She was unpredictable as a result.
I tried to push Lisa out of my mind, because Kate and I had far too many things going on to let it dampen my mood. Luckily, I was damn good at compartmentalization. I swore I would never keep anything from Kate, and I was determined to tell her about Lisa as soon as our marriage and honeymoon were over, but I did not want to ruin this time for her over a colleague.
So, Thursday night before the wedding, I went on with my life and preparations for my wedding. My bachelor party was pretty lame by most men’s standards, but for me, a once-divorced, once-confirmed never-to-be-married-again kind of man, it was perfect.
Ken, Dave, Colin and I went to an old Italian barber in Chelsea to get a professional shave and haircut. The place was like it had been transported from the ‘20s, with a candy-cane barber pole on the exterior, even rotating. The interior had exposed red brick walls¸ antique mirrors and barber chairs, and thick plank floors. Antique ceiling fans circulated overhead, and the barber looked more like a surgeon or dentist than a stylist, with his crisp white barber tunic. The man who greeted us called himself Mr. Alberto. He resembled someone from Vito Corleone’s extended family, with piercing dark eyes and salt-and-pepper grey hair.
The four of us took our places on the chairs and then three other barbers entered, one for each of us, dark haired and looking like Mr. Alberto’s sons or nephews.
Kate liked me to have a bit of scruff, so I told Mr. Alberto that the whiskers could be trimmed, but they had to stay. Kate also liked my hair a little on the long side, and so I told Mr. Alberto that he could give me a trim, but like Samson, I didn’t want anyone toying with my hair since it pleased Kate the way it was.
“Boy, does she have you wrapped around her little finger,” Ken said with a laugh as we lay back in the barber chairs, long black capes draped around us, waiting for the hot towel treatment.
“She does,” Dave said from the other chair. “Completely and utterly wrapped.”
“Absolutely,” I said with a smile and closed my eyes, waiting for the hot towels.
When Mr. Alberto was finished with me, I glanced in the mirror and saw that I hadn’t been transformed in any meaningful way so hopefully, Kate would be pleased.
I stood up beside my chair after Mr. Alberto removed my cape.
“You look almost exactly like you did before we arrived,” Dave said, standing up beside me. On his part, he had his hair cut and was clean shaven, as were the other three.
“That was the goal.” I slipped on my jacket and waited for Ken to finish paying. It was ridiculous that he paid for our shaves, since I was the one with too much money, but he insisted.
Several hours later, after a steak and beer at a chop house in the Battery Park area, we went to Jerome’s in the Lower East Side, a club that still allowed patrons to smoke cigars. Our limo took us to an old red brick building with a doorman standing in wait to open the massive wooden door. Dressed in red livery with a black top hat, he opened the door and tipped his hat as we went inside.
“Gentlemen,” he said with a smile. “Welcome to Jerome’s.”
A totally masculine décor, with rich dark wood paneling and floors, polished brass fixtures and classic jazz playing in the background, Jerome’s was exactly what I had in mind. Most of the patrons were older businessmen in suits, visiting after their day of merchant banking and high finance. There were a few hipsters there – younger men in jeans and suit jackets, soaking up ambience of a bygone era – but the rest of the patrons were my age or older.
The air was blue with cigar smoke, despite the ornate ceiling fans and what I supposed was a really great exhaust system. We sat at the bar, taking empty stools at one end. The bartender came up to us and wiped down the bar.
“What can I get for you gents?”
“Gents,” Colin said with a laugh. “I like that.”
As usual, I wanted a vodka martini, but Ken protested.
“You always drink vodka. Have some bourbon. A man has to drink bourbon before he gets married.”
“Yeah,” Colin weighed in. “Drake is the most boring customer.”
I sighed and nodded to the bartender, who poured us all shots of bourbon in crystal tasting glasses.
“Cheers,” Ken said and we all clinked glasses and took a sip. The bourbon was good, as bourbons go – rich and smooth with a nice taste. Ken pulled out a box of cigars, and we all took one and lit them, puffing away like we knew what we were doing.
We talked about everything but the wedding – my fellowship at NYU, Liam’s disease and progress, Ethan’s rehabilitation, Dave’s plans for the foundation, Colin’s new plans for the pub, the band and our next few
gigs after I returned from our honeymoon.
“I guess I’m a holdout,” Dave said, holding up his drink. “Still not ready to tie the knot.”
“Is there someone even close to being the type you’d bring home to mom?” Ken asked. Ken had been married for a dozen years and was the most experienced at a successful marriage.
“Drake caught her first,” Dave said with a grin. “I did my best, but she wasn’t that into me.”
“You really liked Kate?” I said, turning to him in surprise. I knew he’d hit on Kate – a lot – before we met but I never thought he was serious about her. “I thought it was just good-natured fun.”