Who Put the Pain In Champagne

“I never thought Gary would be the first to go.”

“You make it sound like he’s being executed, Bobby,” Marc McKeever replies, pulling his car into the Country Club’s parking lot.

“He is! The three of us are only twenty-four. We’ve got at least a decade of horn-dogging ahead of us.”

Marc laughs, his dimples showing. Blonde-haired Marc is viewed as the sensible, clean-cut, and athletic member of the trio. Gary Groom is considered scruffy and blue-collar, and Bobby Booser enjoys playing the role of the group's joker.

“Gary’s been looking for a wife since we graduated high school.”

“And look who he picks, Wendy Wacker, Miss Ever Ready,” Bobby scoffs.

“Don’t make the mistake of calling her that in front of Gary. You know he’s completely in love with her.”

“She’s always been a man sponge,” Bobby replies. Pulling the rearview mirror in his direction, he checks his recently trimmed mustache and sleek, blown-back dark hair.

“Wendy always liked a good time.”

“That’s putting it politely,” Bobby responds. “Wendy should be wearing a turnstile instead of a wedding dress.”

“Again, not something to mention in front of Gary. Maybe she’s changed. Maybe she’s ready to settle down.”

Marc and Bobby pull at their tuxedos as they exit the car.

“I feel ridiculous in this thing,” Bobby comments.

“Well, you look how you feel,” Marc counters.

“Thanks, friend. I hope they stick you with Doris Poindexter for a partner.”

“She’s a guest, not a bride’s maid,” Marc replies. “You know Wendy’s all about appearances. Having Doris in the wedding party would ruin her photos. They paired me with Bree Brensilver.”  

“You two have history, don’t you?” 

“Yeah, And I’m hoping history repeats itself,” Marc replies.

“She’s a looker, even if she was named after a type of cheese.”

The pair pause to take in the country club’s décor.

“Kinda looks like Disneyland, except it’s Wendyland,” Bobby says.

The outside of the country club has been made up to look like a castle, with Styrofoam spires, flags, and a red carpet leading inside.

A jewel-encrusted gold carriage is parked near the entrance.

“Will you look at that, a unicorn!” Bobby exclaims.

“You know there’s no such thing as unicorns, right?”

“Then what are we looking at?”

“A horse with a fake horn glued to its head,” Marc answers.

“I hope they didn’t use Krazy Glue. They’ll never get that horn off, and the other horses will never let this one live it down.”

Holding a stein filled with champagne, Gary stumbles up to Marc and Bobby in the hallway.

“This is your special day, Gary. You’ll want to remember it, so go easy on that stuff,” Marc warns.

“Just some liquid courage to get me to say, ‘I duh… I duh…’”

“You mean I do,” Bobby finishes. “Can I ask you a question? What made you decide Every Ready, I mean, Wendy was the one?”

Gary smiles dreamily. “The weekend trip we took to Echo Park. We were on the Dragon Coaster. I nearly lost my lunch, but Wendy giggled through the whole ride. At one point, she turned to me and said I was the only one who made her laugh, the only one who made her happy.”

Dumbfounded, Bobby asks, “And you believed her?”

“Yeah, why would she lie to me? By the way, have you seen Wendy?”

“I thought she was coming with Bree and Raquel,” Marc replies.

“I guess not because here they come.”

Bree Brensilver latches onto Marc’s arm. “Hello, handsome. Ready to dazzle the crowd?”

Marc snickers. “Everyone’s going to be looking at you, Bree.”

Gary belches. “Have you guys seen Wendy?”

“Last I heard, she was hitching a ride with the preacher,” Raquel Rochefort replies, smiling coyly and flipping her long mane of red hair. “Is that champagne you’re drinking, Gary?”

“Yep. I need it to say, “I…duh… never mind…”

“Can we have some?” Bree asks, flashing a thousand-watt smile.

“It’s only eleven o’clock,” Marc points out.

“The bar’s not supposed to open for another couple of hours, but what the hell, I’m paying for it. It’s one o’clock someplace.”

Somewhere in the bowels of Portland, an hour away, a heavy-set, bearded man wearing a studded spike collar and matching bracelet is reading a newspaper. His eyes bulge, and his nostrils flare when he sees Wendy Wacker’s wedding announcement. He tears the paper down the middle, slamming his hand on the kitchen table.

