"Through the house give glimmering light,
By the dead and drowsy fire.
Every elf and fairy sprite,
Hop as light as bird from brier,
And this ditty after me,
Sing and dance it trippingly."

William Shakespeare, "A Midsummer Night's Dream," Act 5, Scene 1, Lines 408-413. Used without permission.
 

FROHIKE:

I'm glad that part is over. We've done the thousand and one wedding photos. And with the sun setting behind us, the photos will be dramatic.

"Ergo bibamus!" Allison cheers loudly when we're dismissed.

I think I remember from high school Latin that this means, it's time to drink. I know it's got something to do with drinking.

"Wait, just a minute," the photographer holds up his hand. "I need the following people to stay here: Michael-Fro-hike (he pronounced it Fro-hike, with a long I and no e on the end-shades of school days when all my teachers butchered my name. I suspect Michael and Leslie have had the same experience) and Kelly Martin, Allison and R.P. Langly, Fox Mulder (I see Mulder wince-his first name is not something he uses beyond legal documents or when addressed by his mother), and Dana Scully-Mulder, and Martha Small and Melvin Fro-hike (once again, the mutilated pronunciation). Okay, something about the bride and groom wanting photos of all the couples. So get with your respective partner, I don't think they're interested in the
Midsummer Night's dream thing."

Hmm, that could have amusing results. I always liked that play. It's hysterically funny. A total comedy of errors.

Life, a comedy of errors.

Michael and Kelly are photographed first.

"They're so cute," Martha muses.

Cute, my ass.

Okay, they're cute. I admit it.

Actually, in this pose, I'm surprised at how grown up my son looks. He's looking a lot less like a prom date these days, and more like...

Me.

Poor kid.

The Mulders go up next. Mulder, in full Elvis regalia, is a puzzlement to the photographer, but no doubt he's seen plenty of strange things, and he doesn't comment. Hey, it's not his job to comment.

And Dana smiles broadly, in spite of her rhinestoned husband with the waxed pompadour. I suspect she is willing to let this antic go at this point. God knows she has plenty of other things she can kick his ass over. And does.

Of course, if she still has her gun...

Allison and Langly have typically become silly, and Langly is tickling her as the photographer is admonishing them to stand still, and she's smacking him. They finally stand together, but they've lapsed into a major giggle fit.

Get those two some tequila, stat.

Martha and I go last.

I turn and face her in the fading light. The last hints of gold in the sky light up her hair and hint at the red highlights that seem to vanish in her work clothes.

The temptation to kiss her is overwhelming, but I don't think that's what Byers and Juliet had in mind.

They'll be plenty of time for that later.
 

By the time we're done being photographed, it's too late for the fruit and cheese bar-with this crowd, you grab early or you don't get.

The bar is fully operational, and people are taking full advantage of Mr. Byers's generosity. I notice that the bar is stocked with only the best brands.

Except that for Scotch, he ordered Cutty Sark and not J&B.

Well, that will make it a little easier.

I've never done a wedding sober before. This is going to be a unique experience.

Martha orders two club sodas with lime slices.

"You can have a drink, you know," I tell her. I don't want her thinking that just because of me she can't indulge in a few of life's little pleasures.

She smiles up at me fondly. "Mel, I went a little crazy on the wine last night. I think I'm going to take it slow tonight."

Then she winks at me. "Besides, I always wondered what it'd be like to be the last one standing."

This might not be so hard, after all.
 

It's time to announce the wedding party. I'm to walk in with Paula. We'll be between the parents and the rest of the wedding party.

Michael and Allison are announced first, then Angela and Mulder, then Christina and Langly. Next is the father of the groom, then the mother of the bride.

I guess they're going to have to skip the mother-son and father-daughter dance. Each has only one surviving parent, and the surviving parent happens to be of the same gender.

Paula and I are then announced, and we walk in to hearty applause and take our places at the head table.

And making their first public appearance as a married couple, Mr. And Mrs. John F. Byers.

Technically, since they're both PhD's, they would be Dr. and Dr. Byers, but I suspect that they are enjoying their newfound status much too much to quibble over something that sounds awkward, anyway.

Juliet's seemingly mile-long train has been hiked up so that her dress is now merely sweeping the floor instead of picking up the dust and everything else in its large white wake. She looks positively lovely in pure white. Byers has a permanent blush affixed to his face-and this is only going to get worse as the night proceeds, I'm sure-but it's more of a flush of happiness.

I do observe that the moment they're seated, Michael and Langly both shed their jackets and ties. Langly has now moved to his wife in order to have his shirt cuffs unbuttoned, and she's performing said task.

As long as they keep their pants on, fine. I think one pants-optional dance among the males present was sufficient for my lifetime.

And in all likelihood, I'm not going to have to listen to 'Rebel Yell' being played by the deejay tonight.

