Early Morning Free for All
The Hacienda pool before we got hold of it.
Last we saw our wedding party, they were dressed and ready to attend a lovely Sevillano wedding. Now we encounter hot, tired, and drunk wedding guests. Learn how, when all is said and done, old is old, and young is young.
After the wedding ceremony and the reception dinner, we danced the night away, toasted the bride and groom – several times. We even toasted those not part of the party: waiters, the concierge, the clean-up crew. We toasted anyone who would listen.
It was 1:30 a.m. and the elders in the wedding party were sitting on the walls around the pool area, trying to stay awake. John, my ex, and father of the bride, was in fact fast asleep, and when John sleeps, everyone knows it. Guests would glance his way and then turn away, trying to ignore him. But if our old neighbors two blocks away could not ignore his snoring, neither could we. The music, however, helped to drown him out as now we were in our rock phase – some hard rock, some soft rock, some in-between rock mixed with some rap.
As the morning wore on, rock became not enough. Gordon, the liberated Hollywood script writer, started it. One minute he was dressed in a sexy dark blue dress shirt and pants to match – looking debonair, maybe even director material.
I tried to forget that Gordon in high school lassoed his fellow students (my daughter) to make horror movies. One night Gordon decided to film the last scene of his horror film wherein Jenny played the hideous succubus. I was told Gordon’s mother cut the filming short with, “Gordon, it’s late. The bathtub is full of blood, and you need to clean that up.”
Anyway, now thirty-something, Gordon stripped to his skivvies and jumped into the pool. As he paddled around shouting, “Come on in, y’all,” clothes started flying. First Chris joined Gordon in his underwear, and they jousted in the water, pretending to play water polo. Next came Idalino and his band of Seville brothers, the Fab Five, all in their underwear. I felt OK about this because at least Idalino was wearing something. The pool, being decorative and not Olympic size, was now crowded. As the men splashed about in the water, Jenny’s candles died, one by one. The lanterns were still lit or we would have sat in the dark, wondering who had just sped past us and landed with a splot in the packed pool.
With all the commotion, John woke up and looked around. Having been the one to start the shenanigans in his college days, he looked like he might join them.
“Swim time!” he said, and yawned.
He had woken up just in time to see his two youngest strip to their underwear and jump in. Jenny had changed to a simple little summer dress earlier and Mary to sassy pants and tie shirt. Those were long gone. The bride, paddled about the hacienda los Angeles pool in bright blue bra and panties. My youngest, the stylist, wore red.
I looked at John and he rolled his eyes and wiped his brow.
The entire wedding party under 35, what was left of it, shouted, sang and threw water everywhere.
The elder Spanish contingent looked shell-shocked. They conversed in their usual rat-a-tat-tat Spanish and one could hear they were not familiar with spontaneous swim as part of a wedding ritual.
As the kids played a rousing game of keep away with someone’s shirt, our bus driver appeared in the gateway of the hacienda. Someone old and tired shouted “First bus to Seville!” We needed no encouragement. The mass exodus out to catch the bus looked a little like an evacuation from an old peoples’ home with a few thirty/forty somethings mixed in.
Jenny shouted “See you, Mom, Dad, tomorrow morning before we leave for the beach!” Mary was in the water arm wrestling with one of the Fab Five so she did not see us go. Another bus would pick up the drenched stragglers at 4 a.m.
I took John’s hands and pulled him up from his resting place and said, “Come on, old man. Back to the hotel where your snoring will not set off emergency alarms.”
“Was I snoring? He asked. “I thought I was awake.”
“No,” I said, “ the part where you saw your daughters exposing themselves?” I said. “That was just a bad dream.”