“Time for a road trip.”

Oliver Lesser parks his Mitsubishi Mirage far from the other cars, hoping to avoid the inevitable post-reception drunk driving free-for-all.

He looks in the rearview mirror, disappointed that despite his brand-new suit, he’s still a short and pockmarked nerd with a lantern jaw, large, popped eyes, and a hairline that’s already receding.

A Kia pulls alongside his car.

A dowdy woman in a long, ill-fitting blue dress with granny glasses and a floppy hairdo steps out. They both do a double take when they recognize one another.

“Oliver! How long has it been?” she asks.

“Since high school, nearly six years. How’s things, Doris?”

“Not bad. I’m a math teacher.”

“You were always good with figures. It sounds like a…”

“Boring, but a steady career,” Doris says.

“Are you a friend of the bride?”

“Don’t tell anyone, but I’m her cousin.”

“I never would have guessed. You’re so…”

“Different?” Doris asks, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “Whenever Wendy had to get bailed out of jail or was puking on the front lawn, I was glad we were different. When she dated the Captain of the football team or was showing off her latest gift from her latest boyfriend, I wanted to be her.”

“And today?”

“The jury’s out until she says, ‘I do.’”

“Gary is starting to freak out,” Bobby says. “Wendy’s already forty-five minutes late.”

“It’s a bride’s prerogative to be late,” Marc returns. “And it’s part of Wendy’s DNA.”

“What about the preacher?”

Marc pulls out his phone. “He only lives twenty minutes away.”

“That doesn’t mean he’s reliable,” Bobby replies.

“He comes from a long line of preachers. He’s not one to blow off conducting a marriage ceremony. Hello, Pastor Hybels? This is Marc McKeever calling about Gary Groom’s wedding. Maybe we got our wires crossed. We’re waiting for you at the Elegant Eagle Country Club.”

“…Yes, I haven’t forgotten… I’ve been experiencing some clerical difficulties.”

Bobby leans closer to Marc’s phone. “Clerical difficulties? Is that like technical difficulties?”

“Can you hurry, Pastor?”

“…I’ll get on my bike and be there in a few minutes…”

Pastor Hybels hangs up.

“I sure hope that bike’s a Harley and not a Schwinn,” Bobby says.

Oliver and Doris squirm in their chairs, taking turns looking at the door. Guests drift in and out with drinks in their hands, becoming more intoxicated with each passing moment.

Doris checks her watch. “Wendy is vain, but this is taking it too far. She’s an hour and a half late.”

“I’d never have a wedding this big,” Oliver replies. “It’s a logistical nightmare.”

“I know what you mean.”

“When I get married, I mean, if I get married, I’d like a small ceremony in a garden. Then, a honeymoon in Rangoon. When I mention Rangoon, most women think I’m talking about a brand of spaghetti sauce.”

“You need to upgrade the type of women you date.”

“I don’t have much of a choice. It’s either the girls with big hair and small brains, mismatches, or blind dates for me, or no dates at all.”

“You could do better if you set your mind to it,” Doris says. “You were always one of the smart kids in high school.”

“Exactly. That translates into boring for most women. I’m not like Marc McKeever, who gets by on his looks, or Bobby Booser, who talks a good game. I’m an accountant, boring, square, and average.”

“I’d say you’re way above average.”

“Pardon my expression, Pastor, but where the hell are you?”

“Sorry. I had to counsel a partitioner,” Pastor Hybels replies.

“You have emergency counseling?”

Marc hears the sound of bells going off in the background.

“Is that an emergency alarm? Are you in trouble?”

“No, no. I’m sitting in traffic next to a fire truck.”

“So, when will you be here?”

The sound of metal clinking together is followed by a woman yelling, “YEE-HAW! JACKPOT!”

“I’m on my way!” Pastor Hybels replies, hanging up.

“Well, what’s the holdup?” Bobby asks.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was in a casino.”

Gary steps up to the podium in the ceremony room.

“As you may have guessed, there will be a slight delay while the bride and our minister try to get here. In the meantime, we can start the party! There’s plenty of booze in the reception room, and the D.J. is ready to crank out the tunes!”

