EPILOGUE
In a small salon a stone’s throw from the Pomona room, I nervously rubbed my sweaty hands and almost bit my fingernails, the tips of which were varnished with gold. The little special original Johnny touch who kept an eye on the process and didn’t hesitate to hit me on a place covered with fabric to remind me. “You have a French manicure, damn it! At least try to keep it until you’re crowned!” In the morning, I woke up thinking: D-Day, finally! Johnny had arrived at seven o’clock in the morning on the job! He was beginning to feel the very strong pressure on his shoulders as the official organiser. He’d only had three months to pull off a jaw-dropping marriage, because Carmichael didn’t want things to drag on. My best friend showed up in the room reserved for the preparation of the bride
- Writer
