Lady Luck (Colorado Mountain #3)(14)
I found this hilarious, totally loved it. If I knew you could be married by Liberace, even if I was head over heels in love with the man I married and thinking I was starting a life that would last forever, I’d blow off the traditional and go for Liberace in a chapel festooned with violet, ice blue and a liberal hand with silver gilding. It was freaking awesome.
But I wondered why Ty Walker chose Liberace. I didn’t think he got a kick out of it because, as far as I could tell, he had no sense of humor… or any emotion, really. It was likely because it was the first wedding chapel we happened upon so he swung the Charger in.
When we arrived inside, the vestibule was packed. Two brides all kitted out in big dresses. One had at least two dozen friends and family around her, groom in a tux, girlfriend in a bridesmaid dress, another male in a tux – wedding party. This was planned. They’d picked Liberace specifically. Their posse had come with them, vacation and big event. The other bride and groom had about half a dozen friends around them, the bride’s gown clearly off the rack and not fitting properly and her hair was a mess as was her makeup. Her groom was wearing shorts. She’d probably donned that gown in the car. They’d been partying and were about two sheets to the wind, teetering on three. Not planned. Spontaneous but happy. Good times that may, or may not, be regretted in the morning. I couldn’t tell. Right now they seemed giddy with happiness but it could be giddy with booze. They’d wake up tomorrow and realize they’d done the one thing that could happen in Vegas that didn’t stay in Vegas. And looking at their loopy, drunken grins, I hoped they didn’t care.
Walker walked me up to the desk that had a huge display of real wedding bouquets and shelves of boxed confetti in every color behind it and also behind it was a diminutive woman with loads of dyed, dark hair ratted out into hairstyle the likes of which I’d never seen and, not to be mean or anything, I hoped I’d never see again. She also was sporting an excess of bulky rhinestones which adorned her at ears, neck, wrists and fingers and so much makeup it was unreal. It wasn’t a look I’d choose but she worked it, except the hairstyle.
“Love is in the air!” she cried when we stopped at the tall counter that was topped with glass under which were photos of happy couples, the bride and groom sandwiching a smiling-like-a-lunatic Liberace sporting an enormous, lilac-hued pompadour, these pictures intermingling with printed menus of wedding packages. “We’ve got a wait of about half an hour, a bit more. I hope that isn’t a problem,” she went on.
“Nope,” Walker replied.
“Excellent,” she breathed, clasping her hands in front of her then she took us both in. “What’ll it be? Menu’s on the counter. We got a basic version then add-ons or you could go with the deluxe package. And, I tell all my lovebirds, whatever you do, go for the bubble machine even if it’s just as an add-on. Nothing says joy like bubbles,” she advised and I pressed my lips together to stop from giggling but even though I thought she was funny, I couldn’t exactly argue with the fact that nothing said joy like bubbles, I’d just never thought of bubbles like that. She looked behind us then at us. “You need witnesses?”
“Yep,” Walker answered.
She leaned in. “We throw that in, freebie.”
Walker just stared at her.
“That’s great,” I said.
“Basic,” Walker said and her smiling, love is in the air eyes went up to him and her face fell a little.
“Oh,” she whispered.
“Cash,” he added.
She gave him a top-to-waist and muttered, “Right.” Then she moved to the cash register.
My eyes moved to the bouquets.
After Walker told me what I needed to know for now and gave me thousands of dollars to make it so, I’d braved the Vegas heat and gone shopping. I was exhausted. I wanted a shower and a nap but he was intent on getting this done and I figured, if we did it then it would be over, I wouldn’t have a mind filled with whether or not I’d made the right decision or kicking myself for getting played by Shift rather than upping stakes and getting the f**k out of Dallas about thirty seconds after we laid Ronnie in the ground.
And as I tried on dress after dress trying to find one to get married in, I thought about the men in my life (by the way, the first dress I’d been instructed to get I’d found right away – a wedding dress, not so easy and, incidentally, I’d done a detour from Walker’s instructions in order to buy a bikini, a hopeful effort that I might eventually get to veg beside a pool where every girl knows she can let the sun bake away her life, however crazy it is, and I needed that for certain).
In thinking about the men in my life, I started at the beginning and counted them down.
First, there was my grandfather. A decent enough guy if you didn’t know him. Not so decent if you did. Total shit at being a Dad. This was evidenced by the fact that my mother was a mess. He hadn’t learned any lessons from what went bad with her before taking me on. This was because, first, he didn’t want to learn and second, he was the kind of man who always thought he was right so he didn’t think there was anything to learn and my Mom flying off the rails was therefore all on her not on the fact that her mother was a weak woman cowed by an overbearing man and her father was more interested in football than fatherhood and expected the women in his life to tow the line and wasn’t best pleased, and showed it, when they didn’t do what he wanted even if he hadn’t expended the effort to explain what he wanted.