by Vickie Fee
Our hunky servers cleared the plates after the main course. Rudy—the one with the dancing chest muscles—paused at the head of the table.
“We’ll be back in just a few minutes to serve up a special sweet treat for you ladies,” he said, giving us a wink before marching out behind his fellow waiters.
“They’re such polite young men, aren’t they?” Miss Betty said with a hiccup, causing me to worry that she’d had more alcohol than she could handle.
“Yeah, I’m sure their mothers are very proud,” Di said with a smirk.
“I really hope their ‘sweet surprise’ is something chocolate,” Mama said.
Three of the guys walked in, one carrying a coffeepot, one carrying a tray with a bowl of sugar cubes and a pitcher of cream, and one balancing a tray with four bowls of vanilla ice cream. They busied themselves serving the coffee and ice cream.
Rudy, Mama’s assigned hunk, followed them rolling out a serving cart, equipped with a propane burner on one side and a variety of ingredients, including bananas, on the other. He set about preparing Bananas Foster for us, tableside.
He expertly peeled the banana with a knife as he twirled it with a fork. He then seductively sautéed the bananas in butter and added some banana liqueur. He removed the pan from the heat and added a splash of rum before tipping the pan toward the burner to ignite the dessert. Flames engulfed the bananas and leapt in the pan.
All four of us gasped and burst into applause. We thought that was the showstopper of the dessert course. Little did we know . . .
Rudy circled the table spooning flaming bananas on top of our ice cream. After they’d finished serving the coffee and dessert, Todd gathered the trays and pan, put them on the cart, and pushed it through the door. He reemerged in just a moment.
Todd went to the sideboard and changed the stereo to some upbeat dance tune and joined the others, who had lined up at the head of the table.
“Welcome to Vegas, ladies!” Rudy said. All four men grasped the front of their waistbands and ripped off their break-away pants. Clad in black Speedos with a tuxedo shirt and red bow tie design on the front, our waiters began to gyrate their pelvic regions to the beat of the music.
I managed to avert my eyes from the spectacle to check the response of my dinner companions. Miss Betty had her hands over her eyes, but was peeking out through her fingers. Mama had dispensed with using her napkin as a fan and was mopping her brow with it.
Di was digging around in her purse. When she pulled out a couple of five-dollar bills, I slapped her hand and shot her a scolding glare. She thought better of it and dropped the cash back into her bag.
The good news was neither Mama nor Miss Betty was looking at me. The bad news was I felt certain they’d both have plenty to say after we left. One of the dancers had retrieved some red boas from the sideboard drawer. They circled the table, draping a boa around each of our shoulders. Di jumped up, snaked her boa around Hank’s waist, and used it as reins to pull him closer as they danced.
Out of the corner of my eye I could see Todd’s washboard abs rippling up and down just inches from my face. But I was more interested in the performance across the table. Rudy was standing beside Mama, his hips slowly swaying. He offered one hand to Mama and motioned with the other for her to join him. When my mama, who likes to sing hymns as she washes dishes, got up and started shaking what God gave her, I decided, why not?
I stood and leaned across the table toward my mother-in-law, who appeared to be contemplating Tom’s navel. Or, at least, I think it was his navel.
“Miss Betty, what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas!”
She giggled as she leapt out of her chair and flung her arms around Tom’s neck. I grabbed Todd’s outstretched hand and he twirled me around a couple of times. I looked up to see Mama doing the hand jive, and Di had gone back into her purse for those five-dollar bills.
By the time the music stopped, our coffee was cold and our Bananas Foster had melted into a lumpy puddle. I handed Todd my credit card and signed the check, leaving a generous tip.
The elder members of our bachelorette party were still red faced and laughing loudly as we left the private dining room.
My last name had been McKay for twelve years and this was the first time I’d seen my mother-in-law get a snootful. She was a bit unsteady on her feet, so I thought I should make sure she was good and sober before my husband or father-in-law got a good look at her.
As we made our way to the main entrance, I spotted a Starbucks and suggested we stop there.
