Wedding Guests - Johnny & the McGuires

Like a fish that’s waterless.

Sporting the demeanor described by Geoffrey Chaucer in his work The Canterbury Tales, the gent, bookended by identical females, strolled in with other first arrivals. As best man duties demanded the surrender of an empty jigger once filled with shared pre-celebratory scotch, Scott’s knuckles double-tapped his father’s upper arm. “I believe it’s time to welcome the guests.”

“Yoo-hooooo! Scooott! 

Ah, the McGuire twins. A nodded smile and wave signaled acknowledgment of Madeline and Maura’s customary chorused greeting. Still unable to tell the two girls apart without the examination of name-engraved lockets situated enticingly above enough visible cleavage to stir a man’s imagination, Scott relied on his own prevailing response. “Ladies, lovely as always. Welcome.” A confused pose then settled on the gent to recall a name. “Sir, I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“Oh, Scott!” Madeline-might be-Maura tittered. “It’s Johnny! Doesn’t he look simply… ” 

“Diviiiiiiiiiiine!” Maura-may be-Madeline’s gushing elongated exclamation forgot it was to be a question.

“This is my little brother?” In truth, relinquishing his standard concho pants and embroidered shirt for a tailored suit and silk ascot, Johnny did look… well… 

The McGuires released the firm grips on their escort’s arms to allow poetic justice from Doubting Thomas. Circling the fella, Scott relied on words spoken in the past.

“Elegant.”

Pause.

“Breathtaking.”

Pause.

With a lopsided grin, the fish dove back into comfortable waters of brotherly rib-poking, ushering in permission. “Go on. Say it.”

Placing hands on hips, Scott ceremoniously delivered the final jest coming home to roost.  “You are pretty!”

“Oh, Scoooott!” McGuire Number One began. “I simply adore your… ” Time stood still in a momentary void of adoration placement as the girl’s eyes danced about, deciding what physical attribute to choose from the man in front of her.

“Humor!” McGuire Number Two’s revelation permitted the sun to continue its path across the heavens.

Speaking of humor, American humorist, Josh Billings, once wrote - There are two things in life for which we are never truly prepared: twins. Scott felt certain the man’s perspective on the subject was that of a parent, however, when it came to the McGuires their influence was far-reaching. Conversing with the gals Scott placed at the top of the list of his never fully prepared. Past interactions proved challenging with one young lady always initiating a comment and then drifting off, leaving the thought dangling until her sister provided an ending. Today would be no different.

“The Westcott Vineyards are simply…. ”

“Exquisite.”

“And the wedding decorations. So… ”

“Charming.”

“I hear today’s guests are rather… ”

“Aristocratic.”

“Why, do I spy a….”

“Punch bowl!” Smiling, Scott signaled one of the day’s servers to approach. “These two lovely ladies are a bit parched from their journey. Would you be so kind as to guide them to the refreshment table?”   

“Oh, Scott! You’re so… ”

“Accommodating.” Maura-most likely-Madeline’s breathless delivery accompanied by fluttering eyelids and seductive smile awarded the word a promotion when referring to the various options regarding thirst-quenching.

“Do you remember my reasonin’ on askin’ the McGuire Magpies?” Fleeting recollection pinched Johnny’s expression as the girls floated off while continuing their mode of chattering with the head-bobbing waiter; current victim of the never fully prepared.

“I do. Admiration of their quiet demeanor, refined etiquette and stimulating grasp of the King’s English.”

Silence suggested rewording.

“All right.” Crossing arms, Scott observed a small herd of gentlemen already lassoed by the twins’ act of sipping punch and fanning their lockets. “You find their well-endowed contributions to nature’s landscape enchanting.”

“I do believe my brother’s silver tongue has found the answer.”

“That may be the case but it still struggles to correctly identify them without close inspection.”

“Well, the way I see it, a man can’t be slowed down over small details like that.”

“Noted.”

Hooking thumbs at his waist, Johnny’s outward appearance was one of a casual onlooker. “Grape Crusher’s got himself quite the shindig goin’ on here.” The statement’s matter-of-fact delivery cloaked any possibility of its owner sounding impressed. 

“Indeed he does.”

“Seen Half-pint?”

“I have.”

“Bet she’s cute as a button.”

Cute as a button. His brother’s out-of-character description always painted a smile on Scott’s face, although not recently. Johnny’s usage of the phrase had diminished as Kinsey’s infatuation with the younger Lancer evolved into friendship and nothing more. “My cousin will be making for a very cute button when walking down the aisle.”

“How ‘bout The Little Minnow from Sacramento. She plannin’ on swimmin’ by so we can do a more proper introduction?”

Grape Crusher… Half-pint…

Little Minnow.

Scott side-glanced his brother and the latest nickname added to his repertoire. The inspiration for Emily’s now-established handle? Johnny’s thoughts on lobster can-o-peas humorously dubbed Minnows on a Biscuit. “I did properly introduce you to Miss Browning.”

“I was standin’ behind a changin’ screen at the monkey suit shop with a breeze ticklin’ my asscrack.”

“I don’t see the problem.”

“Don’t see the problem? You sayin’ that’s been a common occurrence in your travels when meetin’ a female?”

“I’m saying, in my travels, that occurrence has never been limited to haberdasheries… ” Grin. “Thus, never a problem.” 

Johnny pulled the trigger on a snorted laugh aimed at the cerulean blue sky. “Well, all right. But don’t wait too long to bring the little lady around. Not sure I can keep lookin’ pretty cause -” A shift in stance readjusted trouser inseam distribution. “I do believe that tailor’s tape measure was missin’ a few inches.” 

