“Oh, this dress, Jesse. Oh, my God. You’re gonna love it.”
“I already do. But… it’s getting late. I don’t understand how we’re gonna do three weddings in two hours. It doesn’t seem possible.” I direct my apprehension towards the stoic dressmaker. She ignores me. So I say, “Excuse me. Do you know when we’ll be… you know, getting this show on the road?”
She shakes her head, pins in her mouth as she fusses with one of the roller-brides’ dresses. “Not my department.” Then she juts her chin at something behind me.
I look over my shoulder and see a tall, thin man wearing a faded red polo shirt waving his fingers at me. His blond hair is clearly combed over a large bald patch on top of his head and he’s chewing on a toothpick like a moment hasn’t gone by in the past fifteen years where he didn’t have a toothpick in his mouth. It dangles for a second, then his tongue flips it over to the other side of his mouth, and it bounces between his lips to the beat of Under the Boardwalk playing on the jukebox.
I walk over to him. “Are you one of the Thumbs?” Which I realize is an inside joke between Emma and I, but it must not be original, because he gets it.
“Yes.” He laughs. “I’m Steve, your Fingers’ Fantasy Wedding Pick Three Buffet coordinator number one. Are we almost ready here? Or does your bee-u-tee-ful bride-to-be need a few more minutes?”
“Yeah, ah… I think so. Emma? I’m not trying to rush you, but”—I tap my watch—“it’s getting late. We wanna make sure we get the full wedding experience.”
“Full wedding experience coming your way,” Steve assures me.
“OK, OK, OK,” Emma says. Then she points to something else on the dress and turns to walk over to us with her shoulders all bunched up to her ears, wide toothy grin on her face.
I take her hand and give it a squeeze.
“You are one lucky man,” Steve says.
“Don’t I know it.”
“OK.” Steve rubs his hands together so fast I almost fear he’ll spark up a fire from the friction. “Let’s do this! Your chariot awaits!”
He pans his hand at the window to a sparkly lavender van. On the side panel, in large fancy script font, it says “Fingers’ Fantasy Weddings” and there’s a picture of a cheesy car-salesman-type dude—presumably Fingers—making a heart with his fingers. And nope. I can count ten of them, so he’s not missing any.
Emma and I look at each other and shake our heads.
“OK,” I say. “Let’s go.”
Emma looks over at the dressmaker. She’s already sitting down at the machine, barking orders at everyone as they bring her fabric and lace. “But… what about my dress?”
Steve smiles even bigger, his toothpick still bouncing on his lips. “The dress is for the last wedding. That’s the special one. The first two are just a taste of what could have been.”
Emma nods like this makes sense. “Ah. OK. We’re in your capable hands, Steve.”
And can I just say? I love her optimism. I’m pretty sure this whole thing is gonna be a disaster—I mean, it hasn’t been planned, none of our family will be here, and the whole setup is ridiculous—but she believes.
And because of that… I decide to believe too.
We go outside and Steve swings the side door of the van open with a flourish that would make Vanna White jealous. And inside it is what can only be described as tricked out.
I’m talking full-on Seventies fuck-truck kind of tricked out, complete with purple and pink shag carpet that’s so long you can probably comb it, a pink leather loveseat, a bar, and yup—no Seventies porn van is complete without a bed in the back. There’s even a canopy of purple mosquito netting hanging above it, just in case you feel the need to consummate your marriage on the road.
Emma barks out a laugh.
But we get in. Steve closes the door with a thunk, and then a few moments later he’s in the driver’s seat and we’re on our way. “First stop, New York, New York, folks! Rollercoaster wedding, here we come!”
“Yay!” Emma claps. “You wanted to do that one, right?”
“Sounds fun, right?”
“So much fun. This is gonna be the best day ever!”
We settle in on the couch, swaying back and forth as Steve takes tight corners over to the Strip and the New York, New York Hotel. Emma is still smiling, but quieter now.
“What’s up?” I ask. Because I can tell when her mood is shifting.
“Nothing’s up. Why do you ask?”
“Because thirty seconds ago you were squealing and now your eyebrows are crinkling.”
