Father of the Bride Page 2

  But not so Mrs. Banks. All day long the Seidlitz powder of anxiety which her husband had dumped into her tranquil soul seethed and boiled within her. As she made her rounds from the A. & P. Supermarket to Kohoe’s Fish Store to Sammy Lee’s Hand Laundry, the uneasiness within her mounted to a bubbling panic.

  She was not a complex person. Although she had strong instinctive convictions, years of battering by the massed forces of male reasoning caused moments when her self-confidence wavered.

  Of course she never let Mr. Banks know about these weaknesses. Under attack she would defend her position as if it were the Alamo. But in this particular case she had had no chance to fight. The onslaught had been so unexpected and violent that it had left her stunned. Until this moment her world had seemed so beautiful. Now it lay in pieces about her.

  • • •

  When Mr. Banks re-entered the house that evening he still retained the pleasant sensation of being at once relaxed and gathered and he hummed a little tune as he threw his hat on the shelf of the coat closet. Mrs. Banks came out of the living room and put her hands on his shoulders. As he kissed her he was surprised by the worried look in her eyes. One might have thought she had been crying.

  “Stan, I’m so upset about Kay.”

  “Kay? What’s the matter with Kay? What’s she done now?” he asked absentmindedly, removing his overcoat.

  “Oh, Stan, suppose Buckley shouldn’t be the man for her. How can we tell? We know so little about him. And she’s so young. Suppose he didn’t have business judgment and couldn’t earn a decent living. Suppose he made Kay unhappy. Suppose—”

  Mr. Banks stopped fumbling for the coathook. He stared at her in amazement. “For heaven’s sake, Ellie, what in the world’s getting into you? For years you’ve been worried about Kay’s not getting married. Now she finds herself a perfectly nice guy and you get the jitters. I’ll bet he’ll do a better job than that poopadoop you were so crazy about that hung around here all last winter.”

  He took her chin in his cupped hand and gazed down at her thoughtfully. “You know what, darling? I think you’re tired. You’ve been going it too hard lately. You’ve got to take care of yourself. Tell you what I’ll do. I’ll knock together a couple of old-fashioneds. It’ll do you good. And we’ll drink a little toast to the bride and groom.”

  Mr. Banks stared at her in amazement.

  2

  GETTING ACQUAINTED

  Buckley, Kay informed her parents with her best Old School irony, also had a father and mother. It seemed to her that the situation called for a minimum display of interest from the Banks family unless, of course, they preferred to make it look like a shotgun wedding and introduce themselves at the altar rail.

  Mr. Banks agreed moodily. The obvious fact that he must do something about meeting Buckley’s family had been weighing on him for some time. Although he had never considered himself a shy man, the idea gave him as much pleasure as a summons to appear before a congressional committee. He had been postponing action from day to day in the same way that he put off wearing a pair of new shoes to the office.

  “I suppose Kay’s right,” he admitted gloomily to Mrs. Banks. “We’ve got to face it.”

  “I don’t understand why you get in such a lather about it,” she said. “What’s so awful about meeting Buckley’s father and mother?”

  “Who said I was in a lather?” he retorted sharply. “All I mean is you’d think Kay might have picked out somebody we knew instead of a family we never laid eyes on and that are probably God-awful. I just know the kind of people they are. It’s going to be terrible.”

  “Stanley Banks, for a grown man you sometimes don’t make any sense. In the first place I don’t see why you assume the Dunstans are terrible and in the second you’re not marrying Buckley’s family.”

  “I might just as well be,” groaned Mr. Banks. “I’ll probably have to support them.”

  The Dunstans eventually took matters into their own hands and invited Mr. and Mrs. Banks to East Smithfield for Sunday dinner; just the four of them—without Kay and Buckley—so they could get acquainted.

  “That’s the pay-off,” said Mr. Banks. “They’re the cozy type.”

  He made no further comment, but during the intervening days he showed all the symptoms of a debutante about to be introduced at Buckingham Palace. On Sunday morning he dressed carefully in a sport coat and slacks, then went upstairs after breakfast and changed into a business suit. He insisted on starting half an hour earlier than was necessary—just to allow for a blowout or something. The result was that they arrived in East Smithfield shortly after twelve.

