Here Comes the Corpse Read Online Free Page A

But Scott’s got as much social sense as I. He held out his hand, smiled, and said, “I’m glad to meet you at last.”
    Ethan smiled broadly, leaned close to me, and whispered, “I need to talk to you.”
    I remember thinking this was a monumentally dopey time to say such a thing. We’re in the middle of this vast, once-in-a-lifetime party, and he wants to talk? This wasn’t some silly soap opera. At any rate, in less than thirty seconds the moment was over. The line eddied around us with the fabulously prominent mingling with the dearest of old friends. The mayor’s wife gave me a hug. Ian McKellen smiled cheerfully. A Hollywood producer in the mob had been trying to convince us to let him use our life stories for a movie of the week on some obscure cable channel. We sicced our agent on him. An hour later the line finally ended and the festivities commenced in full.
    Three hired videotapers. Three still-picture photographers. The buffet, the free drinks, and then the meal itself. An entrée of Hawaiian fillet of beef; vegetarians got vegetables; noncaffeine people got noncaffeine drinks. Gifts, as if we needed them, on an immense gift table. We’d registered to the hilt. Our biggest disagreement had been pro and con about accepting presents, Scott for and me against. Our compromise was to agree to donate all gifts to charity.
    Cutting the wedding cake was fun. No, we didn’t do that stupid shove-the-cake-in-the-other’s-mouth bullshit, which I consider to be possibly the most singularly idiotic and moronic part of any ritual on the planet.
    The toasting was kept to a minimum. My dad’s awful jokes were strictly limited by my mother. What threats she used to cut him off, I can’t begin to imagine. Scott’s toast was sweet. He simply lifted his glass and said, “To the man I love.” Mine was equally as simple: “I will always love you.”
    I think the best part was when the lights went down, a spotlight shone on us, and we shared the first dance together. Scott dancing used to be a sight to behold—this wonderful stud athlete turning total klutz and forcing himself to be propelled around the dance floor. No question, he’s game, especially for a slow dance. We’d taken some lessons. He was no longer horrible. Over the years I had graduated from wild flailing about to rock and roll, to above average at some pretty complicated steps. We weren’t ready to enter a tango contest, but we could hold our own and not embarrass ourselves.
    As the crowd watched and applauded, we began to sway together. I remember shutting my eyes and melting into his arms. It was a perfect moment. He is so gorgeous and so strong, and I love him so much. Dancing together with him in public is wonderful. I felt his arms, and shoulders, and torso, and legs, and it was fabulous. And then we danced with our moms. We were prevented from making a decision about dancing with our dads by the expedient of Scott’s dad flatly refusing to be coerced out onto the floor with anyone. He claimed he didn’t dance, and Scott averred that this was true. I think my dad might have done it, but I’m not sure. My brothers and sister danced with both of us. It was a little weird, but they’re so great and so supportive. I thought about trying to ask some of Scott’s teammates, but I thought that would be pushing my luck.
    The dancing thing turned into this gender-bending extravaganza. People were laughing and carrying on with same-sex and opposite-sex couple switching. I remember doing a bit of the Charleston with a guy I had played football with in college and the polka with my old high school coach. I used to babysit for his kids. I danced with a punter from the NFL and his date, a college basketball player. They hadn’t arrived together, and as more and more people danced in same-sex couples, their two daring whirls together weren’t noticed. There are all kinds of closets. I even managed a sweep around the floor with Ethan’s brother Ernie, who