DO I HAVE A CHOICE?

BY JOANNEBARBARELLA

This is another story in the “Choices” series and follows on from “Second Choice”

He tried very hard really, but being so short and because he loved the two of us to wear heels, he often wound up talking to our breasts, none of which held up their end of the conversation.

Also he delighted in sticking his face into our respective cleavages and giving us a good old-fashioned windscreen-wiper nuzzle, but he took such open pleasure in it, grinning that face-splitting shit-eating grin when he did it, that neither of us could get mad at him, and, let’s face it, it was fun too and how can you not melt when somebody looks so much like Tony Curtis.

Other than that he got an almost permanent crick in his neck from looking up to try and make eye contact. To make it easier for him we used to hold most of our conversations sitting down. That way we could be serious, and, after all, we were trying to plan a wedding, amongst other things.

It had been mid-November when we confirmed that Lucy was pregnant, so we wanted to have the wedding before she bulged too much and thought we would have to have it before the end of January (that’s 1966) when she would be four months gone. What a terrible month to have a wedding! Particularly in England!

One thing which was both a shame and a relief was that it wouldn’t be a white wedding, since both Geoff and Lucy had been married before. The romantic in me really wanted to see my darling in a gorgeous wedding dress with all the trimmings, and me as the maid of honour in something almost equally stunning, without overshadowing her of course, Geoff would wear Ascot style and look very handsome in pearl-grey. But it was not to be.

Anyway, we unanimously agreed that to hold the ceremony in either London or Hove (actually) in January was neither desirable, practical nor comfortable. No howling gale, rain, sleet or snow was going to mar the big day, nor even low cloud and drizzle, not if we could help it. We wanted sunshine and blue skies, thank-you-very-much. So that meant…Abroad…. But there’s an awful lot of abroad.

We thought about Singapore or Thailand, but they were a long, long way away, and even though they would be nice and warm it could rain at any time, as Lucy and I remembered from our stay there a year and a half ago when I had my operation.

The South of France beckoned, but might be nearly as cold as home and no guarantees on the weather either. To cut a long story short we had a collective brain-wave and serendipitously settled on Bermuda. I grabbed our Encyclopaedia Britannica and found we could expect daytime temperatures of up to 70 degrees Fahrenheit, heaven for us Brits, just like midsummer. Yes, it might rain, but apparently it was usually showers, and we might even be able to swim, something I had sworn I was never going to do at Brighton or Hove (actually) ever again.

We could fly direct in about seven hours in the new Boeing 707s, not too long for us. Lucy immediately started looking for a nice hotel and swiftly found out it wasn’t that easy as a lot of Americans and Canadians took winter holidays there to get away from their own cold weather. However, that confirmed to us that we had made a good choice, so Lucy, who can occasionally be tenacious, kept trying.

Up and up the food chain of hotels she went, until eventually she booked a week in early January, after the Christmas/ New Year peak, at The Royal Palms at a cost which would leave us quadriplegic (two arms and two legs) but that woman never knows when to stop, and we could actually afford it. Geoff nearly had a heart attack, but I quietened him down by saying it was my wedding gift, while Lucy and I winked at each other. We would have a suite but I also made sure she booked a room for Angela, the manager of my salon, who I had long ago promised an invitation to my wedding. While it wasn’t actually MY wedding it was probably as close as I would ever get.

I had a huge sudden pang of jealousy, the whole green-eyed bit, which I quickly suppressed. But it wasn't fair. He was mine. She was mine.... and I was missing out.

While we were in booking mode, Lucy got on to BOAC (British Overseas Airways Corporation) and got four First Class seats. Hey, if you’ve got money to burn, have a bonfire, and, hopefully, it was a once-in-a-lifetime event.

So there we were, the little Misses Efficiency, everything organized except the clothes and all done by the end of November. The wedding was going to be a couple of weeks earlier than we planned, but we reckoned we could live with that. Lucy had even managed to book a marriage celebrant and an appointment on the hotel lawns for the ceremony through the hotel. Once you deal with hotels of this calibre they may charge the earth, but they certainly come through with service.

