“Romeo and Juliet rebooted, without the poison-suicide outcome, as we’re here to ensure. Okay. Number one. Where to put them tonight? Easy. The Crystal Phoenix. I have insty connections there.”
“Um … bridal suite, separate rooms?”
“Connecting suites.” Temple made a pussycat face. “They can either go country or pop.”
“I have nothing to say about this except Mom deserves to do whatever she needs. I don’t want to be associated with the, uh, sleeping arrangements.”
“We won’t have to be. I’ll tip off Nicky and Van. They’ll greet them as VIPs and subtly scope out their intentions and fulfill them.”
“Really?”
“Discretion is their job, Matt. Now. Your mother and Philip seem to be in a hurry.”
“I guess they want this fait accompli, both of their families out of it until they return and present a ‘done deal.’”
“Smart. We might take a page out of their book.”
“But … don’t you want the Kate Middleton gown and aisle walk?”
“Of course. In my dreams. Dreams are not where real life abides. What works, works for me. Back to your old folks at home.”
“Not at home. They’ll soon be right here, on our turf.”
“Exactly. Electra would love to work up a quickie wedding that will knock everybody’s socks off, and maybe their shoes too. It’s all drive-by business for her nowadays and her cozy, clever little chapel with the soft-sculpture congregation is gathering dust. Not to mention that darling spinet organ she has there. You could play for the wedding, since you can’t officiate.”
“Officiating is the problem. Electra’s just a justice of the peace. The marriage would be recognized civilly, but without a priest … it’s just silly for people from two Catholic families to do a Vegas wedding. No priest can officiate outside a church. I don’t get what they’re trying to prove.”
“Maybe that they’re two independent people, not an extension of family druthers and pressure. Maybe they just want to make their commitment fun and impromptu before making it official and solemn back home,” Temple finished. “Quit sweating the small stuff.”
“Temple, marriage is a serious step, a sacrament in my church—”
“Take it from a fallen-away UU. These two adults have been through the mill and know what they want … and that’s no family interference, including yours. Although I think your approval and participation would mean a lot to your mother.”
Matt sat back and almost squished Louie, who’d again lofted up during their discussion.
Louie yelped and gave Matt a claws-in bat on the arm to emphasize Temple’s points before jumping down and stalking away again.
Matt leaned back into the soft cushion. “You’re right. I’m freaking. I’m trying to force my concerns on people who’ve been through enough already. I’m really relieved, Temple. My biological parents are much better off apart. So. What can we do to show Mom and Philip a wild and crazy Las Vegas time?”
“That’s better.” Temple smiled and cuddled into his opening arms. The consultation had become a billing and cooing session, as if they were discussing their own wedding arrangements.
“I don’t know,” she said, “what I’d do if my parents were single and embarking on matrimony on my watch. I’d probably freak too. What you will do is calm down and collect the happy couple from the airport. PR whiz here will handle the rest.”
“You’re thinking of having it here at the Lovers’ Knot Chapel?” he asked.
“Perfect. They’ll have that impulsive Vegas feeling, but well in hand. We are talking about folks in their fifties.”
“Who are acting like impulsive kids.”
“When you think about it, they’re being super smart. They don’t need all the family drama and angst. They need to show up back home, decision made, deed done, and get on with their lives.”
“My family was actually upset when Mom called off the marriage,” Matt pointed out, “but the ‘deed’ isn’t done if it’s not performed at a Catholic church.”
“The families will grouse that it wasn’t held at St. Stan’s Cathedral, but older people don’t care for all that pomp and circumstance anyway. A lot of people don’t nowadays, given the economy. There’s a reason so many people get married in Las Vegas. Isn’t there some way they can get the Church to bless their union?”
Matt thought hard for a few moments. “Yes, actually. They could arrange a private marriage with the parish priest afterwards. They’ll have had the honeymoon first, but I was marrying couples who’d lived together and got separate residences three months before the ceremony back when I was still officiating.” Matt got a funny look on his face. “Do you suppose this … tomorrow night, would be their first, uh, time? You know. Together.”
