by Vickie Fee
After hugs and handshakes all around, Earl said, “Virginia and I are taking everyone to supper.” Turning to Little Junior, he continued, “Son, this is your town. Where should we go to eat?”
Little Junior said it would be hard to beat the buffet right here in the hotel. This obviously pleased Daddy Wayne, who was pacing back and forth impatiently. “And, if you don’t mind, I’ll ask my girlfriend, Crystal, to join us for dessert when her shift ends.”
“That sounds like a plan. We’d love to meet her,” Mama said.
Little Junior texted Crystal as we walked toward the restaurant. My father-in-law was sprinting toward the buffet, but just before he reached the finish line, Earl edged past him and told the cashier to put all nine of us on his credit card.
“I don’t feel right letting Earl pay for everything, including meals,” Larry Joe said to me in a hushed tone.
“I know, me too,” I said. “But Earl has a heart of gold, and he’s almost as stubborn as my mama. I don’t think there’s any point in trying to argue with him. We’ll just have to think of something extra nice to do for Mama and Earl—we’ll call it a wedding gift.”
My husband nodded approvingly.
Daddy Wayne headed for the feeding trough before all of our party had even made it through the turnstiles.
“I swear you’d think Wayne hadn’t eaten for days, the way he’s behaving,” my mother-in-law said, looking embarrassed. “Son, you need to help me rein in your dad a bit. I know he’s on vacation and it’s okay for him to splurge a little. But I don’t want him clogging his arteries after having those stents put in.”
“Mama, we’re only going to be here for a few days, so don’t worry yourself,” Larry Joe said. “Even if he goes completely off the rails with his diet, I don’t think he can do too much damage in such a short time. But we’ll try to pick some healthier places to eat and avoid the all-you-can-eat buffets after tonight.”
The waiter pushed together two tables to accommodate our group. The large restaurant was a little noisy for conversation, but we didn’t have any trouble hearing Mama or Little Junior over the din. As his Elvis appearance suggested, Little Junior was a bit of a performer. He regaled us with his plans for a career in show business. Mama listened with rapt attention and said very little, which is unusual for her. But she’s always doted on her only nephew. I’d always assumed it was because she had two daughters, so he was like the son she never had.
Except for his diminutive stature, Little Junior was the spitting image of his daddy, from the slant of his forehead to his tendency to self-aggrandizement.
“I took voice lessons for over a year to refine my natural singing talent. And I worked with a choreographer who specializes in routines for Elvis tribute artists. We don’t like to be called impersonators, because we each bring our own Elvis style to the stage. I placed second overall in one Elvis tribute competition and I took first place in my height category,” he said.
“Height category?” Di whispered to me. I gave her ankle a gentle kick.
“That’s wonderful,” Mama said, beaming with pride.
“I’ve been in the chorus of a couple of shows with multiple tribute artists. And I’ve had some big ovations at Elvis tribute nights at various clubs. I’m just waiting for my big break. In the meantime, I’m driving a cab to pay the bills.”
Little Junior’s phone buzzed. “Excuse me for a moment,” he said, holding up his hand and turning sideways in his chair to take the call.
I had lost count of how many trips my father-in-law had made to the buffet, although I’m sure Miss Betty was keeping track. Yet, as he cleaned what had to be at least his second plateful of desserts, he still groused when Little Junior suggested we move to the casual food court area.
“Crystal just finished her shift in the casino and says she’ll meet us at the ice-cream parlor.”
“What’s her job in the casino?” I asked.
“She’s a cocktail waitress. She makes pretty good tips, especially when someone’s on a winning streak.”
Feeling stuffed, I decided to pass on dessert. In fact, feeling the need to burn off a few calories after a big meal, I wished it were a longer walk to the food court—like a couple of miles.
Despite having already had sweets at the buffet, Daddy Wayne and Earl went straight to the counter at the ice-cream parlor. Mama called out to Earl, “Get me a scoop of chocolate ice cream, will you, hon?”
Di and I exchanged a look of disbelief.
