Marriage Matters

Fifty-four

“Get ready, ladies.” June peered out the window, rubbing her hands together in excitement. Kristine and Chloe were walking up the steps, all decked out for the bachelorette party. “They’re here!”

Bernice ran up behind June and peered out the window. “They’re in for the wildest night of their lives.”

“I can’t believe they said old ladies don’t know how to party,” Rose agreed, fluffing her freshly dyed hair. “We’ll show them.”

After the cake-eating contest, Chloe had gone on and on about how June and her friends had no idea how to throw a bachelorette party. June had been so offended that she wracked her brain, desperate for a revenge tactic. It finally hit her in the middle of the night.

Even though the real bachelorette party was scheduled to take place in two weeks at an elegant spa, Kristine and Chloe had received an invitation to a bachelorette party of their very own. The purpose? To embarrass the pants off them. Of course, they had no idea they were the only ones invited.

Throwing open the door, June cried, “Welcome, bachelorettes!” She whipped out a hot pink feather boa and wrapped it around Kristine’s neck, followed by an electric blue boa for Chloe.

“Grandma, what the hell are you wearing?” Chloe laughed.

June spun around. “A French maid’s outfit,” she cried. “Isn’t it wonderful?” She’d had a heck of a time tracking one down on such short notice, but eBay was a remarkable thing. The cleavage was low and daring and the skirt puffed out like a fan. “I thought I should dress appropriately, in case the night got a little wild.”

“Chloe, this is for you.” Bernice clipped a gaudy white veil to her head.

Kristine laughed. “I want pictures.”

Rose pulled out a pair of black fishnet stockings and a pair of three-inch silver platform shoes. “And Kristine, these are for you.”

Kristine’s mouth dropped open. “Scratch that. There will be no pictures.”

As they struggled to put on the accessories Rose and Bernice were handing over at a rapid-fire rate, June clapped her hands. “Are you ladies ready to see the games we have for tonight?”

“Please,” Chloe said, adjusting her veil.

As Bernice scampered off to the kitchen, Rose led them to the basement door. She yanked it open to reveal a life-size poster of a completely naked man. Tanned and oily, there was a thought bubble above his head that read, Come to Papi.

“Uh . . .” Chloe stared at the picture, stunned.

Just then, Bernice darted into the room, carrying a piñata that looked like a very large pink banana. “Isn’t it frightening?” she said, shaking it. “I can’t wait to whack this thing with a baseball bat.”

Kristine looked shocked. “Um . . .” She exchanged a look with Chloe. “Listen, I appreciate the effort you put into all this, but I do have people coming who I work with. Maybe we should tone it down? I don’t know that all this is appropriate.”

June smiled. With the assistance of Annie, she had enlisted a few of Kristine’s friends to pretend they were attending the party but of course, they were not.

“I’m sure they’ll understand,” June said. “After all, it’s a bachelorette party.”

Rose nodded, eyeing the poster. “Everything’s appropriate.”

Chloe fidgeted with her hair. “Uh . . . I can kind of see Mom’s point. Maybe we could lose . . . the poster. At least.”

“But I don’t understand,” June said, her voice sweet as sugar. “I thought you wanted a wild bachelorette party?”

The doorbell rang. Right on time.

“Oh, goody,” she cried. “Our first guest.” Ushering the group back to the living room, she said, “Chloe, could you please do the honors?”

Fluffing her veil, Chloe straightened her shoulders. Throwing open the door, she said, “Welcome to our . . . Oh, shit.”

“Ma’am,” said a low male voice. “Someone in this neighborhood contacted us about a disturbance. Do you care if we . . .” He cleared his throat. “Come inside?”

Chloe turned to face June, her gray eyes wide and panicked.

“What is it?” Kristine asked. “What’s wrong?” Spotting the man at the door, she froze. “Mother, no.”

Rose blasted an air horn. “Let them in, let them in!”

The three best-looking men June had ever seen in her life stepped into the foyer of Bernice’s home. They were dressed in tight police uniforms and wearing sunglasses, even though it was pitch-black outside. Rose squealed and clapped her hands. Bernice was already sitting on the couch, her legs crossed and a drink in hand.

“Ladies,” the blond one said, waving his nightstick at Chloe and Kristine, “we’re going to have to ask you to take a seat.”

Just as June had hoped, her granddaughter looked absolutely mortified.

“Chloe, what’s wrong?” June called.

“You said you wanted a wild bachelorette party,” trilled Rose.

“In fact,” Bernice said, “I believe you said we didn’t know how to throw one.”

The blond officer slapped the nightstick against his hand. “It’s pretty obvious these ladies know how to throw a party. Now, are you going to let me in, or am I going to have to use force?”

Chloe turned nine different shades of purple. Slinking over to a chair, she buried her head in her hands, muttering something about needing therapy.

Giving a huge smile, June cried, “Hit it!”

The group of handsome policemen turned to face the women.

“Mother,” Kristine said, through clenched teeth. “There is a line and you crossed it.”

Slowly, the men lowered their sunglasses to the tips of their noses.

“No . . .” Chloe moaned. “Oh, no.”

The men cocked their hips. Then, in perfect pitch, they burst into a full barbershop quartet performance of Louis Armstrong’s “I Ain’t Got Nobody.” They snapped their fingers, did some shimmies and even threw in some perfectly timed doo-wops. June was very impressed.

Chloe stared at them in horror. June watched as it finally sank in that the men were not going to take off their clothes. And even better, that they were singing the very same song Geoff had been singing when he and Chloe first met.

“What do you think?” June asked, beaming.

Chloe turned those wide gray eyes on her. A slow smile crept across her face. As the group hit a particular high note, she burst out laughing. She laughed and laughed, burying her face in her mother’s arm. “Grandma, you are awful,” she said, shaking a finger at her. “I thought they were strippers!”

At that, one of the singers had the dignity to look offended.

June leapt to her feet and gave Rose and Bernice high fives. “We got them,” she cheered. “We got them!”

As Rose sounded the air horn, June pulled her daughter and granddaughter in tight. They collapsed onto the sofa in a heap of fishnets, bridal veils and the crunchy satin of a French maid’s outfit. Snapping their fingers in time to the music, they sang along with the barbershop quartet at the top of their lungs.

The group of handsome men sang and shimmied, but they did not take off one single item of clothing—not even their sunglasses.

June chuckled. Not know how to throw a bachelorette party, indeed.