I WILL FEAR NO EVIL by Robert A. Heinlein

five days?”

“Of course not, dear; I’ve never been interested in sleeping alone—and Gigi is very snuggly. I commend her to your attention—take a look at that painting.”

“I’m sure she is. Just Gigi, eh? Not Joe?”

“Is Joe snuggly, Jake? Tell me more!”

“Woman, you may get that fat lip before I marry you.”

“The groom’s present to the bride? Sir, if you want to give me a fat lip, I’ll hold still, smile happily, and take it. Oh, Jake darling, it’s going to be such fun to be married to you!”

“I think so, too, you dizzy bitch. Mmm, my doctor will phony a certificate for you, too, if I explain the circumstances. But he’ll need your blood type.”

“Jake, the whole country knows that my blood type is AB-negative. Had you forgotten it?”

“Momentarily, yes. That’s all I need. Except— Wedding here? Or in Mac’s chambers?”

“Here, if possible. I want our servants for ‘family’ if Winnie and Roberto don’t show up. Jacob, do I dare send a car with a message and ask Joe and Gigi to allow themselves to be fetched here for this purpose? I do want them present. Gigi is no problem; she will do as Joe wishes—but I think you know Joe better than I do. I don’t even know that he has clothes he would be willing to wear here—all I saw him wear were denim shorts so caked with paint they could stand alone.”

“Mmm, I agree that Eunice’s former husband is entitled to be invited to Joan Eunice’s wedding, though there has never been a protocol established, that’s certain. Dear, the clothes Joe wore in court would be okay for a home wedding. How about yourself, Eunice? Going to be married in white?”

“I think I’ve been insulted again. Wear white so that somebody can sneak a picture and sell it? ‘Ninety-Five­Year-Old Sex-Change Bride Wears White.’ Dear, if I wear white, let’s ask Life to send a photographer and cut out the middleman. Jake, I’ll wear white if you tell me to. If you don’t, I’ll pick something but it won’t be white. Something.”

“‘Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue.’

“Erase and correct, Jake. Here is the twenty-first century version:

“The bride is old,

“The license new,

“The body borrowed,

“The groom is blue.”

“I am like hell blue, I simply need a shave. Get out now and let me be. Beat it. Go take a bath. Try to smell like a bride.”

“Instead of payday at Tillie’s? I can take a hint. But you take a bath, too.”

“Who notices the groom?”

Cunningham had a busy six hours. But so did everyone in the ugly old mansion. To the old-tradition strains of Mendelssohn’s “Processional” the bride walked slowly in hesitation-step through the rotunda. (Twin, ‘Here Comes the Bride’ always sounds to me like a cat sneaking up on a bird. Pum . . . pum.. . . tee-pum! Appropriate, hmm?) (Eunice, behave!) (Oh, I’ll behave. But I prefer ‘John Jacob Jingleheimer Smith—his name is my name, too!’) (You can’t know that one. It’s eighty years old and long forgotten.) (Why wouldn’t I know it when you were singing it in your head every second they were dressing us?)

She walked steadily down the center of a long white velvet carpet; through the arch and into the banquet hall, now transformed with flowers and candles and organ into a chapel. (Boss, there’s Curt! I’m so glad he made it! That must be Mrs. Hedrick with him. Don’t look at them, twin; I’ll giggle.) (I’m not looking at them and you stop trying to—I must look straight ahead.) (You do that, Boss darling, and I’ll count the house. There’s Mrs. Mac—Norma—and Alec’s Ruth, with Roberto. Where’s Rosy? —oh, there he is beyond Mrs. Mac. My, isn’t Della dressed fit to kill?—makes us look shabby.)

The bride wore a severely simple dress of powder blue, opaque, with high neck, matching veil, long sleeves, matching gloves, skirt hem brushing the velvet runner and long train sweeping behind. She carried a bouquet of white cattleya dyed blue to match. (Twin? Why that last-minute decision for panties? They make a line that shows.) (Not through this gown; it’s not skin-tight. The ‘bride’s knot,’ Beloved—for symbolic defloration.) (Coo! Don’t make me laugh, Boss.) (Eunice, if you louse up this wedding, I’ll—I’ll—I won’t speak to you for three days!) (Joan twin, I won’t spoil it—Jake wants symbols, he shall have them.) (And I want symbols, too!) (And so do I, twin, so do I. It’s just that I have never been able to see life as anything but a vast complicated practical joke, and it’s better to laugh than cry.)

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