Honeymoon
Becca knocked on the door to Zach’s apartment at 7:30 on Friday evening. Zach opened the door after a pause with the collar to his white dress shirt still open and his rust-colored silk tie looped around his neck but still unknotted. He grinned at Becca and shook his head. “Why’d I give you a key if you’ll never use it?”
“This is your place, Zach. I can’t just come barging in.”
“Barge away. I want you to barge.” He turned to head back to the bathroom’s mirror to finish tying his tie.
Zach and Becca loved to get dressed up and go out to nice restaurants. Neither had a lot of money, but what money they did have was spent mainly in nice restaurants. This evening they were trying for the first time a restaurant that had recently opened on the south side of town called Stan’s. It had received good reviews in the local paper and from some of Zach’s faculty friends (none of their student friends spent the time or money to go to nice restaurants).
Zach returned to the living room with his collar buttoned, his tie neatly knotted, and a gold collar clasp under the knot. He pulled on the coat to his gray suit. Becca stood in her azure and cream print dress with short sleeves and a scoop neck. She had on a simple pearl necklace. She slipped into her calf-length camelhair coat that was open in the front and had no belt.
She looked Zach up and down. “You look stunningly handsome, Mr. Sandstrom.”
“Hardly good enough for my beautiful date.”
“More than good enough.”
“I can only hope.”
The restaurant was actually better than expected, and they’d expected a lot. The contemporary décor was simple and elegant, the low-ceilinged room cozy but not claustrophobic, the lighting bright but not glaring. The tables and chairs were painted wood in a contemporary design, the chairs with comfortable natural linen upholstery, the tables with crisply ironed white linen table cloths. The silverware was all neatly and properly placed, and there was a single red rose in a white china bud vase beside a votive candle in scarlet glass holder. The receptionist was pleasant and professional; the waiters were all middle-aged men who served with a European formality and reserve.
And the food was exceptional—delicately seasoned contemporary American fare with provincial French and Italian touches. Zach had a smoked salmon appetizer with the paper-thin sliced salmon arranged in the middle of the plate and surrounded by small portions of finely chopped red onion, marinated capers, thin sliced hard-boiled quail eggs, dill-seasoned crème fraiche, and toasted baguette rounds. Becca had a duck confit and leek terrine served on a bed of red endive and accompanied by a boule of crusty country wheat bread. For their entrees, Zach had veal piccata that was perfectly cooked and seasoned and served with buttered house-made egg noodles and a simple broccoli and pearl onion stir-fry; and Becca had grilled swordfish with a honey-mustard and soy sauce glaze, saffron rice, and a cauliflower gratinee. For dessert, Zach had crème caramel and Becca had a bittersweet chocolate and hazelnut mousse. Throughout their meal, they shared a bottle of a fine Riesling recommended to them by the wine steward who was also the owner, a short stocky man with curly raven black hair, a burgundy ascot, a difficult to place accent, and a Bohemian flare. Zach was especially impressed to see their wine glasses always full though he never noticed them being refilled.
Becca slid her mousse toward Zach before taking a bite. He used his clean teaspoon to take a generous scoop of the dark pudding with its fluffy cream topping. “Hey,” Becca cried, “Leave me some.”
Zach made a quick reach for more even as Becca pulled the dish back to her side of the table. The mousse was amazingly smooth and rich and decadent. Zach made a mental note that if he ever really needed to dazzle a girl, to bring her to Stan’s and treat her to the bittersweet chocolate and hazelnut mousse. Then he looked to Becca swooning over that dessert and hoped he’d never again have cause to try to impress another girl. “What do you think?” he asked.
“About the mousse? That I’ve died and gone to Heaven.”
“I don’t know if they’ll let you in Heaven with that whipped cream on your lip.”
She flicked the cream away with her tongue.
“No, I mean about the restaurant.”
“It’s wonderful. Don’t you think so?”
“I do. Better than I’d hoped.”
“Do you think they’ll make it?”
He looked around the small but full dining room and recalled the line of people without reservations waiting in the foyer. “Looks like an auspicious start.”
“But it’s the long haul you have to wonder about. Kind of an upscale place for a blue-collar town.”
“The town’s changing, and liquor-by-the-drink will pay for a lot of mistakes and experimentation.” The county had recently legalized the sale of beer, wine, and spirits in restaurants, creating a new and sizable source of revenue for restaurants and prompting the opening of a number of upscale restaurant-bars.
Becca finally set her mousse bowl aside after running her spoon around its rim several times. “They’d better stay open. My taste buds will go into mourning if they stop making that mousse.”