Then again, God knows how many times we'll hear 'Love Me Tender'. I just hope they didn't bring a karaoke player this time.

The accompaniment right now is Celtic harp, and it's lovely. Byers and Juliet tend to have reasonable taste in music.

"So like I get first dance with Ally, right?" Langly says.

"No, first dance is with Christina. You walked down the aisle with her, so you dance with her first," I inform him.

He leans over and whispers. "But she's a dog, Fro!"

Granted, Juliet's cousin inherited none of the good looks that so blessed today's bride.

So what. I grab him by his good shoulder, pull him close, and tell him to shut up and behave.

He'll have plenty of dances with his wife tonight. Provided, of course, he doesn't pass out. He downed his first Sam Adams in under two minutes.

I nudge him again. "Langly, go easy on that, okay? Night's young."

"Hey, Kelly's designated driver, okay? No sweat."

I give him the look of death. "You vomit in the car while my future daughter-in-law is driving, and so help me, I will cut off those lovely blonde locks, with a razor blade."

"Oh, sure you will." But I notice he unconsciously raises a hand to his hair, and from there I notice an appreciable decline in speed of consumption for his second Sam's.

I turn to the bride. "Juliet, dear, you look lovely."

She smiles, her face wild with color and joy. "Thank you, Frohike. Let me tell you, though, by the time they we finished the receiving line, I was hungry and thirsty, and I had to pee like nobody's business. You should try it in a wedding dress with a ten-foot train. I think they should install trap doors in these suckers."

I think that was more information than I needed to know.

And she's not even drinking.

At least I won't be the only sober person here.

Michael had momentarily left the table-I figured he was going to talk to Kelly, but he's returned carrying a glass of clear liquid containing two lime slices, and hands it to Byers.

"You need a drink," Michael says simply, and Byers takes a good gulp of what I assume is Tanqueray and tonic, his drink of choice.

I can hear Juliet say to Byers, "You know, John, if you suck on your lime, you know what will happen."

Byers, already pink with excitement, turns a shade of flaming crimson. I don't want to know.

He takes another large gulp of his drink.

Michael strolls over to me-aren't people supposed to be seated when they're at the head table?-and asks me how I'm hanging.

"I'm fine."

"Well, you know, like I know you can't have your elephant piss-"

"Michael, shut up, I'm fine."

I notice also that he's shed his shoes. And that his socks don't match.

He spends far too much time around Langly...

Who's gone one step further. Not only has he eliminated his shoes, but I have no idea if his socks matched, because they're gone.

Allison has observed this as well, and yells to her errant husband, "Hey, you just have to show off your hairy toes to all of us, don't you?"

Langly, ever mature, sticks his tongue out at her.

"Don't do that unless you're gonna use it!" Allison yells back, in a most un-Allison-like, not to mention unladylike, fashion.

Well, she's no doubt well into her second drink by now. And I noticed that the bar was liberally stocked with Mescal and Hornitos. She will have a very expensive hangover tomorrow.

Michael leaves again, but I can see Kelly, and he's not with her.

The explanation for that becomes apparent a few moments later. He and Patrick Langly are having a contest-a sock-skating contest. Both of them whiz across the dance floor, seeing who can go the furthest.

I'm wondering which one will require stitches first.

"Ooh, that's cool, I gotta try that," Langly says, starting to rise from the table, but I smack him back down, this time making certain I get his injured arm.

"You've really got a death wish, don't you?"

"Nobody ever died sock-skating!"

"Unless his wife killed him."

He sits down.

Mulder's actually sitting in his seat, conversing with his wife. Fortunately they can do this without making a sound. I can't recognize all the signs-Mulder's vocabulary is only 40,000 times what mine is-but I recognize a few of the signs, and Dana's raised eyebrows.

Kids.

"Mulder, are you propositioning the lady in public?" I refuse to pass up a chance to embarrass him.

I get the look of injured innocence. "Who, me? The soul of grace and class?"

Dana Scully nods at me, and indicates that yes, her husband is indeed being a very bad boy. But she'll have her revenge soon-I see her make the scissors gesture.

This causes Mulder to wince, hard.

Elvis never had to suffer the indignity of a forced vasectomy.

I chuckle. I have to. I wonder if Dana is going to perform the surgery herself. Doubtful. Mulder would be worried about what else she might remove. He has, after all, impregnated her three times in three years. I think that qualifies as cruel and unusual punishment.

Since nobody else feels compelled to stay put, I take advantage of this time to visit milady. She's seated with Kelly, and the two of them are talking, Kelly doing a fair bit of head-shaking and Martha looking calmly sympathetic.

"How come you haven't killed my son yet?" I ask Kelly.