  Mr. Banks said he’d be damned if he was going to sit and moon at the Dunstans’ for an hour. He preferred to slum around the town and get a line on the natives.

  “I’ll bet they won’t even have a drink before dinner,” he said gloomily.

  “How do you know they won’t?”

  “Because I know. That’s the kind of people they are.”

  “Well, suppose they don’t. You’re not an alcoholic, are you?”

  Mr. Banks sighed but didn’t pursue the argument.

  “I think it might be more intelligent to find out where the Dunstans live instead of driving around aimlessly,” said Mrs. Banks. “At least we won’t end up by being late.”

  “I’ll bet it’s a shack,” said Mr. Banks.

  When they finally located it, the Dunstan shack turned out to be a large, whitewashed brick house about a mile out of town. It sat well back from the road surrounded by old elm trees. The discovery that it was at least twice the size of his own seemed to add fuel to Mr. Banks’ agitation. He looked at his watch.

  “I’m going back to that hotel we passed and wash up,” he announced.

  “Nonsense,” said Mrs. Banks. “You can wash at the Dunstans’. They probably have running water.”

  The fact that it was about twice the size of his own establishment seemed to add fuel to his agitation.

  “I prefer to wash at the hotel,” said Mr. Banks with dignity. She sensed that this was not the time to cross him.

  When they drew up in front of the hotel he did not suggest that she get out, but hurried through the revolving doors. On his return, ten minutes later, it was obvious that he was more composed. The interior of the sedan immediately took on the Saturday night odor of a bar-and-grill.

  “Stanley Banks, you’ve been drinking.”

  Mr. Banks did not take his eyes off the road ahead. “Why is it,” he asked, “that a person can’t take a casual drink without being accused of ‘drinking’? It does seem to me that a man over fifty—”

  “I think it’s perfectly outrageous for you to meet the Dunstans smelling like an old whiskey bottle. It’s humiliating, that’s what it is. What in the world’s gotten into you? And Sunday morning, too.”

  “What’s Sunday morning got to do with it?” asked Mr. Banks, hoping to divert the argument. But Mrs. Banks was still being difficult when they turned in at the Dunstans’ entrance.

  • • •

  The first meeting of in-laws is comparable to the original hookup of the Lewis and Clark Expedition with the Rocky Mountain Indians.

  For a split second the two families stared at one another.

  In the latter instance it is recorded that for a brief moment after the encounter both sides glared at one another with mingled hostility and curiosity. At this point a false move would have been fatal. If anyone had so much as reached for his tobacco pouch the famous Journals would never have seen the light of day.

  Then, each side finding the other apparently unarmed, the tension eased. The leaders stepped forward, embraced, rubbed noses and muttered “How.” Skins were spread and refreshments laid on them by squaws. The party was in the bag.

  The Banks-Dunstan meeting followed similar lines. For a split second the two families stared at one another in the Dunstan entrance hall. During that instant Mrs. Banks took inventory of Mrs. Dunstan from hair-do to shoes. Mrs. Du
nstan did the same for Mrs. Banks. Then, finding everything mutually satisfactory, they approached one another with outstretched arms, embraced and said, “My dear.”

  The two males merely shook hands awkwardly and said in unison, “It certainly is nice to meet you.”

  Mrs. Dunstan started to lead the way into the living room. “Would you like to wash your hands?” asked Mr. Dunstan.

  “I’ve washed them,” said Mr. Banks, glancing at him suspiciously.

  “I can’t tell you how crazy we are about your Kay,” said Mrs. Dunstan.

  “Well, that’s just the way we feel about Buckley,” said Mrs. Banks.

  “Yes indeed,” said Mr. Banks. Obviously something was called for.

  As far as he was concerned that seemed about all there was to be said. He would have been quite ready to second a motion to adjourn.