Mama and Miss Betty stopped at the restroom, while Di and I went in and ordered coffees for all of us.
“Liv, I never imagined I’d have such a good time with your mama and mother-in-law. Who knew they were such party girls?”
“As far as I know, only you and I know. And let’s keep it that way. I’m going to kill Jana.”
“Why? Everybody had a good time. You should thank her.”
“Fortunately, it turned out that way. But Jana totally set me up, trying to sabotage my mother’s wedding eve dinner.”
I phoned Little Junior, asking if he could pick us up in thirty minutes. I hoped everyone would be acting respectable by then. Miss Betty’s eyes were a bit bloodshot, but hopefully Daddy Wayne would assume she’d been crying.
Mama and Miss Betty finished powdering their noses and joined us in the coffee shop, where Mama struggled to hoist herself onto a bar stool at a pub-height table.
“Oh, Liv, you calling Little Junior to pick us up reminds me,” Mama said. “When you asked me about the rehearsal on the way here, I didn’t want to say anything in front of him, but—now you all know I’m not one to gossip. . . .”
This was news to me.
“But, I think there’s some hanky-panky going on between that wedding coordinator and Steve, the Elvis that got into it with Little Junior. I know she was all firm with him at the time, telling him to knock it off. But this afternoon Earl and I arrived a bit early for the rehearsal. There was nobody at the front desk, so we walked through to the chapel. I thought I’d go ahead and let Earl take a peek at where we’d be getting married.
“Taylor and Steve were standing in the aisle of the It’s Now or Never Chapel arguing in loud whispers at each other. I couldn’t understand all of what they were saying, but Taylor said something about ‘We can’t let him find out,’ and Steve said, ‘She thinks she owns me, but she doesn’t.’ The two of them calmed down a bit. He put his hands to her waist and pulled her to him, rubbing his face against hers. And she didn’t seem to mind any.
“At that point, Earl cleared his throat, apparently feeling conscience pangs about spying on them. I swear he’s such a Boy Scout. Not that I don’t appreciate Earl being virtuous, but . . .”
We walked out and stood under the portico, waiting for Little Junior to pick us up.
“You know,” Miss Betty said. “I know the weather news said it was something like a hundred and seven today, but it doesn’t seem as hot to me as when it gets over one hundred degrees back home.”
“You’re right, Betty. I’ve noticed that, too. I mean, it’s hot. But you don’t feel like a wrung-out dishrag the minute you step outside like you do in the South,” Mama said.
“Maybe there is something to that saying, ‘It’s not the heat, it’s the humidity,’” I said.
My cousin arrived at the curb, and as usual, helped Mama into the front seat.
“You ladies are all rosy cheeked. I’m guessing you had a glass or two of wine with your dinner.”
“Well, of course we did. What’s wrong with that?” Mama said. “It is a special occasion after all.”
“Yes, ma’am, it is. There’s nothing wrong with that at all.”
Mama glanced over the seat and told me to call Larry Joe to see what the guys were up to. I was surprised to learn, and so was she, that they were already back at our hotel.
“Earl and Daddy have been practically pacing the floor, worrying about you all,” Larry Joe
said after answering my call.
“Why in the world would they be worried? We were just having dinner.”
“I told them that. But you know Earl is a man in love. He hardly takes a step without your mama telling him which foot to put forward. And Daddy, for all his complaining about Mama’s nagging, can barely stand it when she goes somewhere without him. But y’all have been gone kind of a long time just for dinner,” Larry Joe said.
It did my heart good to know he was a little bit at loose ends without his sweetie, too.
“Well, dinner started late and it was served in courses,” I said, with what I hoped would be enough of an explanation.
“I know this will come as a huge surprise, but Daddy wants some ice cream.”
I arranged for us to meet the men at the ice-cream parlor, and told the others about the plan. My mother-in-law predictably complained about Daddy Wayne veering off his diet.
