Always a Groomsman

Chapter 5: Champagne and Business Card

Chapter 5: Champagne and Business Card

The Marilyn Bar wasn’t anything spectacular, but it was fun. A private room sat behind the main bar. There were twelve tables for guests, a staff of fourteen, a cookie table, chocolate fountain, and a jellybean table. To the right of the tables was a dance floor and jazz band. Both grooms were jazz teachers at Templeton College and sang in a band called The Keys of T.

The grooms and wedding party arrived at the reception, champagne was served. Then the groomsman made a toast. The redhead stood at the bridal table with a flute of golden champagne and rambled for the next few minutes about friendship, love, and marriage.

He finished the speech with, “I know that you both have a special bond as men in love, and I am so happy that you two are together. Ira, Stephen, I wish you both much happiness and joy as you go forward and begin your official lives as one. Congratulations!”

The group of attendees cheered, whistled, and applauded as the grooms twisted arms together, locked chests together, and kissed. Five hors d’oeuvre tables were then rolled out and onto the floor. Each table consisted of china plates, white linen napkins, and tasty treats. The open bar was in operation, and the gatherers ordered cocktails, imported beer, and shots of strong alcohol. I snapped more pictures and steered my concentration away from the redheaded groomsmen, fulfilling my obligation as a paid spectator with an expensive camera.

Not seven minutes later, the redhead came up to me, handed me a flute of champagne, and asked, “How do I know you, guy? I’ve seen you before, but can’t put a finger on it.”

My heart thumped within my chest and perspiration started to form in puddles underneath my arms. My nerves were always getting the best of me, not that I had a choice in the matter. It was nice to know that the handsome red took a minute out of his affair to find me, make eye contact me, and ask me his question. He caused electric bolts of desire to shift through my limbs, and I became at a loss for words. How unfortunate it was to have him make an appearance and I became speechless, similar to a village i***t. Damn.

“I think I’ve seen you at the last four weddings I’ve attended,” he said, still presenting the flute of golden champagne to me.

I finally retrieved the champagne from his outstretched hand, consumed a sip, felt its sugary bubbles coat my mouth and throat, and eventually swallowed it down. I looked him square in his eyes and said, “You’re always the groomsman.”

He laughed, which sounded more like a boy’s laugh than a man’s. “That’s exactly what my company’s called.” He reached into his front pocket, pulled out a black-gray-silver-white business card, and passed it to me. “Patrick Brogan. It’s very nice to meet you.”

The business card read: Always a Groomsman—Your Personal Accessory to Any Wedding. His phone numbers were listed, cell and business. And his email address was also on the business card. His address told me that he worked out of 3471 Legend Way, which was a string of small cottages on the southernmost tip of Templeton. There was also a website on the card, which I would pull up on my cellphone at a later time when given the chance.