When the band played “Hava Nagila,” I tried to leave the room, but some old lady grabbed my arm and forced me on the dance floor.
“I shouldn’t dance. I have a concussion,” I yelled, but the old lady couldn’t hear me over the loud music and clapping.
While I danced, I searched the room for Caleb, but I couldn’t find him anywhere. Then suddenly, my pantyhose started to fall down my legs. I attempted to yank my hands back in order to pull them up, but the old lady and the man on my other side wouldn’t let go. My skirt stopped above the knee and it wouldn’t be more than a few seconds before everyone would notice.
Missy finagled her way between the old lady and me. “Need some assistance?” She giggled.
Missy knew of my aversion to the Horah. She did not however, have knowledge of the pantyhose fiasco about to unfold.
“Missy, I need to get off of the dance floor.”
“Follow me!” she screamed and wrenched me away.
We ran out of the ballroom and straight into the bathroom. Jill had also decorated the ladies room in her wedding theme. The girl hadn’t missed a thing. Other than the Horah, she really knew how to throw a beautifully elegant wedding.
I took off my pantyhose while Missy laughed at me.
“Thank God you saved me! It’s bad enough people almost saw me with my pantyhose down around my ankles. How about if I tripped and everyone discovered I’m not wearing any underwear?”
Missy just gawked at me before bursting out in hysterics. “The one time ... you don’t ... wear underwear and ...” She couldn’t stop laughing.
“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, Fuzzball!” I muttered, quoting Star Wars.
Once she stopped laughing, we returned to the ballroom and discovered the Horah had just finished. We sat to eat our dinner, chicken covered in some sort of sauce. At least I hoped it was chicken. I hate fish, although I was so distracted at my Bat Mitzvah, it wasn’t until the day after my luncheon I realized I ate fish rather than chicken. This time, I checked before I took the first bite. It wasn’t the greatest chicken in the world, but I was hungry enough that I didn’t care.
Halfway through the meal, I turned to Caleb and whispered, “I’m not wearing any underwear.” I knew he’d be shocked, but I didn’t expect him to choke on his chicken.
Coughing and sputtering, he drank an entire glass of water before regaining the ability to breathe again. I didn’t know whether to feel guilty or flattered.
“Everything all right over there?” Goldman asked from across the table.
“Everything’s fine. Caleb just choked on his chicken.”
For some reason, that made everyone at the table laugh.
Caleb cupped my ear and whispered that choking the chicken was a euphemism for masturbation. Then he lightly nipped my earlobe, which sent a tingly feeling all the way down to my toes and distracted me from feeling embarrassed for my lack of knowledge of masturbatory euphemisms.
“Would you dance with me?” I asked Caleb.
“Of course.” He led me to the dance floor and wrapped his arms around me, holding me tight against him. I relaxed against him, all my earlier concerns about our sexual incompatibility forgotten.
“What’s the earliest we can leave without offending the bride?”
“We should at least stay until they cut the cake.” I could always use the excuse I had a concussion, but I didn’t want anyone to know about it. I already had a reputation for being a klutz, but I didn’t need to confirm it.
“Are you really sans underwear right now?” Caleb moved his hand lower and brushed it along my ass. “Yep, no panty lines,” he groaned.
As a new song played, Goldman interrupted our private moment by asking Caleb if he could dance with me. I could tell Caleb wanted to say no, but he’s too much of a gentleman to say. Caleb went to find Missy to ask her to dance while I danced with Goldman.
“Becca seems nice.”
“Yes, she’s very nice.”
“How’d you meet?”
“Sara?”
“Yes, Goldman?”
“Do you really care how I met Becca?” He searched my face for something, but I wasn’t sure of what.
“Of course,” I said, even though I really didn’t. In fact, I had hardly talked to her. She could be the biggest bitch in the world for all I knew.
Goldman chose not to respond to my original question of how he and Becca met. “I see you’re not drinking tonight. Afraid of what you might say this time if you’re drunk?”
I could tell he didn’t mean any harm from his question, but I didn’t feel up to our usual repartee tonight.
“No. My doctor told me not to drink.”