“Maybe I’ll slip Stan a twenty for the recipe.”
Becca laughed. “Best investment you’ll ever make.”
“Good as done.”
They lingered for another fifteen minutes over hot tea—Earl Gray for Zach, lemon zinger for Becca—and never felt pushed to leave despite the full restaurant and the line at the door. For Zach and Becca both, this type of evening in this type of setting was as good as their relationship got in public—fine food, attentive service, elegant setting, no rush to be anywhere, free to relax and enjoy each other.
But even they could stretch out such an occasion only so far. Zach called for the check and paid in cash, leaving a generous tip.
Becca tried to hand him enough money to cover her half of the meal, but Zach slid the bills back to her. “Zach!” she protested.
Zach raised his hands. “My scholarship check came yesterday.”
“That’s for school.”
“No, school’s paid for. This check was for living expenses.”
“But not places like this.”
“Hey—that’s none of their business. I’m living”—he cast his arm out towards the whole restaurant—“and it’s expensive.”
Becca shook her head. “My treat next time.”
“Deal,” he said.
He stood and took Becca’s hand to help her up. He was always proud to be seen with her, proud to show her off. They walked the length of the dining room with her hand tucked into his elbow. She brought so much grace and charm to him, he brought so much attention and dignity to her. In the alcove between the crowded bar-foyer and the orderly dining room, Zach gave the coat-check girl his ticket, tipped her when she returned with Becca’s coat, then helped Becca put on her coat. Zach’s every motion, every solicitous gesture toward Becca, was done with measured care, knowing that almost every eye in the restaurant was watching them, or at least aware of their presence and movements. He reveled in their attention and witness—not of him or of Becca or even of the two of them together, but of their love, as if believing that if enough people saw them at their shining best then it could never be taken away: that that many witnesses couldn’t be mistaken; God wouldn’t allow it.
They stepped outside into the cold, damp February night. The poorly lit gravel parking lot and the neon-signed gas station and convenience store across the highway made this exterior feel as cheap and tawdry as the interior had felt elegant and dignified. They almost ran across the lot to Becca’s car and jumped inside.
Once inside, Becca turned to him. “Where to, navigator?”
“Badencourt’s having a floor party. Arnie invited us, if you’re up for it.” Badencourt was the dorm where most of Zach’s intramural basketball team lived. These guys revered Zach both on and off the court, saw him as a sort of transcendent outlander with a sweet jump shot, near unlimited knowledge, and a gorgeo
us girlfriend who came to all his games and cheered them on.
Becca burst out laughing. “A dorm party? In these clothes? At this hour?”
Her gleeful incredulity was utterly charming. If Zach weren’t already completely in love with her, he would be now. Then he thought—what the hell—and let himself fall in love with her all over again. “The night’s young, and they’ll love the clothes. Trust me, they’ll love the clothes.”
“Don’t you ever sleep?”
“You know the best time for sleep, don’t you?”
“Yes, I know,” she said, having heard the question from Zach many times before. They said in unison, “Later.” She started the car and pointed it toward Badencourt dorm.
The Badencourt commons room was empty and eerily lonely as they crossed through it on their way to the stairs. The table lamps were all lit, the plush chairs and couches and pillows inviting, the oriental rugs warm and soft, the dark paneling rich and elegant, the bookshelves full, their books waiting use. There was even a gas-log fire in the painted brick fireplace. But with no people, the Victorian parlor seemed as cold and dead as a tomb, a sumptuous metaphor of loss. Zach and Becca hurried through without pausing. The fire-code stairwell, with its bare painted block walls, broom-finished concrete steps, and welded steel railings offered its own modernist definition of loneliness, but seemed less threatening than the empty parlor. And they could hear the pulsing beat of rock music and the blurred chatter of voices descending from above—there was promise of company within this modernist catacomb.
Through the fire doors’ reinforced-glass windows, Zach could see Arnie seated behind a table to the side of the hall. On the table in front of him were a six-pack of beer, a bottle of Jamaican rum, two unopened wine coolers and a baseball glove. He was surveying the table’s contents with a glassy-eyed stare when Zach and Becca opened the doors and walked into the hallway. The blaring music struck them like a gale-force wind.
Arnie glanced up in surprise. “Holy shit! Look who’s here.” He extended a hand to Zach across the table, then took Becca’s hand and kissed it lightly. “What’s up with the threads?” he shouted. “You two just get married?”
“That’s right, Arnie. We’re here for the honeymoon suite.”
