One Greek Summer Wedding

Chapter 9

‘Oh my God, my yiayia is here!’

After two vodka shots, Cara thought yiayia sounded like it could be a nickname for the vagina.

Before she could ask, Anastasia continued. ‘My grandmother. Wren, put your bag of penis shit on that chair so she cannot sit down.’

The ‘penis shit’ had been produced at the dinner table and consisted of mostly useless plastic party favours shaped like the male appendage. Although Cara’s particular favourites had been the nail clippers and the pen that tasted – and smelled – like seasoned pork. Just, why?

‘Was she not invited?’ Cara asked, watching the elderly lady having what looked like a heated conversation with Sofia. She was wearing a bright green dress and her sandals were taped together. She had bright hair clips in her grey hair that didn’t really seem to be serving any purpose other than to be decorative. There were two Day-Glo yellow star-shaped ones and was the other one a peacock?

‘No, she was not. She is not invited to the wedding either. What can I say?’

‘But, if she is—’ Cara began, seeking more of an explanation.

The lights dimmed and a low bass that made the sound system rattle interrupted her. Everyone in the audience gave an almost involuntary whimper of appreciation. It seemed like the show was about to begin.

Anastasia leaned closer to Cara, her hair touching her cheek, and whispered, ‘I think that Wren will not know what is about to hit her.’

Cara swallowed. This was good. Wren, the bride, was the focus. There was zero chance of Cara having to do audience participation with a real-life wife-to-be in the mix. She cast a quick glance over at Margot’s table. Her aunt was lighting up a cigarette. Could you do that inside here? And Sofia was pulling a chair away from their table, setting it down a few metres away and ushering the yiayia towards it.

Then the lights dropped completely and there were a few screams as ambient low-lighting turned into total darkness. Cara put her fingers to the table edge. And then the piano music began.

Suddenly there were shivers running up and down her spine at the sound. It was like nothing she’d heard before and she had heard plenty of pianists. This was haunting. It was giving classical, yet modern, classy yet super-sexy. And it was so slow, like the musician was teasing them. And in the pitch black, all Cara’s other senses were heightened. She could feel her breath moving inside, pushing her diaphragm, reaching her throat until it escaped. Her heart was beating in her chest but also thrumming gently in her ears and at her wrists. It was a beautiful yet intense sensation. Next a spotlight came on, revealing a metal pole and, with the greatest grace, a male dancer descended so languidly wearing a tight black bodysuit with a leather waistcoat and white stripes on his face, gently rotating like a grungy jewellery box ballerina.

It was then Cara realised she knew the song. It was Beyonce’s ‘Crazy in Love’ but the slowed-down version used in Fifty Shades of Grey. The piano was hot and heavy, the dancer was defying gravity, spiralling on the pole, light and elegant and there was more sexual tension in the air than she’d experienced in quite some time…

More spotlights and six other dancers were highlighted, all wearing black with white glowing make-up on their faces. And as the piano became more dramatic and the dancers began to perform harder, stomping, popping and locking, Cara felt the audience becoming a pent-up ball of hot-bloodedness.

Then, rising up from the centre of the stage, came a shiny black piano. The pianist stood, still hammering at the keys as the dancers continued to sway and steer their bodies this way and that. As good as the performers were, Cara was drawn to the music being made by this man in the shadows. He was an experienced player. That was obvious. Even with the bassline thumping out loud from a backing track, his talent was at the forefront: the riffs, the ad libs, the skill and the style.

Just as Cara was leaning forward, wanting to try to get closer to the music, the piano playing stopped. While her brain tried to compute what was happening the sound shifted and the pianist jumped up from behind the piano, his boots landing on top of it as he too began to dance. And that was when Cara realised this dancer, the one who had been playing the outstanding piano, was not completely unknown to her. She recognised his dark clothing, the robes, the cross around his neck and the mask concealing half of his face. It was the priest she’d spoken to. The priest who obviously wasn’t a real priest and who she had asked to hear her confession!

As she watched him winding and grinding on top of the piano, some of the audience members now full-on screaming, she felt her cheeks reddening. How embarrassing was that?

‘See that guy?’ Anastasia said loudly, pointing towards the stage. ‘The one on top of the piano dressed as a priest?’

Oh yeah, Cara saw him. And he was currently ripping open his robes, gyrating to ‘World Class Sinner’.

‘That’s my brother,’ Anastasia filled in. ‘The other one. Not the one who’s getting married.’

‘That’s your brother,’ Cara said, eyes still on the stage.

‘Yes! That’s Akis. Although here they call him “The Deacon”.’

Cara had no words, but what she did have in her mind was a question. It was one thing for her to be embarrassed about confessing to a fake priest, but why on Earth had Anastasia’s brother gone along with the pretence? Or perhaps it was simply just role play for this job and she’d been an unwitting volunteer. Whatever it was, she needed to get some air and control of her pulse rate.

She got to her feet.

‘Shit! Don’t stand up!’ Anastasia said.

‘What?’

‘Don’t stand up now! I told Horatio it’s the signal! But it was meant to be Kelly and Wren.’

‘Signal?’

Cara didn’t understand… until the moment one of the dancers leapt from the stage and started walking towards her.