Viva Lost Vegas

by Melanie Jackson

  I stood on the wooden walk and gazed with awe. The costume shop’s window was as colorful and glittery as the Las Vegas Strip. The clothes seem to be divided into two categories; costumes with rhinestones and feathers, and costumes with gold sequins and feathers.

  Feeling observed, I checked the reflections in the plate glass and saw an Elvis across the street, watching either me or the store as he smoked a cigarette in the half shelter of a mazanita bush. He had on a black and white striped tee and black pants. He was the one I had started thinking of as Jailhouse Rock.

  I shrugged off my unease and went inside. After all, it was high noon, Blue wasn’t growling and Jailhouse might just have a thing for petite women. Or costumes.

  The proprietor, Dana Carroll I assumed since his name was on the sign, was behind the counter and exclaimed happily when I explained that I was getting married and needed a dress ASAP— and something for my maid of honor. I pointed at Blue.

  He asked when the wedding was and I said Friday. Dana never blinked. Maybe he couldn’t. He had had a lot of Botox, tightening and lightening and probably liposuction. Obviously he didn’t subscribe to the idea that one should age gracefully.

  “And what kind of ensemble did you want? I take it this is an informal wedding?”

  “Very. And small. So…”

  The dress. This was the sticking point, the one I hadn’t resolved even with my Mom and Rosemary’s help. And I didn’t think words like ‘tasteful’ were going to be an aid given the stock on hand.

  “Well, I’m short,” I said with a confiding smile. “So I need something to scale— nothing wider than I am tall. Nothing that sparkles more than my eyes. White or cream if you have it, or my mother will give birth to kittens when she sees the photos.”

  Manicured fingernails tapped very bright teeth.

  “You know, I may have the very things. I made it for a Miss Carson County, but she dropped out of the pageant before the finals. She was a petite thing too.”

  Oh dear. A dress for a beauty pageant. I reminded myself that I was here to detect while I shopped, not to find the dress of my dreams. Time to get back on track and stop fantasizing about clothing.

  I looked around the store while Dana searched for the dress in a back room. Lots and lots of sequins on both men’s and women’s apparel, but none in silver. There was a rack of costumes in garment bags behind the counter, but I didn’t feel like I could justify snooping. I squinted at the name tags. Elvis King, Elvis Rock, Elvis BB.

  “None of those would fit you, darlin’,” Dana said, emerging from the back room.

  “Are they costumes for the competition?” I asked. “We are here to see a friend— Elvis King. He is also a minister,” I added, letting Dana draw his own conclusions about our plans.

  “Well, isn’t that perfect,” he said, unzipping a pink muslin garment bag. He whipped away the cloth cover with a gesture worthy of a stage magician. “What do you think? Is it not to die for? I illustrated it myself.”

  The outfit was cream colored suede, a sheath with a bolero jacket. It had antique silver buttons and a little fringe to accent the shoulders. The jacket had been ‘illustrated’ with some kind of flower. That’s a kind of etching done in leather where the fuzzy part of the suede is scraped away. It looked like burnt velvet.

  “They’re poppies,” Dana explained as I stared raptly.

  “And it’s perfect,” I said and meant it, which is odd because I have never had any urge to wear anything with fringe on it. “Can you alter it for me? By Friday?”

  Uh-oh. I forgot to even ask the price.

  “And how much is it?”

  “Of course, I can— and not much. Just a couple of zeros after a two. Now there’s a dressing room right over there. Why don’t you try it on? And don’t forget this bandana for your dear doggie.” It was also cream suede with fringe.

  “Okay.” I reached for the hanger with eagerness that was unfeigned. “Her name is Blue,” I added making belated introductions.

  While I was in the dressing room, admiring my reflection, someone came into the shop. I put an eye to the crack in the curtain. He was an Elvis, this one thin and wiry, Heroin Elvis. Not Jailhouse.

  “Thanks for the fix,” Heroin said and slip a twenty across the counter. He glanced at the dressing room and I drew back involuntarily, but in that instant I realized that Blue’s back side was poking out under the curtain. So much for being unobserved.

