The story of our wedding could begin in many places. There was March 2016 in Buenos Aires at a bistro in Palermo Hollywood called Comité, where Brian smiled across our candlelit dinner table and floated the question. (Indeed, it was a moment Jim memorialized on TripAdvisor.)
Another possibility: Later that year, in Louisville at Le Relais restaurant with Andrew and Stephanie. We hadn’t set a date or a venue when Brian raised the dicey question of a guest list. If he invited his favorite Kindred co-workers, would he then be obligated to also invite several he wasn’t as close to? That’s when Stephanie said: Hey, it’s your special day and your wedding, so you should do what you want.
At that point, Brian was already deferring to Jim, pointing out this would be Jim’s first wedding vs. Brian’s third — a sweet and ultimately deciding factor. That’s when Jim suggested a quicky ceremony, maybe at City Hall, or perhaps the iconic St. James Court fountain, where we first met.
But Brian’s many in-town relatives would have felt hurt if we left them out. And Jim’s family in Adamsville couldn’t travel to Louisville, given Raine’s then-fragile condition. In fact, with Raine in mind, we briefly considered Adamsville. But R.I. marriage law required that Brian produce a divorce document we doubted even existed.
Then, after a brief Internet search, the easiest and suddenly obvious venue emerged: Provincetown, one of the most gay-friendly places on the planet. Under Massachusetts law, we would hardly even need photo IDs, much less Kentucky divorce documents. All that was required was a promise on our marriage license application that we were legally adults, and not already married to anyone else.
We decided on the simplest ceremony possible: just the two of us, plus an officiant and a photographer. We chose late September for two reasons: The typically beautiful fall weather in New England (more on that later), and the urgency of Raine’s rapidly declining health.
But who would officiate? Another Internet search led to Get Married in Ptown, and a French-American minister and part-time mystery writer, every bit as colorful and quirky as the town itself.
“Hello, Jeannette de Beauvoir,” Jim wrote in an email that August. “My partner and I are planning on getting married in P-town on Sept. 29. We’re looking for someone who might be available that day to marry us. (I mean, make it legal!) Are you available?”
She was! Plus, she had a photographer to recommend, and an outdoor setting: Suzanne’s Garden on Commercial Street in the East End, a small public park modeled after Claude Monet’s garden in Giverny.
The exact date would be dictated by Massachusetts law: a minimum three-day waiting period after the date of application before a marriage license could be picked up. And so we had a plan: apply for the license Monday, Sept. 26, then marry that Thursday.
With such attention to detail, what could possibly go wrong? (Answer: plenty.)
A hotel fit for Vanderbilts
In keeping with a pared-down ceremony, we would dress casually: black jeans, dress shirts, bowties, and (at Brian’s suggestion) one matching item: gray vests from Macy’s. We bought $500 gold wedding bands at Seng, the carriage-trade jeweler on Fourth Street, and had them engraved inside with each other’s names (Brian’s said Jim, and Jim’s said Brian).
We ordered them three weeks in advance. Then, in a heart-stopper, Seng nearly missed delivering them in time for our Friday, Sept. 23, flight to Providence. Sarah met us at the airport, where she gave us the keys to Jack and Raine’s black Volvo station wagon.
From there, we drove to our first stop: the boutique Grace Vanderbilt hotel in Newport, where we spent two days and nights, touring the city and the enormous Breakers mansion, the biggest of the Gilded Age summer homes. (The mansion and the hotel have a shared provenance: the Breakers was built by Cornelius Vanderbilt II, while his son Alfred Gwynne Vanderbilt I built a smaller brick mansion for his mistress that later became the hotel.)
Our room, one of the Captain’s Lofts (possibly Nos. 305, 306 or 307; we can’t remember!), was as beautiful as it was unusual: a two-story suite with a sitting area, wet bar and half-bath on the first floor connected by stairs to a bedroom and huge full bath on the second.
We had drinks on the rooftop deck, with views of the harbor, followed by dinner at the famous White Horse Tavern. (Established in 1673, its history turned out to be much better than the food.) Breakfast in the hotel’s solarium was best.
