Free The Wishbones by Tom Perrotta Page A

question. He wanted to say, “Of course not,” but realized the moment he thought about it that he didn't know very much about Ian's personal life. In the two years they'd been Wishbones together, Ian had mentioned a couple of ex-girlfriends. He didn't seem to be actively searching for a new one, though, nor was he more than mildly flattered by the number of women who came on to him at weddings (including the legendary mother-of-the-bride). Dave had always assumed that this was because he was used to the attention and accepted it as his due, the way a beautiful woman got used to being stared at every time she walked down the street. But now he wondered.
    “I don't know,” he said. “Do you think he might be?”
    She shrugged. “He's just so different from the rest of you.”
    “How so?”
    “Well, for one thing, he's really handsome. And he's got such good taste in clothes.”
    “Thanks a lot.”
    She patted his knee. “You know what I mean.”
    Dave didn't argue. He knew exactly what she meant. Ian
was
better-looking than the rest of the Wishbones. That was why he was the front man. Generally speaking, people didn't go for ugly singers. The rest of the band could look like a bunch of space aliens and burn victims for all anyone cared, but the singer had to meet certain minimum standards of attractiveness.
    “It doesn't matter to me one way or the other,” she assured him, “but if he's not gay and he's not going out with anyone, I'm wondering if he might hit it off with Tammi.”
    “Ian and Tammi?”
    “It's just an idea. She hasn't gone out with anyone for a long time now. I think she's ready for someone new.”
    Dave liked Tammi a lot, but he couldn't quite see her with Ian. Tammi was funny and cute in a tomboyish sort of way, the kind of person who knew how to make a joke at her own expense. The longer Dave knew her the more attractive she had come to seem to him, but her appeal was subtle, often lost on people meeting her for the first time. Dave figured Ian to go for someone a little more eye-catchingly glamorous, more like Zelack's new girlfriend, Monica.
    “It's never a good idea to fix up your friends,” he pointed out. “Somebody always ends up with hurt feelings.”
    “We just have to find some natural way to introduce them,” she mused. “That's the trick with these things. It can't feel like a blind date or it's doomed from the start.”
    He pulled up to a tollbooth on the Parkway entrance ramp and tossed in thirty-five cents. The exact-change basket was plastered with decals for local bands he had never heard of—the Eggheads, Screaming Willie, Storm Drain. They just kept popping up, these bands, mushrooms of suburbia. Everyone and his brother chasing after the same old dream.
    “You know what you could do?” She smiled at the beauty of what had just occurred to her. “You could ask him to be your Best Man. Then they'd have to sit at the same table and dance together and all that. They wouldn't even know they were being fixed up.”
    “I told you,” he said, “if I ask anyone in the band to stand up for me, it'll be Buzzy.”
    “No way.” She was adamant. “Buzzy is
not
going to be your Best Man. Not unless he gets a haircut.”
    “I can't ask him to do that.”
    “Why not?”
    “It's just not done.”
    “Well, I don't want the first toast of our married life to bedelivered by a forty-year-old man with a ponytail. That's not how I envision my wedding.”
    Dave sighed. “It doesn't matter. I'll probably just ask my brother.”
    “You and your brother don't even talk to each other.”
    “We don't have to. We're brothers.”
    “If I were you, I'd pick Glenn before I picked your brother.”
    “Me too,” he said. “I'd pick Glenn in a minute if I thought he'd be willing to do it.”
    “He'd do it. He wouldn't say no.”
    “I know. But he'd probably hate every minute of it.”
    “Well, you better make up your mind,” she advised him. “September's going to be here before