“Miss Betty, don’t give him too hard a time. Apparently, he’s been pining for you. And Mama, Larry Joe said Earl and Daddy Wayne have practically been pacing the floor waiting for y’all to get back. It’s kind of sweet, really.”
Little Junior dropped us at our hotel and declined Mama’s invitation to join us at the ice-cream parlor.
After we entered the lobby, Di pulled me aside.
“I think I’ll part company with you. If Dave happens to be with the men, I’d just as soon not be around him right now,” Di said. “Besides, I’m not sure you want me there if the husbands and fiancé start asking questions about our dinner.”
“You may be right. I’ll see you in the morning,” I said. Di said her good nights to Mama and Miss Betty and headed toward the elevators.
Our three men, sans Dave, were sitting on a bench near the ice-cream shop like three sulky bumps on a log. Earl was the first to rise. He walked over and gave Mama a peck on the cheek. Larry Joe and his dad were just behind them. My father-in-law touched Miss Betty on the sleeve and asked what kind of ice-cream treat she wanted. He said they had waited for us before ordering, but the milky spot at the corner of his lips told me this wouldn’t be Daddy Wayne’s first scoop tonight.
Larry Joe laid his arm across my shoulders and planted a kiss on top of my head.
“How ’bout you, hon? What flavor do you fancy?”
I requested one scoop of orange sherbet, and Larry Joe said he thought he’d have the same.
Mama, Miss Betty, and I sat down in a row at three small bistro tables that had been pushed together. The curlicue design on the bistro chair backs was cute, but uncomfortable. In a few minutes, the men returned, each holding two dishes of ice cream, and sat down across from their respective mates.
“Virginia, why don’t y’all tell us about your girls’ night dinner?” Earl asked. “Larry Joe said it was the fancy kind, served in courses.”
“It was delicious. The main course was beef tenderloin, served with carrots and green beans. And the first course was scallops with that Italian ham—what’s it called, Liv?”
“Prosciutto.”
“Yeah, that. And we had a salad and some mushroom soup. And they served a watermelon sorbet just before the main course.”
“What did you have for dessert?” my father-in-law asked, without looking up from his bowl.
“Ooh, that was a highlight,” Miss Betty said. “One of the waiters cooked it tableside on a cart. It was one of those flambé things.”
“Oh, you mean one of those desserts they set on fire,” Earl said.
“Yeah, hon. That’s right. It was Bananas Foster, made with butter and rum.”
“Betty, did you say one of the waiters? How many waiters did y’all have?”
“We each had our own waiter,” she said, looking a bit flustered.
Mama jumped in.
“Yeah, you know, like in those really fancy restaurants, where they bring you something before you know you need it, and clear everything as soon as you’ve finished. Real classy.”
“I guess the waiters were decked out in penguin suits, too,” Daddy Wayne said.
“They had on formal wear . . . with bow ties,” Miss Betty said, with a coy smile.
“Sounds like a nice evening,” Larry Joe said. “I’m proud of you for being able to pull together something special, even being in a strange town and all.”
“Yes, sir. She really outdid herself,” Mama said, reaching over and patting me on the knee. “I’d ask what you three got up to tonight, but I’m not sure we want to know.”
“Nothing we need to apologize for, I assure you,” Earl said. “We had some decent but expensive burgers and then went to a bar and had a few drinks.”
“I’m guessing the women working at this bar weren’t wearing turtlenecks and long skirts,” Mama said.
“All the waitresses in Vegas I’ve seen so far dress skimpy, but these gals were nothing out of the ordinary. You’d have to take out a loan to afford more than a couple of drinks in there, though,” Daddy Wayne groused.
“Yeah, it was pricey, even pricier than the hotel bar. We didn’t stay long—which is why we ended up back here so early,” Larry Joe said.
I couldn’t help wondering if the guys were being as completely honest and forthcoming about their evening as we’d been about ours.
Chapter Six
Since it was her wedding day, I figured I’d better check in with Mama first thing and get my marching orders. I called her before I’d even brushed my teeth.
“Good morning, Mama. How is the bride feeling today?”
