Jupiter
David sat on the coffee table in her underpants and a striped long sleeve oxford. She was shortening the hem on a pair of ice blue pants, sewing short, even stitches with a needle and thread she'd found in a hotel sewing kit, when the front door locks jiggled and clinked. She looked up expectantly, and Art swung open the door. "Hey there," he announced jovially.
"What are you doing home so early?" David asked. She looked at the clock. It was just past three.
Art hung up David's black coat he'd adopted on the coat rack. "It's such a gorgeous day, a few of us decided to knock off early to enjoy it before it got dark."
"That's not like you."
"I haven't been like me for days," he said. "Let's go to the park."
"The park?" David said. "What are we going to do, throw a Frisbee?" She looked back to her stitches.
"Not a park, the Park," Art emphasized. "Unless you want to throw a Frisbee, then sure." He still was not a master at reading David's dry English.
"I do not want to throw a Frisbee," she said. "But I could go for some fresh air." She tied a knot at the end of the thread and held up the pants, folding them in half to check for even length. Seeing they were perfect, she stood up and slipped them on, tucking in the striped shirt and buttoning the waist of the newly tailored pants.
"It'll be fun, you'll see," Art encouraged her. He couldn't believe it was he encouraging her to go out and see things and be with people and explore. What had happened to him?
David slipped on a pair of red loafers and shook out a blazer, ice blue that matched her pants.
"Oh, it's so nice out, you don't need a jacket," Art said.
David slipped it on over her arms. "I always need a jacket," she said, and Art didn't know if she meant because she'd be cold or because it matched her outfit. She pulled a red and blue colored silk scarf from her stockpile of scarf rations and tied it around her neck like an ascot. Art traded his work shirt for a simple half zip fleece pullover, to which David scoffed but relentlessly gave in with a disapproving shake of her head and said, "If you must."
They walked in the cool sunshine to the open gates of the park, to the bustling of bodies jogging, walking, stopping and talking. It was as if the park had been closed all year and today was opening day and buy one get one free admission. There were bodies flung on the grass, and the smell of humans in the air. Street performers danced, played guitar, played sitar, performed magic tricks and juggled for amusement and spare change. David coaxed Art into throwing a dollar bill in a couple of instrument cases. "It's difficult work being a struggling musician," she reasoned.
They continued on the pathway, across a bridge, over the water. Music carried over the breeze and they followed it to the castle, to Shakespeare Garden and a court of people dressed in their finery. The music belonged to a four-piece band with an additional brass section. The guests danced in a line, snaking their way through the garden, appendages akimbo. The snake wound its way on its belly full of legs, and as it approached David and Art, it took the form of a train, a compartment door opening and swallowing the pair who showed little resistance.
"All aboard," shouted a woman in a black gown, her feet bare, heels thrown somewhere she would think about tomorrow morning in her hangover. She grabbed Art's hand and pulled him in, placing her hands on his shoulders, steering him while she sang along with the band. She yelled in his ear, "Come on ride the train, ride it," in her best seventies disco impersonation.
David faired better, a few paces ahead, bounding along with the guests, striking a pose, her train dance perfected in her ice blue suit. She looked like she had stepped out of an episode of Soul Train, her dancing authentic, not retro. She looked back at Art and waved. He waved back, tripping over his feet, trying to find a rhythm in this awkward ritual. He tried emulating the feet in front of him, but as soon as he found the pattern, the music changed and all around him bodies were jumping like rabbits in a bunny procession. Art found his feet, and joined the dance. When the bunnies stopped hopping, the conga line continued, until bride and groom dismantled the centipede to cut their cake.
Art's partner took him to her table and flounced down in a chair, pulling him down with her. He sat next to her and watched for David. He thought he'd be able to pick her out quickly in her ice blue suit, but the more he watched for it, the more he noticed many people wore the same ice blue family color. It occurred to him after several reruns of the same dress that it was the color of the wedding party, and extended to many of the guests as well.
The woman pulled her dark hair into a ponytail and slung it over her shoulder. She stared at Art for some time, squinting. "Are you with the bride or the groom?" she asked. "I don't remember you from the rehearsal dinner. Not that I remember much from the rehearsal dinner," she snorted.
"Oh, I wasn't at the rehearsal dinner," Art said. He wasn't exactly crashing the wedding, as he and David were reigned in to the dance party by this woman, but he still wasn't sure how to address the question.
"Yeah, Wednesday is a weird day to have one," she said. "And Thursday's a weird day to get married, don't you think?"
"I don't know," said Art. "I don't know much about weddings."
"Most people get married on the weekends." The woman puckered her lips in thought for a moment, then turned to Art with her eyes wide, "I betcha Hailey's knocked up, that's what it is. They had to book anything they could get." She leaned back and laughed. "Oh, that is so Hailey. I can't wait to tell Sofie."
Art didn't know how to reply, so he just sat and waited.
"Do you know Sofie?" she asked.
He shrugged, shook his head.
"Oh no!" she gasped, hand to her mouth. "You're Justin's friend, aren't you? Oh my god, pleased don't tell him I said anything. Oh my god, Hailey's going to kill me! Promise you won't say anything to Justin, okay?"
"Uh, okay," said Art. That was easy. He looked around. Where was David? This sea of blue was unnerving, losing her in a crowd.
There was a chinking of wind chimes – David's laugh? Art strained his eyes. Not David's laugh. People all around clinking their flatware on their glasses. A kiss from the married couple. Applause. That guy who always whistles through his fingers. A single clinking of a glass and a voice on a microphone. A wait staff member handed Art and the woman each a glass of champagne. The lead singer of the band spoke. "Now it's time for the father of the bride to say a few words."