In a moment, we were approached by a bleached blonde in a short-skirted black uniform with a keyhole neckline that showed off her ample cleavage. My cousin slipped his arm around Crystal’s waist and she slung her arm around his shoulders as he introduced her. She stood about half a head taller than my petite cousin. I’m not a good judge of age, but she looked about twenty years older than Little Junior to me.
“Everybody, this is my sweetheart, Crystal Pryor.”
I was surprised when Mama jumped up and gave Crystal a big welcome-to-the-family hug, but I felt obliged to follow suit. Larry Joe and Dave stood up and exchanged polite handshakes with her.
Earl and Daddy Wayne returned from the ice-cream counter. After placing their sundaes on the table and handing Mama her single scoop on a sugar cone, both men nodded and exchanged hellos with Crystal.
“Sit down, sweetie, you’ve been on your feet all day,” Little Junior said, pulling a chair out from the table for her, and giving her the seat of honor next to Mama, the matriarch of our little clan.
I had expected Crystal to have a husky voice, but instead she spoke in a sweet, singsong tone. Goes to show you can’t judge by appearances.
As during dinner, when Mama had fallen quiet and let Little Junior do all the talking, she listened to Crystal with keen interest, interrupting only to prompt her for details, and occasionally to mention what a catch my cousin was.
Crystal explained that she had worked as a waitress most of her life, and at this particular casino for the past six years. She was divorced, with no kids. She actually grew up in Las Vegas and her mother still lived in town. She stopped short of saying she and Little Junior were living together, wisely assessing that information might meet with my mama’s disapproval. But I got the distinct impression they were sharing living quarters.
Crystal stood up and patted Little Junior on the shoulder. “I’m going home to soak in a hot bath.”
He stood and gave Crystal a sweet peck on the cheek. “I’ll call you later. I’m going out in the cab for a few hours to make some cash.”
Crystal sashayed away.
“Little Junior, if you’ve got the meter running, us women can be your first fare,” Mama said, glancing around the table.
“And just where are you women off to?” Earl asked, eyebrows raised.
“I want to go run over to the wedding chapel and take a quick look around. We’ve only seen pictures on the computer. I want to see for myself where we’ll be getting married.”
“Maybe I should come with you. I don’t know if y’all should be wandering around a strange city by yourselves,” Earl said.
“It’s still daylight, for Pete’s sake. And we won’t be by ourselves. Little Junior is going to be our driver. Aren’t you, hon?” she said.
“Yes, ma’am. Don’t you worry, Uncle Earl.”
Earl’s right eye twitched and I suspected he was still adjusting to a pint-sized Elvis calling him “uncle.”
“What am I supposed to do while you’re gone?”
This proved Earl was in love. I believe most men could find plenty to do in Las Vegas out of the sight line of their significant other. Maybe he would be able to rest comfortably under my mama’s thumb after they’re married, I thought.
“My guess is all of you men will make a beeline to the casino as soon as we’re gone,” Mama said.
“We can leave whenever you’re ready, Aunt Virginia,” Little Junior said.
“Liv, Betty, Di, are we ready to roll?”
“Virginia, I hate to beg off, but please excuse me,” my mother-in-law said. “I have a headache. I think I need to go upstairs and lie down for a bit.”
My instincts told me Miss Betty’s headache was named Wayne McKay, and she wanted to be close enough to check on him if he stayed in the casino longer than she thought he should.
“What about you two?” she said, her eyes darting between Di and me.
“I’m game,” Di said.
“Let’s go,” I added.
We all stood up and Mama took a step toward Earl. He picked up on his cue, leaned over, and gave her a little kiss.
Daddy Wayne and Earl were given strict instructions on how much they were allowed to gamble before calling it a night. I shot Larry Joe an admonishing glance that I hoped was discreet.
“If you feel the need to just flush money down the toilet, go to the bar and drink a few of the high-priced beers,” Mama said, before turning about face and marching toward the front door. Di and I fell in step behind her and Little Junior scurried ahead to open the door for her, although a doorman beat him to it. We waited under the portico while Little Junior went to fetch the cab.