Gary plops down next to the podium as the room empties, his expression fading to sorrow.

Bobby slaps him on the back.

“Don’t worry, Gary. I can marry you if the preacher doesn’t show up.”

Raquel tries to pull Bobby away. “Are preachers allowed to dance? Come on!”

Bree winks at Marc. “You know I’m a terrible dancer. There’s a gazebo out back. We can still hear the music from there.”

Oliver and Doris watch Gary’s stout Aunt Gertrude gyrate to “Dancing in the Streets.”

“Wow, she can really bust a move,” Oliver notes.

Coming out of a spin, Aunt Gertrude gets so dizzy that she face plants on the floor.

“Apparently, she can bust a hip, too,” Doris says.

Minutes later, EMS arrives to strap Aunt Gertrude into a gurney. The D.J. plays “Walking on Sunshine” as she’s carted away. Holding a glass of champagne in her hand, she toasts the crowd.

“Sometimes I envy people who can just let go and have fun,” Oliver says. “Look at her. She’s going to the hospital with a smile on her face.”

“Yeah, I wish I was more open-minded. I’d also like to believe in aliens, ghosts, and unicorns,” Doris replies. “I did as a kid. Those were some of my happiest days.”

“Air guitar… I used to love pretending I was Jimi Hendrix or Jeff Beck. My Dad caught me one day. He told me to grow up. What father tells an eight-year-old boy to grow up?”

“My folks always encouraged me. I was the only girl drummer in the orchestra…”

“I remember. We used to call you Karen Carpenter. You were a better baseball player than a lot of the guys in Little League, too. And you always got straight A’s. Me too. But socially, I got F’s. I couldn’t even find anybody to go to the prom with me.”

“I asked Bobby,” Doris says with a twinge of sadness. “He thought I was joking.”

“We’re successful. We don’t need acceptance from the cool kids anymore.”

“But we’re entitled to have fun just like everyone else,” Doris says. “We can start by pretending this is our prom.”

Oliver walks to one of the flower displays in the corner of the room. Plucking a rose, he gives it to Doris.

Marc, Bobby, and Gary huddle around Marc’s cell phone.

“It’s ringing. I think I finally got hold of her... Wendy? It’s Marc. You’re two hours late. That’s pushing it, even if it is your day.”

“…I’m not coming…”

Marc tries to sound reassuring. “Relax, Wendy. Everybody gets the jitters on their wedding day.”

“…It’s more than a case of nerves…”

Gary begins to shake. “What? Did I hear you right? You’re standing me up?”

“Where are you? We’ll come and get you,” Marc offers.

“Las Vegas.”

“Wow, a runaway bride. We may have to change her nickname to ‘Never Ready’,” Bobby jokes.

“I’m on my way, baby! We can get married there!” Gary says.

“…I’m not alone… I’m here with Pastor Hybels…”

“Son of a preacher man!” Bobby exclaims.

Gary wobbles. “I think I’m going to be very sick. That is after I slit my wrists. Give me that phone! Wendy... Don’t you know how much I love you? I spent ten thousand on your wedding ring and fifty thousand on the wedding… There’s a hundred and fifty people here waiting for you…”

“…But I don’t love you, Gary… I thought I did… But that was last week… You stopped being fun… Warren, Pastor Hybels, makes me laugh, and he’s got a cool second job as an Elvis impersonator… By the way, I bought a Maserati as a going-away gift using your credit cards…Have a good life…”

Gary makes a mournful noise somewhere between a wretch and a cry.

“I’m a bartender. My folks and I are up to our noses in hock for this wedding. If my bank account was a pinball machine, it’d say, ‘Tilt!’ What do I do now?”

“Have a good cry,” Bobby offers. “Then host the greatest party of all time!”

The guests turn to see a biker in black leather enter the reception room, raising what appears to be an assault rifle.

“If you’ve reached the part where the preacher asks, ‘Does anybody object?’ Well, you can bet your boutonnières I sure do!”

Screaming in terror, the guests near the exit doors run out. The other guests dive for the floor, shuddering and crying.

Oliver pulls Doris to the floor, shielding her with his body.

Bobby drops his glass of champagne as Raquel sweeps behind him, using him as a shield.