Art looked up at the main stage and watched as the father in his icy blue tuxedo took the microphone and addressed the guests. Like an awards speech, he thanked a cluster of people by name, told a funny anecdote, made fun of the groom, praised his daughter, teared up. Art watched him motion to the bride, who was standing right next to David. She had her arm linked with her as if David were her maid of honor. Art stared in disbelief. Applause for the father.
The best man took the microphone and made some crass jokes at the groom's expense, told when, where and how he met the bride, told a couple of tasteless jokes that bombed. Light applause for the best man. Here, here. Drink.
Art nearly choked on his champagne as the best man handed the microphone to David. She held it like an expert, like it was meant for her hand. The guests were silent. David smiled and everyone relaxed. Everyone except for Art, whose stomach churned and heart knocked around in his chest like a pinball. David brought the microphone to her polished mouth and spoke, her voice gliding over the speakers, through the crowd like a lullaby. "Thank you, Raavi, that was...uh...something." Everyone laughed. Raavi laughed. "Did you know that true love is not a fairy tale, not a myth romanticized by poets and musicians? True love is all around! Look around! Hailey and Justin obviously, but look at Hailey's mum and dad. Look at Justin's grandparents. Oh, Hailey and Justin come from a long line of true love, and it's only going to get better! I've loved. All I've needed: love. And Hailey, dear Hailey, from a small town girl who read all the fairytales, but never believed in true love. Not until she met Justin. And Justin, overcoming so many hardships, never thinking he would find true love, and here she is. So raise a glass to love, and to two of my favorite lovers, to Hailey and Justin!" She raised her glass and everyone cheered. They clinked their glasses with their forks and Justin and Hailey kissed. Art saw diamonds in David's eyes that spilled over onto her cheeks. But she brought the microphone back up to her mouth and shouted, "Now let's get this party started!" The crowd roared. The drummer played a beat, the bass player plucked some notes, the guitar wailed. David sang.
Art sat transfixed, watching David Bowie on stage, singing, dancing, wooing the crowd. This wasn't a wedding reception. This was a rock concert, and David was in her element. She strutted across the stage, sang with the guitarist. Art thought he saw a row of groupies rush the stage. Was she? Yes, she was singing a Bowie song. Of course she was. Modern Love, how apropos, thought Art. Then realized it was probably just a standard wedding reception song. Did David sound just like his previous incarnation? He strained to listen, not that she was quiet. The open park left the acoustics much to be desired. The backing band sounded like a backing wedding band. It was good, but it was definitely a wedding band. Art listened to David's voice. Her soft voice projected over the speaker and did sound like a more feminine version of David Bowie. The hairs on the back of Art's neck and on his arms rose in a chill.
The crowd danced. The woman next to Art stood up and dragged him back onto the dance floor. She gyrated, threw her hands up in the air, closed her eyes, swayed her head. Art stepped back and forth in place and clapped his hands to the beat. He knew he looked like a middle aged man trying to dance, but, hell, he was a middle aged man trying to dance.
Art heard a terrifying sound and thought he was about to be trampled by trumpeting elephants, but it was a band of bridesmaids and bride's friends rushing to the woman dancing with Art. They all spoke at once in high-pitched tones, squealing and screeching. The woman waved to Art as the group absorbed her and moved on in their trumpeting tumbleweed.
The song ended with uproarious applause. David took a gracious bow and was reluctant to give away the microphone. She said some words to the guitarist, the intended lead singer. He nodded and strummed a few chords. David put the microphone back up to her mouth and spoke to the crowd. "I'd like to sing a very special song this evening, one that I hope you'll love as much as I do. This is The Wedding."
The drummer hit the snare and toms, kicked the bass pedal. The bass player thumbed his strings. The guitarist strummed some chords. As she began to sing, Art was sucked into a tunnel, he saw David in the spotlight, but this time it was David Bowie as Art remembered the star. He stood in his ice blue suit and the sang the lyrics. Although Art could no longer see the crowd, he could feel them surging, he could feel the blood in everyone's veins as it rushed through the bodies, carrying David's voice, feeding them. When the spirit sang the words, "Angel for life," he became Art's David again, so beautiful and golden, like an angel. He felt every molecule of air around his body, felt it as he breathed it in and out. He felt like his body disintegrated into the atmosphere and he became one with the heavens. "Angel for life." He floated to the stars. "Angel for life." He floated to Mars. "Angel for life." He floated until he bumped into the side of the moon, but it was not the moon. It was the woman in the black dress.
"Dance with me," she ordered, and he did. She rested her head on his shoulder, so warm and comforting. He held her firmly and they danced. Couples around them danced, and the group of relatives and friends and lovers and strangers became one, a giant organism of carbon and water, blood and dreams. David conducted the beautiful beast with her voice, coaxing it to tears. Art felt them well up in his eyes, saw them glistening in the eyes of his partner and in those around him. "I believe in magic," sang David. So do I, thought Art. So do I, thought the creature. And the song was over. And the spell was broken.
The woman in the black dress fell back in with her girls. Art hurried to meet David walking off the stage. "What was that?" he asked, breathless.
"Wasn't it brilliant?" exclaimed David. "Oh, I haven't felt that good in so, so long."
"You were amazing, really," said Art. "But how did you, do you know them?"
"I do now," said David. "The wedding party thought I was with the band, and the band thought I was with the wedding party! Ha! Can you believe it? What did you think, really?"
"I thought it was incredible!" Art emphasized. "You're incredible! Now aren't you happy you came to the park?"
"This was much better than throwing a Frisbee."
Bowie, David. "Ashes to Ashes." Lyrics. Scary Monsters (And Super Creeps). RCA Records. 1980.
Bowie, David. "The Wedding." Lyrics. Black Tie, White Noise. EMI, 1993.
Bowie, David. "The Wedding." Lyrics. Black Tie, White Noise. EMI, 1993.