All done and dusted, eh? Sit back and relax until January, eh? You should co-co. First there were our clothes to worry about. We were going into summer (or near enough by our standards) and there was only winter stuff in the shops. The wedding outfits and we had to take account of changes in Lucy’s body between now and then. She would be in her fourteenth or fifteenth week and, while it might not show too much, it would need to be accounted for. A bride must look her absolute most marvelous best on her wedding day.

She insisted that it was her responsibility to organize not only her own gown but mine too.

“Trust me, Suzie. I’m going to pick something special for me and I will pick something equally special for you. You know I’ll never let you down, but I want to keep it a secret and make our man gasp when he sees us,” and she gave me a hug and a kiss and wound me around her little finger as usual.

She let me go around trying to find gear for before and after, not easy at that time of year and bearing in mind that I wouldn’t know her sizes until just before we went. I also took Geoff in hand and led him bleating and squealing to a bespoke tailor in Jermyn Street (much better than Saville Row. Who’s a snob then?) who had him laughing when he asked which side Sir dressed and had to explain what he meant to a young man from the sticks.

Then we had all this catching up to do. I insisted that we go and spend a week with Geoff in Hove (actually) because Lucy had never been to his place and I thought she just HAD TO see where her fiancé lived and how he managed himself; so off to Hove in early December. Lucy was impressed with the flat in The Drive but Hove was something else. It showed its true colours; windy, wet and bleak. The lovely garden didn’t have a leaf or a flower in sight. The badger was smart enough to be hibernating. A walk along the seafront was a battle to go in the right direction against the wind and stop yourself from being blown into a gallop when you went in the other direction. And then you had to dodge the spray from the giant waves smashing against the sea-walls.

You know this is why the English went out and conquered the world, don’t you? They were just looking for somewhere decent to live, and the Scots and Welsh egged them on all the time because a Scottish or Welsh winter was even worse. I’m not sure why the Irish joined in. It was probably because they thought if we found somewhere nice we would go away and leave them alone.

We never did of course. We found all these wonderful places like America, South Africa, Australia and New Zealand and decided it was much more fun being miserable and whingeing at home. Nothing like a good grumble in the morning, and we couldn’t run out of topics for conversation with weather like ours.

Anyway, our short Adonis won himself a lot of Brownie points with his future wife for being neat, clean and tidy and washing behind his ears without being told, as well as having a nice place. His parents welcomed us with open arms, I guess on the grounds that anyone was better for their son than the awful Carole to whom he had been married before. I didn't make a meal of my past and they were perhaps too polite to mention it. Besides, he wasn't marrying me. Shit!

While we were there Geoff told us that a transfer opportunity (a promotion, actually) to Waterloo (the railway station in London, not where Napoleon got creamed) had come up and he was going to apply. If he got it we could all carry on living in Finborough Road. Lucy and I crossed our fingers and our toes and everything else we could think of. We had Lucy’s flat in Brighton any time we wanted a break. We might even be able to pick some decent weather.

I sent out Wedding Invitations, obligatory, but given our circumstances there weren’t too many. I didn’t bother with my family and Lucy had none left. Geoff’s parents and brothers and spouses naturally. Did I mention we went to meet his parents? We all got on amazingly well, although we didn’t mention my background. There wasn’t any need. After all, he wasn’t marrying me. I know, I know, I'm repeating myself. Honest, I was fine with it.

Another burst of jealousy. He should have been mine.

Then it was Christmas and we didn’t stint. We invited friends who we knew could not come to the wedding to come and see us, to meet Geoff, to have a drink and the closest to our Christmas dinner, cooked by yours truly. It was almost a tradition now that I served dressed in my French maid’s uniform, hamming it up with my most outrageous accent and flirting like crazy with both the boys and the girls. I tried to have fun and not be a wet blanket, I really did, but there was a kind of sadness in my heart. I think I hid it pretty well.

Lucy, as usual, saw through me.

We were in bed one night when Geoff had to go back to Hove (actually) and she cuddled me and stroked my hair and kissed me.

“Suzie darling, please trust me. You’re not going to be left out of this marriage, I promise. I know you feel I’ve stolen him sometimes, but I haven’t and I couldn’t if I tried. It really is going to be the three of us and four before too long. We WILL be a happy family and he and I both love you too much to lose you or let you go in any way. We’ve talked about you too, you know, and you’re the glue that holds us all together. I can even put up with your singing if you just cheer up.”

