Cat In A White Tie And Tails

Chapter 50

A Very Vegas Affair

Temple was having a nice, private nineteenth-century “swoon” on her living room sofa the morning after overseeing the total disintegration of the Synth and proposing a solution to three murders that would likely remain in cold case files for eternity.

What was frying her brain were the unpleasant facts. For every loose end and murder she might have tied up at Neon Nightmare last night, several messy threads remained. Not the least was the murder of the suspected multiple-killer himself, Cosimo Sparks.

If world-class architect Santiago had done it, as seemed possible, why would he risk killing such a deluded and low-level crook? And if the three head Synth members had appropriated the Darth Vader look for their panicked heist schemes, who were the real Vaders, the pair that had raided the club headquarters carrying serious weapons?

And where was the Jersey Joe Jackson loot, which had expanded from rare silver dollars from the Vegas early days to bearer bonds and weapons of mass seriousness?

Not to mention a series of unsolved “falling” deaths all over town.

Too much information for even an action heroine to process. She definitely needed downtime.

In fact, she was lacking only a mint julep and a pool boy (of her acquaintance, of course), when Midnight Louie leaped before looking and made a four-point, twenty-pound landing on her midriff.

“Oooph, you big oaf! That hurt. Can’t a girl have a time-out to soothe her nerves around this place?”

Apparently not. Louie added insult to actual injury by using her as a springboard to the newspaper-strewn coffee table. Louie proceeded to dig frantically on the papers he’d been peacefully dozing upon barely a minute before.

Temple had to feed her leisurely daily print addiction; besides, nothing washed glass to sparkling perfection better than ammonia and ink-stained newsprint. Cats shared Temple’s fancy for outmoded communication forms, and Louie especially.

Now his big paws were hurtling whole news sections off all four sides of the big low table.

“Lou-ie. I’ll have to get up, bend over, and pick up your mess. I’m not in the mood for physical exertion. You should understand that better than anybody. Use a litter box!”

When another Louie swipe revealed her cell phone screen lying one razor-claw away from disfigurement, she leaped upright and grabbed it from harm’s way.

It purred its thanks in her hand.

No wonder the cat had disrupted the newspapers. Louie’d been sleeping on her hidden smartphone, and it was set on vibrate, not sound. She bet that had been one big buzz in the behind.

She put the phone to her ear and heard Matt saying, “Temple. At last I’ve reached you! I’m back in town; something monumental has happened.”

“Matt? What?”

“I’m on my way to our place. Your place. At the Circle Ritz. I’ve been running around town at my wits end. I’m almost there.”

“What’s the emergency?” she asked. “Has something bad happened?”

“No! Yes. Something beyond inconvenient. They’re arriving this evening on my heels. Where the heck am I going to stow them? What will I do with them? Who can I get on such notice besides an Elvis imitator? Help.”

“Holy Hysteria! Are aliens landing?’

“Might as well be. I’m in the parking lot. Unlock your door and pour something ninety proof.” He disconnected without a parting word.

This was so not like Matt. This sounded like Matt on speed.

“Thank you, Louie, you faithful alarm-kitty, you!” Temple jumped up, then bent down to grab up scattered newspapers. She also gave Louie a huge wet smooch on the head, which meant he’d be kept busy grooming the assaulted fur until Matt arrived. Poison people lips!

Temple checked her kitchen cupboards and found the only truly potent liquor: some iffy tequila left over from a margarita-making kick that had lasted about as long as Las Vegas had been marketed as a family-friendly venue … one year. See all the topless pools opened since then in the City That Has No Shame.

Temple was aghast the Fall of the Synth had temporarily broken her 24/7 connection with Matt and she hadn’t noticed he not only hadn’t called from Chicago but also didn’t check in with her after his show. Apparently something all-involving had kept him too off balance and busy to notice.

She stirred up some Crystal Light, her all-purpose mixer, and filled two lovely footed crystal glasses. Temple was a great believer that proper presentation covered a multitude of flaws, including her cooking. She added a three-count of the Tequila with No Name, making a silent toast to Clint Eastwood, spit-groomed her eyebrows, fluffed her hair, smoothed her mini-muumuu and hovered by the door to await and comfort her uncharacteristically stressed fiancé.

Matt was dead right. Temple could handle crises in a Chicago minute.

He burst through the unlocked door seconds later, shut it, sighed, and said, “You won’t believe this.”