Once my cousin was out of earshot, I had to ask, “Mama, you seemed to take a real shine to Crystal, which kind of surprises me. She’s a little old for him, don’t you think?”
“Well, you know Little Junior’s mama died when he was only thirteen. And his first stepmom was no prize,” she said, before turning to Di and adding, “My brother has been married twice more since then, and is currently divorced.”
Turning back to me, she continued, “I think a more mature woman, a mother figure if you will, might be just what Little Junior needs. Besides, Crystal seems reasonable and at least she can hold down a job.”
Little Junior pulled up to the curb and the doorman opened the door to the backseat for us. Mama walked around him, opened the front door, and slid onto the front passenger seat.
“Darlin’, do you know where the Burning Love Wedding Chapel is?” Mama asked.
“Sure do. In fact, I’ve been meaning to stop by. I put in an application there and want to check and see if I’ll be getting an interview.”
“What kind of job are you applying for?” she asked.
“Performing weddings as one of the Elvis ministers.”
“Don’t you actually have to be a minister to do that?”
“I am a licensed minister, Aunt Virginia,” he said earnestly. “I’ve been ordained by a religious organization recognized by the county clerk’s office. And the county issued me a certificate that gives me authority to officiate at weddings.”
“Didn’t you at least take a few seminary classes before you got ordained?” Mama asked.
“No, ma’am. I’m just performing weddings, not preaching or proselytizing. People who want a religious ceremony generally go to a church, not a chapel in Vegas.”
“That sounds reasonable,” she said. “Have you performed a wedding yet?”
“Yes, ma’am. I officiated at a friend’s wedding on a hilltop overlooking Lake Mead. It was a really beautiful occasion. There’s something special about launching a couple on their lifelong journey of love.”
“That’s poetic, Little Junior. I think you’re a romantic at heart,” Mama said.
“That’s what Crystal says.”
He looked over at Mama and I thought I could detect a blush to his cheek. I turned to Di, who just rolled her eyes.
We pulled up in front of the Burning Love Wedding Chapel on the Strip. My cousin hopped out and hurried around to open Mama’s door. Di and I had already climbed out by the time he helped Mama to her feet. His taxi was a midsize sedan, not as roomy or as easy to exit as my mother’s Cadillac.
The chapel was sweet—a whitewashed building, topped with a steeple. The sign out front said OPEN TIL MIDNIGHT SEVEN DAYS.
We entered through a door in the center of the building. To one side was the steeple-topped wing, with a chapel that seated fifty. To the other side were two other chapels, one able to accommodate a good-sized crowd and the other a very cozy space for about fifteen guests, according to the information Mama had been given by the travel agent.
The center of the building had a reception area, with a love seat that looked like a backseat framed by a bumper and vintage Cadillac tail fins. There was also a desk and a couple of tables and chairs, where prospective customers could peruse wedding photos and pricing information.
The woman at the reception desk was wearing a trim business suit and a corsage. As we approached, with my cousin leading the way, she said, “Junior, we haven’t had time to process your application. As I told you, we’ll call if we want to schedule an interview and audition.”
“I know, I know,” Little Junior said. “This is my aunt from Tennessee. She and her fiancé have a wedding booked here day after tomorrow. She just got into town and wants to take a quick look around.”
“Oh, well, welcome to the Burning Love Wedding Chapel. I’d be glad to show you around. My name is Taylor and I’m the wedding coordinator,” she said, extending her hand to Mama.
“I’m Virginia Walford. My fiancé, Earl Daniels, and I are scheduled to get married at six p.m. on the twelfth.”
Taylor scanned through the register and said, “Ah, yes. You’re booked in the It’s Now or Never Chapel for a deluxe wedding package. Very nice.”
She tapped a few keys on the computer and the copier shot out a printed sheet of paper.
