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By the time I reach our table, Juliette has disappeared and my seat has been taken by Hermione Granger. It takes me several beats to realize that under the wig and face paint, wand and gown, is one of polo’s greatest players, Esther Fitzwilliam. She plays for theHome Counties, when she’s not serving as the battering ram of the British team, theMighty Oaks. They’re the Queen’s Cup holders as well as frontrunners for the US Open Polo Championships. No one—and I really mean no one—is as gifted a polo player as Esther. She’s as petite as she is wiry, and stronger than any woman I’ve ever played against.
“Gotcha! You didn’t know it was me, did you! Ha!” She’s even bubblier than usual, which I think is the wine talking, but it could be the atmosphere. The wedding hasn’t even begun and already the air is buzzing. Esther takes the bottle and glasses and helps herself to a generous serving.
There’s an embroidered evening clutch on the chair beside her. “May I?” I hand her the bag and gesture at the empty chair.
Esther shakes her head. “Bellatrix is sitting there.”
I take the seat next to Bellatrix’s and help myself to a small glass of wine.
A horn blasts from the speaker over our heads and there’s a mad dash for seats. The bar is emptied of its wizards and wolverines, its Hulks and Harley Quinns. Xena and his man return, their assignation cut short.
A woman with a wild head of hair and dark, brooding makeup takes her place beside Esther. That has to be Bellatrix.
The violin begins. It’s Bach’sJesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring.
Out of the corner of my eye I see Esther slip her hand into Beatrix’s, just as Juliette plops herself beside me, her hand landing heavily upon my thigh. She is out of breath, a purple mark darkening her neck.
The back of the tent opens and Nicolás enters just as Gustavo steps from behind the bower and takes his place in the center of the raised dais.
Nicolás makes his own way down the aisle, shaking hands and saluting his friends and family but keeping his eyes firmly on Gustavo.
He and his husband-to-be are dressed in matching suits, their waistcoats paisley green and unbuttoned, their cummerbunds a vibrant slash of scarlet.
The violins end as he steps onto the podium and joins hands with his man. The master of ceremonies appears between them, decked out in a plain, black evening suit. I’m not sure what I was expecting—what with all the costumes and decoration—but it wasn’t something this solemn.
“Amigos. Amigas. Friends, family, and well-wishers. Please remain upstanding while we join this man, and this man, together in matrimony.” The justice of the peace has a commanding presence.
“Gustavo Raul Sebastian De Leon, do you take this man to be your lawful, wedded husband?”
“I do.”
“Nicolás Enrique Rodríguez, do you take this man…”
Nicolás cuts him off. “I do.”
A ripple of laughter runs through the crowd.
“If I may have the rings?”
A miniature Pikachu appears from the right of the wedding bower and clambers up onto the raised platform. Gustavo bends and kisses the child on both cheeks and accepts the rings. “You’re the best Pikachu I ever saw. Tell your mama how proud I am of her. Your costume makes you look like a million dollars.” He hands the rings to the justice of the peace and returns to Nicolás.
“Place the ring on the hand of your cherished beloved and repeat after me: With this ring, I thee wed.”
It’s so old-fashioned, so out of keeping with the surroundings, that I find myself moved in a way I wasn’t expecting. The Old World meets the New and, in that meeting place, love flourishes.
Gustavo has his lines down perfect, as does his husband, and the ceremony ends in a kiss as long as any I’ve seen at any wedding.
They turn to face the tent, packed with their friends, to screaming cheers, streamers, and a steady, clapped beat. Soon enough everyone around me is singing along toThis Will Be (An Everlasting Love).But it doesn’t stop there. By the time the two men reach the back flap of the tent, the dance floor has been encircled with alternating Pikachus and blue-haired ninjas whom I don’t recognize.
The dance that ensues rivals the great dances of the Ziegfeld Follies. They’re choregraphed—with claps and steps and kicks and weaving in and out of each other’s lines—so well, they have to have been rehearsing for months.
The Pikachus and ninjas dissolve into the crowd, giving way to no less than three Chewbaccas and their Princess Leias. Their number is a medley of pop classics I know, but can’t name. As the band soars into a cover ofYou Make Me Feel (Mighty Real), Gustavo takes Nicolás’ hand and leads him to the middle of the circle of gyrating couples.
Juliette is screaming along with every note. Esther and Bellatrix have their arms wrapped around each other and are swaying to the beat. But it’s only when Juliette pulls me onto the dance floor that I finally see Lolly—Lolly who has never been gone from my thoughts, Lolly who I see everywhere. She’s the barely dressed orange creature I admired earlier. Without the dragon mask, her whole ensemble shines that much brighter. She’s shimmying close to the edge of the action, but not quite in it yet.
Juliette twirls and steps in and out of the dance with the elegance of a courtesan, but she’s the very last person I want Lolly to see me with. If I’d planned this, it couldn’t be more disastrous. I had planned to tell her that my scheme had fallen through. To tell her she was the one who filled my mind not just at the crucial moment, buteverymoment; she who saved me. Because of her. Because of…
“Oh, for heaven’s sake. Just go and talk to her. Your eyes are bugging out of your skull!” Esther and Bellatrix sweep by, but not before Esther has let me know just how stupid she thinks I’m being with a couple of massive eye rolls and a head jerked in Lolly’s direction.
