Demonology by Rick Moody Read Free Book Online Page B

to stay with them for
     the week. They had brought their own floral displays, personally assembled by the arthritic Mrs. Polanski. The room had a
     dignified simplicity. Next, in the Hudson Suite, in keeping with its naval flavor, cadet Bobby Moore and his high-school sweetheart
     Mandy Sutherland were tying the knot, at the pleasure of Bobby’s dad, who had been a tugboat captain in New York Harbor; in
     the Adirondack Suite, two of the venerable old families of the Lake George region —the Millers (owner of the Lake George Cabins)
     and the Wentworths (they had the Quality Inn franchise) commingled their tourist-dependent fates; in the Valentine Room, Sis,
     two women (named Sal and Mar-tine, but that’s all I should say about them, for reasons of privacy) were to be married by a
     renegade Episcopal minister called Jack Valance —they had sewn their own gowns to match the cadmium red decor of that interior;
     Ticonderoga had the wedding of Glen Dunbar and Louise Glazer, a marriage not memorable in any way at all; and in the Niagara
     Hall two of Saratoga’s great eighteenth-century racing dynasties, the Vanderbilt and Pierrepont families, were about tosettle long-standing differences. Love was everywhere in the air.
    I walked through all these ceremonies, Sis, before I could bring myself to go over to the Rip Van Winkle Room. My steps were
     reluctant. My observations: the proportions of sniffling at each ceremony were about equal and the audiences were about equal
     and levels of whimsy and seriousness were about the same wherever you went. The emotions careened, high and low, across the
     whole spectrum of possible feelings. The music might be different from case to case —stately baroque anthems or klezmer rave-ups
     —but the intent was the same. By 3:00 P.M., I no longer knew what marriage meant, really, except that the celebration of it seemed built into every life I knew but my
     own.
    The doors of the Rip Van Winkle Room were open, as distinct from the other suites, and I tiptoed through them and closed these
     great carved doors behind myself. I slipped into the brides side. The light was dim, Sis. The light was deep in the ultraviolet
     spectrum, as when we used to go, as kids, to the exhibitions at the Hall of Science and Industry. There seemed to be some
     kind of mummery, some kind of expressive dance, taking place at the altar. The Champlain Pentecostal Singers were wailing
     eerily. As I searched the room for familiar faces, I noticed them everywhere. Just a couple of rows away Alex McKinnon and
     her boy Zack were squished into a row and were fidgeting desperately. Had they known Brice? Had they known you? Maybe they
     counted themselves close friends of Sarah Wilton. Zack actually turned and waved and seemed to mouth something to me, but
     I couldn’t make it out. On the groom’s side, I sawLinda Pietrzsyk, though she ought to have been working in the office, fielding calls, and she was surrounded by Cheese, Chip,
     Mick, Mark, Stig, Blair and a half-dozen other delinquents from her peer group. Like some collective organism of mirth and
     irony, they convulsed over the proceedings, over the scarlet tights and boas and dance belts of the modern dancers capering
     at the altar. A row beyond these Skid-more halfwits —though she never sat in at the ceremony —was Glenda Manzini herself,
     and she seemed to be sobbing uncontrollably, a handkerchief like a veil across her face. Where was her husband? And her boy?
     Then, to my amazement, Sis, when I looked back at the S.R.O. audience beyond the last aisle over on the groom’s side,
I
saw Mom and Dad.
What were they doing there? And how had they known? I had done everything to keep the wedding from them. I had hoarded these
     bad feelings. Dads face was gray with remorse, as though he could have done something to stop the proceedings, and Mom held
     tight to his side, wearing dark glasses of a perfect opacity. At once, I got up from the row where