She makes a noose-like gesture with her hands near her neck. "I don't have to. He's doing fine on his own."

Well, there is something to be said for give 'em enough rope.

"Mel, he's just having fun. Although I'm not sure he should be encouraging little Patrick to behave in this manner," Martha muses, gently taking my arm.

"Patrick doesn't need encouragement. It's all there, right in the DNA."

I can hear the Elvis impersonators' voices rising. Sounds like they're in rehearsal. At any rate, they're attracting a lot of attention.

"I don't think I've ever been to a wedding that featured Elvis impersonators," Martha comments, with a half smile on her face.

"Langly and Allison had them at theirs, but they traveled by ground, not air."

"Is this a tradition?" She asks me, smiling.

"God, I hope not." I'd like to believe that two occasions does not a tradition make.

"Yeah, I don't want Elvis impersonators at Michael's and mine," Kelly says.

That's a relief.

"But wouldn't it be cool if we could get like the Groundlings to perform?"

I'm vaguely familiar with the Groundlings, a comedy-improvisation troupe from Southern California...

I think I can more easily handle the Elvises.

"Or Eddie Izzard," Kelly puts in, and I feel my hair stand on end. Eddie Izzard is, by his own definition, a 'professional transvestite.' Miranda is fond of this brand of humor, and apparently, so is Kelly.

"Why don't you just get RuPaul to perform?" I say, shuddering.

"Hey, RuPaul is cool!" Miranda has come up behind me.

"Think he shaves his legs?" Kelly asks her.

"Duh!" Miranda is not always the most tactful. "Pits, too. Thank God he never got in the Paula Cole-Julia Roberts thing. Can you believe it when Julia Roberts quit shaving her pits, that was SO gross!"

As is this conversation. Fortunately, our wedding planner has admonished everyone to return to their seats, it's time for the toast.

Which means I'm on.

"Well, here's hoping I don't fluff the punch line," I say, giving her a lopsided smile.

"Mel, with a heart like yours, there's no way you'd ever screw it up."

I'm flooded with warmth, and then, she plants a loving, sweet kiss on me.
 

"The toast to the new couple will be offered by the best man, Mr. Melvin Frohike."

The wedding planner, Nicole, hands me a small wireless microphone.

I hesitate a moment. I don't want to embarrass Byers...

Oh screw it. It's a wedding. When is schmaltz ever more appropriate?

"Thank you everyone for being here today," I start. "It's been my pleasure to watch this relationship from its inception, and I consider it a great privilege to have chosen to stand up with them today.

"Byers, you've been through so much, and I was wondering if you were going to make a permanent martyr of yourself. Fortunately, you have more brains and sense than I sometimes give you credit for, especially when I look upon your choice of wife."

This causes loud applause, starting with the head table.

"And Juliet, you've had no small share of difficulties yourself, but here you are today, with one of my very best friends in the world, somebody I almost regard as a son-" screw it, Mr. James Arthur Byers-"and I've come to love you as though you were my own as well.

More applause. Hey, I'm not that good! But I'll take it.

"I was hoping to be a lot more creative and eloquent in this speech, but originality in language isn't my strong suit. So I will just say that I wish you all the love and happiness possible in a universe with no limits. I love you both very much."

There's a sigh, like an 'awww' throught the room, and then loud applause, and I raise my glass-my one glass of liquor that I will be permitted tonight. "To Byers and Juliet."

The haranguing for kisses via glass banging has begun. Juliet only intended a sip of her champagne-I don't think she got that far. Byers's glass still hangs in his hand in mid-air.

"Go Dad!" Michael yells from his end of the table, and gives me a thumbs up.

Well, I guess I didn't blow it if my son isn't crawling under the table.

Langly echoes him. "Two resounding thumbs up. Really schmoopy but I still didn't barf."

"Thank you, Langly, I can always count on your support."

"God, I hope they're serving soon. I am famished!" Juliet says to me.

Well, she is pregnant.

No such luck. The bridal dance is announced. The couple will now have their first dance of their married life.

I wonder what they chose for a song. I'm not worried-this is Byers, not Langly-simply curious.

I'm completely surprised by the choice. Not in the least horrified, mind you-just surprised.

It's Joe Cocker's "You Are So Beautiful." I don't know why, but I hadn't anticipated them choosing a piece from the 70s.

It's perfect.

The lights are low, and watching the two of them is magical. This is their moment, and they're locked in their own private universe, allowing us to glimpse in and view the magic.

I suddenly have this urge to make this magic my own.

It's not time, Frohike.

This is freaky. And I'm sober as hell. I've had two-count them-sips of champagne. When you're only having one drink, you get as much mileage out of it as possible.

The rest of the wedding party is asked to join them, and I dance obligatorily with Paula, although for this, I really wish Martha was the girl on my arm.

