Paradise

It’s a big thing in New York to have your wedding Friday night. That way it doesn’t cost as much to rent the hall and no-one misses the baseball on Saturday. Newman’s daughter Mary Ann was getting married to someone called Joey Paprika. Something like that.

Newman was our next door neighbour. Dishevelled, unshaven, usually wearing a vest and braces and always up for a coffee. He shuffled around like a down at heel mobster and shouted all the time because his wife Viola had a hearing problem. He insisted on calling me Henry. “Hiya Henry how ya Doin?” he would shout. I figured out this was because I was English and therefore I had to be called Henry and be related to Royalty. Maybe Viola developed hearing problems after living with Newman…

The wedding would be a formal affair. Best bib and tucker. White stretch limousines and shiny silver tuxedo’s all round. I had to make do with a pair of cream nylon slacks and a Pierre Cardin blazer from my cousin, or I wouldn’t be allowed to go. I felt like a dick and probably looked like one too. I rebelled by wearing the worst tie I could find, a stripey, crinkly, pinky, browny, bluey kind of affair. It was crocheted. In Nylon. Everyone liked it.

We all got to the church on time and waited for the bride to be. There was emotion in the air even before she turned up. Everyone, and I really do mean everyone, had video recorders at the ready. All the women were preparing hankies. Nothing was going to be missed. The organist looked like Richard Carpenter.

Mary Ann appeared at the door to the church with Newman. The music started up. All the women regardless of age started to sob. Mary Ann caught sight of Joey and promptly collapsed in hysterical tears. Her knees buckled. A score of video camera’s swung around and clicked into action, their red power lights boring into Mary Ann. Luckily Newman knew what to do. He quickly pulled her together, grabbed Mary Ann’s arm and frogmarched her down the aisle to her future. You don’t cross Newman. The rest of the ceremony went off without a hitch, although Mary Ann still cried throughout the exchange of vows. She was so happy I guess.

We all repaired to the local Elk Lodge for the reception. As we all stood under the club mascot poking out of the entrance hall it gave me the chance to bring out the old “That Moose must have been going a hell of a speed when it hit that wall” joke. It went down well. For a few moments I was a hit.

“hiya Henry, great tie” said Newman as we all trooped into the hall.

We all sat down for the buffet and tried to say something pertinent and witty for the video which was doing the rounds of the tables. I was introduced as being from Australia. I wished them all the best and the guy with the camera said all the best what? I was about to explain when there was a drum roll..

The MC on the stage (yes the MC..) sounded like he was doing Vegas.

“Ladeez and Genelmen, Pleeeeze welcome the Mother and Father of the Bride..“

Cue Newman and Viola who had, up to that point, been hiding behind the swing doors into the hall. They bounded in with great aplomb, taking a bow and moving from table to table shaking hands and glad-handing. This was only the beginning.

One by one all sides of the wedding party were introduced, all given a build up that would have done Frank Sinatra proud: the brothers; the sisters; the cousins The bridegrooms family; the best man; the bridesmaids; the maid of honour; until finally as the excitement was almost too much to bear and I was going to burst:

“And now ladeez and Genelmen, will you pleeze welcome, for the first time as man and wife, our guests of honour, put your hands together… MARY ANN AND JOEY… NOW AND FOREVER… MR AND MRS JOEY PAPRIKAAAAA….”

Drum roll, lights, fanfare, Mary Ann and Joey burst through the swing doors punching the air and whooping like they had just won family fortunes. The applause was deafening. My mouth could not have gotten closer to the floor unless I had wanted to lick up cheese crackers for the rest of the evening.

Mary Ann and Joey did a couple of laps of the room before the music changed tempo and they took to the floor to smooch to Paradise by the Dashboard light by Meatloaf, who, incidentally figured quite prominently during the ensuing disco. Not one but two, very drunken renderings of Two out of three ain’t bad by the assembled young bucks and buckesses. Everyone rising to join in with the chorus.

Everything was rounded off by the traditional throwing of the bouquet. And boy what a ritual. In England it is all a bit embarrassing and apologetic and seen as the traditional kiss of death to any relationship. Here it’s another form of dating: The bride throws the bouquet. It gets caught. Part One over with. Then the bridegroom kneels down and removes his brides garter and then throws that. It gets caught. Part Two over with. Then the guy who catches the garter kneels in front of the girl who has caught the bouquet. He places the garter on her leg and then they dance together. Cue the start of a beautiful new friendship.

Got it. Have another drink.

I still feel sorry for the moose.

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