my head to make sure my yarmulke was secure.

"A very close friend of mine once told me that the most important things in life happen when you're just hanging out. What I think she meant was, well, you can have a good time with just about anyone on a roller coaster, or at the Super Bowl, or in Vegas. But it's really how you feel in the little moments that count. If you find someone who makes you laugh while you're standing on line at the DMV, or when you're sick with the flu, or who you can still have fun with while, say, having a heated debate about the pros and cons of wedding appetizers, well," I paused, "that's something."

It wasn't Shakespeare, what I had ended up with, but then again, this wasn't a play. It was the real thing and it was okay to be a little corny, a little cliched. The most important part was that I meant what I said. I had learned that at Patty's funeral. It had been windy and gray that morning, traditional funeral weather. I could feel every little pebble on the concrete path scratching at the bottom of my rarely worn, hard-soled suit shoes as I walked in silence toward the grave site. The priest was a complete hack, but each of his oversentimental sentences about "this special life" set me trembling. They were nothing original. h.e.l.l, love wasn't anything original either. But eventually it stung each of us, nonetheless.

I thought of Rabbi Stan and quickly eyed the crowd to see if they were with me. They were. Stacey kept turning to Eric, suppressing nervous giggles. She looked pretty, she wasn't overly made-up, everything about her was simple, natural. She couldn't stop smiling. I could see every one of her teeth almost to the molars. Eric looked sharp too. His tux was all black, no silly sea-foam c.u.mmerbund or anything like that. A six-foot-five guy in a tux could come off a little goofy, but he was making it work.

I touched Stacey on the shoulder, and I looked back and forth at each of them. "And in a few short moments, after our two friends are officially wed and we begin the reception outside on the deck, let us all enjoy our own little moment hanging out with them...while eating some minihot dogs." A few people applauded and catcalled and Eric pumped a fist in the air.

It was time for the vows and the exchange of rings, so I handed it off to the bride and groom. Stacey began, and I stepped back and caught my breath. I started to think about Patty. I had seen Robert at her funeral; he stood across from me at the grave site. He tipped his cowboy hat in recognition as the priest spoke-well, shouted, so he could be heard above the rushing hum of the nearby turnpike. Robert was pretty upset that Patty's grave was so poorly positioned, so close to the busy highway. I tried to see the bright side: It was the road back to the city.

It took almost no time for Patty's apartment to be cleared out. Apparently she had some family in the Bay Area, and one of them, Aaron, a nice middle-aged hippie with John Lennon gla.s.ses and a graying ponytail, flew in, separated the wheat from the chaff, boxed up what he wanted, and left the rest. He asked me about Patty, as he didn't really know her. She was his second cousin; the lawyer had tracked him down. He let me have the Chinatown photo and a few Dylan alb.u.ms. I didn't have a turntable but I wanted them all the same.

The landlord took over from there and sent in the Salvation Army, who bagged and tagged what was left behind, some for charity, some for trash. Then came the construction guys, who loudly clomped around and ripped out the kitchen and the bathroom and replaced them with cheap new appliances and fixtures and then slapped the whole place over with flat white paint. "Upgrades" like those somehow made it legal for the landlord to raise the rent. They left the door unlocked and I snuck in late one night and looked around the barren s.p.a.ce; my footsteps made small echoes in the empty room. You would have never known a woman named Patty lived there. Every trace was gone, it was just some old patched-up piece-of-s.h.i.t apartment. I slowly paced back and forth in the place. I figured Patty was the kind of person who might show me a sign, it didn't seem that silly to me then. But I didn't sense anything, just the overwhelming smell of fresh paint. The New York real estate market was a pretty G.o.dd.a.m.n good lesson in the fleeting and brutal nature of life. A couple of days later some girl moved in. I hadn't met her yet. She played the flute. I could hear it in the hall sometimes.

A breeze blew across the beach. I watched as Stacey slipped the ring onto Eric's finger. Past them I could see Tina, craning her neck, caught up in the moment, her camera dangling on a strap from her wrist.

I couldn't sleep much those first few days after Patty was gone. I don't know if I felt grief exactly, but I felt something, a nervous energy. I found myself staying in a lot. I started cooking dinner; I made an entire tray of lasagna one night that probably could have served twelve. In the early-morning hours, I finally bit the bullet, opened up a blank Word doc.u.ment, and focused on Stacey and Eric, banging away until I had done it, I had written the ceremony. Then I sent an e-mail to Tina for Brett's number, called him, and met him for a drink. He said "Hey" and I said "Hey" and then I figured well f.u.c.k, the faster you do it the less it hurts. I told him I wanted to be his music supervisor. I certainly wasn't A-list and I'd never done it before, but I knew music. I had DJ'd, I had helped "discover talent" at JB's, I'd work my a.s.s off if he gave me a shot. I rambled on too long like that, it sort of poured out, until I eventually landed on my best selling point: I'd work dirt-cheap.

He nodded. "Jason, first off, I'm really sorry we haven't had the chance to hang out much, this movie is killing me." He said that Tina always talked about how funny I was, how much I knew about music, and how she was sure we'd get along great. But the thing was, he'd already hired someone. He told me it was a woman who used to be high up in A&R at Sony. She was new to it but had just finished several films that were in Sun-dance. Landing her was a coup. "However," he said, taking a long sip of beer and leaving me hanging for five hundred years on the hopeful adverb, until he swallowed and continued, "I also happen to know that she's looking for an a.s.sistant." He promised to put in a very good word. "I mean, I'm the director, right?" He grinned goofily, "I'm still getting used to saying that." We hung out a bit longer and then he had to run. I got in touch with the woman the next morning; we had a nice chat on the phone and were having breakfast on Tuesday. Tina said her fingers were crossed. Stacey said she'd give me a wake-up call from St. Barth, where they'd be honeymooning.

