Sunday, July 13, 2003

Georgia on his mind

My pocket vibrates just after Erik and Elaine say their vows. As discretely as possible, I retrieve the phone and note the Caller ID. The woman seated to my right shifts uncomfortably but, when I glance at her face to apologize, I see that her fidgeting is due not to my own squirming to deal with the call but from the close warmth of the chapel. She fans herself and we share a silent look, both grateful that the ceremony is near an end.

On the way to the reception, I return Tom's message.

"You're in Iowa?" he asks. "What's it like?"

"Well, you know," I say, beginning my stock answer delivered a dozen times to friends when I'd revealed my plans for the weekend trip. "There's nothing halfway about the Iowa way to treat you. When they treat you. Which they have been, quite well, thank you."

Tom doesn't know show music, so this bit of banter is lost on him, as it has been the other dozen times too.

"How about getting away to somewhere less corny," he says. "I'm buying passes for Hotlanta. Come with me!"

I'd been expecting this, with the party just around the corner and having already declined two other circuit invitations. Since he and Jerry split up, Tom's been having a tough time of it. He's not only lost his soulmate -- for truly that's what Jerry was, whether either would admit it or not -- but, more devastating to Tom, he's lost his playmate. For a romantic hedonist from the old school, that's damned close to death.

"I'm sorry, I really am," I say, "but I've already got plans to go to Chicago that weekend. It's too bad, because Hotlanta looks like a lot of fun this year."

"What's going on in Chicago?" he asks, resigned but sounding hopeful maybe it's a trip he can invite himself on.

I've arrived at the hotel where we'll toast the happy couple and drink and dance and -- because I'm in Iowa -- hopefully drink a good bit more. There's no point trying to explain the significance of a new Stephen Sondheim musical or a Tony Kushner premiere, which are my reasons for heading north rather than south.

"Nothing heavy," I say. "It's work-related."

I instantly regret that explanation, since Tom's been on the streets and underqualified for just about everything since he got the retail boot late last year.

"I've got to go right now," I say. "Listen, let's get dinner when I'm back in town. Maybe..." I think for a minute. "Maybe I can be persuaded to do Market Days this year."

Tom brightens instantly and begins chattering about Chicago boys and his last night at IML and how much he loves the Windy City. When I'm finally able to ring off, I know he'll be on the phone instantly checking airfares to Chicago and pricing hotel rooms. And probably trying to corral someone else into spending a steamy weekend in Atlanta.

As I make my way to the ballroom I wonder and worry a little about both Jerry and Tom. "For better or for worse," and heaven knows they tried, but it just wasn't enough. We always called them The Twins and now they've gone their separate ways.

I head straight for the bar, intent on putting my hands around a glass before I put my arms around the bride.