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Father: How come?
Me: Well, part of it might be the fact that up until about a month ago, you had lied to me for my entire life about who you are and what you do for a living.
Fathe
r: Oh.
Me: So just tell me. WHERE IS MY MOTHER?
Father: She left you a letter. You can have it at eight o’clock.
Me: Dad, eight o’clock is when the wedding is supposed to start.
Father: I am aware of that.
Me: Dad, you can’t do this to me. What am I supposed to tell—
Voice: Phillipe, is everything all right?
Me: Who is that? Who is that, Dad? Is that Beverly Bellerieve?
Father: I have to go now, Mia.
Me: No, Dad, wait—
CLICK
4:00 p.m.–4:15 p.m.—Tear apartment apart, looking for clues as to where mother might have disappeared to. Find none.
4:20 p.m.—Phone rings. Paternal grandmother on line. Requests to know if mother and I are ready for trip to salon for beauty makeover. Inform her that mother has left already (well, it’s the truth, isn’t it?). Grandmother suspicious. Inform her that if she has any questions to consult with her son, my father. Grandmother says she fully intends to do so. Also says limo will be by at five o’clock to pick me up.
5:00 p.m.—Limo pulls up. Bodyguard and I get into it. Inside is paternal grandmother (hereafter known as Grandmère) and maternal grandmother (hereafter known as Mamaw). Mamaw is very excited about upcoming nuptials—though excitement is somewhat dampened by cousin’s desertion to become male supermodel. Grandmère, on other hand, is mysteriously calm. Says son (my father) has informed her that bride has decided to make own hair and make-up plans. Remembering missing folic acid tablets, I say nothing.
5:20 p.m.—Enter Chez Paolo.
6:45 p.m.—Emerge from Chez Paolo. Amazed at difference Paolo has made with Mamaw’s hair. She no longer resembles mom in John Hughes film, but member of upscale country club.
7:00 p.m.—Arrive at Plaza. Father attributes bride’s absence to her desire to nap before ceremony. When I surreptitiously force Lars to call home on his cell phone, however, no one answers.
7:15 p.m.—Begins to rain again. Mamaw observes that rain on a wedding day is bad luck. Grandmère says, No, that’s pearls. Mamaw says, No, rain. First sign of division within formerly united ranks of grandmas.
7:30 p.m.—I am ushered into little chamber just off the White and Gold Room, where I sit with the other bridesmaids (supermodels Gisele, Karmen Kass, and Amber Valetta, whom Grandmère has hired due to fact that my mother refused to supply her with list of her own bridesmaids). I have changed into my beautiful pink dress and matching shoes.
7:40 p.m.—None of the other bridesmaids will talk to me, except to comment about how I look so “sweet.” All they can talk about is a party they went to last night where someone threw up on Claudia Schiffer’s shoes.
7:45 p.m.—Guests begin to arrive. I fail to recognize my maternal grandfather without his baseball cap. He looks quite spry in his tux. A little like an elderly Matt Damon.
7:47 p.m.—Two people arrive who claim to be parents of the groom. Mr. Gianini’s parents from Long Island! Mr. Gianini Sr. calls Vigo “Bucko.” Vigo looks delighted.
7:48 p.m.—Martha Stewart stands near door, chatting with Donald Trump about Manhattan real estate. She can’t find a building with a co-op board that will let her keep her pet chinchillas.
7:50 p.m.—John Tesh has cut his hair. Almost don’t recognize him. Looks faintly babe-like. Queen of Sweden asks him if he is friend of bride or groom. Says groom, for some inexplicable reason, though I happen to know from having looked through Mr. Gianini’s CDs that he owns nothing but the Rolling Stones and a little Who.
7:55 p.m.—Everyone goes quiet as John Tesh sits down at baby grand. Pray that my mother is in different hemisphere and cannot see or hear this.
8:00 p.m.—Everyone waits expectantly. I demand that my father, who has joined me and the supermodels, give me letter from my mother. Dad surrenders letter.
8:01 p.m.—I read letter.