“You are blushing. Probably. From what you’ve told me, they’re both devout rules followers. This whole trip is only because your Mom really wants you there.”
“Why? To okay her … living in sin for a few days?”
“No! To okay her making a good choice for her life going forward … and maybe … to okay your ‘living in sin.’ What is that about, Matt, really? Where’s the sin if labeling people makes a hell of her life and yours? I say the shame is in the labeling.”
Matt was silent for a moment. “Okay. What do we need?”
“While you’re picking and dropping tonight, I’ll alert Van von Rhine at the Phoenix and get Electra on the case here. The only thing that would thrill Electra more would be marrying you and me. First thing in the morning, eight A.M. sharp, we whisk them to the LV Marriage Bureau. They show ID, sign the paperwork, pay a sixty-dollar fee, and they are ready to commit matrimony.”
“You’ve got this routine down.” Matt raised an eyebrow, then ended organizational matters for the time being with a definitely living-in-sin kiss. “How long have you had designs on me?”
He was kidding, but Temple felt her cheeks warm. “Longer than even I knew.”
Well, that called for another pause in the proceedings.
Temple explained herself. “It’s part of my job to know how things work in this town. Also, we did talk about doing a civil marriage before a church wedding, once upon a time.”
“Doesn’t seem so long ago,” Matt said. “Maybe we should do that now, make it a double ceremony.”
Temple produced an expression of mock shock. “Now that your mother is skipping over the fences, our status worries you?”
“Your well-being worries me. If we were married, one way or another, I could forbid you getting involved in events that could kill you.”
“Think again. I bet ‘obey’ is excised from the vows even in church weddings these days.”
“You’re correct,” Matt said, “but I could keep you so busy and distracted that you’d never want to leave home again.”
“You’re absolutely right,” Temple said finally, “but we don’t have time for you to prove your point. Before you collect the bridal couple, let me make sure Electra can do the ceremony.”
Her quick call and request were greeted by surprise and the usual efficiency.
“You want to arrange a wedding here? Tomorrow? This is so sudden, Temple, dear. No problem. ‘Sudden’ is a justice of the peace’s expertise. I’ll come right down to your place.”
“Uh-oh,” Temple said, signing off. “She thinks it’s us.”
“I suppose it could be us,” Matt pointed out. Again.
“A double wedding is a sweet idea, but your mother should be the star of the show.”
“There’ll only be us and them and Electra attending. Not much ‘show.’”
“That’s why the Lovers’ Knot is the perfect site. There’s an entire soft-sculpture congregation present. And, unlike relatives, they keep their mouths shut.”
“I don’t know what Mom will think about having Elvis in the building.”
Electra’s finest soft sculpture was a jumpsuited Elvis wearing blue suede shoes.
“We
’ll find out, won’t we?” Temple jumped up to grab a narrow grocery list notepad from the kitchen. It was headlined by a dancing chorus line of spectacle-wearing carrots and Mr. and Mrs. Potato Heads. “Does your mother have a special dress? And she’ll need flowers. A bouquet.”
The doorbell rang, so Matt admitted Electra. Her signature muumuu of the day was a snappy black-and-white print that coordinated with the very Lady Gaga black streaks in her permed halo of white hair.
“Did I hear you mention a bouquet, Temple?” Electra bustled into the living room and sat on the sofa spot Matt had deserted. “I’ll provide the flowers. But why such a hurry, you two? This will have to be a very simple affair on such short notice. It’s not like Temple is pregnant.”
“It’s my mother who’s getting married,” Matt said quickly, sitting on a side chair. “Her name is Mira Zabinski. She and her fiancé, Philip Winslow, are flying down from Chicago as we speak.”
“Really? Well.” Electra fluffed her hair. “I pride myself on immediate response. Vegas was built in the old days on blood-test-free quickie marriages, but the Lovers’ Knot Wedding Chapel ‘puts the classy in quickie.’ They’re not bringing down an entourage?”