That made me believe her! I snuggled in to her and returned her kisses and cried and resolved to put my jealousy behind me.

Christmas done and over with, we normally would have gone out and seen the New Year in, but there was just so much left to do. We were going on the 4th of January and what with holidays the shopping time seemed to vanish. Geoff got his promotion and we decided that we could stay at Finborough Road. Lucy and I joined hands and danced for joy and then dragged our man into a threesome and whirled like dervishes (does anyone know what they are?). We went to The Ifield that night and celebrated. Geoff and I got tiddly, while Lucy sipped a shandy like a good mother-to-be.

I went with Geoff to collect his suit, which the tailor insisted he tried on in case there were any last-minute adjustments to be made. I giggled as I asked him if he was correctly “dressed” and the little bugger felt his crutch and grinned one of his shit-eating grins, but he looked SOOOO handsome. I knew Lucy would be proud.

I went around collecting things I had ordered and, for a change, organized Angela, who had gone all of a tizz-woz with excitement. I tried like hell to get Lucy to tell me what she and I would be wearing, but she just smiled a Mona Lisa smile and told me to be patient and I wouldn’t be disappointed. I was worried because she was just beginning to show and I did so want her to look her best.

Packing, packing, packing. You would not believe how much stuff we were taking. Well, maybe you would. It was just as well we were going First Class or we would have had a separate plane to carry our gear. I tried to peek at the wedding outfits but Lucy was too cunning for me and had the dresses all sealed up in opaque wrapping.

The 4th zoomed up on us and we went to Heathrow on a freezing-cold, bleak, sleety day, congratulating ourselves on our foresight. In those days BOAC treated First Class passengers like royalty. They should have too. We thought we had bought the plane, but we checked in and went to the VIP lounge and drinks came and flunkeys flunked. We sipped champagne and sneered at the weather outside until they ushered us on board.

Lucy and I had flown before, not First Class, but we had been on a jet. Geoff and Angela were gob-smacked, neither having flown before, let alone in this style. We concentrated on keeping their mouths closed and stopping them drooling like idiots when the caviar came round. We were supposed to be sophisticated, for Christ’s sake. Fortunately none of the stewards or stewardesses were of that peculiarly English type who like to put their customers down. They were all nice to us.

We took off, ate, slept, ate some more, drank champagne (except for angel Lucy) and found that the excitement of long-range airline travel is mostly boredom. So we were pleased to land in Bermuda in the early evening with the sun still shining and these wonderful islands set in an azure sea, the coral reefs clearly visible.

Disembark into a pleasant 65 degree-ish evening after leaving winter in Britain and you immediately feel you are in Paradise. Customs and Immigration took no time at all and then we were in the hotel limousine on the way to the hotel. We passed through the “capital” Hamilton and then we were at The Royal Palms. It was nearly dark but we could see these lovely turn-of-the-century mansions and a whole row of quaint cottages, which I fell in love with at first glance and hoped we would be staying in.

YESSS, we were in the cottages. The hotel staff didn’t blink an eye-lid at our ménage-a-trois, but poor Angela was shuffled off to a room in one of the mansions……didn’t seem to mind a bit. In fact I could have sworn she had her eye on the good-looking porter who carried her bags. I quite fancied him myself; that lovely milk-chocolate skin and brilliant smile.

We were taken to our cottage, which was a kind of self-contained suite, with two connecting bedrooms (one with a king-size bed…goody), a lounge and two bathrooms, with a verandah opening on to the lawns. It was lovely and I could immediately picture Lucy making an entrance in her wedding outfit, whatever it was, I thought with a pout. I would be a pace behind her.

We had allowed an extra day before the ceremony, so the marriage would be on the 6th of January 1966. We had checked that it was an auspicious day in the Chinese calendar, with great fung shui.

Also it allowed a few special guests to get in and settle themselves before the wedding. Geoff’s parents were coming and his youngest (older) brother, who would be his best man. It turned out that none of them had liked Carole and they wanted to see him married to a nice girl this time.

Angela was to be a bridesmaid and I was Maid of Honour. God, I was still jealous, but I knew this was for the best, so I swallowed my pride and smiled. We all met in a spacious cocktail lounge and had a drink before going off to bed. Angela seemed so eager that I was suspicious. I’ve got a dirty mind.

