Wedding Day

Ruth was sorry her sister was sick. But she was glad she was going to the wedding, and she wouldn’t have been going if Alice had not had this touch of flu. There were to be only six guests and Ruth was Alice’s last-minute substitute. She suspected that Ed, her brother-in-law, would rather have gone alone or with some girl who didn’t cramp his style (as if it mattered to her whether he took twelve drinks or twelve dozen; he must think her men friends in Detroit had all had their throats cut).

He had not exactly jumped for joy when Alice suggested her as proxy. However, he hadn’t said no and she was going and that was all that mattered. It would give her something to talk about for weeks, back home.

For the bride was Brownie Burt, musical comedy’s bright star. And the groom Jimmy Shane, considered, in New York as well as the provinces, one of the funniest men on stage or screen.

Ed was a publicity man for the Shuberts. He and Alice apparently knew everybody in the world and in the two weeks Ruth had been visiting them they had introduced her to celebrities by the carton. But Brownie Burt and Jimmy Shane were two she hadn’t met and was dying to meet; that she would be “in on” their wedding seemed an incredible piece of luck.

“What I can’t understand,” she told Ed as they taxied to the church, “is how he could ever be serious long enough to propose.”

“There’s nothing as serious as some comics off the stage,” said her brother-in-law. “If I wanted amusing companionship, I’d rather pal round with a ghoul or a moving-picture magnate.”

“Do you mean Mr. Shane isn’t funny at all?”

“Not deliberately.”

Ruth didn’t believe it and looked forward to a few giggles, though it was not likely that even a great comedian would be at his drollest on an occasion like this.

She intended to learn more about the romance and the leading characters in same, but Ed’s memoirs of tedious comics lasted till they reached their destination.

The other guests were all of the theatrical world⁠—Ben Seaton, a juvenile; Wallie Roach, an eccentric dancer; Dorothy Drew, a soubrette, and Josie King, said to be the highest-salaried chorus girl in show business. Seaton, Roach and Miss King were waiting in front of the church and while Ruth was being presented, Brownie and her bridesmaid, Miss Drew, appeared.

Brownie, in a flowered chiffon dress and picture hat, was beautiful; more beautiful, Ruth thought, than she had ever been on the stage. She was nervous, but not more so than was natural in a bride, and her unposed perturbation added to her charm.

“Of course Jimmy will be late,” she said.

“Are you sure he knows it’s today?” asked Wallie Roach.

“Yes. I called him up and reminded him an hour ago.”

“It’s just five o’clock,” said Ed. “If he were here now, he’d be on time, and if he were on time, he wouldn’t be Jimmy.”

“I won’t even begin to worry, for half an hour,” Brownie said.

But Jimmy surprised them all. His big car pulled up at eight minutes after five. He got out unhurriedly, kissed his bride, acknowledged an introduction to Ruth and shook hands with the others.

There was not the slightest trace of nervousness about him and, in spite of his rather foppish attire, he looked so much like the Jimmy Shane she had seen from “out front” that Ruth expected him to say something laughable.

Instead of which:

“Well, if we’re all set, let’s go. Dinner is on the ice.”

The party entered the church and Jimmy introduced them to the minister, getting the name wrong. Wallie and Dorothy “stood up” with the couple and Ben Seaton gave the bride away. The ceremony was brief. Everybody kissed the bride and Jimmy kissed everybody, including Ruth. Names were signed and the required documents delivered.

“We’ll meet at my place,” Ben announced. “Jimmy’ll take Brownie and Dorothy and Wallie and Ed in his car. Josie and Miss Richards will have the pleasure of riding with me.”

In the taxi Josie said: “Do you live in New York, Miss Richards?”

“No. Detroit,” said Ruth.

“That’s one town I never was in. Were you, Ben?”

“Yes. I played there two weeks with The Girl from Childs⁠—they tell me.”

“I saw you in it,” said Ruth.

“Didn’t you get lonesome?”

“What do you mean?”

“All by yourself in that big theater?”

“There was a crowd the night I was there.”

“That was a rehearsal.”

“What was wrong with that troupe, Ben?” asked Josie.

“The musical director killed it. He stopped playing the overture and somebody rang up the curtain.”

Ruth had attended a great many weddings in Detroit and elsewhere and she seemed to remember that the conversation following the ceremony had usually been about the bride or groom, or both.