“I believe that you cannot tell a lie. Here.”

He took the glass she offered, sipped, and then gulped. Sighed again, said, “You rock.”

“Come into my parlor and tell me what you need.”

He followed her into the living area, observing Louie sprawling across the couch. “What do I need? Him off the conversation area?”

Louie leaped up and huffed away, tail at a right angle to his back, the feline middle finger salute.

“Sorry,” Matt told the departing cat, sitting beside Temple on the empty sofa as they parked their glasses on newsprint “coasters.” “It’s a family matter.”

“So what’s the matter with your family now?”

Matt lifted his glass from the coffee table turned cocktail table and toasted her. “Nothing. Now.” He brushed a couple wayward curls off her shoulder and behind her ear and set down the glass again. “I need a wedding consultant.”

“How soon?”

“Yesterday.”

“This is sudden.”

“Yes, it is. I got the call last night, too late to call you.”

“‘The call’? That sounds serious.”

“We are sitting down. Mom and Philip Winslow are flying in this evening to get married in Vegas.”

“Matt, that’s awesome! They’re thumbing their noses at both families? It’s like Romeo and Juliet.”

“In midlife. I’m supposed to ‘fix’ it. They cherish some long-gone image of Las Vegas as thronging with cheap drive-up, insty wedding chapels. They don’t have a clue about legal steps and civil ceremonies versus religious ones. Of course, a civil wedding in Las Vegas isn’t recognized in the Catholic Church. They’re acting like a crazy pair of eloping kids.”

“Romeo and Juliet rebooted, without the poison-suicide outcome, as we’re here to ensure. Okay. Number one. Where to put them tonight? Easy. The Crystal Phoenix. I have insty connections there.”

“Um … bridal suite, separate rooms?”

“Connecting suites.” Temple made a pussycat face. “They can either go country or pop.”

“I have nothing to say about this except Mom deserves to do whatever she needs. I don’t want to be associated with the, uh, sleeping arrangements.”

“We won’t have to be. I’ll tip off Nicky and Van. They’ll greet them as VIPs and subtly scope out their intentions and fulfill them.”

“Really?”

“Discretion is their job, Matt. Now. Your mother and Philip seem to be in a hurry.”

“I guess they want this fait accompli, both of their families out of it until they return and present a ‘done deal.’”

“Smart. We might take a page out of their book.”

“But … don’t you want the Kate Middleton gown and aisle walk?”

“Of course. In my dreams. Dreams are not where real life abides. What works, works for me. Back to your old folks at home.”

“Not at home. They’ll soon be right here, on our turf.”

“Exactly. Electra would love to work up a quickie wedding that will knock everybody’s socks off, and maybe their shoes too. It’s all drive-by business for her nowadays and her cozy, clever little chapel with the soft-sculpture congregation is gathering dust. Not to mention that darling spinet organ she has there. You could play for the wedding, since you can’t officiate.”

“Officiating is the problem. Electra’s just a justice of the peace. The marriage would be recognized civilly, but without a priest … it’s just silly for people from two Catholic families to do a Vegas wedding. No priest can officiate outside a church. I don’t get what they’re trying to prove.”

“Maybe that they’re two independent people, not an extension of family druthers and pressure. Maybe they just want to make their commitment fun and impromptu before making it official and solemn back home,” Temple finished. “Quit sweating the small stuff.”

“Temple, marriage is a serious step, a sacrament in my church—”

“Take it from a fallen-away UU. These two adults have been through the mill and know what they want … and that’s no family interference, including yours. Although I think your approval and participation would mean a lot to your mother.”

Matt sat back and almost squished Louie, who’d again lofted up during their discussion.

Louie yelped and gave Matt a claws-in bat on the arm to emphasize Temple’s points before jumping down and stalking away again.

Matt leaned back into the soft cushion. “You’re right. I’m freaking. I’m trying to force my concerns on people who’ve been through enough already. I’m really relieved, Temple. My biological parents are much better off apart. So. What can we do to show Mom and Philip a wild and crazy Las Vegas time?”

“That’s better.” Temple smiled and cuddled into his opening arms. The consultation had become a billing and cooing session, as if they were discussing their own wedding arrangements.

“I don’t know,” she said, “what I’d do if my parents were single and embarking on matrimony on my watch. I’d probably freak too. What you will do is calm down and collect the happy couple from the airport. PR whiz here will handle the rest.”