Bobby reaches for his phone and is about to dial the police when he’s hit in the chest.

Surprised to be still standing, he looks down at his suit.

Blue paint drips down from his chest onto the floor. “Paintballs? He’s shooting paintballs!”

Shouting, “Where is that two-timing weasel!” the biker fires paintballs around the room, hitting dozens of people. Each breathes a sigh of relief that they weren’t hit with bullets.

Rising from the floor, Gary staggers forward.

The biker hits Gary with a trio of paintballs, making his tuxedo look like Salvador Dali created it.

“You stole her from me!”

“And the preacher is having the last laugh on both of us, Rocky. She ran off to Vegas with him!”

Rocky Rolle lowers his paint gun.

“How’s your bank account, Rocky?” Gary asks.

“Flatter than the Earth. I’ll be in debt until Taylor Swift’s ready for Social Security…Jeez, I feel like a fool twice over…”

Marc and Bree saunter into the reception room.

Giggling, Bree asks, “Why’s everybody on the floor?”

“Must be some game they’re playing,” Marc responds. “By the way, Gary, we thought you should know your folks and Wendy’s parents are fighting in the fountain.”

Most of the guests rush outside, eager for more entertainment. Gary shrugs his shoulders and heads to the bar with Rocky and the others.

Gary raises his glass, muttering drunkenly, “Here’s to the two biggest chumps in Oregon.”

“You’re not fools,” Bobby says. “You’re the luckiest men in the world. You escaped! You’re free!”

Oliver and Doris watch Gary and Wendy’s parents splash around in the fountain as they punch each other.

“Not bad for a couple of fifty-year-olds,” Oliver comments.

Gary’s corpulent mother pulls off Wendy’s mom’s wig.

“My money’s on Misses Groom,” Doris says.

“If I were a gentleman, I’d jump between them and break it up.”

“You are a gentleman, Oliver. And you’re a hero, my hero. You saved my life.”

“It was just paint.”

Doris’s eyes widen behind her glasses. “But if it wasn’t… You were willing to sacrifice your life for mine.”

“I’d do anything for you, Doris.”

“Anything?”

Oliver and Doris look up at Bobby, who stands at the podium, thumbing through a bible.

Their arms around each other’s shoulders, Gary and Rocky sway nearby, laughing as they share a bottle of champagne.

“Suckers!” Rocky yells.

“You’re sure this is legal?” Marc whispers in Bobby’s ear.

“Sure. I got my mail-order diploma from South Central Theological College in Walla Walla, Washington,” Bobby responds. “Paid ninety-nine bucks for it.”

“Right. If you’d paid a hundred, it might have been phony.”

Bobby glances at Bree and Raquel, who have passed out and are sprawled out in a pair of chairs. “It looks like our bridesmaids found out who put the pain in champagne. Do you want to wake up the girls, Marc? We’ll need them as witnesses.”

Marc nudges Bree and Raquel until they’re awake.

“I’d like to offer this short poetic passage for the loving couple…,” Bobby begins. “Precious and few are the moments we two can share. Quiet and blue like the sky, I'm hung over you. And if I can't find my way back home, it just wouldn't be fair. Because precious and few are the moments we two can share…”

“That’s beautiful,” Bree says, wobbling.

Marc pulls Bobby aside. “Are you quoting the lyrics to a seventies song? Stick to the script!”

“Sure. If anyone objects to this union, now is the time to speak up.”

Everyone looks at Rocky.

“What? I objected to the last couple, not this one. Suckers!”

“Who has the ring?” Bobby asks.

Marc reaches into his tuxedo pocket, looking sympathetically at Gary.

“Yeah, give it to them. I’m supplying everything else. Why not the ring, too?”

“Do you, Doris, take Oliver to be your lawfully wedded husband? Will you honor and cherish him, continue to deepen your understanding of them, and treat them with love and compassion in sickness and health and whatever else life might throw your way? Do you promise that what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas?”

“I do.”

“How about you, buddy? Ditto?”

“I do.”

“Then let the honeymoon begin.”

Gary shakes Oliver’s hand and kisses Doris on the cheek. “I have one last gift for you two. How’d you like a ride in a carriage pulled by a unicorn?”