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‘Oh, how fast the evening passes, cleaning up the champagne glasses’ – Lorde, Sober II (Melodrama)
Beth hated weddings. Not just because they were inherently rubbing her face in at the fact she had no one, but because of that stale musty smell of champagne that wafted around a room. Even when she’d been drinking, Beth hated champagne. It was bitter and fizzy. It felt like it was slowly burning a hole through her stomach lining every time she’d sipped it.
Beth was content being the cynic at a wedding. In a weird way, she enjoyed it. She almost always got put onto a back table, with the rest of the family friend rejects who probably shouldn’t have RSVPed in the first place. Those were the thoughts she had when she sat at Table 19, alone for now, far away from the main tables and even further away from giving a shit.
“Lucky number nineteen, huh?” A voice rang out over the mumbles of the other tables. He sauntered over, glaring at the table number with immense distain. “I should have known.” He smiled at her after he’d said it, but it wasn’t a kind smile—he was pissed.
He sat opposite Beth and aggressively tugged off his cowboy hat, revealing a mop of wavy blonde hair and a moustache on his lip. He unceremoniously poured himself a glass of champagne and downed it in one go. Beth’s nose creased as she watched him smack the empty flute back on the table, letting out a pained ahhh that should have been for being refreshed, but was the exact opposite.
“Groom or bride?” He said, without looking at Beth.
“Bride,” She replied bluntly. “You?”
“Groom,” He replied, tapping his empty glass with distain in his eyes.
For once, Beth found her lips curling into a small smile. She rested her chin on her intertwined fingers, staring at the cowboy man with more interest than she’d expected to have on this day.
“I’m Beth Harmon,” She stuck out her hand quickly, taking him by surprise. He glared at her hand with hesitation at first, as if she was about to betray a man she’d just met, before he tentatively shook her hand.
“Benny Watts,” He replied finally, sending her a quizzical look. “Why do you look so amused?” He let out, retracting his hand and pouring himself another glass of champagne.
Beth’s smile only grew. “I’ve never met someone else who’s just as unhappy to attend a wedding as me. It’s wedding hatred solidarity, don’t you think?” She said, watching as the bubbles ascended in his glass. Benny saw her looking at the glass.
“Did you want some?” He said. Beth immediately frowned, disgusted.
“God, no. Champagne is a fool’s drink. It tastes cheap but isn’t cheap at all,” She let out, unaware that it could have been offensive to Benny in some way. He didn’t take it as so, as the expression on his face transformed into something vaguely interested, less pissed off.
“You’re one of the most interesting women I’ve ever met,” He muttered out, as his eyes tried desperately to soak up Beth. She could see his eyes as they worked tirelessly to divulge who she was, what she did, why she despised events such as weddings and what had possessed her to have such a vendetta against something like champagne.
Beth perked an eyebrow at Benny. “You really say that so openly when you’re the one who wears a cowboy hat, in broad daylight, in New York?” Benny actually laughed at that. It sent a small shiver down Beth’s spine, as his chuckles erupted over their lonesome table.
She found herself smiling at his giggles, eyeing up the way his bony fingers coiled around the stem of his glass, admiring the way his hair fell over his eyes as if he had a secret just waiting to flood out. Benny caught Beth’s eye, shooting her a slightly mischievous smirk.
“This is going to be a better day than first expected.”
As the reception continued, Beth and Benny were pleasantly surprised to realise they were the only people at their table who’d actually attended. Benny shuffled himself round to Beth’s side of the table after his second glass of champagne, coming in close and muttering in whispers.
“See the best man, on the head table?” Benny said, subtly pointing to the head table. The bride and groom sat with smiles, next to the bridesmaid’s, in-laws and of course, the best man. Beth gently nodded, turning back to Benny as if they hadn’t just been snooping. “I went to school with him, and the groom. Bunch of fucking idiots, but I guess so was I,” Beth clung to his every word. “Anyway—when we were seventeen, I was stupid and in love...”
He spoke with a slight New York drawl, but Beth was more concerned with how deep and raw his voice sounded, rather than the accent. She was almost mesmerised.
“... and that prick—God—I found him and the girl I loved in a bedroom at a house party, and, man, I don’t think I’ve ever been more humiliated.” His eyes were full of fire, red and hot and seething. “I don’t even know why I was invited here, to be honest. I haven’t seen either of them in years, not since we all split after high school.”