Miss King and Mr. Seaton, close friends of the newlyweds, went from a discussion of the ill-fated Childs’ Girl to reminiscences of past Follies and colloquy concerning the new musical for which both had been engaged and rehearsals begun.

The outsider finally ventured a remark designed to remind them of the day’s event. “Didn’t Miss Burt look perfectly lovely?”

“Great!” said Ben.

“It’s too bad more people couldn’t have seen her,” said Ruth. “Didn’t she want a big wedding?”

“No. Just a wedding.”

“It isn’t supposed to be a secret, is it?”

“There wouldn’t be any sense to it if it was a secret. It’ll be in the morning papers.”

“Of course,” said Ruth, “I live in ‘the hinterlands’ and we don’t hear all the Broadway gossip. So I never even knew they were engaged.”

This brought no response, but she persisted:

“Is it just recent?”

“Oh, no,” said Ben. “They’ve been engaged for years. How many years, Jo?”

“Five or six anyway.”

“Why did they wait so long?”

“I have no idea.”

“It couldn’t have been financial, could it? I mean they both must have plenty of money.”

“No. Jim never saved anything but Joe Miller’s books and Brownie bought a half interest in Florida in 1925.”

“They get huge salaries, don’t they?”

“They’ve each worked on percentage in their last couple of shows. I imagine Jim has averaged close to four thousand a week, and Brownie thirty-five hundred.”

“Well, heavens! You can’t spend that much!” said Ruth.

“You can if you apply yourself. As far as Brownie is concerned, there was the Florida thing and, besides, her last troupe only ran fifteen weeks. And it’s no trick for Jim to keep both ends strangers. You saw that car of his. There’s two others just like it, only different colors, so his driver won’t be bored.

“His big ace in the hole, though, is the horses. He hardly ever gets up in time to go to the track, but some of his best pals are jockeys and he plays their mounts and they always stay back where they can watch the race and describe it to him afterwards. They claim that fourth position is the best place to watch a race from. If you’re farther up front than that, you have to depend on hearsay.”

The taxi stopped in front of an apartment hotel on Fifty-fifth Street.

“Here’s the shack,” said Ben. “And there’s Jim’s car.”

They rode the elevator to Ben’s suite, consisting of living-room, bedroom and bath.

Two photographers were taking a flashlight of the bride and groom, holding hands. Wallie, Ed, Dorothy, and three reporters were having a cocktail.

“Well, men,” said Jim to the reporters, “you’ve got the church and the minister’s name and the names of the guests. That’s about all there is to it.”

“Where are you going on your honeymoon?”

“It’s a secret.”

“Here’s something that isn’t,” said Brownie, and showed them a bracelet of diamonds and sapphires.

Jim frowned. “You can leave that out,” he said.

“Why?” said Brownie.

“It sounds like boasting.”

“But I want to boast. I want people to know how nice you are.”

“How nice is he?” said one of the reporters.

“I mean, would you mind telling us about how much it cost? I’m not up in jewelry when it gets beyond Ingersoll watches.”

“I’m funny,” Jimmy said, “but not funny enough to tell what I spend on presents for my wife.”

“We’ll have to guess then. Is ten thousand close?”

“Close enough,” said Jimmy.

“It’s a mild estimate,” said Wallie Roach.

“Whatever it cost,” said Brownie, “it’s the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen. Isn’t it, girls?”

The girls spoke enthusiastic agreement. The reporters left, Jimmy accompanying them into the hall.

“Put on a record, Ben,” he said when he came back. “It’s too early to eat.”

They all danced. The bride and groom danced together. Ben danced with Ruth. They had some more cocktails and danced again. This time Jimmy danced with Ruth.

“So you’re Alice’s sister.”

“Yes.”

“Alice ought to have gone in show business. You, too. You’ve got the looks. You’re one of the best-looking girls I ever saw.”

“You’ve just married one of the best-looking girls I ever saw.”

“Brownie is pretty, and prettier than ever today. Getting married seems to agree with her.”

“I love that bracelet you gave her!”

“Maybe I can find one like it. Would you wear it if I could?”

“You’re just as funny off the stage as on.”

“I don’t mean it funny.”

“It is, though.”

“We’ll have another dance after a while.”

“That’s something to live for.”

“You’re funny yourself, aren’t you? Let’s drink to our funniness.”

