Chapter 54
Down home, weddings were held in big churches with hundreds of guests.
Mr. and Mrs. Nash had been married at First Presbyterian and had not bothered with invitations.
Virtually the entire town showed up. The reception was under a tent beside the church, with tons of fried chicken and barbecue pork.
Alcohol was not officially served but there was plenty consumed out of sight.
The frustration with the planning and details had given way to a pleasant acquiescence.
Stuart was adamant that he and Rae Claire would do it their way and foot the bills.
Once Mr. Nash realized he would not be on the hook for any expenses, not even the reception dinner, he stopped raising his eyebrows and looked forward to a weekend in the capital.
For her part, Mrs. Nash chafed at the lack of involvement, but then she knew that the groom’s mother was usually left out.
Once she realized that the bride’s mother was too, she stopped grumbling.
There was no best man or groomsmen and no bridesmaids, which ticked off Stuart’s little sister Mindy.
He didn’t care. The vows were nontraditional, to say the least. Poems by obscure dead people.
A Chinese proverb. The lyrics from a Hindu hymn.
Sophomoric language probably written by a teenager, or worse, the bride. And not one word from King James.
The officiant was not even a minister, but rather a professor of theology at a college for atheists. His short homily baffled the thirty-seven guests, who, from the first word, had no idea what was being said. Plus, the guy tended to mumble.
No prayers. No walk down the aisle—there was no aisle. No grand announcement presenting Mr. and Mrs. Stuart Nash. Rae Claire was keeping “Russo” for professional reasons; also for personal ones.
Unique as it was, the ceremony was light, even humorous at times with plenty of smiles and some laughs.
The bride and groom made no pretense of seriousness.
Why should they? They knew it was a farce.
They had decided weeks earlier to make it a bit goofy and off-the-wall so they could compare reactions when they filed for divorce.
Which guest would be the first to say: I knew something was fishy, or The marriage never had a chance with that flaky wedding?
A year from now, when the divorce was final, Rae Claire and Stuart planned to have a fine dinner and laugh at the charade.
A string quartet ended the wedding with an arrangement of a Vivaldi composition, and the officiant bid them all farewell.
Two hours later, most of the thirty-seven guests met in a private dining room of a Georgetown restaurant for the reception feast. Stuart and four of his law school buddies staggered in from a bar down the street and ordered more drinks.
He was not looking forward to his wedding night and planned to survive it by blacking out.
According to Rae Claire and Nyall Leblanc, there would be very little drinking in Paris, so he had to fill up now.
Tie one on for the road because he had no idea what to expect over there.
During dinner, Rae Claire’s best friend gave the obligatory “crying bridesmaid” speech but got through it with no tears.
Sharon, her younger sister, offered a lengthy toast that was somewhat confusing.
That confusion escalated when a drunk frat brother got the mike and attempted a stand-up routine.
After a couple of flat, crude jokes from a wannabe stand-up, Stuart managed to get the mike and restore decency.
Mr. Nash ended the program with a stiff effort to convey best wishes and a lifetime of happiness to the newlyweds.
Stuart felt sorry for his father. If only he knew, and he would soon enough.
A limousine took them to the Four Seasons where the bridal suite was waiting ($2,200 a night). Stuart quickly changed into jeans and a sport coat, said good night to his bride, and left for the hotel bar, where his boys were waiting.
—
The hangover was everything he hoped it would be.
He didn’t remember falling into bed after midnight, fully dressed though he did manage to remove his shoes and sport coat.
He could not possibly remember the cacophony of jarring noises his lungs, throat, tongue, and nose managed to produce as he violently snored in his own little coma.
At one point Rae Claire went to the sofa in the small den and covered her head with a pillow.
She was certain the neighbors would complain and call security.
At 8 a.m. she called room service and ordered two pots of black coffee and bottles of sparkling water.
When he wouldn’t wake up she thought he might be dead, but he was still making noises.
