the prospect of actually going through the wedding ceremony with Jorge Del Toro had been a specter floating in the hazy future. But confronting the specific details of the wedding would rob her ethereal phantom of its elusive quality and plunge her into harsh reality.
"Can't it wait?" she resisted sullenly.
"No. We must have the wedding soon, within a matter of days. I must start immediately to make arrangements to transfer my business to the United States. I need my citizenship rights as your husband now. I cannot wait until Gustamente takes office. That would be too late."
JoNell wiped her moist brow. An invisible band tightened around her throat. "All right," she murmured in a resigned voice. "Let's hear it."
From that moment, JoNell's life played like a slow motion movie.
In her mind, Del Toro's words stretched out interminably as he described the simple civil ceremony they would have. She felt herself in a long, dark room, viewing her movements on a small movie screen. From this vantage point, she saw herself choose a lemon-white suit for what was, for her, a wedding in her mind only. She didn't realize that her detachment from the whole situation was a mental trick to preserve emotionally her unmarried state. On paper and in name, she would be Mrs. Jorge Del Toro. But in body and spirit, she fiercely clung to her identity as JoNell Carpenter, unmarried and still entitled, one day, to a full white wedding with a long bridal gown. Technically, she would one day become a divorcee. But her mind would refuse to relinquish her self-image as a never married, single girl.
In her thoughts, JoNell remained in her bedroom for the next forty-eight hours, never stepping outside to accompany Del Toro to register their marriage, not riding in the back of his Rolls Royce to the chambers of a political friend of Del Toro's, a judge, who married them.
There was a dream-like quality to the sequence of events, a defensive state of mind that insulated her from unpleasant reality.
The cold shock of reality washed over her only when she looked down at the third finger of her left hand, and there, next to the costly diamond engagement ring Del Toro had given her, nestled a diamond encrusted wedding band! She stared at the rings. They seemed to weigh her hand down.
Then they were in the limousine. "We will have dinner out tonight," Del Toro said, "to celebrate."
She looked at the tall, elegantly dressed man beside her. A bewildered voice inside her said, this man, this stranger, is
your husband
. She closed her eyes against hot tears that threatened to spill over. "Celebrate what?" she asked dully. "The closing of a business deal?"
Del Toro chose not to reply. He appeared to be in an expansive mood. He gave an order to Miguel in Spanish. The limousine whisked them to one of Lima's elegant dinner clubs. "We must start the evening with a toast," Del Toro exclaimed, and instructed the waiter to bring them two Pisco Sours. "In Peru, everyone drinks Pisco Sours," he smiled to JoNell.
When the drinks arrived, Del Toro touched his glass to hers. "To a happy and pleasant relationship for the next year."
"To a business relationship," she corrected bitterly.
The drink was delicious and deceptively mild. "What's in it?" she asked.
"Pisco is a raw brandy made from grapes and sugar," he explained. "Lemon juice, sugar and a beaten egg white are added to the Pisco and mixed in a shaker with ice."
"It's very good. I think I'd like another."
"Very well, but I should warn you that a Pisco Sour is like a time bomb that may go off later in the evening."
She shrugged away his warning. If the drink numbed her mind, so much the better. It might make this sad evening more bearable.
They had a second round of drinks while Del Toro poured over the menu, then ordered dinner with a bottle of vintage French champagne.
JoNell thought that she could buy a new carburetor for her airplane back home for what the champagne was no doubt costing Del Toro. "I
"Can't it wait?" she resisted sullenly.
"No. We must have the wedding soon, within a matter of days. I must start immediately to make arrangements to transfer my business to the United States. I need my citizenship rights as your husband now. I cannot wait until Gustamente takes office. That would be too late."
JoNell wiped her moist brow. An invisible band tightened around her throat. "All right," she murmured in a resigned voice. "Let's hear it."
From that moment, JoNell's life played like a slow motion movie.
In her mind, Del Toro's words stretched out interminably as he described the simple civil ceremony they would have. She felt herself in a long, dark room, viewing her movements on a small movie screen. From this vantage point, she saw herself choose a lemon-white suit for what was, for her, a wedding in her mind only. She didn't realize that her detachment from the whole situation was a mental trick to preserve emotionally her unmarried state. On paper and in name, she would be Mrs. Jorge Del Toro. But in body and spirit, she fiercely clung to her identity as JoNell Carpenter, unmarried and still entitled, one day, to a full white wedding with a long bridal gown. Technically, she would one day become a divorcee. But her mind would refuse to relinquish her self-image as a never married, single girl.
In her thoughts, JoNell remained in her bedroom for the next forty-eight hours, never stepping outside to accompany Del Toro to register their marriage, not riding in the back of his Rolls Royce to the chambers of a political friend of Del Toro's, a judge, who married them.
There was a dream-like quality to the sequence of events, a defensive state of mind that insulated her from unpleasant reality.
The cold shock of reality washed over her only when she looked down at the third finger of her left hand, and there, next to the costly diamond engagement ring Del Toro had given her, nestled a diamond encrusted wedding band! She stared at the rings. They seemed to weigh her hand down.
Then they were in the limousine. "We will have dinner out tonight," Del Toro said, "to celebrate."
She looked at the tall, elegantly dressed man beside her. A bewildered voice inside her said, this man, this stranger, is
your husband
. She closed her eyes against hot tears that threatened to spill over. "Celebrate what?" she asked dully. "The closing of a business deal?"
Del Toro chose not to reply. He appeared to be in an expansive mood. He gave an order to Miguel in Spanish. The limousine whisked them to one of Lima's elegant dinner clubs. "We must start the evening with a toast," Del Toro exclaimed, and instructed the waiter to bring them two Pisco Sours. "In Peru, everyone drinks Pisco Sours," he smiled to JoNell.
When the drinks arrived, Del Toro touched his glass to hers. "To a happy and pleasant relationship for the next year."
"To a business relationship," she corrected bitterly.
The drink was delicious and deceptively mild. "What's in it?" she asked.
"Pisco is a raw brandy made from grapes and sugar," he explained. "Lemon juice, sugar and a beaten egg white are added to the Pisco and mixed in a shaker with ice."
"It's very good. I think I'd like another."
"Very well, but I should warn you that a Pisco Sour is like a time bomb that may go off later in the evening."
She shrugged away his warning. If the drink numbed her mind, so much the better. It might make this sad evening more bearable.
They had a second round of drinks while Del Toro poured over the menu, then ordered dinner with a bottle of vintage French champagne.
JoNell thought that she could buy a new carburetor for her airplane back home for what the champagne was no doubt costing Del Toro. "I
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