They, and the others, had more drinks and more dances. Ben called room service and two waiters eventually appeared with the dinner. It was a rather elaborate meal, but largely unappreciated except for the wine.

“Let’s drink to the bride,” said Wallie.

“She’s a good excuse,” said Ed.

“For a bride?”

“For a drink.”

They rose and drank to Brownie and then to the groom.

“Speech!” said Ruth, who was feeling more at home.

“Don’t!” said Dorothy. “He’ll think you mean it.”

“I do,” said Ruth. “I want to be amused.”

“You picked out a swell method!”

“Can I talk sitting down?” said Jimmy.

“Is there any way you can’t?” said Dorothy.

“You oughtn’t to drink any more. It makes you sour. Or are you just jealous?”

“Jealous! Of what?”

“Of Brownie getting married.”

“Listen: I wish I had Brownie’s looks and her voice and her figure. But her taste in men is laughable.”

“I suppose yours is great!”

“You’re there with the repartee! And you told Harriette Underhill you wrote most of your own lines. If you did, they’d have to remodel the theater and put in couches.”

“The young lady from Detroit wants me to make a speech. Maybe she’ll call on you later.”

“It would be a tough spot, following you, with the audience completely laughed out.”

Jimmy was not to be held off any longer. He got up, took a swallow of wine and began:

“Girls and boys, I don’t have to tell you that this is the happiest day of my life. You all know what I think of Brownie and how happy I am over she and I finally being married, but to complete our happiness we wanted you good pals with us to share our happiness.

“Brownie and I have been sweethearts a long time and I consider her one of the finest characters I have ever met and consider myself lucky in winning such a fine character. If there was more characters like Brownie in the world, we would all be better off and especially show business.

“There may be those who are jealous of Brownie on account of being the outstanding star in her line of work, but I have never yet met the man or woman in our profession who did not love her after they became acquainted or had a word to say against her personally, though if they did, they would not dare say it around me. Brownie is one of the great personalities of show business and if any performer ever richly deserved their success in show business, that person is Brownie.

“Personally I guess I have been lucky or at least a great many people seems to think so anyway. A man can never get to the top in this or any other profession without they call him lucky and speak of them derogatory behind their back.

“They think their remarks will not reach your ears, but I happen to know of things that have been said about me by certain people who claim to be my closest pals, and I am not referring to anybody here as I know you are my real pals and there is nobody here who would talk about me behind my back, though Dorothy has been razzing me a little, but I realize she is just kidding and I guess I ought to be able to stand a little kidding as I do plenty of it myself.

“I hope Brownie and I will be lucky enough to troupe together this season or at least she will be in a success so the both of us can be here in New York. I don’t know much yet about my next troupe, but I guess if I was a sensation in Silly Billy, with what they gave me⁠—”

After ten or twelve minutes more of it, Josie King turned on a record.

“I’m going into my dance,” she said.

And she gave an exhibition of tap dancing that was easily as entertaining as the act it rudely interrupted.

Dinner was over, the tables were taken out and the four girls retired to the bedroom to renew their makeups.

Ruth held the others back after Brownie had joined the men.

“Does anyone know their honeymoon plans?” she asked.

“I don’t believe they have any,” said Dorothy.

“Well,” said Ruth, “don’t you think we ought to break up the party so they can be alone?”

“For the novelty, do you mean?”

“If they wanted to be alone, they didn’t have to have a party,” said Josie. “But regardless of what they want, I’m going home to bed. I rehearsed all night and four hours today and I’ve got to rehearse all day tomorrow. Besides, this isn’t so hot that I can’t bear to tear myself away.”

Jimmy protested that it was early, only nine o’clock, but the rest, including Ben, the host, were all for adjournment.

Dorothy and Josie kissed the bride good night. The bride kissed Ruth, and Jimmy tried to, but she eluded him.

“You were sweet to come,” said Brownie. “Tell Alice how sorry I am that she couldn’t be with us, and I hope she’ll get well soon.”

Dorothy and Josie and Wallie and Ben got in one taxi; Ed and Ruth in another after declining Jimmy’s offer to take them home. They saw the bride and groom start off in Jimmy’s car.

Ruth would have given a great deal to accompany them, invisibly, for a few blocks. She would have been surprised, and annoyed, at Jimmy’s first remark.

“Alice’s sister is cute-looking, but dumber than Alice.”

“I didn’t talk to her much.”

