Than a Woman,” by the Bee Gees. Leave it to Max to pick a song for her first dance with Fred that would center on how extraordinary she was. We stood to the side of the dance floor and watched them dance—the giant behemoth and his tiny bride.
The bandleader called out again to the matron of honor and the best man, commanding us to dance. Crawford followed me out and held his hand out. I took it as the rest of the wedding goers clapped politely for us. I’m not sure why people clap when the participants called by the bandleader take the floor; they’re just following directions, after all.
“Get your hand off my ass,” I said, as we assumed the dancing position. Right hands together and up, left hands around each other’s waists.
Crawford moved his hand up to my back and looked down at me. “Better?” he asked. “You only allow ass-holding during ‘The Girl from Ipanema,’ right?”
“Yes, thank you.” In my heels, we were almost nose to nose. He held me a little close and I got a whiff of his clean laundry smell, hoping I wouldn’t swoon right there on the dance floor. Pheromonally, we were very well suited to each other. “My priest is here. I don’t want to look like a loose woman.”
Crawford, in normal clothes, was handsome enough. In a tuxedo, he was spectacular—broad shouldered, tall, and sexy. I focused on the table of wedding guests that were in view directly over his shoulder and tried not to think about him, me, or us. One of the guests had a porto-bello mushroom on his lapel and that grounded me.
“Stop leading,” he said. Max and Fred glided by, their eyes locked on each other.
“I’m not leading.”
“Yes, you are,” he protested and steered me to the edge of the floor. The bandleader called the rest of the wedding guests onto the floor and it became flooded with dancers. We were no longer the center of attention and that was good; fighting about who was leading in front of a room full of guests was not the right thing to do at a wedding. “Are we having fun yet?” he whispered in my ear.
“Don’t whisper in my ear.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t get the rule sheet before the wedding.” He spun me toward the middle of the floor, nearly taking out two other couples. I hoped that his lack of rhythm didn’t creep into any other aspects of his life—namely, ones that might include me in a prone position later on in our relationship. “What else is on there?” He leaned in and put his lips to my neck.
“No neck kissing,” I said halfheartedly, almost defeated. “And no hair touching.”
He put his hands into my coif. “Does this count?”
I nodded. “Yes,” I said weakly.
“How about a real kiss?” he murmured in my ear.
My resolve weakening, I reminded him that my priest was in the room.
“So what?” he said, and kissed me.
It had been a long time since I had been kissed like that and I attempted a subject change. “Are you wearing a gun?”
He smiled lasciviously. “No, I’m just happy to see you,” he said, harkening back to one of our old jokes.
“I’m serious.”
He stiffened and we returned to our standard dancing position. “You are obsessed with the gun.”
“I just like to know if you have it or not.”
“Why?”
I shrugged, and stepped on his foot again; this time it was an accident. “Sorry.” I readjusted my feet. “Who knows what could happen at this wedding? Samoans, Irish, a French Canadian…a full-scale rumble over fishing rights could break out.”
“Yes, I’m wearing it. We’re in the New York City limits. I’m required to wear it.”
“Is Fred wearing his?” I asked.
He sighed. “Probably.”
“At his own wedding?” I asked, incredulous.
Crawford didn’t answer.
I looked around the room and picked out several cops. “So, we’ve got about twenty weapons at this wedding?”
He looked at me, a slight smile playing on his lips. “It would seem so.”
I nodded, satisfied. “I’ve never danced with anyone packing heat before.”
He leaned in. “And I’ve never danced with anyone who talks as much as you do.”
I had never realized how long this particular Bee Gees song was, but it seemed to last well into the next day. Finally, the song was over and we were instructed to take our seats at our table. Max and Fred sat at a table at the front of the room, by themselves. Some clever veteran of the wedding circuit began clinking their champagne