“I’m super excited. We’re getting married, Jesse!”
“I know. And you got to pick the cake, and the flowers, and you’re getting a one-of-a-kind Fingers’ Fantasy Wedding custom dress.”
She sighs. “It’s pretty cool. I’m actually having a lot of fun. And I know the dress will just be parts of other dresses repurposed, but… it’s still a nice touch.”
“But…” I say.
“But… I wish Natalie, and Hannah, and Mila were here, ya know?”
“We can just go home. Just have our regularly scheduled wedding next spring.”
“And give in to my mother’s diabolical plan?” She huffs. “With Kraken Karen up on the altar with us? No thank you.”
“I kinda wish Johnny and Joey were here too. We’d probably tear this town up with a Boston bachelor party.”
“Oh, my God. You guys so would. And Huck and Wald. And Darrel—”
“Who’s Darrel?”
“Hannah’s boyfriend.”
“Oh. I just call him what’s-his-name.”
“And Diego, and whichever two or three boys Natalie brings as her dates.”
“If that’s what you want, Emma, we can do that.”
“No. We’re here. We’re in the middle of the best day of our lives. A day we’ll never forget. Just think of the stories we’ll have to tell when this is over!”
“Yeah.” I chuckle. “That’s for sure. It’s already pretty unorthodox. I can only imagine it gets crazier from here. I mean, roller skates?”
Emma giggles. “I sorta love my dressmaker. She’s so… mean.”
“Fuckin’ little Russian ladies. You really can’t hate them.”
“Twenty minutes though?”
“Yeah. We’ll see. But… Steve did say that the dress is for the last wedding, so I’m sure it will be fine.”
I’m a little bit stressed about the time factor. Because this is fun and crazy and all, but my almost-mother-in-law will not forgive me if I don’t deliver her daughter for Christmas Eve dinner.
But then Steve takes another tight corner and Emma slides into me. And I make the most of the opportunity by kissing her. It’s a nice, soft, easy kiss that immediately relaxes me. I let all the worry go and just trust in… fate, I guess. Trust that the universe knows what it’s doing and this day will be perfect.
He slams on the brakes and we crash together, laughing. OK, so this whole thing is pretty… eh, trashy? Maybe? But… it is fun. I kinda feel like this is the plot of the next Christmas Vacation movie. It has a decent setup for that, for sure.
The van door swings open and an older woman with short gray hair smiles brightly at us. “Welcome to the New York, New York Hotel and Casino! Please come with me for your fabulous Fingers Wedding experience!”
Emma takes a deep breath. “Ready?”
And you know what?
I am ready.
So ready to make this woman my wife.
I grab her hand and help her out of the van. The greeter says, “Follow me, please. We have to hurry. The ceremony is about to start.”
Oh, good. I don’t want to rush us or anything. But we really don’t have a lot of time here. We walk fast and Greeter Grandma leads us past the reception desk and over to the elevators. We get in, go up to the second floor, and then head on over to the Big Apple Coaster.
There’s a wedding party already there. Bride, groom, etc, etc. Everybody chatting an
d excited about the big upcoming moment. But no one else. It’s only then that I notice the coaster isn’t even open yet. This is all being done before operating hours.
Emma squeezes my hand. “Oh, my God. I’m nervous. Are you nervous?”
“Little bit,” I admit. But then I look at her and shake my head. “Nah. I’m not nervous. I can’t wait.”
Grandma and one of the coaster workers walk over to the wedding party and a hushed, but heated discussion starts.
“What’s going on?” Emma asks.
“I dunno.”
Then all of them look over at us. Several people are frowning.
“Shit, what’s happening, Jesse?”
But then it’s pretty clear what’s happening. Because a strap of cash appears in Grandma’s hand. She waves it in front of the bride and groom and their annoyed expressions turn to surprise.
They look at us again, then down at the money, then at each other.
The bride takes the neat strap of cash into her hand, which I can deduce is probably either five thousand dollars, if the notes are fifties, or ten thousand dollars, if the notes are hundreds.
