I was walking through Bryant Park when I came upon a wedding ceremony. A young couple with a handful of friends in attendance were getting married by the carousel.
It was very sweet and unexpected.
The bride wore what appeared to be a white vintage dress with matching kitten heels holding the biggest bouquet of anemones she could carry while the groom was dressed in a 40s white tuxedo. They looked right out of a Dashiell Hammett novel. I stood in the shadows observing, and to my surprise, became emotional.
A woman, also watching, came over to ask what was wrong.
“Nothing, I said, I suppose I’m just moved by the whole thing.”
“Maybe you want to get married,” she said with a wink.
I thought about this. I’m always so quick to say no, marriage isn’t for me, but then I thought, if I were to meet a man I wanted to be with enough to tie the knot, what kind of wedding would I have?
I strolled a bit musing over this, finding myself on the steps of the 42nd Street Library. I had walked in-between the lions, as Truman Capote once wrote, without even realizing it. I sat down to people watch still mulling over the question.
I found myself smiling.
Of course I know what kind of wedding I’d have and more than that, where it would be. I’d get married on Brooklyn Bridge, probably my favorite place in the whole world. I’d even opt for the Brooklyn side on behalf of all the writers who have lived there over the years viewing it as a great omen.
It would be twilight, so the lights would be on, with only a handful of close friends present. Camille, naturally, would be my maid of honor. Ed, Bill and Jed would throw rice, brown of course, while Camille tried to sleep with all three of them. I’d have Mazzilli give me away whispering like a mantra I should eat a little more while Amy, who’d be on speed-dial, held a cab in case I changed my mind.
I’d wear a long dress with a train that could come off at will, and my groom would be tall, slim and elegant in the same kind of tux the young man in Bryant Park wore. He’d have a sense of history so he and the bridge would meld together like 2 hot metals, if you know what I mean.
My friend Alex would come to take great pictures of me walking down the longest aisle in the world. Mustn’t forget Evelyn, she’d be there too making sure I didn’t trip on my dress that she probably got for me wholesale. Now I’m crying, but weddings seem to do that to me.
When it was over we’d go to a simple but cool place for champagne and dessert and I’d be saying to my oldest friend Joan, “Can you believe this Joan”? quite a lot.
My reverie was interrupted when I saw the whole wedding party from the park getting into cabs on 42nd and 5th.