“You’re thinking of having it here at the Lovers’ Knot Chapel?” he asked.

“Perfect. They’ll have that impulsive Vegas feeling, but well in hand. We are talking about folks in their fifties.”

“Who are acting like impulsive kids.”

“When you think about it, they’re being super smart. They don’t need all the family drama and angst. They need to show up back home, decision made, deed done, and get on with their lives.”

“My family was actually upset when Mom called off the marriage,” Matt pointed out, “but the ‘deed’ isn’t done if it’s not performed at a Catholic church.”

“The families will grouse that it wasn’t held at St. Stan’s Cathedral, but older people don’t care for all that pomp and circumstance anyway. A lot of people don’t nowadays, given the economy. There’s a reason so many people get married in Las Vegas. Isn’t there some way they can get the Church to bless their union?”

Matt thought hard for a few moments. “Yes, actually. They could arrange a private marriage with the parish priest afterwards. They’ll have had the honeymoon first, but I was marrying couples who’d lived together and got separate residences three months before the ceremony back when I was still officiating.” Matt got a funny look on his face. “Do you suppose this … tomorrow night, would be their first, uh, time? You know. Together.”

“You are blushing. Probably. From what you’ve told me, they’re both devout rules followers. This whole trip is only because your Mom really wants you there.”

“Why? To okay her … living in sin for a few days?”

“No! To okay her making a good choice for her life going forward … and maybe … to okay your ‘living in sin.’ What is that about, Matt, really? Where’s the sin if labeling people makes a hell of her life and yours? I say the shame is in the labeling.”

Matt was silent for a moment. “Okay. What do we need?”

“While you’re picking and dropping tonight, I’ll alert Van von Rhine at the Phoenix and get Electra on the case here. The only thing that would thrill Electra more would be marrying you and me. First thing in the morning, eight A.M. sharp, we whisk them to the LV Marriage Bureau. They show ID, sign the paperwork, pay a sixty-dollar fee, and they are ready to commit matrimony.”

“You’ve got this routine down.” Matt raised an eyebrow, then ended organizational matters for the time being with a definitely living-in-sin kiss. “How long have you had designs on me?”

He was kidding, but Temple felt her cheeks warm. “Longer than even I knew.”

Well, that called for another pause in the proceedings.

Temple explained herself. “It’s part of my job to know how things work in this town. Also, we did talk about doing a civil marriage before a church wedding, once upon a time.”

“Doesn’t seem so long ago,” Matt said. “Maybe we should do that now, make it a double ceremony.”

Temple produced an expression of mock shock. “Now that your mother is skipping over the fences, our status worries you?”

“Your well-being worries me. If we were married, one way or another, I could forbid you getting involved in events that could kill you.”

“Think again. I bet ‘obey’ is excised from the vows even in church weddings these days.”

“You’re correct,” Matt said, “but I could keep you so busy and distracted that you’d never want to leave home again.”

“You’re absolutely right,” Temple said finally, “but we don’t have time for you to prove your point. Before you collect the bridal couple, let me make sure Electra can do the ceremony.”

Her quick call and request were greeted by surprise and the usual efficiency.

“You want to arrange a wedding here? Tomorrow? This is so sudden, Temple, dear. No problem. ‘Sudden’ is a justice of the peace’s expertise. I’ll come right down to your place.”

“Uh-oh,” Temple said, signing off. “She thinks it’s us.”

“I suppose it could be us,” Matt pointed out. Again.

“A double wedding is a sweet idea, but your mother should be the star of the show.”

“There’ll only be us and them and Electra attending. Not much ‘show.’”

“That’s why the Lovers’ Knot is the perfect site. There’s an entire soft-sculpture congregation present. And, unlike relatives, they keep their mouths shut.”

“I don’t know what Mom will think about having Elvis in the building.”

Electra’s finest soft sculpture was a jumpsuited Elvis wearing blue suede shoes.

“We’ll find out, won’t we?” Temple jumped up to grab a narrow grocery list notepad from the kitchen. It was headlined by a dancing chorus line of spectacle-wearing carrots and Mr. and Mrs. Potato Heads. “Does your mother have a special dress? And she’ll need flowers. A bouquet.”

The doorbell rang, so Matt admitted Electra. Her signature muumuu of the day was a snappy black-and-white print that coordinated with the very Lady Gaga black streaks in her permed halo of white hair.