The sun was melting in the water now. Eric was facing Stacey, half-blubbering, half-speaking his vows. Their parents stood on either side of them, smiling nervously, tissues held in clenched hands. Next to them were the best men and the bridesmaids. They were all beaming, rapt.

Then I saw something.

The second bridesmaid in. Her gown had slipped, the thin strap was off the tan shoulder, leaving one whole breast exposed. The nipple was staring right at me, lit up, laser-locked. I was hypnotized. I was the only one in the whole place who could see it. Petey yawned in my pants, and began to wake up. Great, f.u.c.king great, I was going to be the rabbi with a b.o.n.e.r.

Eric finished his vows and placed the wedding band on Stacey's finger. Boom, I was back on. I took the microphone from him, turned away from the t.i.t and toward the bride and groom. It was almost magic time; in the audience people fumbled and readied their cameras. I cleared my throat and, G.o.dd.a.m.nit, persevered. "You have spoken vows of love, vows you each took the time to write yourselves. You have exchanged rings. You have consecrated yourselves to each other in front of family and friends. So now..." I started grinning and couldn't stop, "it is my duty, honor, and privilege, by the power invested in me by the holy World Wide Web, to p.r.o.nounce you two...man and wife! You may kiss the bride!"

Eric lifted Stacey's veil and, without hesitation, kissed her pa.s.sionately. The audience erupted in applause and cheers and flashes popped and I got the chills. Gooseb.u.mps. The whole deal. Eric's and Stacey's parents exchanged hugs. Bridesmaid Number Two must've shifted or something because when I looked back that way the breast had retreated behind the curtain. I caught Tina's eye and she grinned at me. One of the best men leaned in and put the cloth-wrapped gla.s.s on the ground near Eric's shiny shoes. Eric looked at Stacey, and then he stomped on it.

"Mazel tov!" we all roared.

It was official. They were married. They kissed again and laughed and then stepped forward and hugged me simultaneously.

"Thank you, I love you!" yelled Stacey in my ear, sniffling.

"Great job, man!" said Eric, mussing my hair, knocking off my yarmulke.

Then they turned and bounded off the dais, holding hands. I just stood there and watched them go. I was smiling from ear to ear. The crowd fell in behind them, everyone happy, everyone headed toward the bar.

I stayed behind, alone on the dais. It grew quiet. Attendants came out and started to extinguish the torches and fold the chairs. I started to amble in, then stopped for a second, and gave thanks. Nice restraint, Petey.

And so, yes, h.e.l.l yes, I was soon intoxicated. Guilty as charged, Your Honor. I hadn't really drunk much since my night in the gutter and now I was feeling strong as an ox and swift as a puma. All night everybody wanted to run to the bar and get the good rabbi a drink, and it would have been rude of me to refuse. I was nothing if not gifted in the ways of etiquette.

It was after dinner. We had eaten, we had Hora-ed, and now the people, as they will do at that point in a wedding reception, were dancing. From the relative safety of the carpet, I watched as a crowd of shoeless girls surrounded Stacey on the dance floor, chanting, "Go, Sta-cey, go, Sta-cey," while the DJ blasted Herbie Hanc.o.c.k's "Rockit." It was quite the spectacle. Eric was pushed out onto the floor and the two of them danced in the middle of the fray like cute, overstimulated toddlers. Stacey tried to get me to join her by la.s.soing me with an invisible rope and pulling me, hand over hand, toward the dance floor. I quickly held up two fingers, mimed a pair of scissors, and cut the rope, laughing.

Tina and Brett were out there too, away from the fray, drunkenly slow-dancing. Tina was a wreck, a fantastic, sparkling, slit-eyed mess, swaying with the beat, hanging onto Brett for balance. She felt me staring at her, looked up, and smiled. Then with her eyes locked on mine, she slowly raised her hand off his back, smirked, and gave me the finger.

I wandered away, grabbed a Corona from the bar, and weaved through a sea of formalwear until I made it to the deck. Then I kept going, out onto the sand, down toward the water. The music began to fade behind me. I wished I knew a sea chantey, I felt like belting one out. As I stumbled along, I reached inside my jacket pocket and whipped out a perfect little joint. From my pants, I pulled a lighter. I brought the two together. I had a feeling they'd become fast friends.

I found a spot, lay back on the sand, and stared up at the sky, thick with stars. The moon hung low and bright, not quite full but in the ballpark. I put the joint to my lips, took a huge hit and held it, held it, held it, slowly letting the smoke pool in my mouth. Then I made an "O" with my lips, mentally prepared myself for success, and exhaled.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS.

The author would like to buy the following people a pony: Gerry Howard, my sagelike editor; Emilie Stewart, my agent and consigliere consigliere; Sandra Garcia, Noah Vadnai, Mallory Kasdan, Evan Benjamin, Tami Brown, and especially Rachel Kash, early readers and gentle critics; Chris Noel, Darin Strauss, Cheryl Van Ooyen, Mark Sarosi, and Penny Hardy for their shrewd suggestions; Fred and Karen Rosen for their love, encouragement, and genetics (height and eyesight notwithstanding); Becky Cole for her support; Rachel Rokicki, Anne Watters, Katie Halleron, and everyone at Broadway who helped make the magic happen; and my dog, Billy, for his patient bladder.