“Men,” Beth let out. That earned her a glance from Benny. He squinted at her like an unanswered question. “Men,” She repeated, shooting Benny an amused look. “That shit you just described is what they do. I know you are a man, but that’s exactly what you all do. You claim to be friends when it’s all a contest; you claim to care about each other, then get with the girl that one of your supposed best friends’ is in love with. It’s bullshit,” Benny frowned at her disapprovingly.
“Well, go on, then. Hang up your dirty laundry, as well. Why do you hate weddings?” He asked, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms.
Beth looked at him with her chin raised. She swallowed down an invisible emotion that she was determined not to let take her over today, and forced herself to speak.
“Weddings are a family affair,” She said bluntly. Benny chuckled to himself.
“Let me guess—you hate your family? Some unresolved childhood trauma? Some horrible feeling that causes a lump in your throat to form when the father walks his daughter down the aisle?” Beth took his words with a pinch of salt; despite knowing how he’d react after she revealed the truth.
“I’m an orphan.” Beth replied plainly.
Benny’s face flattened immediately. He tapped his glass sullenly as her words sunk in, as the sound of the wedding band played over the mumbles and conversations of the other guests. He looked positively mortified, dipping his head in subtle shame, before he finally looked her in the eye.
He raised his glass of champagne, not daring to move his gaze from Beth.
“To your family,” He said strongly. Beth regarded him, not expecting such a reaction. Most people became awkward after she revealed this fact; not many of them owned up to it so modestly, so humbly. Benny had done just that.
Beth raised her tumbler of lemonade and they clinked their glasses together, both taking a sip of drink. Benny smacked his lips together, squinting at the taste of the champagne.
“Maybe it is a fool’s drink,” He admitted. “I don’t think anyone drinks champagne for the taste, they drink it for the occasion,” He deposited his half empty glass back on the table, staring at it with a newfound clarity that Beth had given him.
They chatted for another hour about drivel, laughing at Benny’s subtle dark humour, relishing in the fact they were in their own little corner, away from the rest of the hubbub, enjoying their lonesome sanctuary and revelling in being the smartest people in the room.
Benny lived in New York City, had for most of his life. He liked reading novels, cynical banter and being the most intelligent bastard in a room. Beth liked the way he described things, liked the way he got so caught up in a story that his brain fired words at his mouth too fast for him to speak.
“I never asked how you know the bride,” He said suddenly, nursing his new drink of a beer. He sent her a knowing stare, promising that he wouldn’t assume anything like he’d done before. Beth sent him a small, amused frown, raising her eyebrows at him.
“We used to hang out together in high school—or something,” Beth began, drifting her gaze to one of the upper tables. It was a rabble of girls, all Beth’s age, with none of her sophistication or honesty. Benny followed her eyeline, raising his brows when he saw the table.
“Are they your other high school friends?” He asked gently.
“Not friends; never friends. Girls have a funny way of showing friendship when they’re sixteen. If you’re seen as weird, you’re seen as weird for life,” Beth fiddled with her lemonade glass, turning back to him. “Just like you, I don’t really know why I was invited, or why I chose to come.”
Benny smiled smally, watching Beth tap her glass with distain. He got in closer to her ear, making her spine shiver with every word he spoke. “Have you read The Great Gatsby?” Beth nodded gently, but Benny didn’t move his lips from her ear. “You’re Gatsby, a mystery they’re just trying to solve, the most important one in the room, the one who sees everything,” Beth moved her gaze to his eyes. Benny looked at her with curled lips and sparkling eyes, with a degree of gentleness laced within his usual bombarding nature.
“They’re all Tom Buchanan’s—boastful, liars, making a scene with everything they do.”
Beth stared at him for a few seconds more, indulging in the way his eyes ate her up, the way his words fell into her and activated something much stronger, something much more beautiful and wonderful than she’d expected herself to ever feel.
“Gatsby dies at the end,” Beth almost whispered. Benny let out a single chuckle.
“Then, I suppose, I’m Nick Carraway. Driven mad by losing a most spectacular friend,” Benny added, and Beth couldn’t help but smile. The way he spoke, the way things sounded coming out his mouth; it was mesmerising.