“Yooo-hooo! Johnny!” With pinkies daintily extended, the McGuires held up their cups as if toasting their current social climbing adventures with the day’s aristocratic guests. 

A query punctuated Johnny’s slow exhale of puffed cheeks. “Think there’s a table somewhere supportin’ somethin’ stronger than what’s in that punch bowl?”

Placing hands on hips, Scott squinted in the direction of female yooohoos and pondered the dilemma. “As a matter of fact, I left our father in charge of such a table.” 

The twins’ escort offered a tip of an imaginary hat ‘n nod salutation. “Be right there, darlin’s. Gonna go pay respects to my pa.”

Scott’s eye roll blessed his younger brother’s solicitude. “This way, dutiful son.”

A snap of fingers brought about a reminder. “Forgot to tell you - snagged nine Showdown at Apple Pie Gulch at Hargis’ store.”

“Wait.” Scott’s strides halted as Johnny’s quest for refreshment took another step or two. “Don’t you mean ten?”

A slow turn on heels addressed the needed correction. “Nope. Nine.” 

“Nooo. Ten.”

Held up palms displayed ten digits before the tuck of a right thumb. “Niiiine.”

“Dammit. Beadle Publications send ten copies in their shipments.” Scott swung his arm out in front of him, emphasizing the obvious. “Someone bought a copy before you got there.”

“Nah” Mirroring his brother’s gesture, Johnny’s outstretched arm countered with his own theory. “Hey, maybe ol’ Beadle counted wrong.”

“Maybe.” Doubtful.

“Well, who buys those dime store novels anyhow? Sure ain’t Widow Patterson. Can’t see the Doc havin’ an interest for that kind a readin’. Maybe Val.”

“Maybe.” Good chance.

“Hell, though, if it been Val, he’d be handin’ Murdoch a hammer to nail our backsides to the barn door.”

“Maybe.” Definitely.

“Maybe some dumb kid bought the copy. Won’t figure it out.”

Unless that kid was Ben Hillard. The 14-year-old would correctly identify J.S. Lance’s dime store characters by the end of the first page and then gleefully share the discovery with his older brothers. “We’re piling up quite a few maybes here.” Scott stared at a floating cloud momentarily passing in front of the sun, casting a dark shadow over the brothers. Mother Nature was adding her two cents to the situation. “Dammit.” Repeating the profanity felt good but provided little resolve. “Guess we let it ride for now and enjoy the day.” 

“Well, who do we have here? If it isn’t the Lancer Boys!”

The hard slap between Scott’s shoulder blades landed a tad past friendly. Seeing Johnny’s defensive reaction of a raised fist indicated he’d received the same.

Owner of the ambush greeting: Will Jenkins.

William S. Jenkins had stepped off the stagecoach to join his father, Dr. Samuel Jenkins, the same day the editor of the Green River Gazette hung up his ink roller.

The good doctor decided his son needed a change of scenery when Will’s job as a reporter for the St. Louis Daily Call became less than optimal. Breaking the heart of the publisher’s daughter can do that to a man’s career.

It didn’t take long for the young Jenkins to step into the role as new editor for the Gazette. Will’s charismatic personality fueled the newspaper’s popularity which, in turn, led to the man’s fruitful bid as mayor of Green River.

The Lancer boys never saw eye to eye with the young editor and elected town official. However, Sam Jenkins was a respected friend, so Murdoch’s sons got along with Will by simply not crossing his path. The Fine Art of Avoidance worked well until the fired reporter from St. Louis had set his unsuccessful sights on Kinsey. The Noble Talent of Tolerance became the new strategy when dealing with Will who Scott still considered to this day a conceited blowhard.

“Hello, Will. I’d say good to see you but having Westcott’s best man struck by lightning might ruin the festive mood.”

“Ah, that’s what I like about you, Scott. Always ready for a gentlemanly duel of wits. Unlike your little brother here, standing with only a fist cocked.”

“Better than bein’ half-cocked. By the way… ” Johnny peered behind Jenkins. “Where’s the Green River gal you’re going to disappoint in the hayloft tonight?”

“Well, John, I decided to travel solo in order to rescue the McGuire twins growing weary of having their toes trampled by your two left feet on the dance floor. Being an outstanding elected official in the community it’s the least I could do.” Jenkins brushed off a bit of lint from his suit sleeve. “However, that’s not my top priority for today.”

“Oh?” Scott’s arched brow insisted on additional sarcasm. “Hoping for another kick to the shin from my little cousin for old time’s sake?”

“Lancer. I think we can all agree we should set aside those childish antics of long-ago.” Jenkins’ hand smoothed out the front of his silk vest. “I understand Leland Stanford and his lovely wife will be attending the wedding today. I’d appreciate an introduction.”

“Introduce yourself, Jenkins. You’re never at a loss for words.”

“That is a fact, my vocabulary skills are quite impressive, which is why it only makes sense to set my sights on a higher rung of the political ladder. Nevertheless, being more than a passing acquaintance with the Stanfords, an endorsement from you- ”

“Endorsement? My God, you must be kidding!”

“Might want to reconsider your hasty response. Riding my coattails in the arena of Sacramento politicians could serve you well. Of course, you’d start out as my speech writer but there’s always room for advancement.”

Scott’s belly laugh bounced off the growing frown on the Green River Mayor’s face.  “Will, you’re casting a fishing line with the wrong bait.”

“Really?” Jenkins reached inside his suit pocket and pulled out a dime store novel. “I dunno. Confidence is high this bait will hook me a couple of little fishies.”