Matt shook his head. “No. They want it low-key. Temple and I will be there. That’s it.”
“Sorry, my boy, that is not ‘it.’ I have flowers and music to arrange, on the house, of course.”
“Matt could play the organ,” Temple volunteered.
While Matt raised his eyebrows, Electra applauded. “Yes, I remember you noodling around on my Hammond electric in the chapel over a year ago. Quite respectably. What was that Bob Dylan tune you thought would make a great wedding processional?”
“You’d make a good memory-policewoman,” Matt said, chagrinned.
He’d caught and interpreted Temple’s raised eyebrows look, which wondered, Were you mooning over little me way back then?
He moved on, fast. “Yeah. It has a great processional vibe, and the lyrics are appropriate. That was ‘Love Minus Zero over No Limit’ … slash mark between ‘Minus Zero’ and ‘No Limit.’”
“What does that title mean?” Temple wondered.
“Bob Dylan envisioned the words written as a mathematical fraction. ‘Love Minus Zero,’ then a line, and below that, ‘No Limit.’ It’s a cryptic, non-schmaltzy way of saying unconditional love.”
“I love it!” Temple responded unconditionally. “You’re hired. Electra, can the bride’s bouquet include something blue besides the usual pale tea roses? Her eyes are the most gorgeous clear light blue color.”
“That’s something blue,” Electra said, checking off a mental list. “What about something borrowed?”
“I don’t know,” Temple said, “but I surely can come up with something unique to lend her. That leaves ‘something old, something new.’”
“Matt’s vintage Dylan song is something old,” Electra suggested.
“Yes,” Temple said, “but I can find something more material somewhere. And after the Marriage Bureau date early tomorrow morning, I’ll treat Mira to a shopping spree on the Strip. If she didn’t have a brideworthy dress at home, I’ll find her the perfect one in Vegas.”
“You women are loving this ‘family emergency,’ aren’t you?” Matt asked.
“We are arrangers,” Electra boasted, with an elbow nudge in Temple’s direction. “Emergencies social and emotional our specialty.”
Temple nodded. “Speaking of arrangements,” she told Matt, “stop by here after you deposit the happy couple at the Crystal Phoenix.”
“I won’t have much time then before leaving for my Midnight Hour show. And that eight A.M. Marriage Bureau date will come early for a three A.M. lights out.”
“I’ll scoot along. Lots to do.” Electra rose and skedaddled for the door. She clearly didn’t want to overhear bedtime logistics discussed.
Temple didn’t foresee much scandalous going on. She and Matt would be scrambling for the next twenty-four hours to bring off this impromptu wedding.
“This is crazy astounding,” he said when they were alone again and cozy on the sofa except for Midnight Louie watching them avidly from the armrest. “Why are they doing this Vegas thing again?”
“Because there’s only one person whose presence would make Mira’s wedding extra memorable. You. She doesn’t really want to share this moment with anybody else.”
“Because…”
“Frankly? You’re the son she was frantic to give legitimacy and instead she gave you, and herself, years of grief.”
He looked unconvinced.
“Hey, Mr. Voice of Shrinkology.” Temple put her hands on Matt’s shoulders and leaned even closer to whisper in his ear. “It’s hard to see your own family forest for the trees sometimes. This is what Mira wants, this is what she needs, to step away completely from family influences and do what’s best for her. Trust me.”
He nodded, pulling her into another long, deeply promising kiss that would have to hold them for at least a day. “I do,” he said, mimicking the marriage vows. “We’ll have to say that for real and all as soon as we decide what we want, free of family influences.”
“Good thing we waited,” Temple said, grinning. “I get to be maid of honor again. I’m just not ready to be a ‘matron.’ It sounds so Girls Gone Wild in jail.”
Chapter 51
Makeover of Honor
Eighteen hours later, after the Marriage Bureau business was followed by a celebratory brunch for four at the Paris hotel, Temple banished the prospective groom from seeing his bride until the 5 P.M. ceremony. The women left the men bonding over coffee while Temple led Mira into temptation … the Bally’s-Paris Promenade.