“So, we’re friends now, huh?” Beth perked up, sitting up straight again, realising that Benny had pulled her attention away from the table of girl’s out of kindness.
Benny raised his beer to his lips. “Yes, I think so,” He took a gulp of beer, smiling at Beth as he did so. He swallowed, sending her a quizzical look. “Unless you’re content with this wedding being part of all the other shit ones you’ve already been to?”
Beth regarded Benny, and came to a conclusion immediately—
He was flirting. And, god forbid, she kind of liked it.
“Fine,” She replied, leaning her cheek on her hand and looking at him playfully. “We’re friends.”
“Ladies and Gentlemen!” A voice spoke up from the head table, bringing Benny and Beth back into the room, much to their dismay. “Please join the bride and groom for their first dance...”
Beth was the first to roll her eyes. Benny was the first to chuckle at her reaction. They both stood reluctantly, moving about a meter away from their table and crossing their arms, eyes plastered on the dancefloor. The bride and groom made their way to the dancefloor, as happy smiles and sparkling eyes glittered over them both. A ballad began playing as they started the slow dance.
“I’ve always found this tradition embarrassing,” Beth whispered, just loud enough for Benny to hear. “Who wants to dance in front of a room of people like this?”
“Narcissists, professional slow dancers, people who’re in love?” Benny replied. Beth tried to stifle a laugh, but it came out her nose instead, like a foghorn. A few people turned around at the noise, and she composed herself as quickly as possible.
Eventually, more couples and groups emerged onto the dancefloor to join the bride and groom. They giggled and fumbled with hand holding, one guy started doing the funky chicken on his own, and then the music changed to an upbeat tune suddenly.
The room erupted into cheers and roars as more and more guests made their way onto the dancefloor. A feeling washed over Beth, as her and Benny stood at the edge of the room. Would he ask her to dance?
No, of course not.
Benny was the first to move, clearing his throat abruptly. Beth held her breath as he stood in front of her, hand outstretched and boyish smirk on his face. “Would you care to dance, madam?” He said smoothly. Beth’s heart began to beat tenfold beneath her chest—it wasn’t often she was flirted with like this, nor was it often that she found herself getting butterflies from said flirting.
Benny Watts was something else. A dapper gentleman in a cowboy hat disguise, a cynical madman with the wit and style of an early 30’s philosopher. Who the fuck was Benny Watts?
“Do friends dance together?” Beth hit back with, forcing herself to stay calm and composed.
“Well, who else would you dance with at this wedding?” Benny replied, keeping his hand out for her to take. “An enemy? Surly not. A lover? Perhaps, if you had one here,”
“How do you know I don’t have a lover here?” Beth said, starting to lose her cool at his smooth words and gentle coaxing. Benny smiled at her gently, his eyes beaming. It was enough to make the butterflies in her stomach explode.
“Because you’re with me,” He said it so plainly, so cooly, that Beth could have melted. What was this guy’s deal? Why did she suddenly find herself attracted to a man with a fuzzy blonde moustache on his lip, chains around his neck and a cowboy hat that usually sat atop his head? It was almost unheard of.
A horrible thought had entered Beth’s mind before she could say yes—
Wedding flings were a thing. They were a thing that, if you were carefree and emotionally unavailable, perhaps you’d enjoy. But Beth wasn’t any of those things. The butterflies in her stomach and obvious gravitational pull to Benny was enough to spike her anxiety to the point where she was already imagining scenarios of the worst possible outcome.
They sleep together, and in the morning, Beth finds him gone with no note, no number—
They dance now, and Beth steps on his toes and scares him away—
Benny gets drunker and drunker, and somehow spills that he likes her, and scares her away—
There were too many options for things to go wrong. There were too many options for this wedding to quickly become the worst one on Beth’s already shocking list.
“You find someone to dance with,” She said, as cheery as she possibly could. “I’m going to have a cigarette and get some time away from the smell of champagne in this room,” Benny’s face slowly dropped as Beth smiled at him smally, before turning on her heels and walking away.
She walked out of the function room, finding her way outside to the grand gardens at the venue. She lit her cigarette, breathing in the smoke until it felt like her lungs would give way, before exhaling slowly. Nicotine rushed to her head, her limbs felt invigorated, and her head was ready to crumble under the weight of her heart.
