Wedding time. Not Dan's, of course, but that of Marc Chapman's sister, Belinda. Dan and Marc had gone to college together, and he had gotten to know the Chapman family well during the summer months. Though Dan and Marc did not know each other in high school, they did grow up in nearby towns; as such, they saw each other frequently when they were home from school.
The actual ceremony was to be held in a Catholic church in Barrington, where Marc and Belinda grew up, with the reception to follow at their parents' small estate, also in Barrington. Marc and Belinda's aunt, Barbara Harrington, had offered to host the rehearsal dinner at the nearby horse ranch she and her husband owned.
Dan was not part of the wedding party nor was he family, but his relationship with Marc and the rest of the Chapman family was such that he was invited to the rehearsal dinner. He and Marc drove out from Chicago early on the Friday afternoon before the wedding, trying to avoid the traffic on the Kennedy. While Marc attended the actual rehearsal at the church, Dan remained at Marc's parents' house, showering and getting ready for the rehearsal dinner.
Marc's parents dropped him of at their home after the rehearsal dinner, where he and Dan got in Dan's car and drove the few miles to the horse ranch. As they approached the ranch, white fences lined each side of the road. Stretching beyond the fences on each side were acres of lush green grass, horses dotting the landscape.
"Take a right up here," Marc directed. Dan turned onto a macadam driveway that, like the road before it, was bordered on both sides by white fences and rose gently from the road. They drove for a time under a canopy of trees that were rooted between the driveway and the fences.
"How far's the house?" Dan inquired.
"Just over this hill. You'll see it in a minute."
As soon as Dan crested the slight hill they were ascending, the Harrington's home came into view. 'Home' was somewhat of an understatement, though. It appeared closer to a manor, not quite a mansion, and probably approached 15,000 square feet. Gleaming white, the front of the house was actually the back of the house, while the back faced out across acres of horse country.
Dan also noted a number of outlying structures. Off to the left of the house were a large stables; several pick-up trucks and farm vehicles were parked neatly in front of it. Behind the stables was a fenced area, containing a dozen or so horses of various breeds.
To the right of the house was an Olympic-sized pool, a large, slate patio nestled between it and the manor. A hundred yards or so from the pool was a smaller structure that appeared to be a guest residence, or perhaps servants' quarters. Its size was difficult to discern at this distance and angle, but it was larger than most peoples' primary residences and was spread over two floors.
Just beyond the pool was a large tent, bustling with activity. The Harrington's, unsure of what the weather would be like, ensured their guests' comfort this evening by hiring a tent erection company to install the huge edifice in their backyard. Right now, caterers were busy setting up bars and ensuring that the tables were properly set.
"Quite a spread," Dan muttered.
"Yeah, nice place they have. We used to come out here and duck hunt, but that didn't go over very well with the neighbors. Also, not too many ducks," he laughed. "My Aunt Barbara had a bunch of three wheelers for a while that we'd take out when we were growing up, but they scared the horses and Uncle Tom didn't let us use them anymore."
"What a shame," Dan laughed, pulling up next to the Chapmans' car in front of a four-car garage. "All this land and you can't play."
"That didn't stop us. We just took the three wheelers over to my parents' house. No rules there," Marc replied, stepping from the car. Dan followed him into the house and out the other side. Marc's parents and a few family members (from both sides of the bridal couple) had already arrived, and were sipping cocktails on the large patio. The sun had begun to set, and it cast a warm glow over the patio and a reflection across the pristine surface of the pool.
Marc's dad introduced Dan to family members that had flown in for the wedding, and also to Tom Harrington, whom he had never met. Mr. Harrington appeared to be in his early- to mid-sixties, and was overall an imposing man; when they shook hands, Mr. Harrington's engulfed Dan's, gripping tightly. Close-cropped salt-and-pepper hair capped his six-foot-two frame, which resembled that of an aging linebacker.
A waiter in formal livery asked for their drink order as Dan and Marc took seats around the large table, listening as their elders spoke of politics and taxes, and argued (goodheartedly) between Republican and Democratic policies. Dan sat there listening dutifully, and took in the rolling meadow beyond the pool, and the activity within the tent. The caterers began rolling up the plastic sides of the tent in anticipation of guests arriving.
As one of the panels was rolled up, a striking woman in a pale yellow sundress strode from beneath the tent toward the patio. Dan put his glass to his lips as the woman approached the patio, her wavy, light brown hair blowing in the slight breeze, her large breasts bobbing rhythmically beneath the sundress. As she stepped onto the slate, the click-clack of her heels reached Dan's ears, and he looked down, taking in her long, lean legs that ended with sexy feet encased in a pair of sexy Manolo Blahnik open-toed heels, her red toenails gleaming in the setting sun.