Under an artificial cloud-airbrushed blue sky, quaint three-story storefronts promised Paris byways lined with excessively smart and expensive goods.
Mira was unsure about this expedition. “I brought along a perfectly good suit. Beige silk from Marshall Field’s.”
“Piffle,” Temple said. “Beige silk suits are for luncheon benefits. This is your wedding, girl! We are looking for splash. We are shopping for smashing!”
“At my age—”
“You certainly don’t want to go for sedate. We need something sophisticated.” She stopped and examined Mira. “Something feminine. What jewelry are you wearing?”
“Just … earrings. The blue topaz ones Matt bought me. I thought they could be something semi-old and something blue.”
Temple smiled approval. “Now we get ‘new.’”
“I really can’t afford—”
“Nonsense. This is on Matt and me. Well, mostly Matt. I’m the poor creative one.”
“Temple—”
“Tut-tut, ‘Temple,’ good-bye.” She linked arms with Mira and steered her to the goal; a nearby shop front.
“‘Nina Ricci,’” Mira read aloud the elegant letters above the entrance. “Isn’t that perfume?”
“You’re thinking of L’Air du Temps, the perfume in the Lalique glass bottle with two doves atop it. So symbolic for weddings. This brand is way more than perfume now. Every designer has expanded into across-the-board merchandise.”
Temple swept Mira inside before she could offer more objections. Clothes ringed the perimeter of the spare space that featured gift-worthy accessories and lingerie in the center. Only a few choice pieces of clothing hung in each display bay. Size and price were extremely invisible. Many of the clothes were neutral in tone, otherwise known as the currently fashionable “nude.”
Mira was confused. “But isn’t that color there, sort of, in a very extravagant way … just beige?”
“Shhh,” Temple whispered. “Are you saying the empress wears mere beige? What we have here is designer ‘blush’ silk chiffon. It does wonders for the complexion.”
“And ruffles … so immature.”
“Loose, flattened folds.”
By then they’d attracted a sales assistant, tall, thin, and balancing like a Cirque du Soleil acrobat on ex
treme platform heels almost higher than her skirt was long.
Temple indicated the bay full of dressy summer numbers just shy of being formal. “Something for an informal wedding.”
The sales clerk’s kohl-rimmed eyes darted from the clothes to Temple and Mira, then settled on the right candidate. “My name is Briana. What size, madam?”
“Ten.” Mira couldn’t help looking like she expected to be admonished for her answer.
“Excellent. We have several delightful options for you. Please follow me.”
Armless upholstered white leather chairs awaited at the shop’s rear. Briana vanished, and Mira leaned close to Temple to whisper, “Don’t I have to pick some things to try on?”
“Briana does that. She’ll bring out pieces in your size and we decide from there what’s in the running.”
“What about the price?”
“We don’t ask about such trivial matters until you’ve tried on some candidates and whittled down your choices. Frankly, if you’ve found ‘the’ dress, you’ll get it no matter what.”
“But I don’t … I’m not, I didn’t expect—” Mira looked around the shop. “She’ll see I’m not wearing underwear like the things in here.”
“Excellent. Something more she can sell you.”
“I’d never wear these.”
Temple shrugged. “A bride should have a mini-trousseau at least. Mira, isn’t Philip a successful businessman from a well-to-do Chicago family?”
“Yes, but that had nothing to do with our … connection.”
“I’m sure not, but do you really want to play the poor little match girl forever?”
Those mild blue eyes flashed a smidge of white-lightning anger. “I know I’m not of the same class. I don’t have to try to be something I’m not.”
“You’ve already done that, Mira. You’ve tried flying under the radar for a lot of years and it was a disaster. Now maybe you can, you know, spread your L’Air du Temps wings and soar a little. Matt would want you to. Your husband-to-be would want you to. You can go back to Chicago and knock all those snobby rich bitches off their platform heels.”
Cat in a White Tie and Tails Page 29