No, this is Juliet and Byers's moment. We'll have plenty of our own.

And finally, they request everyone to join in.

I notice that Mr. Byers, chilly bastard though he can be, is civil enough to ask Caroline to dance-and she accepts.

I look to see if Martha has taken a partner, and she has-one of the Elvis impersonators has asked for her hand.

I wink at her, and she returns the gesture.

The next dance is for everyone-and I can now dance with my ladylove and partner.

The first number is a bit faster than I would like-Michael Bolton's "Love is a Wonderful Thing," but no matter. I'm not going to pass up the opportunity to dance, especially not with her.

My leg is not bothering me too much. Tomorrow, I will probably be in agony, but it will have been well worth it.

After four dances, dinner is announced, and I have to return to the head table. I would so have liked to have eaten with her, but later on, there will be wedding cake...

And I can feed it to her.

I can't wait.
 

Dinner is Genie's creation, of course, and is suitably magnificent. Not quite as cholesterol-laden as the feast she prepared for Allison and Langly, this is nonetheless replete with items not on the approved list-but Martha says, tonight only. Tomorrow, back on my diet, but tonight, I celebrate with lemon-garlic roasted turkey, chive mashed potatoes, baby vegetables in herbs, fresh blueberry muffins and real butter, salad coated with a spicy dressing (I'll probably have heartburn to boot, too, and I don't give a damn), pear compote. I did miss the cheese and fruit bar-the fruit is permissible, the cheese is not.

And this being Genie's cooking, I'm now glad I did. More room for the good stuff.

I ask one of the waiters if Genie has a moment, might she come out so we can all congratulate the chef?

The waiter indicates that she's rather busy, but when she gets a moment, who might be asking for her?

"Just tell her it's Malvin. She'll know."

Now that I think about it, why did I even bother telling the waiter? This is Genie. She'll know.

About three-quarters of the way through the meal, she appears, dressed in her catering clothes of black pants, white shirt, and a long apron. Her hair is twisted in long braids.

"Malvin, good to be seein' ya," she leans over and embraces me. She looks at my plate, which I've ravaged. "See you gots yer appetite back, that's a good thing. And won't hurt you none tonight, but you gotta watch it resta the time."

God, is anyone going to give me a break?

"I have been, Genie."

"Not 'nuff, not 'nuff. You gots to be watchin' yerself better, Malvin. Or you ain't gonna be makin' it to no weddin' a yours, or yer boy."

She must see the look on my face. I don't discount Genie's words. It's dangerous.

"I ain't sayin' this to make y'all scared now. I says it so you does the right thing for that ladyfriend a yours."

"Would you like to meet her?" I ask. "That's her, over in the green."

"I knowed that. I can sees it by the way she's lookin' at yous."

I wonder what Martha will think of Genie. In anyone's book, Genie, while the soul of hospitality, is definitely not your everyday sort.

"Martha, I'd like you to meet an old and dear friend of mine," I bring Genie forward. "This is Genie, who catered this affair today, and who is also the mother of the bartender you met last night."

"The food is wonderful. I'm honored," Martha says, clasping her hand.

"I's fin'ly seein' the woman in th'flesh. Good ta meet ya, Martha. Yous got my symp'thy, that's fer sure, you fixin' up with this here stubborn cuss."

How come everyone thinks of me like that?

"He is stubborn, I'll grant you that," Martha laughs, but it's a tender laugh, and she squeezes my hand as she says it.

She's pretty mulish herself when she gets going, I would just like to point out. But I don't. No need to for Genie; I'm sure she's deduced this for herself.

"You just be makin' sure he looks after hisself," she admonishes Martha.

"I'm trying, believe me. He's not the easiest patient."

What is she talking about? I'm easy. I'm extremely easy...

Oh, that's not what she meant.

"'Cause you gots lots to be lookin' forward to, and I gots lotsa cookin' left to do, so you tell him, it don't hurt him none to get a treat once'na while, but he gots to be real careful." She looks at me, hard. "You listenin' to me, Malvin?"

"Yes, ma'am." I always do.

"Good, 'cause we're all gonna need all our strenth comin' soon. Times is harder'n'even you think."

I shudder.

"But least we all gots one'nother, and that's the mos' 'portant thing."

Martha slips her hand over my waist, and I do the same with her.

"I gots to be getting' back to the kitchen, but I'll be comin' by to say g'night later. Nice meetin' ya, Martha."

Martha has that sense of bemused wonder that always seems to surround people right after they've met Genie.

She's about to say something, when a dance is announced.

It's announced that this is supposed to be the bride's dance with her father, and Juliet Parker-Byers, seeing as her father is not able to be here, will dance with Mr. James Arthur Byers, father of the groom.

I don't think there's a dry eye in the house right now.

END OF PART 96