The It’s Now or Never Chapel was the smallest one on-site, since there would only be seven of us, other than the bride and groom. Or eight, if Little Junior’s girlfriend accompanied him. I supposed it was within the realm of possibility that Uncle Junior could even show up.
“Ms. Walford, if you and your friends will come with me, I’ll give you a tour of the facility,” Taylor said. She grabbed a clipboard, put the paper she had retrieved from the printer on it, and waved for us to follow. She walked at a brisk pace, her snug skirt showing off her assets.
“If you’d like to take a peek, we have a wedding in progress in the Blue Hawaii Chapel.”
We looked through the heart-shaped glass windows in the double doors leading into the medium-sized chapel. The floor was covered in royal blue plush carpeting, and arrangements of tropical flowers flanked a stained-glass window depicting a sunset.
An Elvis tribute artist cum minister, or maybe it was vice versa, was singing “Love Me Tender,” accompanied by the strains of a synthesizer. The bride and groom were standing in front of him with their backs to us. She had on a short, mostly white sundress and a wreath of flowers crowning her head. He was wearing khaki shorts and a Hawaiian shirt.
There were a few scattered guests seated on padded pews. When Elvis finished his number, a man and woman sitting on the front pew got up and stood to either side of the happy couple. The minister said a few words in a passable southern accent—although it wouldn’t impress the home crowd in Memphis—his mouth sporting the trademark Presley lip curl. The attendants handed him the rings, which the couple then exchanged after turning to face each other. Reverend Elvis sang a short medley of Elvis tunes before pronouncing them husband and wife.
While the resident Elvis was crooning, I couldn’t help but smile as I caught a glimpse, out of the corner of my eye, of my cousin thrusting his chest forward and arching his upper lip in a lopsided sneer.
The minister lunged into an Elvis karate pose with his hand outstretched dramatically and said, “You may kiss the bride.”
The guests broke out in applause as the newlyweds locked lips in a passionate kiss.
“Right this way,” Taylor said, putting her hand on Mama’s shoulder, prompting us to move along.
“That Elvis did a nice job and sounded pretty good on ‘Love Me Tender,’” Di said.
“I know he thinks so,” Little Junior muttered quietly.
“We set a high standard for all of our performing ministers,” Taylor said.
There was no
one in the small chapel, which was booked for Mama and Earl’s nuptials. It was all white, with white cushioned seats on the chairs, a white wall, and white flower arrangements.
“This is the It’s Now or Never Chapel,” Taylor said, walking down the aisle to the front as we followed. She looked down at her clipboard.
“I see you have ordered live pink and white rose arrangements, which will replace the standard arrangement of carnations and daisies here. Very nice. The floor is white, but you may opt to add an aisle runner in your choice of colors.”
Looking to Di and me, Mama asked, “What do you two think? Should I add a pink runner to match the flowers?”
“I don’t think you need anything to compete with your purple dress,” I said, thinking about how a minister dressed as Elvis would attract enough attention.
“I think you’re right,” Mama said.
“You’ve booked a short rehearsal time the afternoon before the wedding, which is unusual, but provided on request,” Taylor said. “Of course, the live floral arrangements won’t be brought in until the day of the wedding—to ensure they’re fresh.
“You can have the minister escort the bride in, if you choose. He’ll go over all that with you at the rehearsal. But I thought I’d mention it in case you were still undecided about that aspect. The bride may choose to walk down the aisle unescorted if she prefers. Any questions?”
“Is there a dressing room here? It may sound silly for a mature bride, but I’d prefer it if Earl didn’t see me in my dress before the ceremony.”
Thinking about my mama as a bride made my eyes go all misty. Earl already seemed like part of the family—to me and Larry Joe and my in-laws, at least. My younger sister, Emma, was being a horse’s patoot about Mama getting remarried, even though it had been almost five years since our daddy passed away.
Taylor told us there were dressing rooms for the bridal parties, then led the way for us to check them out. They were tucked behind the main reception area in the center of the building, along with the restrooms. Little Junior remained in the reception area while Di and I followed Mama and Taylor to the dressing rooms.