page 2

Loreli’s Peek seemed to go quite well. Her mother’s flunk made a speech: “Two great Houses joined together... blah-blah-blah family pride...” Loreli stood. Her mother’s flunk drew white silk aside to reveal the bridal breasts. A scatter of applause. Loreli seemed properly shy. Nice pair of whoopers, Asel thought. But his eyes were on the Duck. Disappointment in the cesspool eyes, but not enough. Not at all what Asel had hoped, which was more like rage and despair. Spasm and lament. Dire affliction of every sort. Ah, but wasn’t that the trace of a smile? Asel felt better at once. If Ducky was smiling, he was dying inside. Watching all his dreams disappear. Ducky Du Pontiac-Heinz could get all the teenage honkers he could buy, but this pair were forever out of reach. Wedding bells would ring. The two great Houses of Christler-Coke and Pepsicoma-Dodge would be one, and the Duck would be doo-doo out of luck. With a household trooper on either side, Asel rose to meet his bride-to-be. Mother joined him for the short formal walk. Soft family carpet underfoot. Since early childhood, Asel had believed that Mother was almost entirely composed of air. A trace of lavender and rose. A whiff of angelfood cake. So delicately bred, so refined, she lacked the shame of inner parts. The two mothers faced each other in ritual array, as if they’d never met before. As if they hadn’t been plotting this event since Asel and Loreli were born. As if a hundred lawyer earls on either side hadn’t sealed and secured the nuptial stock. A reader flunk spoke for the mother of Loreli: “I give my daughter blah-blah-blah... godly communion... dividends for all...” “Hearty issue and bliss,” said Asel's mother’s flunk, “love and municipal bonds...” Uncle Hal stepped up, a corporate flunk by his side. The flunk read the bloodline rote for the House of Christler-Coke: “...And Anheuser-Tusch begat Canon-Cadillac, begat Kodak-Smack, begat Pfizer-Kaiser-Nizer, begat MotoroIacola, begat AT&Me, begat Hershey-GE.....” The flunk had a very nice voice. If you liked, you could hum right along. He seemed to go on for some time. Then Hal stepped back, and Loreli’s uncle took the floor. His flunk had trouble with his t’s, and appeared to be slightly offkey: “... And IBhim begat Montgomery-Sears, begat Playtex-Rears, begat Brut-of-the-Loom, begat Tylenol-Doom, begat Volkshaagen-Dazs, begat Bigg-Maclntosh.....” All this came to an end. Mothers and uncles smiled. White silk passed from flunk to flunk; bridal breasts were concealed once again. Viewed from mere inches away, Asel felt they were a very nifty pair. Worth, he supposed, in the abstract sense, perhaps three-point-two billion each, depending on current market trends. Applause, and then Asel’s little Brit joined hands with a distinctly Swedish flunk of Loreli’s, and the four strolled down the steps onto the lawn in the traditional nuptial walk. Past the fountains and down the path. Past the garden resplendent with white and crimson rose. Past the neatly sculptured shrubs and the busts of business kings. “Well,” said Loreli, “it’s real nice to meet you.” “My pleasure,” Asel said, and wondered if this were so. The girl seemed less than astute. In the afternoon light, certain blemishes appeared. “I guess we’ll get along,” said Loreli. “It’s difficult to say.” “You like riddles?” “I absolutely loathe them.” “I’ve got a real good one.” “Keep it to yourself.” “The wedding was swell.” “I’m afraid I didn’t notice.” “Your mother’s sure pretty.” “Yours, if I may say, is somewhat rotund. I do hope tubby genes are not dominant in your line.” “Oh, they’re not. Mother has a weakness for sweets. Nougat cremes. Chocolate bunnies. Pork in any form.” “I don’t believe that’s a sweet.” “Mother doesn’t mind.” “I think we’d best be getting back,” Asel said. Loreli sneezed. Her flunk whipped a hanky to her nose. “God Bless,” said Asel’s Brit. “Thank you,” said Loreli’s Swede.

illo: Fernando H. Ramirez