The Last Laugh

Bernice Franklin had entered the little shop of horrors, looking for a mother of the bride dress.  But all they seemed to have for a late afternoon wedding was beige with sequins.  Where does one go for a dress anymore?  Would she have to take the train into the city and search through what was left of the major department stores?  She used to get everything from Saks.  Could she still?

There was so much she still had to do; and people, meaning her family, were making it difficult for her.  Riley continued to insist that Eden would be matron of honor.  It would have helped if Bernice could call Eden and ask what color her dress would be.  But she wasn’t speaking to Eden.  And what to do about Lily?  She wasn’t in the wedding party; but since Frank declared his intention to marry her, Lily would have to be at the rehearsal dinner and prominently seated at the wedding.  Otherwise Frank would make a stink.

There were certain revisions Bernice was making for the bridal procession.  At first, as she told Riley, she wanted Frank to walk her down the aisle.  But it would be much more appropriate for Frank to escort Riley.  Thad would be her escort.  Bernice wanted everyone to see that she wasn’t a loser in love anymore.  Especially all her divorced friends who were still vainly trying those dating sites.  Not that she wanted to rub their noses in her success or anything.  But, attention must be paid, as Arthur Miller so rightly put it.  Oh course, that was about some lame salesman, but great literature can apply to so many situations.

She sometimes had visions of a double wedding.  No, not Frank and Lily, Riley and Mike, but Riley and Mike and her and Thad.  However, she graciously didn’t want to take attention away from Riley. Plus, financially, it didn’t make sense to marry Thad.  And she had to admit that living with him full-time might prove annoying.  She had gotten used to living alone, eating what and when she wanted, choosing her own television shows, definitely not sharing the bathroom with anyone.  Also, any mess she made was her own, not some man’s.

Her ex-husband Jerry was messy.  How could a cardiologist not know enough to pick up his own clothes and why did he drop his wet towel on the floor of the bathroom, expecting her to pick it up?  She scolded him once, and he told her that used towels were full of bacteria.  Did he know this meant she had to do the wash every day?  She had the kids to take care of, with all the running around she had to do with them.  Plus, there was the part she had to play in the community as a doctor’s wife:  charity boards, volunteering, dinner parties.

Why did she do it?

Because it was expected.  She expected it, as did society, nor did she think twice about it.  Not that she didn’t have an education.  It’s just that she never thought of putting that eduction to use, not after Jerry proposed marriage.  After all, he’d be a doctor and she’d be a doctor’s wife.  Game, set, match.

Except—

Was she so bad in bed that he had to look elsewhere?  And how many times had he done the looking?  Was it only with the whip master?  Were there others?  Patients?  No, he wouldn’t.  They might have a heart attack.  But what about the nurses or staff?  She never asked.  The only one she knew about was Heidi, the rejuvenator.  Leaving sad sack Bernice all to herself.

Yet, who had the last laugh?  Jerry was dead.  Heidi was who knows where, probably handcuffing someone else.  While here she was, with a comfortable life, a part-time job that gave her friends and income she could definitely use.  A wonderful man who cared for her.  And three children who had decided to go their own way and not take her excellent advice.  But—well—she thought she had bounced back from the slough of despair quite well, thank you very much!