“Neither did I, only while we were dancing. She’s got no personality.”

There was a silence. Then Brownie found her husband’s hand.

“Jim,” she said, “you were nice to give me the bracelet. It’s lovely. But it’s terribly expensive and I know you can’t afford it.”

“Well, I don’t mind telling you it isn’t paid for.”

“Then please take it back.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to do that.”

“I’d much rather you would. Let me keep it a day or two, to show people. After that, you return it.”

“Well, we’ll see.”

“You could return it, couldn’t you?”

“I suppose so.”

“You’ve got to then. You can give me something else, when you’re playing again.”

“We’ll see.”

“You started to tell me at dinner about⁠—”

“About what?”

“About a date with Kennedy.”

“Oh, yes. He’s got an idea for a scene in a barber shop. He wants to talk it over with me before he writes it. He’s going to Southampton tomorrow morning for the weekend and if I like the idea, he’ll work on it there. If I see him, he won’t have any excuse not to work. So I told him I’d be at the club. He’s at some banquet, but he promised he’d leave early. I’ll drop you if you don’t mind, and go on down there. If I see it’s going to take long, I’ll give you a ring. Would you like to go some place and dance, provided I get away?”

“I don’t believe so, not tonight. I’m kind of tired.”

“Well, maybe you’ll feel better tomorrow night and we can see a show or something.”

“All right.”

“Here you are. Maybe if you’re tired, I’d better not ring you.”

“Do just as you like.”

“Well, good night⁠—Mrs. Shane.”

“Good night, Jim.”

The driver turned his back on their kiss.

“Take me to the club, Fred. Then you can go home.”

Ruth, in the taxi with her brother-in-law, vainly sought enlightenment.

“That,” she began, “was the queerest wedding I ever went to.”

“It was kind of queer.”

“Aren’t you going to explain it to me?”

“It’s hard to explain. They’re a queer couple; that’s all.”

“She’s a lot too good for him.”

“She probably is. But he certainly didn’t force her into the marriage at the point of a revolver.”

Alice, however, was prevailed on to talk while Ed was out in the kitchen, fixing himself a highball.

“Ed wouldn’t tell you about it because he doesn’t like you to think our friends are funny. He didn’t want you to go but I knew it would be an experience for you.”

“I’m glad I went. But I don’t want to remain mystified.”

“Well, you see Brownie and Jim have been going together a long, long time. I don’t know whether she still loves him or not, but she’s used to him and she couldn’t give him up without a struggle. And she’s terribly proud.

“She can’t bear to have anybody feel sorry for her and she was afraid they would if she and Jim didn’t keep on. So when it began to look as if she might lose him, she got desperate and threatened to sue him for breach of promise. In fact, she had a lawyer threaten him. The suit was to be for some terrible amount like two hundred thousand.”

“But could she have won it?”

“Undoubtedly, and tied his salary up for heaven knows how long. But he beat that game by saying he’d marry her and he’s gone through with it, leaving her, of course, with no ground for a suit.”

“But can’t she divorce him and get alimony? I mean, if he doesn’t behave,” said Ruth.

“Her pride will keep her from that, for a couple of years at least. And I suppose he figures that by then he’ll find some way of getting out of it cheaper.”

Jimmy Shane entered his club and stopped at the desk.

“I’m expecting a long-distance from Philadelphia,” he said. “I’ll be playing billiards.”

He played three cushions with Frank Kennedy, who was to do the book for his next show. Neither of them appeared to remember that there was a barbershop scene to discuss.

Jimmy was called to the telephone at eleven.

“Hello, dear.”

“Hello, dear.”

“Did it happen?”

“Yes. It’s all over.”

“Do you feel any different?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Sure.”

“What are you doing now?”

“Playing billiards with Kennedy.”

“Will you be over tomorrow?”

“If I possibly can. But I don’t know.”

“You can if you want to.”

“I’ll try.”

“Try hard.”

“I will.”

“What did they say about my bracelet?”

“It’ll be all right. The clasp was sprung a little. It’s no job to fix, but they’re flooded with work. And I told them to clean it up. So you can’t have it till sometime next week.”

“Are you going to call me in the morning?”

“About noon. As soon as I know if I can come.”

Jimmy went back to his game.

“Your shot,” said Kennedy.

“Yes, and I hope I don’t get another phone call. You couldn’t have left them tougher if you’d placed them with your hands.”