  “Good luck in the competition,” Dana said, but his voice wasn’t sincere. He didn’t like this Elvis either.

  Heroin Elvis grunted something and left.

  I came out right after.

  “I don’t want anyone to see the dress. Even a stranger,” I explained. “What do you think? Can you make it fit?”

  Dana’s real smile was back in place.

  “Why you are as scrumptious as an ice cream cone. Now come stand on this stool while I mark you. Can’t pin suede, you know,” he said indicating a stepstool in front of the three way mirror. “Do you have shoes yet? What are you, a size four?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re in luck. I have the perfect pair. Three inch heels.”

  I glanced casually at the rack behind the counter. The last bag, the one for Elvis BB was gone. I wanted to ask Dana what BB stood for, but decided to be discreet.

  “I’ve never seen so many Elvises,” I said as Dana pulled on my dress and did something with tailor’s chalk. “And so many sizes of Elvises— very short, very tall, um, a little portly. I still think Elvis King will win.” I paused. “I guess maybe you heard about what happened at the hotel?”

  “Yes. Poor Herbie. He never got the chance to wear his new costume.”

  “The white one with rhinestones?” I asked.

  “Yes! Did you see it?”

  I nodded. “It was wonderful. And it’s great Herbie and Elvis have— had— you so close at hand. He was short enough that I bet he was like me and couldn’t buy anything off the rack.”

  “None of my clients would.” He sounded a little smug. I forgave him. My dress really was a work of art.

  “I notice that none of your costumes have silver sequins. That’s kind of nice. Silver sequins always make me think of Halloween.” This was a lie.

  “No. They look so cheap on stage. I try to steer my Elvises to studs or rhinestones. I only have one client who likes silver sequins and there is just no arguing with him. He says it’s his signature look. Fortunately, he got most of his costumes in Reno.”

  “Which Elvis is he?” I asked, going for broke. “Is he here for the competition?”

  “He’s here,” Dana said, but didn’t offer a name. “You’ll see what I mean if you see him on stage. Silver sequins always look cheap. Now go and slip this off. Be careful of the chalk marks.”

  “Okay.”

  “And let’s try the bandana on this pretty lady,” Dana said, smiling at Blue who was only too happy to play dress up with the stranger who was rubbing her ears.

  “The bandana is so perfect. Lots of flowers make her sneeze and I wasn’t sure about a collar. Her fur is so thick that you can’t even see most of them.” I closed the dressing room curtain and slipped off the jacket. It was fine in the shoulders but the sleeves were too long. “I do want flowers though. Is there a florist around here? Do you think they could get sunflowers? Those are Alex’s favorites.”

  “The hotel can order flowers for you,” Dana said helpfully. “UPS delivers— even here.”

  “Good.” And it was good because it turned out that I really was planning our wedding after all. I would have to tell Alex about this right away. And find a minister. Though I guess we had one, if Elvis King was willing to marry us.

  I looked at my belt-bag. It was good that I had brought a credit card. It looked like we would spending our wedding budget after all.

  Chapter 5

  I called Alex as soon as I stepped outside the shop. He sounded distracted until I explained that we would be getting marrie
d on Friday at the hotel because I had found a dress and I wanted Elvis to marry us. After that, I think it is safe to say, I had his undivided attention.

  “I like Elvis,” I said into the silence, trying to explain this change of heart when I had been adamant about getting married in an impersonal rent-a-chapel. I looked about casually but I was alone. “And why not get married by Elvis?”

  “I understand. I like him too. But if we are having an actually wedding I guess I better see about renting a tux. I didn’t bring a suit with me.”

  “I’m sure Dana Carroll at the costume shop had something.” Last worn by a magician probably, but he would have something. “Can you meet me at the manager’s office? We need to find out where to get a license. At least, I know we have to get one from the county clerk but we need to find out where that is and about flowers and stuff. And we need to talk to Elvis! I hope he’ll do it.” I really did have my heart set on it.

  “How are we going to explain about knowing he’s a minister?” Alex asked.

  “Um… we tell him the truth?”

  “Hm. Is there an option B?”