Beth had known Benny for what, three hours? He could be a psychopath, he could be a serial killer—she didn’t know him, and that was enough to stop her from falling for him completely.
Men, she thought. It’s always the ones you least expect.
Despite this being the least lonely she’d felt at a wedding, she somehow wished she’d never met Benny here. She somehow craved the loneliness of being left in the shadows on the last table, the forgettable small talk with other table guests, the disgust she felt whenever someone downed their glass of champagne.
God forbid, someone tried to get through her almost indestructible emotional shell.
God forbid, she actually found herself liking someone’s company, and they hers.
No. This isn’t how it’s supposed to go.
Beth’s defensive walls had been fully erected, as she stood there looking out at the horizon, almost chewing down her cigarette with anxiety. Why was it so difficult to accept that she was, perhaps, enjoying herself? Why did it hurt so much to think about the fact that, one day, maybe she’d have a wedding like this?
When Beth made her way back inside, her heart stopped beating at what she saw—
The bride and groom were doing the rounds—
And they were at Benny’s and her table.
Benny looked positively uncomfortable, but he kept a permanent smile on his face. She saw the way he looked around the room at any moment they weren’t looking right at him, looking for her. He needed back up—Beth forced herself to comply.
She composed herself, forcing a smile onto her face as she glided over to them. The bride’s face smiled with glee at the sight of Beth.
“Beth!”
“Stephanie!” Beth replied, as she was whisked into the arms of Steph.
“I’m so glad you could make it—,”
“No, I’m so glad I could make it,” Beth said, as their somewhat forced and awkward laughter trickled from both of their mouths.
“This is Mason, my husband,” Steph said, clinging onto the groom’s arm. Beth smiled and nodded at him.
“Have you met Benjamin, here?” Mason asked her, and Beth could feel Benny’s gaze on her. Beth looked to him, sending him somewhat apologetic eyes for whatever reason she could muster.
“Yes, we’ve met,” Benny said gently, not taking his eyes off of her. “Lot of time to talk when there’s only two of you on one table,” He added, forcing a smile. Steph swallowed uncomfortably, behind her awkward smile.
“I know...” She strung out her words, like she was whining. “I’m so sorry—but I hope it’s been fun meeting each other,” Steph turned to Mason; he forced another smile and nod. It was a conversation that no one would ever want to have, or witness, honestly.
“It has been fun,” Benny added, his voice genuine once more. Beth’s heart was still beating incessantly beneath her ribcage, despite the talk she’d had with herself outside before. Her body was betraying her own brain.
“Well— I hope you stick around for the cake,” Mason spoke up, smacking Benny on the shoulder a bit too hard for someone who hasn’t seen him in so long. Not to mention, Mason was all muscle and jaw, Benny was tall but lanky, like a fishing rod, not a three-kilogram salmon.
Benny was the first to retreat to the table, grabbing his beer and finishing it in two gulps. Beth nodded goodbye to Steph and Mason as they continued their rounds and slumped in the seat opposite Benny at the table.
“Well, that was sufficiently awkward,” Benny let out, more so to himself than to Beth. Beth sat in silence, staring at the tablecloth and empty places of the other guests at their table. She didn’t know what to say—she didn’t know what would come out if she opened her mouth. “Were the outside gardens nice?” Benny said suddenly. Beth nodded at him once, and he nodded back. He stood up suddenly, grabbing his hat and placing it on his head. “I’ll go for a walk.”
He left without Beth saying anything to stop him. She’d never had an experience such as this, and she felt it was probably the same for Benny. Two broken people, paired together at a wedding that neither of them particularly wanted to attend—
It was stupid to own up to liking a man she’d just met, but that’s exactly what Beth felt. There was a magnitude about him that was drawing her ever closer, that made her want to know more, to see more, to feel more from him—
Benny was wise and funny and carefree. He flirted with ease, he made her blush like it was the easiest thing in the world—
It was scary, for starters, that someone she hardly knew could do that so swiftly. She knew he’d felt the unease from her on the dancefloor before, and for some ungodly reason she felt guilty. Was it normal to feel bad for refusing to dance with an almost stranger? Was it normal to start to have a fancy, a crush, a liking, this quickly?