So off to bed we went, but tired by the long day and the time change we just went to sleep in the huge bed, entwined in each other. We sort of lazed the next day away. We made sure that all the arrangements were in place, but the hotel staff told us to stop worrying. They had even organized a wedding cake. Everything would be OK. They had done all this hundreds of times before.

We walked around the town, went and looked at the beaches and the clearest, bluest water we had ever seen, had coffee and lunch, strolled and shopped a little. I bought bikinis for us girls, and we relaxed. The calm before the storm.

Early the next morning Lucy and Angela and I took over the big bedroom and banished Geoff to the small one. His brother and father were going to come over from their hotel and give him a hand. His mother joined us. She and Angela brought their dresses over so we could all change together, and titivate after we got our hair done and before we went out for the service. When Agnes arrived Lucy finally unwrapped the dresses for herself and me.

I gaped. They were identical and I loved them. The other three laughed at my reaction.

“You…..You…. Lucy, I should kill you. And you…” I turned to Angela and Agnes. “You were in on this! You knew! And you didn’t tell me! You….You….” I ran out of steam.

“I told you to trust me,” said Lucy. “Did I tell you true?”

I burst into tears, tears of happiness.

“But we can’t do this,” I wailed. “Lucy, you’re the bride, not me.”

“I’m the official bride, yes, and my name will be Mrs. Stoner,but we all know who the real bride is, don’t we?”

“Are you all in on it? Does Geoff know?”

“Yes, he knows. We didn’t want him dying at the altar, so to speak.”

I turned to Agnes Stoner.

“But you know what I am, don’t you?”

“I know who you were, my dear, and I see who you are. My Geoff hasn’t stopped talking about you since you came back, and I haven’t seen him so happy in years. If you can make him happy after that bitch he was married to before, you’ll do me, daughter-in-law,” She took Lucy’s hand, “Daughters-in-law. I don’t think either of you will have any mother-in-law problems.”

It took me fifteen minutes to stop weeping and hugging them all. It was just as well we hadn’t got to make-up stage. I got myself sorted out, but every time I looked at any of them I couldn’t stop myself smiling. All of them were rotten bitches and I loved them.

We all had our hair done. Angela got a bit sniffy about it but finally admitted the girls did a good job. Lucy did all our make-up, so who could complain. Agnes looked ten years younger and kept on admiring herself. Lucy whispered in her ear and she positively beamed.

Then came the dresses. Agnes had a beautiful aqua full-skirted number. Angela’s I knew was a gorgeous coral-pink, knee-length, petticoated creation with a deep neckline and long flared sleeves.

“I’ve got a date with that lovely porter afterwards, so I hope you don’t mind if I slide surreptitiously away,” she smirked. We all shook our heads and laughed.

Lucy and I had identical dresses, white, full-skirted, a little above knee-length, rustly petticoats, a deep vee-neck, which I just knew Geoff would bury his nose in later in the afternoon, long lacy sleeves with flared cuffs and some appurtenances to round them off. You can wait to find out.

We were all ready and had finished inspecting each other when we heard the Wedding March start outside. Agnes and Angela pulled aside the curtains and opened the patio doors.

Lucy and I joined hands and stepped out onto the lawn, tippy-toeing a little so that our heels wouldn’t dig into the grass. We stepped across a few paces to stand next to Geoff and his brother.

The marriage celebrant called the vows for Lucy and Geoff and rings and kisses were exchanged. Then Geoff said to the celebrant:

“I’d like you to do something a little unusual if you don’t mind. I know I can only be married to one wife at a time, but can you pledge my undying love to Suzie as well, that I will honour her just as I honour my wife, as long as we both shall live?”

The man looked somewhat shocked, and turned to Lucy, who beamed at him and nodded vigorously.

“Please, it’s OK. I approve 100%”

So he said:

“Do you Suzie, pledge your undying love to this man, as long as you both shall live?”

“I do.”

“And do you Geoffrey pledge your undying love to Suzie, as long as you both shall live?”

“I do.”

“Then you may kiss to seal this pledge.”

And the three of us kissed.

I bet we’re the only married people who have wedding photos with two French maids, patent high-heels, black seamed stockings and saucy aprons, one on each side of the groom, kissing him.

Who knows what comes next?