Geren lowered his eyes to the table trying to think of something appropriate to say. “It was . . . was . . . was—”
“Yes?”
“Let’s just say it was different,” he finally uttered.
Tempest laughed. “You’re being kind. This whole day has been like a bad B movie.”
Geren started laughing with her.
“My favorite part,” Tempest continued through her cackles, “was when Curtis had to climb up on the step stool to kiss the bride.”
Geren started laughing so hard then that he had to hold his stomach. “That was wild, but the really off-the-hook part was when people threw black-eyed peas at them when they left the church.”
Tempest gave him a light slap on the arm. “Ha, ha! How about the hoopty they rolled out in?”
“Aw man, who could forget the yellow Charger with empty beer cans tied to the bumper.”
“Did you notice that the t was left out of ‘Just Married’ on the trunk?” Tempest asked through tear-drenched eyes.
“Naw, I missed that one,” Geren replied, trying to bring his amusement under control. He felt bad making fun of people, especially on their wedding day. But in that situation, it really couldn’t be helped. “What I want to know is how brotha man can even drive a car as short as he is. I bet Gary Coleman and Webster both have at least a foot on him.”
“Ooooooohhh, you so crazy!”
Tempest reached for an empty paper plate farther down on the table and started trying to pulverize the fly that was continuing to get on her nerves.
“I know how he drives it, though,” she added. “I got nosy last night at the rehearsal and peeked inside.”
“And?” Geren asked anxiously. For the life of him, he thought it was not humanly possible for a person that short to operate an automobile.
“He has these extension pedals for the gas and brake, and he sits on top of two Power Rangers pillows so he can see over the dash,” Tempest answered, trying to keep a straight face.
“Damnnnnnnn!”
“I know. That’s deep, isn’t it?”
“Deep and then some. I have seen it . . .”
“Excuse me. I don’t mean to interrupt you, but can I ask you a question?”
Geren and Tempest both looked around to see who said this. They even looked under the table, and then Tempest finally noticed some pudgy short legs standing at the north end. She leaned over so she could look over the tabletop and spotted the best man, Raoul.
“Who, me?” Tempest asked, not wanting to be bothered. She was trying to get to know Geren with his fine ass.
“Yes, you,” Raoul replied snidely.
Tempest smirked at him. She was well aware of his reputation and thought it was ridiculous. “I’m not in the market for a well-endowed midget, if that’s what you want.”
“Very funny!” Raoul hissed back at her. “I would never discuss business today. My boy just tied the knot. What type of man do you think I am?”
“Hmph, I take you to be about half of a man, from where I’m sitting.”
Raoul shook his stubby finger up at her. “See, I knew it!”
“Knew what?” Geren asked, finally coming out of his shock-induced trance. All of these midgets were tripping him out, but the well-endowed comment threw him for a loop.
“I knew she was related to those triflin’ Whitfields as soon as I saw her standing in for Marquita last night at the rehearsal!” Raoul replied, crossing his arms in front of him and rolling his eyes.
“My last name is not Whitfield,” Tempest stated with obvious disdain. “In fact, I don’t even know any Whitfields.”