“Did I hear you mention a bouquet, Temple?” Electra bustled into the living room and sat on the sofa spot Matt had deserted. “I’ll provide the flowers. But why such a hurry, you two? This will have to be a very simple affair on such short notice. It’s not like Temple is pregnant.”

“It’s my mother who’s getting married,” Matt said quickly, sitting on a side chair. “Her name is Mira Zabinski. She and her fiancé, Philip Winslow, are flying down from Chicago as we speak.”

“Really? Well.” Electra fluffed her hair. “I pride myself on immediate response. Vegas was built in the old days on blood-test-free quickie marriages, but the Lovers’ Knot Wedding Chapel ‘puts the classy in quickie.’ They’re not bringing down an entourage?”

Matt shook his head. “No. They want it low-key. Temple and I will be there. That’s it.”

“Sorry, my boy, that is not ‘it.’ I have flowers and music to arrange, on the house, of course.”

“Matt could play the organ,” Temple volunteered.

While Matt raised his eyebrows, Electra applauded. “Yes, I remember you noodling around on my Hammond electric in the chapel over a year ago. Quite respectably. What was that Bob Dylan tune you thought would make a great wedding processional?”

“You’d make a good memory-policewoman,” Matt said, chagrinned.

He’d caught and interpreted Temple’s raised eyebrows look, which wondered, Were you mooning over little me way back then?

He moved on, fast. “Yeah. It has a great processional vibe, and the lyrics are appropriate. That was ‘Love Minus Zero over No Limit’ … slash mark between ‘Minus Zero’ and ‘No Limit.’”

“What does that title mean?” Temple wondered.

“Bob Dylan envisioned the words written as a mathematical fraction. ‘Love Minus Zero,’ then a line, and below that, ‘No Limit.’ It’s a cryptic, non-schmaltzy way of saying unconditional love.”

“I love it!” Temple responded unconditionally. “You’re hired. Electra, can the bride’s bouquet include something blue besides the usual pale tea roses? Her eyes are the most gorgeous clear light blue color.”

“That’s something blue,” Electra said, checking off a mental list. “What about something borrowed?”

“I don’t know,” Temple said, “but I surely can come up with something unique to lend her. That leaves ‘something old, something new.’”

“Matt’s vintage Dylan song is something old,” Electra suggested.

“Yes,” Temple said, “but I can find something more material somewhere. And after the Marriage Bureau date early tomorrow morning, I’ll treat Mira to a shopping spree on the Strip. If she didn’t have a brideworthy dress at home, I’ll find her the perfect one in Vegas.”

“You women are loving this ‘family emergency,’ aren’t you?” Matt asked.

“We are arrangers,” Electra boasted, with an elbow nudge in Temple’s direction. “Emergencies social and emotional our specialty.”

Temple nodded. “Speaking of arrangements,” she told Matt, “stop by here after you deposit the happy couple at the Crystal Phoenix.”

“I won’t have much time then before leaving for my Midnight Hour show. And that eight A.M. Marriage Bureau date will come early for a three A.M. lights out.”

“I’ll scoot along. Lots to do.” Electra rose and skedaddled for the door. She clearly didn’t want to overhear bedtime logistics discussed.

Temple didn’t foresee much scandalous going on. She and Matt would be scrambling for the next twenty-four hours to bring off this impromptu wedding.

“This is crazy astounding,” he said when they were alone again and cozy on the sofa except for Midnight Louie watching them avidly from the armrest. “Why are they doing this Vegas thing again?”

“Because there’s only one person whose presence would make Mira’s wedding extra memorable. You. She doesn’t really want to share this moment with anybody else.”

“Because…”

“Frankly? You’re the son she was frantic to give legitimacy and instead she gave you, and herself, years of grief.”

He looked unconvinced.

“Hey, Mr. Voice of Shrinkology.” Temple put her hands on Matt’s shoulders and leaned even closer to whisper in his ear. “It’s hard to see your own family forest for the trees sometimes. This is what Mira wants, this is what she needs, to step away completely from family influences and do what’s best for her. Trust me.”

He nodded, pulling her into another long, deeply promising kiss that would have to hold them for at least a day. “I do,” he said, mimicking the marriage vows. “We’ll have to say that for real and all as soon as we decide what we want, free of family influences.”

“Good thing we waited,” Temple said, grinning. “I get to be maid of honor again. I’m just not ready to be a ‘matron.’ It sounds so Girls Gone Wild in jail.”