Page 55 of Four Weddings and a Funeral Director
‘The line’s cutting out,’ lied Lily. ‘I’ll call you back when you land.’
Hanging up, she hurried outside to see exactly what theswitcheroo’s latest shenanigans entailed. Mort was already there, standing arms folded in front of his decorative poodles (which Lily had dressed up with glow-stick necklaces and thermochromic T-shirts that changed colours when the sun hit a certain way or someone patted them).
‘Please tell me this is a misdelivery,’ said Mort, extremely judgementally. ‘Because I know that I didn’t order this, and I’m fairly confident that you wouldn’t either. Would you?’
Alas, Lily was about to thoroughly disappoint Mort. She clasped her hands in a please-forgive-me motion in front of the mechanical bull that poor Roddy had somehow carted in from the parking lot behind the shops using an elaborate combination of wheeled carts and leather pulls. (Lily was beginning to see how the pyramids were built.)
‘It’s for my cowboy wedding. Although it wasn’t meant to come here – it was meant to go to the venue.’
Mort prodded the mechanical bull distastefully. ‘Which is where?’
‘A barn with million-dollar views of the beach.’ Lily had been jealous of pets before – lapdogs led a charmed life – but this venue was the first time she’d ever been jealous of a horse. ‘Oh, to be a rich person’s thoroughbred. Or even their mechanical bull. Are you going to hop on?’
Mort took a step back. ‘You’re pulling my leg. There’s not a chance that two people declared, oh, let’s tie ourselves together romantically and legally, and invite all of our friends and family to hoe down with us at a pretend ranch. With …thisas the centrepiece to it all.’
‘Oneof the centrepieces.’ Lily shooed away a pigeon that had decided to give the bucking bronco a go. ‘It’s just the unifying element. You should see the cowboy boot vases – oh, and the branding station.’
Mort looked deeply insulted by the prospect of all of this, which Lily found quite gratifying.
‘Live a little, Mort,’ she said, giving him a light jab in the ribs.
‘Die a little, more like, given the fatality rate of those things,’ he retorted. ‘What are you going to do with it, anyway? You can’t just leave it there.’
‘Why not? You’ve got the dogs; I can have a bull. Maybe it’ll bring in some extra business.’
‘I’m not sure the kinds of people who ride a mechanical bull on the street for the sheer joy of it are the marrying type.’
Lily couldn’t help herself – she burst out laughing. ‘Exactly whodoyou think is the marrying type? Elizabeth Bennet? Anne of Green Gables? The Madonna? You have a very, very strange concept of what this institution means to people, Mort.’
Mort was visibly preparing a comeback when two very buff, very Palm Springs–looking gents in boat shoes, denim cut-offs and astonishing tans stepped out from behind the laneway next to Eternal Elegance. Lily brightened: Amos and Bernard, the couple behind the rodeo wedding! Until now she’d only seen them over Zoom (well, and their many, many social media selfies), but they were as movie star-ish as she’d imagined.
‘Oh. My. God. Is that the bull?’ Bernard, who had combed-across hair and Paul Newman eyes, clapped his hands with the glee of a collector looking at an Eames chair priced at five dollars at an estate sale.
Amos, all stylish salt-and-pepper locks and a smile so white it was a portal to the land of cosmetic dentistry, clapped the bull on the butt. ‘That’s our Rosie girl!’
Lily rushed forward to give them each a hug. ‘You made it!’
‘We certainly did! The things we have seen. We followed Rosie all the way from Nashville,’ said Bernard. ‘It isquitethe drive.’
‘Santa Fe has its charms, though,’ added Amos. ‘I got a great hat that I plan to wear on the big day.’
‘But not Amboy. Big murder vibes.’ Bernard shuddered. ‘Well, except for Roy’s. That’s a cutie-patootie of a place. I’m a sucker for a Googie sign.’
‘This is Bernard and Amos,’ said Lily, introducing them to Mort, who was shooing a small child with an ice-cream away from the mechanical bull (for their own safety, and sense of pride). ‘They’re getting married next weekend.’
‘But we’re staying in town until then,’ said Bernard. ‘It’s going to be ablast. We’ve rented out this charming farmhouse out by the Spanish mission …’
‘It’s not all black and falling apart is it?’ said Lily warily. ‘With the house numbers displayed on a tombstone? And owned by a small man with a half-halo of hair and a commitment to dapper dressing and 25,000-piece jigsaw puzzles?’
‘That is extremely specific, but no,’ said Amos. ‘It’s yellow and charming, with a red door, and a small population of alpacas. Although I suppose there could be jigsaw puzzles.’
‘Ah, Aunt Dot’s cottage,’ said Mort, sounding relieved.
‘Were you worried Gramps was going to crash at your apartment?’ teased Lily. ‘Lucky you have the coffin bunk beds, if you need them.’
‘The what now?’ asked Amos, from astride the mechanical bull (which thankfully wasn’t plugged in, for Lily’s liability insurance only went so far).
‘Mort’s the town funeral director,’ explained Lily.