Either way, it’s a lot of tax-free cash and I suddenly wonder how much Fingers charges for his fantasy weddings.
Clarence still has my credit card.
But I don’t have any more time to think about that because the bride nods, stuffs the strap into her bra, and Grandma turns and waves us forward.
“OK, Fugosi family wedding party!” an organizer shouts. “We’re this way! Follow me!”
I glance at Grandma, but she’s already walking off.
“What do we do?” Emma asks.
“Uh… follow the wedding party, I guess.”
So that’s what we do. We follow them back to the coaster line-up and end up on the station platform. The Fugosis are being ushered into the waiting train that’s painted up to look like a yellow cab in New York City, bride and groom in the front car, and then a worker points to us and the seat directly behind the bride and groom.
“Here goes nothing,” Emma squeals, as she climbs in and takes a seat.
I get in, and then suddenly everything is happening very fast. The restraint harnesses are slammed down by a large man with a long beard. Then he hands Emma and I a pair of wraparound earbuds and points to his ears. “Put them on,” he says. “That’s how you hear the wedding.”
“Got it,” I say, adjusting my earbuds.
Emma does the same and then there’s a voice in my ears. “Karen and Chad!” the tinny voice says. “Are you ready for the first day of the rest of your life?”
The wedding party cheers. But Emma is grabbing my arm. “What the fuck? Karen and Chad?”
“Yeah, that’s weird, babe.”
She looks around. “Is this some kind of joke?”
But clearly there is a Karen and Chad, and they are dressed up like bride and groom, so... “I think it’s real. Just… a very weird coincidence.”
She opens her mouth to say something, but then the train is moving forward and the—
reverend? Priest? Wedding official?—begins the ceremony with, “We are gathered here together to celebrate the union of Karen and Chad…”
Emma and I look at each other and shrug as we approach the first hill and start climbing. Fuck it. We knew this was just the practice run and we have two more chances to get married after this, so who cares if we’re coaster-bombing the Fugosi wedding?
“Chad, do you promise to love and cherish Karen? Through the highs and lows, through the good and the bad?”
We reach the top of the hill and there’s a moment of high expectations and jittery silence before the announcer continues, “Through sickness and health, for as long as you live, or until you die on the Big Apple Coaster?”
I laugh. Fucking Vegas.
And then we’re going down and everyone is screaming, and I’m not even sure Chad is on board with his marriage vows, but who cares?
We come off the first hill and the announcer is talking again. “And Karen. Lovely Karen. No, you cannot speak to my manager about my inappropriate wedding vows. Do you, Karen—”
The coaster whips us to the side and I lose a few moments of the vows.
But then his voice is there again as we jerk back and forth towards another hill. “—for as long as you live, or until Chad cheats on you with a showgirl down in the casino, loses all the bribe money you just took to allow Jesse and Emma to take the place of your bridesmaid and best man, and you hire a hitman to off him?”
We go upside down and everyone is screaming again, so no clue if Karen’s on board either.
But when I look over at Emma she’s smiling and squealing with delight. And that’s all I care about.
“Everyone!” the announcer says. “Put your hands in the air and scream, ‘I do!’”
Everyone does. Including Emma and I.
The announcer keeps the ceremony going but I’m too busy being jerked around and laughing to hear anything else until we finally slow down and approach the station.
“I now pronounce you husband and wife!” the officiator shouts. And then he morphs into his legal disclaimer voice and starts talking real fast. “Please do not attempt to exit the train until the ride has come to a complete stop. New York, New York Hotel and Casino takes no responsibility for your marriage contract. This is not a legally binding ceremony until your wedding documents have been signed and filed. Have a nice life and if you need a quickie annulment, please visit Marty. L. Mitts in Twain Swenson Plaza, ten minutes northeast of the casino! Congratulations, Chad and Karen!”
The train car jerks to a stop and the safety harnesses release.
I stand up, my legs shaky and my head a little dizzy from the ride. And Emma is taking my hand. “Oh, my God. That was crazy!”
I help her out of our car, and then we nod and smile at the bride and groom, and start looking for… well, shit. Who are we looking for?