  The situation was saved by the appearance of a maid with a shaker full of martinis and a tray of hot hors d’oeuvres. Mr. Banks looked at this arrangement with pleased incredulity.

  He took a martini and found it excellent. “I think we should drink to the bride and groom,” said Mr. Dunstan. Mr. Banks drank deeply and relaxed like a deflating balloon. Mr. Dunstan refilled the glasses.

  Warmed by this unexpected hospitality and his previous wash-up at the hotel, Mr. Banks felt impelled to words. “This is an important occasion,” he said. “My wife and I have been looking forward to it for a long time. Personally I thought your son was a great fellow the moment I set eyes on him. Now that I’ve met his father and mother I like him even better. From here in I foresee that the Dunstan-Banks families will beat as one.”

  “I am sure we’re going to be most congenial,” said Mrs. Dunstan apprehensively, “and do call us Doris and Herbert, not Mr. and Mrs. Dunstan.”

  “And Stanley and Ellie,” said Mrs. Banks somewhat overeagerly.

  There was an embarrassed silence.

  “Have you ever been in Fairview Manor, Herbert?” asked Mr. Banks.

  “No, we haven’t, Stanley. We’ve heard a lot about it, of course.”

  “I love your house, Doris,” said Mrs. Banks, who had by this time sized up and appraised critically every article of furniture in the living room.

  “Thank you, Ellie. We like it. I’m crazy to see yours. Buckley’s always talking about it.”

  “Another, Stan?” asked Mr. Dunstan.

  “Well, just to help you out, Herb,” said Mr. Banks.

  His wife moved over beside him. “You’d better watch your step,” she muttered.

  It was too late. The release from supertension was more than he could combat. He graciously helped his friend Herb finish up the shaker.

  He graciously helped his friend Herb finish up the shaker.

  “I think dinner is ready,” said Mrs. Dunstan, who had known it for a long time.

  She led the way toward the dining room. “You’ve got a wonderful place here, Edith,” said Mr. Banks, falling in beside her.

  “Doris,” she said. “Won’t you sit there, Ellie. And now we want to hear all about our new daughter.”

  “I’m afraid there isn’t much to tell,” said Mrs. Banks.

  “Nonsense,” said Mr. Banks. “Would you like to hear the story about how Ellie left Kay in her baby carriage outside the A. & P. and then forgot about her and went home?”

  He told them in hilarious detail. A flood of memories and anecdotes poured from him like a mountain brook. He took them through Kay’s childhood and school days step by step. Then, as a kind of appendix, he gave them a detailed account of his own boyhood, early manhood and married life. Occasionally one of the Dunstans broke in with a comment. Toward the end of the meal they ceased to compete.

  After dinner Mr. Banks picked out a comfortable-looking chair in the darkest corner of the living room. He felt suddenly drowsy. “Now,” he said, “you must tell us all about Buckley.” The desire to take just forty winks became overpowering. As Buckley entered his first year in high school Mr. Banks’ eyes closed and he was instantly asleep.

  • • •

  They drove back to Fairview Manor late in the afternoon, Mrs. Banks at the controls. Mr. Banks felt relaxed and happy. It was hard for him to understand why he had dreaded this meeting so much. He sought in vain among his acquaintances for a finer family than the Dunstans. Certainly no one could have been easier to talk to. He hummed a contented little song. Mrs. Banks said nothing.

  3

  FINANCIAL MATTERS

  It was quite clear to Mr. Banks that things couldn’t drift along like this forever. When two people decided to get married they announced their engagement and then there was a wedding. The only question was when.

  As his mind focused on the actual ceremony he began to have secret qualms about it. Weddings had never meant much to him one way or the other. They were pleasant parties where he was apt to run into a lot of people whom he had not seen lately. Now, when he considered his role as father of the bride, it became alarmingly apparent that he was slated to play a lead part in what looked more and more to him like a public spectacle. Unconsciously he was experiencing the first symptoms of aisle-shyness.

  When it came to discussing the date, therefore, he was like a man who has rashly committed himself to go swimming in a glacial stream. His idea was either to get the affair over as quickly as possible or else postpone it to a point so far distant in time that, like death, he wouldn’t have to worry about it for the present at least.