  “We pretend he told us that first night? If he asks. He might not. He’s kind of scattered.” I didn’t like being dishonest but maybe this was for the best. I didn’t think it would be wise to burden Elvis with too many complexities. “Blue and I are in the lobby now. I’ll see you in a few minutes?”

  “I’m at the elevator. I’ll be right down.”

  Before I approached the manager about the wedding, I poked my head in the bar. First things first. There were five Elvises near the slightly raised stage, lots of electronic equipment, coils of wire, lights on stands, speakers, microphones, a mixing board and a laptop computer. I saw something I hadn’t noticed before. One whole wall was an aquarium. At the moment it held only algae-eaters, rocks and a miniature sign for Molly Mines. Hopefully the fish liked Elvis tunes because they would getting a steady diet of them over the next few days.

  “Hey, Chloe,” Elvis King said, looking up from some sheet music. He smiled hopefully. “Did you come for rehearsals?”

  “Not to sing. But I would love to listen if you don’t mind. Um, Elvis,” All heads turned my way. “Uh, Elvis King, if you have a sec, could I ask you a huge favor?”

  “Sure, sweet thing. Anything for you.”

  “You know Alex and I are getting married?”

  “Uh…”

  “It’s why I need a wedding dress,” I reminded him.

  “Well, sure. Did you want me to sing at your wedding? I do a great version of Love Me Tender.”

  “If he won’t, I will,” said Jailhouse Rock Elvis. He was still wearing his black and white striped shirt so I was sure he had been the one watching from across the street.

  “Thanks, but what I was really hoping was that you would marry Alex and me, since you’re a minister. That would be wonderful.”

  Elvis blinked and then stood up tall.

  “Well, I would be honored. Congratulations, man,” Elvis said, offering his hand to Alex who had come up behind me.

  “You all are invited too,” I added. What the heck. One needed guests at a wedding and it would be fun to have our witnesses all be Elvises. It would make a great photo for the society column in the Hope Falls Sentinel.

  The other guys in the Elvis chorus also offered their congratulations. Seen up close, it looked like Elder Elvis had used motor oil in his hair. At one time he had probably been very handsome, but time had caused some deep erosion to his face. His voice and smile were still nice though and I found myself liking him too. Jailhouse also seemed nice, if a little full of himself. He was just a kid— maybe only twenty or, okay, maybe twenty-five. And even Living Dead Elvis had an okay smile and manners, though it was weird to see a woman in this crowd. Elvis BB, from the costume shop did not seem nice but there was no way to exclude him from the invitation.

  “Thanks for doing this,” Alex said. “It will have more meaning than saying vows to a justice of the peace we don’t even know.”

  “We need to talk to the manger right away,” I said. “I still have to order flowers and get a cake— and everything. But we’ll be back later. We can talk more over dinner.”

  Elvis nodded and we escaped.

  “Phew, one down and I don’t know how many obstacles to go. I had hoped we done with wedding stuff.” Alex is a bit reserved with strangers, so it’s good that he isn’t a Fuller Brush man. I’ve had more practice being social for my job, so it is best I deal with most of the people business.

  “Don’t worry. It’ll be a piece of cake. I know everything I don’t want. We just go with whatever is left.”

  The manager, Andy Dickerson, expecting complaints about sawdust or remodeling noise, was delighted to have us as his first wedding instead. He was so happy at our decision, after the unfortunate incident of us running into a corpse in the lobby, that he comp’ed us a cake. Strawberry shortcake since he asked what we wanted and this seemed right, non-traditional and fun. He was also happy to arrange for flowers— sunflowers if they had them. He even agreed to take photos as long as he could use them as advertising. I figured he would probably need proof that anyone had wanted to get married there and didn’t begrudge him. It’s hard getting a new business off the ground.

  Only one small ballroom was completely remodeled so we went to look at it. The cowboy-mining theme had carried through even to this room, which had a wagon-wheel chandelier and an ore car converted into a table in the corner. But the wood floors were lovely. The giant windows looked out on the Sierras which would be gorgeous at sunset, so I figured we could shoot around the ugly light fixture and put a long tablecloth over the ore car. Besides, with all the Elvises about, who would notice anything else?