Sunday, we started the 119-mile drive east to P-town. First, though, we made a bittersweet stop in Adamsville so Brian could visit Jack, Sarah, and Raine. At 86 years old, Raine was bedridden, with little time left. But she was elated to see us, knowing we were about to be married in a place she’d always loved. As Brian said goodbye, Raine reached for his hand and said: “Take care of James.”
Introducing Parties A and B
At P-town’s Crowne Point hotel, the reception clerk upgraded us to a second-floor room with a fireplace, and a small balcony overlooking the terrace and pool.
First thing Monday, we headed to Town Hall to apply for our license. A clerk there knew what we wanted immediately; our giddy grins gave us away. “You only have to make one decision,” she said. “Who will be Party A, and who will be Party B.” (Reflecting the new state of marriage, the application didn’t use the words “bride” or “groom.”) Jim would be A, and Brian B. We took a selfie with our application.
Back at the hotel during a wine and cheese reception, we met two colorful Brits, Allan and Peter, from Manchester. A bottle or two of wine later for everyone but Jim, the four of us rolled down the hill for dinner at Cafe Heaven. Then our new friends wanted to watch that night’s presidential debate; Jim nudged them, along with Brian, toward a bar right around the corner from the hotel. (Later, recalling a promise once made to Brian after a memorable Derby party in 2015, Jim returned to the bar to take him back to the hotel before he got into too much more trouble.)
What if it rains?
Organizer though he may be, Jim hadn’t considered a bad-weather Plan B. Rain was forecast all week, with temperatures in the high 50s and low 60s. Suzanne’s Garden, it turned out, didn’t have any shelter. So Jim and Brian spent the next three days walking the length of Commercial Street, looking for an indoor space. We were turned away by two churches (irony!), and a nearby guesthouse. Our own hotel wouldn’t work. The library took pity on us, saying we could use a quiet upper-floor space. And there was always Town Hall itself. Unfortunately, none of those would make good photo backdrops.
But the weather improved by Wednesday, the night before our ceremony, when we had dinner at Joon Bar and Kitchen in the West End. (Our wedding day dinner would be at Jimmy’s Hideaway.) Just to play it safe, we bought two rainbow-colored umbrellas at Marine Specialties; on a gloomy day, they’d provide a cheerful burst of color.
We had seen Jeannette’s photo online, but meeting her in person was a classic Provincetown moment: Probably in her late 60s, she had a thatch of orange-red hair, and wore vestments of purple and black. We also met our photographer, Gregg Peterson, who lived nearby with his husband.
It didn’t rain! And the overcast skies provided the perfect light for lots of shadow-free photos.
The garden still had a few late-season blooms when we gathered before a small, vine-covered gazebo at 2 p.m. Jeannette checked to make sure our license was valid, then asked to see our rings, which she held aloft in the palm of her left hand while she read from her prepared texts:
“As circles have no beginning and no end, rings have naturally come to symbolize eternal love within the union of mind, body, and spirit that constitutes the sanctity of marriage. They are freely offered as gifts of faith and hope as visible signs of the promises given this evening. May these rings be blessed and hold the dreams Jim and Brian share for their union. May the shiny metal mirror the sacred vows made between them, now and forever.”
And then came the moment we once hardly imagined:
“Brian,” she said, “do you take this man, Jim, to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, for richer and for poorer, in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, and only allowing death to separate you?”
Brian said: “I do,” as he placed a ring on Jim’s finger.
Then:
“Jim, do you take this man, Brian, to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, for richer and for poorer, in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, and only allowing death to separate you?”
“I do,” Jim replied, placing a ring on Brian’s finger.
And then we kissed and hugged, and kissed some more.
We gave Jeannette a thank-you card, with her $300 fee. Gregg, after taking more photos in the garden and a nearby beach, drove us back to the front of Town Hall, where we held hands as we walked Commercial Street, looking every bit a newly married couple. And this being P-town, passersby smiled and greeted us with applause.
It was a picture-perfect end to a wonderful week, on the way to an even more wonderful future.
Fasten Your Seatbelts 