All three turned and looked down the chaotic hall. Men and women, some in various stages of undress, were running from room to room, some girls riding on the backs of guys, one girl tossed over some guy’s shoulder and pounding on his back. People were seated on the hall’s vinyl flooring leaning against the wall. A few of these seemed to be passed-out, the others were staring off into space or swaying from side to side with the music, their eyes closed. Some guy with a fireman’s hat was running around with a seltzer bottle spraying anyone with a cigarette or candle.
Arnie took a couple of steps toward the fray, cupped his hands around his mouth, and shouted, “Zach and Becca just got married. Prepare the honeymoon suite.” It was unclear if anyone heard him over the music; and, if they did, if anyone cared.
“What’s all this?” Zach shouted as he gestured toward the eclectic mix on the table.
Arnie waved his hand dismissively. “Oh, that’s just bribes. You wouldn’t believe the riff-raff that showed up for the party.” He paused. “Well, I guess you would—you can see it all down there.” He pointed down the hallway. “I wasn’t going to let them in, but then they made it worth my while. Doorkeeper’s got to make his living somehow.”
“I get the booze,” Zach shouted. “But what about the glove?”
“This guy I’d never seen before comes by and says he was on the baseball team but flunked off yesterday. I would’ve let him in without a bribe, but he said he didn’t want the glove anymore. So now I got it.”
Zach tried on the well-oiled glove. “Too bad for him, but good luck for you.”
“Yeah,” Arnie shouted. “Nice mitt.”
“So do we need to bribe you?”
“Hell no. Dressed like that, we ought to be paying you—raise the whole stature of the party, not to mention its grade-point average.”
“That’s good, because I don’t have any booze to offer.”
“Ain’t a problem, Zach,” he said with a sly smile. “We got plenty of booze up here.” He pointed down the hallway. “Kegs first door on the right, wine and cheese for the ladies in C.H.’s room on the left, hard stuff in Bill and Al’s suite, and Everclear in the showers. You make it through all the stops to the far end of the hall, we’ll give you a prize. Hell, might even part with this cherished glove.” He held it up for Zach to admire again.
“Not looking to run the gauntlet, Arnie; not tonight.” He looked to Becca who was standing off to one side, watching the revelry with wide-eyed wonder.
Arnie followed his gaze. “Oh, yeah. That’s right.” Then he shouted out over the crowd again. “Zach and Becca just got married. Prepare the honeymoon suite.”
Becca turned and shouted, “Arnie!”
He said, “What?”
“We’re not married!”
“You’re not?”
“No,” she shouted.
Arnie faced down the hall again. “Forget the honeymoon suite. They just got divorced.”
So Zach and Becca didn’t get the honeymoon suite, but they did find an unoccupied couch off to the side in C.H.’s room. They discovered the couch was unoccupied because it had a broken frame under the cushions that caused the occupants to sink almost all the way to the floor when you sat on it. They considered seeking a another resting place but doubted that they’d find another spot in the crowded party and finally concluded that the couch was actually fairly comfortable, especially if they set their feet on the beat-up coffee table in front of them. Zach sipped on a cup of beer while Becca stayed with the wine she’d started the night with, though the warm Chablis was a poor successor to the excellent Riesling they’d shared at the restaurant. They sat shoulder to shoulder in their fine clothes on the broken couch in relative isolation not trying to talk over the blaring music and amusedly watching the party unfold, as if serving as the lone audience to the experimental drama of debauchery being played out before them. The room was lit with only red bulbs, casting all people and objects in a ghastly glow. On their way into the room, Zach had shouted to C.H. if the red were meant to represent hell or hedonism? C.H. had looked puzzled and shouted back, “What’s hedonism?” But before Zach could shout an answer, C.H. had winked and said, “Take your pick.” Zach figured hedonism for now, hell later.
The window beside Becca was open on the chill night to let the cigarette smoke out and fresh air in. At some point, Becca began to shiver against Zach; he took her camelhair coat and gently spread it over her from her feet on the table up to her neck. She expressed her thanks in kisses, first to his neck, then his cheek, then his mouth; and in a surreptitious squeeze of his thigh from under the fringe of her coat. Zach brushed her hair lightly with his near hand—she had such beautiful hair.
They returned to watching the red-tinted play enacted before them—sorority sisters whispering together in small cliques, fraternity brothers trying to outdo each other with loud shouts and chest-beating complete with lots of spilled alcoholic beverages, couples making out and groping each other in dark corners, some girl with a big floppy hat dancing her way through the shifting crowd. Zach and Becca were quite content with each other, the long slow arc of their night, and with their unique place in this mayhem—included in the whole but largely free of its demands, privileged to watch and laugh and judge benevolently and be together in their own half-hidden world of love set off to the side of the rest of the world rushing past.