  “Two down,” I said encouragingly to Alex as we headed for the car.

  According to Mr. Dickerson, we were about thirty miles from the county’s main seat, but the office was open until six, so Alex and I had time for the trip.

  I didn’t say much on the ride. The reality of what we were doing was catching up with me. I was having a wedding. Not just getting married.

  “Should we call our parents?” I asked. “I know it isn’t much warning but they might want to come. Or will it just make everything awful and complicated?”

  “I vote for not calling my parents. Easier to ask for forgiveness than permission,” Alex said.

  If we didn’t call his folks, we couldn’t call mine. It would cause in-law envy, and we were going to have enough fences to mend as it was. Besides an Elvis officiant and a short, suede dress were completely removed from my mother’s wildest concept of a perfect wedding. I just ignored the small pang of disappointment.

  “Okay. Make a right up here.”

  The County Clerk’s Office was in a tiny old Victorian that also housed birth, death and tax records. We had no wait since the office was nearly empty and the two women on staff were taken with Blue. We presented our ID’s, handed over sixty dollars and got our license. It was all very informal, but holding that piece of paper still warm from the printer felt momentous.

  “It’s getting very real, isn’t it?” Alex said.

  “Yes. And that’s a good thing,” I answered firmly, standing on my toes to give him a kiss. “We’d better hurry though or we’ll miss dinner. I’m actually pretty hungry. Planning a wedding is hard work.”

  “Me too. And this steakhouse is supposed to be good. It has a four-star rating. I hope they have creamed spinach,” Alex added. “And something with lots of chocolate for dessert.”

  “And wine. I think we’ve earned, planning a wedding in one day.”

  Chapter 6

  The steakhouse was lovely, all dark wood and snowy white linens— and not a single animal head or cowboy brand in site. The menu was a little intimidating, both because of price and because of the items included. Does anyone really eat steak tartare?

  But Alex had lobster with creamed spinach, and Elvis ordered a mix of surf and turf so bot
h were pleased. I got the feeling that Elvis didn’t get to have too many nice dinners with friends, and standing him a meal for doing our wedding seemed the least we could do, though we had to argue hard for the privilege of paying. He said he wanted it to be his treat because we had been such good Samaritans in his hour of need. I told him that we have to arm wrestle for the check and he gave in. Maybe he thought I meant it.

  I had the filet mignon and it was so tender that I could have eaten it with a spoon. Elvis chose the wine, a local one I’d never heard of and it was good. So many reds will eat the enamel off your teeth but this was very mellow. Alex held himself to one glass since he was driving. Elvis would have looked more at home behind the wheel of our pink car, but he had had the majority of the wine. I am, literally, a light weight when it comes to alcohol so restrained myself as well.

  We arrived back at the hotel just before nine to be met with both good and bad news. Mr. Mobley, the night manager, tried to break it to us gently by giving us our costumes which Dana had dropped off just after seven, but Gretchen’s woebegone face told me the worst. Dana Carroll, Elvis costumer extraordinaire, was dead.

  Suicide, Sheriff Darrow thought. Hung himself with a feather boa and broke his neck. After he had ripped up every Elvis costume in the shop.

  “This is terrible,” I said numbly, holding my pink garment bag.

  Poor Dana Carroll, he wouldn’t have to fight off old age any more. But I didn’t believe for one damned second that he had committed suicide after destroying his work.

  “I’m gonna dedicate my performance to him,” Elvis said sadly, apparently believing the verdict of suicide. “I sure hope the other guys got their costumes too.”

  “They did,” the night manager assured us. “Such dedication! He will be missed. I don’t know where the investors will find a replacement for him. The costume shop was a big draw for the town.”

  The only draw that I could see.

  Alex put his arm around me and we said goodnight. I clutched my pink muslin garment bags as we headed for the elevator with Elvis trailing. I wasn’t so far gone to grief that I failed to notice that a lone silver sequin that fell off of Elvis’s bag by the ashtray in the hall.