“Wake up, lover boy!” she hissed, shaking his shoulder. “We have a meeting at nine.”
His first conscious sound was a loud groan, as sharp pains shot through his head and his stomach rolled.
“Don’t puke in the bed, the first rule of marriage,” she said, amused. “And, no, I didn’t pack any painkillers.”
Nash sat up in bed and began rubbing his eyes. “You can handle a gun, can’t you?”
“Of course, part of our training. Why?”
“Just shoot me, okay? Please.”
“I would think about it if I had a weapon. I’m kinda hungry. The food last night was atrocious. You want breakfast or do you want to start hurling first?”
“Please, no food.”
She handed him a glass of cold water and he drained it. He smacked his lips, wiped them with a forearm, and said, “This marriage is off to a rocky start.”
“Just seven more days of it. When you’re able to move, you need to think about a shower. A long one from the smell of things. We meet Leblanc at nine, then off to the airport.”
He groaned again, which prompted her to observe, “I’ve never understood why men keep drinking long after they’ve had enough. What’s clever and cool about getting sloppy and blacking out?”
“Excuse me, but this seems like a rather cruel moment to discuss drinking habits. I’m dying here.”
“You can’t die, hubby. The operation is just getting started. We cleared the first hurdle by getting through the wedding.”
“You were a pretty cute bride, you know?”
“Lotta good it did me. I could still be a virgin for all you know.”
“I doubt that. How about a cup of coffee? Please.”
“I’ll fetch one, then you’re on your own. I’m a liberated wife and I will not wait on you.”
“Please. Don’t beat me up.”
“An old saying comes to mind: If you’re gonna be stupid you gotta be tough.”
“Okay, I’ll try to be tough.”
She handed him a cup of coffee and they sat propped against the pillows in bed.
He was tougher than most of the recruits The Farm chewed up, and she secretly admired him for it.
Leblanc and the others had been impressed from day one.
Now he was facing a possible ordeal that could have one of several outcomes, most of them unpleasant.
And the entire operation, the plan, the fiction, had been her idea from the start.
He began to chuckle and asked, “Okay, how many people commented on what a lovely ceremony it was?”
She laughed too and said, “Several. Margie gushed that it was the coolest wedding she’s ever seen.”
“Margie is easily impressed. I think my mother was appalled. I hope so.”
“Your mother was nice to me. My mother drank too much.”
“Who didn’t drink too much?”
When the coffee was gone, she said, “We need to start moving.”
“Okay, boss. I guess it’s showtime.” Stuart kicked off the covers, got to his feet, checked his balance, and waddled to the bathroom.
—
At nine, they knocked on the door of a room down the hall. Nyall Leblanc was waiting with Dexter Maceas.
“Well, well, it’s the newlyweds,” Nyall said with a smile as he waved them in. “Let’s not ask about the wedding night.”
“Yeah, don’t ask,” Rae Claire said as she poured more coffee.
Dexter said, “Good thing the bar closed at midnight.” Nash did not respond. He was certain “they” were around, probably counting the drinks. He had lost count and didn’t care.
They sat around a small table, ignored the pastries, and listened as Nyall went through the day’s itinerary, something Stuart had already memorized.
Nyall said, “We’ll have people on the flight but you won’t notice them.
We’ll have more people waiting at de Gaulle, then at the hotel.
We’re set up in an office across the street so we’ll always be close.
You’ll have plenty of support, in case you need it. Any second thoughts at this point?”
Stuart frowned and said, “It should be apparent by now that I’m all in with no second thoughts. Why do you keep asking?”
“It’s what we do, Stuart. Just part of the routine.”
“Well, it was a helluva wedding. You should’ve been there.”
“We were not invited, as you recall.”
“Sorry. Our guests were carefully chosen.”
“You look like hell.”
“And I feel worse. I can’t wait to sleep for eight hours over the Atlantic.”
“Let’s hope so. You need to sober up.”
“I’ll be ready, sir.”