“I feel stiffer than a starched collar. This hotel mattress is too firm. But I’m not going to let it get me down—not today.”
“That’s the spirit. So, what’s first on the agenda? What do you need me to take care of?”
“I don’t need you to do anything at the moment, hon. Earl and I are going shopping for campers. He and the guys picked out some for me to look at today. Wish us luck. If we come up empty, I guess we’ll be sleeping in a pup tent on our honeymoon.”
I smiled. Remembering what Larry Joe had told me about the very top of the line camper, I had a strong feeling they wouldn’t come up empty on their shopping trip—but Earl’s wallet might.
“Okay, Mama, don’t overdo it on being out in the heat. Maybe you should take some bottled water with you. And be sure you make it back in time to rest a bit for the wedding.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll call you later on.”
Larry came out of the bathroom already showered and shaved. He had on his pants and grabbed a shirt from the closet.
“Mama doesn’t have any chores for me this morning. You want to go sightseeing together?” I asked.
“I’m sorry, Liv. My mama called early. She’s got a sick headache. I have a feeling she had a couple of glasses of wine at your girls’ night out, am I right? Mama’s not much of a drinker. Anyway, she wants to stay in and rest so she’ll be feeling well for the wedding this evening. She asked if I’d babysit Daddy and make sure he doesn’t spend all day just eating, since he’s been acting like a kid in a candy store. You’re welcome to come along, but you’d probably have more fun hanging out with Di or hooking up with some of those event planners.”
“Yeah, don’t worry about me. I’ll find some way to occupy myself. Besides, if Mama and Earl make short work of buying a camper, I’m sure she’ll think of something she wants me to do. Although I’m hoping I can avoid having to shop for more items for her ‘trousseau.’ Honestly, if Mama buys much more than she’s already packed, there won’t be room for Earl in the camper.”
Larry Joe filled his pants pockets with change and keys and his wallet off the dresser, then kissed me good-bye.
It was still a little early, so I texted Di. About thirty seconds later she called.
“Hi. Do you want to do something or do you have plans with Dave?” I asked.
“I have plans to avoid Dave. I’m up to anything that involves us getting out of this hotel, so I don’t have to run into him.”
“Okay, I have a couple of brochures lying on the dresser,” I said, paging through the tourist flyers. “What sounds good? There’s a five-acre indoor amusement park at Circus Circus. It includes a roller coaster that goes backward with negative g-force.”
“I’ll pass.”
“Here’s a place with a 117,000-gallon aquarium.”
“Do the fish perform some kind of show?”
“They’re fish, not trained seals. Okay, moving on. There’s the Fremont Street Experience. That has a little bit of everything—shopping, restaurants, and free entertainment under a giant LED canopy.”
“That sounds good. It gives us options and gets us out of here,” Di said.
“I think it said in the brochure we can take a bus to the Fremont thing. It might be cheaper,” I said.
“Let’s just grab a taxi. That’ll be faster; I just want to get away from the hotel—now.”
* * *
We asked the driver to drop us off at the Fremont Street Experience.
“It’s really neat to come here after dark,” he said.
“I bet,” I said, thinking that was probably true of Vegas in general.
He dropped us off near the front of the canopy that covered five or six blocks, creating a pedestrian mall. We walked along without conversation for a bit, just people watching. They say there are all kinds of people—and most of them were here.
“This looks like it would be an ideal location to shoot an episode of that reality show about tragic fashion choices,” I said.
There were shops offering every tacky Vegas souvenir you could think of. Naturally we stopped to look at most of them. We contemplated buying strawberry daiquiris, a favorite libation of ours, in these huge Eiffel Tower–shaped drink containers. But when we found out the containers held sixty ounces we thought that might be a bit much, even for us. At least this early in the day.
As we walked there was the constant sound of people screaming over our heads, thanks to a pair of zip lines near the top of the canopy. It was noisy, so I felt like we could talk in relative privacy. Only people talking nearly head to head would be able to hear any conversation.