“What do we do now?” Emma asks.
“I dunno. Grandma left.”
“Maybe Clarence is waiting for us back inside the hotel?”
We follow the wedding party down the walkway that leads back into the hotel, and then pause below the Big Apple Coaster sign to look around.
“I don’t see him,” Emma says.
I don’t either. I pull out my phone to check the time, just to make sure we’re still on schedule—we are. It’s only ten minutes to ten—and then a text pops up.
Meet Larry in front of the reception desk downstairs.
I hold up the phone for Emma so she can see the message. “I guess we go downstairs.”
Larry ends up being a short, pot-bellied Hispanic dude with a thick, black mustache wearing a blue velour track suit with a white stripe going up the middle of his body. He rushes us as we look around. “Jesse and Emma,” he says in a thick Spanish accent. “Follow me. We’re off to Treasure Island for a pirate wedding!”
Emma squeezes my hand. “That sounds fun!”
“We have to run,” Larry says. “It’s about to start. Let’s go.”
“Run?” Emma asks. But Larry is jogging towards the lobby entrance.
“Come on,” I say, taking off and dragging her behind me. “Pirate wedding totally sounds fun. And we’re in a hurry anyway, right?”
We have one hour before we need to be back at the airport and on our way to Florida.
Chapter Twelve
OK, I get it. What we’re doing here in Vegas is the definition of budget wedding. But would it kill them to drive us over to Treasure Island in the Fingermobile? And/or give us the option of grabbing a cab? Because even though at one point on that coaster I could see Treasure Island down the Strip, it’s not at all close to New York, New York. Like over a mile. So by the time we skid into the lobby I have a cramp in my side and I feel like I’m about to die.
“No one said there was an athletic requirement!” I complain to Jesse as I bend over and try to breathe. He’s out of breath too, and we’re both
slick with sweat even though it’s not even that hot out. You run a mile down the Las Vegas Strip and you’re a sticky mess when you arrive at your destination no matter what.
“This way,” Larry snaps.
“Come on,” Jesse says. “We only have forty-five minutes for two weddings. We have to make this quick!”
And even though everything does go very fast for the next five minutes—we make our way down a hallway and into the staging area for the Treasure Island pirate show—everything comes to a screeching halt once we arrive.
Again, there is already another wedding planned. And again, there is a bundle of money involved as Larry talks to the bride and groom.
But this time, they do not take the money. They stand firm. No way. No how. They are not gonna do it.
But Larry is cool and calm. He pulls out yet another bundle of money from a hidden pocket inside his blue velour track jacket.
Jesse says, “Shit. Do you think those are fifties? Or hundreds?”
I have no idea. But it doesn’t matter. The bride and groom hold firm and shake their heads again.
Larry approaches, frowning. “They want more because they had the deluxe package with a top-notch photographer and there’s no way to fit them in the schedule for later today. It’s full.”
“More than what?” Jesse asks. “Not that I care.” He looks at me with a smile. “I’m OK with paying them if we can get this moving. But… how much are we talking here?”
“I offered them twenty.”
“Twenty thousand dollars?” I ask.
“They said no.”
“OK. Double it,” Jesse says. “Give them forty.”
I look down at myself. I’m just wearing jeans and a t-shirt. And that’s fine, I guess. But I’m so hot and my hair is a mess. “If we get a professional photographer, I can’t get married in this! I’m all sweaty and gross from running down the Strip!” I shoot Larry a glare at that last part. Because what the fuck? Why have a Fingermobile if you’re not going to use it?
“I can ask if they will throw in the dress,” Larry offers. “But it might cost you another ten grand.”
I eyeball the bride’s dress. She looks like she stepped straight out of a heavy metal music video from nineteen eighty-eight. I’m talking a white high-low leather dress with a ragged sharkbite hem and shoulder pads with spiky metal studs lining the long sleeves of her arms. But the best part—ha—is the white leather thigh-high boots with matching metal spikes and the white-lace fingerless gloves. The groom looks like he might actually work somewhere nearby as a Bon Jovi lookalike.
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