"We're all set," the woman announced to the gathered crowd on the patio, her striking smile lighting up a beautifully sculptured face. Her green eyes, set below trimmed and arched eyebrows, sparkled with life. A thin elegant nose led down to her enticing mouth, encircled by full lips smeared with shiny crimson lip gloss. "It's such a gorgeous evening, I told the caterers to roll up the sides of the tent so we can all enjoy the weather."
"Good job, Barb," Tom Harrington said, rising from his chair. "Honey, I don't think you've our man Dan, before. Dan was fraternity brothers with Marc at USC." The Harringtons, like the Chapmans, were big USC supporters. As Dan set his drink on the wrought iron table and rose from his seat, Mr. Harrington continued. "Dan, this is my lovely wife, Barbara." Dan was somewhat taken aback that this lovely creature was Mr. Harrington's wife. She didn't look any older than forty-five and, if Dan had guessed Mr. Harrington's age correctly, that put she and her husband almost twenty years apart.
Before he could reflect further, Barbara Harrington took two graceful strides and was before him as he extended his hand. "Nonsense, our man Dan," she said, laughing. She embraced Dan in a friendly hug, her lustrous hair in his face, her delicious scent wafting through his nostrils as he inhaled. He could feel her soft, full breasts mold themselves to his chest.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Harrington," Dan said, stepping back.
"The feeling is mutual, Dan. If you will excuse me for a moment." Speaking to the crowd, she continued, "I'll be right back. I need to make sure the valets are ready for when the guests arrive." With that, the intoxicating Mrs. Harrington stepped from the patio and Dan watched her disappear through the extra-wide French doors that led into the manor. So as to avoid any impropriety, Dan tore his gaze from her slim bottom as it swayed from side-to-side, and rejoined the conversation.
Soon after, the guests began to arrive in earnest, and Dan and Marc mingled with the crowd during a cocktail hour held on the patio. Dan had met a number of Belinda's friends over the years, and spent time talking with them and their boyfriends, fiancés, and husbands. He was also introduced to late-arriving family members. On occasion, he would catch glimpses of Mrs. Harrington as she, too, mingled. Once, he spied her on the other side of the patio. A champagne glass in her right hand, she brushed a few stray hairs from her face with the other; a four-carat diamond on her left ring finger sparked in the fading light of day. She then brought the glass to her shiny red lips and swallowed some of the sweet liquid, her crimson fingertips lightly holding the glass. Dan looked away too soon to see Mrs. Harrington's gaze momentarily fall upon him.
As the sun passed over the horizon, a ringing of a chime called the guests into the dimly lit tent, where they found their assigned seats. Thankfully, Belinda was kind enough to seat Dan with Marc. He was afraid that he would have to sit with Belinda's friends. They were nice enough, but he couldn't imagine sitting at a table with them for a few hours, listening to all the talk of babies and weddings and such. How boring!
As they sat, Marc introduced Dan to the two or three family members at the table that he had not yet met. They sat back and engaged in the typical banter of family members brought together for such an occasion. Occasionally, Dan was brought into the conversation with questions about his career and how he knew the Chapmans.
At all other times, Dan listened attentively, laughing where appropriate. When the main entrée was served, causing a lull in the conversation, Dan cast his eyes around the tent and they fell on Mrs. Harrington. Sitting two tables over but facing in Dan's direction, he watched as she brought a piece of lobster tail to her luscious red lips, closing them around the tines of the fork. Dan groaned inwardly, and his cock twitched. He had not previously realized how tan Mrs. Harrington was, perhaps too awe-struck by her exquisite beauty to notice. She turned her head in response to something that was said to her, and Dan caught the glint from a large diamond stud mounted in one of her ears.
Dan turned to Marc. "So, what does your Uncle Tom do? This place, and this party . . . it's all pretty amazing."
"Actually, he doesn't do anything. He was a bond trader in the eighties, and made a killing. Now, he just travels and messes around in some small businesses." Marc stuffed a piece of asparagus in his mouth and chewed.
"Have he and your aunt been married a long time?"
"Uuhh, I can't really remember when they got married, actually. Probably fifteen years ago, I guess. I was still in junior high, so that's about right."
"Hmph."
Marc leaned a little closer to Dan, so no one else could hear. "In case you couldn't tell, Aunt Barbara's a trophy wife. Don't get me wrong; she's a great lady and I love her, but she was around thirty or so when they got married, and I think Tom was almost fifty, if not over fifty. I guess he needed a looker on his arm."