  Mrs. Banks, on the other hand, looked at the matter more from the point of view of a stage manager. How long would it take to prepare the costumes, build the scenery and collect the props? She concluded that, working day and night, the production might be staged in three months—not a minute earlier.

  During the discussions that followed Buckley remained unusually silent. He was obviously a young man who was not used to getting married and these unfolding and complex plans seemed to bewilder him. As he listened to his future mother-in-law he became gradually panic-stricken. He explained to her with desperate finality that he was a simple fellow who wanted no trappings or lugs. His idea of a wedding was a little ivy-covered chapel in some lovely country spot where he and Kay could walk down the aisle hand in hand.

  Mr. Banks decided to switch the conversation into lighter vein. Buckley was inclined to have a heavy touch at moments. He said that was a fine idea. He liked it. The trouble was that the only kind of ivy that grew around Fairview Manor was poisonous and the only place that approximated a lovely country spot was the golf course.

  Kay interrupted. This was scarcely the time for cheap comedy. And besides, everyone seemed to have forgotten an important point. This was her wedding. She was the one who was getting married—not Pops or Mom. Buckley of course—but it was her wedding nonetheless and she didn’t propose to be pushed around by anybody. She would marry when and where the spirit moved her. Perhaps it would be in two weeks, perhaps in six months.

  What was more, there was no need for all this fussing. Her mother didn’t need to raise a hand—not a finger. When she (Kay) gave the word everything would fall into place. That was the way she and Buckley were going to live. Simply and without all this effort. She had seen nothing but fuss and feathers all her life. Now she wanted no more of it. That might as well be understood.

  He watched with dismay as the storm raged around him.

  From this point on the conversation began to resemble the Chicago wheat pit on the day of a big break. It was Buckley’s first family free-for-all. Quite obviously it upset him. From where he sat, in a corner of the living room, it seemed like the breakup of basic relationships. He watched with dismay as the storm raged. Then, like a tropical hurricane, it was unexpectedly over. Instead of the tangled and broken wreckage which he had anticipated, he was astonished to learn that it had been harmoniously agreed that the wedding would take place on Friday, June 10, at four-thirty p.m. at St. George’s Church.

  • • •

  “Are you awake?” asked Mr.
Banks. “Hey, Ellie.” Mrs. Banks stirred uneasily.

  “Are you awake?”

  “What’s the matter?” she asked, noncommitally, regarding him with one unfriendly eye.

  “I’ve been thinking,” said Mr. Banks. “I’ve been thinking all night. I haven’t slept.”

  “You were snoring when I woke up,” she said, without sympathy.

  Mr. Banks ignored the remark. It was merely part of Mrs. Banks’ morning routine.

  “I’ve been thinking about Buckley,” he said. “I’m worried. Good and worried. Do you realize, Ellie, that we know next to nothing about this boy? Just because his family has a big house and a couple of maids doesn’t mean anything. What do we know about him?”

  He raised himself on his elbow. “Think it over a minute. One day Kay comes home and says, ‘This is Buckley. Isn’t he cute? I’m going to marry him.’ And we all make faces at him and dance around. But what do we know about him?”

  Mr. Banks began to check off his points on his fingers. “Has he got any money? You don’t know. What’s he making? Nobody knows. Can he support her? We just don’t know a darn thing about the guy. He walks in the door and we hand him Kay and—”

  “Darling,” interrupted Mrs. Banks, “we’ve been through all this before. Ask Buckley. Don’t ask me.”

  “Don’t try to laugh it off.” Mr. Banks was working himself into one of his pre-breakfast frenzies. “I’m not going to support him. Not by a damn sight. I’m—”

  Mrs. Banks interrupted again. “Listen, dear. I think you’re absolutely right. I’ve told you so every time you’ve brought this up. We should have found out about these things long ago. I don’t know why you haven’t. You’ve been going to have a talk with Buckley ever since Kay first told us. Sometimes I think you’re a little afraid of him.”