Beth had never been the relationship type, she’d never been quick to tell whether a man wanted her, and if he did it was usually in a much less subtle way. Benny was kind, soft, paired with a vague ferocity that Beth wanted to know more about—
Maybe she’d blown it by being awkward, by overthinking something before it had begun. Maybe it was simply the place being a wedding that had made her put her guards up more so than usual, but either way, she didn’t want to sit alone at that table any longer—
She wanted to walk with him.
Beth got up swiftly, making her way out to the gardens. The sun was beginning to set across the horizon, covering the sky with a blanket of deep purple. The greens of the rose bushes and trees shone a pleasant pink next to the sky, and Beth wanted to see that reflected in Benny’s eyes.
“Benny!” She yelled, not too loudly, but enough to hopefully alert him. He wasn’t around where she’d had her cigarette earlier, he wasn’t closer to the building either. Beth slalomed between bushes and trees, every once in a while, exclaiming his name once more. She found herself at the entrance of a hedge maze and went straight inside.
She’d never liked kids mazes, they always got on her nerves, but she didn’t care about that as she ran between those hedgerows, going left, then right, then right again, until she’d wound up in the centre of the maze, where a small pavilion stood—
In the window, she saw the tip of a cowboy hat, sitting on the bench inside and watching the sun fade beneath the sea. Beth approached the pavilion, breathless from running around before. When she was in the doorway, staring at the back of his head, she cleared her throat.
He didn’t turn to look at her—she had a feeling that he already knew it was her.
“Can I ask something abrupt?” He said to the sunset, before finally turning to meet her eye. Beth nodded, swallowing down the butterflies making their way up her throat. “What’re you doing after the wedding?”
Benny stood then, sauntering towards her slowly with his hands in his pockets.
“Oh, I—well, I suppose I’ll book a flight home.” Beth replied, surprised.
“Can you stay for the rest of the weekend?” He asked plainly, utterly without hesitation. “Sorry—that may seem, well, out there, but I’ve been enjoying our conversation, and well—,”
“Yes,” Beth replied suddenly. “I can stay. I can find a hotel, or—,”
“You’re free to stay at mine—if you want, but there’s no obligation, or—,”
“No, no—,” Beth interrupted, smiling suddenly. A few chuckles escaped her lips. “That would be great.”
He approached her then, looking down at her with his own smile. It was warming, it was new, but Beth was ready for anything new at a wedding such as this one. Full of bad memories, horrible thoughts, Benny had been the one to cut through that and make her enjoy her time, for once.
“Do you wanna get out of here?” He asked.
“God, yes—that’s the best thing you’ve said all day,” Beth let out, breathlessly. Benny lingered there, and Beth felt the urge to shove her lips onto his. It wasn’t her style, but my god, the urge was there. She wondered if Benny was thinking the same thing, but before she had more time to ponder, he’d brought his hand to her cheek slowly, placing his fingers on her skin and caressing his thumb across her face.
“You’re one the most interesting woman I’ve ever met, Beth,” Benny said, squinting slightly, almost like he couldn’t believe she was real.
“You said that earlier,” Beth replied smally, but her eyes were eating up his face, his jaw, his lips—she wasn’t focused on what was coming out of her mouth whatsoever, especially not when she bridged the gap between them, placing her lips upon his hastily.
She’d never kissed a man with a moustache before, but she didn’t care. Benny was gentle, breathing in through his nose as he leant further into the kiss. The butterflies in Beth’s stomach were going crazy, and when she pulled away, she felt dizzy—dizzy with happiness, excitement; dizzy because she’d never thought it possible to like someone so quickly, so easily.
“Let me show you New York City,” Benny beamed. “Not the shit, tourist places. The good places,” He added, in typical egotistical fashion. Of course, Benny knew all the best places.
“Lead the way,” Beth said, as the two of them turned and left the pavilion.
They made their way back through the maze as slow as possible, hiding around hedge corners and getting genuinely lost at some points, stealing kisses in the dwindling light over Long Island Sound—
Beth thought, while Benny chased her through the grooves of the maze, that perhaps—
Weddings weren’t so bad—
But champagne was still a fool’s drink—
And Beth Harmon was no fool.