C.H. started it when he brought Becca an unopened bag of nacho chips, set them reverently at her feet under the coat on the table, bowed and said, “Congratulations.” Then Bill brought an unopened pint of rum, set it beside the chips, bowed, then turned and left. Then someone in thick glasses neither Zach nor Becca knew brought a pair of clean gym socks and laid them on top of the bag of nacho chip
s. Then another stranger brought a paperback of Shakespeare’s Sonnets. The strangers didn’t speak or make eye contact, just left their gifts, bowed and disappeared back into the party. Then some drunk girls, probably egged on by C.H., got into the act by honoring Zach with items of intimate apparel—first a red garter (at least he thought it was red—but then everything was red!) draped over his knee, then some lace panties hung from his dress shoe propped on the table. Then some other girl brought a box of condoms and dropped them in his lap. Not to be outdone, the guys brought Becca some Speedo briefs and a pair of padded handcuffs. Becca’s smile never faded, and she acknowledged each gift with a kind nod. (She did blush at the briefs; but in the red light, only Zach could tell.)
The gang finally ended their faux tribute when two of the girls rolled in a cake covered with flashing sparklers on a cart. The blinding flashing sparks mixed with the red lights made the room and its sudden crush of occupants seem to jump around in a ghoulish, surreal dance. When the sparklers finally faded as the last one spit out a few weak sparks, Arnie stepped forward from the back of the crowd and raised his cup full of some clear and no doubt potent liquor and said, “To Zach and Becca and a lifetime of happiness.” Everyone else in the room raised whatever drinking utensil they had or could scrounge from the used ones lying everywhere and said, “Here-here.” Arnie placed the baseball glove at Zach’s feet, then gave him a thumbs up and blew a kiss to Becca, who blew one back. Then the girl that had brought the condoms started shouting, “Kiss-kiss-kiss;” and the other girls joined in. Zach looked at Becca, she shrugged then nodded, and he leaned over and kissed her on the mouth for at least twenty seconds. The girls behind them started cheering wildly. When their lips finally parted, instead of sitting back up, Zach rolled his head down close to Becca’s ear and said, “If we stay like this, will they go away?” She said back into his near ear, “If they don’t, we will.” Her voice was joking, light, happy.
Behind them, as if knowing their feelings, Arnie said, “Break it up. They’re on their honeymoon. Give the lovebirds a little privacy.”
And the crowd listened, returning to whatever pursuits or adventures had engaged them prior to the tribute.
But Zach didn’t lift his face from Becca’s ear and soft, enticingly scented hair. He said, “I love you more than anything I have ever known, more than anything I will ever know.”
Becca said, “Thank you,” paused a second, then added, “But if my mom finds out we got married at a dorm party, she’s going to kill me.”
Behind them, someone took a bite of the cake and got a mouthful of magnesium chips from the spent sparklers. He cursed and spit out the bite, then took the entire cake, including the plate and serving knife and spent sparklers, and chucked it out the open window. Down on the Quad, someone yelled, “What the hell?” and threw a chunk of the cake back at the window. It fell short of its target, hit the stone façade, and fell into the bushes at the base of the building.
When they finally made it to Zach’s bed, the night was far closer to dawn than to dusk. Zach was exhausted but happy, perhaps as happy as he’d ever been. Becca had been a little quiet after the tribute, not that there was much to say with all that noise. But she’d also been quiet during the short ride to his apartment. Zach figured she had to be at least as tired as he, probably more. So he switched off the table lamp that sat on the floor beside his makeshift bed, leaned over and kissed her forehead, each shut eyelid, and then her closed mouth. He laid his head on the soft hollow between her shoulder and her chest. Just before falling asleep, he asked, “Are you happy?”
She answered, “Maybe too happy.”
“Didn’t know there was such a thing.”
“Me either, till tonight.”
Zach didn’t hear her response; he’d fallen asleep.
Sometime near dawn, he woke from a troubling dream he couldn’t recall, turned his head, and saw Becca’s eyes wide-open and watching him. “You all right?” he asked.
“I’m O.K.” she said, and kissed him on the forehead.
“Anything I can do?”
“You sleep. I’ll keep watch for us both.”
He had no idea what she meant by that, but was too tired and groggy to question it now. He accepted her offer, curled up full length against her, and fell back to sleep, dreamless this time, leaving her alone to face whatever demons the night had put in her path.