Cat In An Alphabet Endgame

28

Purple Heart

The Crystal Phoenix had prepared a sparkling, extravagant reception area where everyone awaited the bride and groom. Temple held her breath at the sight. Matt’s parents, all three, her parents. Her four brothers, wearing suits, could she believe? With kids in tow. Van and Nicky, her perfect bosses. And Tony Valentine and assistant Danielle. All the Circle Ritz residents and Electra. Carmen Molina, now wearing a snazzy black outfit with Mariah and Rafi. Letitia and Dave from WCOO. My gosh, Courtney!

Courtney dipped at the knees to embrace Temple. “I’m so proud I was able to help you be so beautiful. Perhaps we could have a copy of the formal portrait for the shop?”

Kit whisked Temple to a private room to divest her of the train and fountain of veiling, leaving only the Lover’s Knot headpiece.

“And the gloves,” Temple said. “They’re so elegant.”

“Ah, you look so lovely pared down, m’dear. Audrey Hepburn revisited. You’ll tire of those gloves. They’re a pain to eat and drink in.”

“Well…maybe I shouldn’t risk them getting dirty.”

“Did you see? In the Church. During the recessional?” she whispered to Matt during the bridal couple’s first dance alone on the floor.

“I didn’t see much, except for you.”

“Your mother. She met your father, Jonathon, at a side altar as the bridal party marched out. They lit a candle to Our Lady of Guadalupe together. I’m sure the pro photographer got the shot. She’s good. Gets the unexpected moment.”

“It’ll be wonderful to have that in the wedding album,” Matt agreed.

“And we’ll send an album to all the older-generation attendees.”

“So they’ll each have a copy.”

Temple nodded.

“You never stop making people more than they can be,” he said, sweeping her into a swell of waltz music. “Are we doing this all right?”

“Are you kidding, Mr. Celebrity Dance contestant?”

“We’ve had a bad review.” He glanced at Mariah in her Purple Rain finery.

“Teens, always so critical,” Temple said. “Wait until Zoe Chloe Ozone shows up in TV clips.”

They laughed and at that moment…cousin Krys came up to them.

“You made it,” Temple said, startled.

“Yeah. They said an extra ticket would be okay.”

“Better than okay,” Matt said, embracing her and kissing her cheek. “So good to see you, Krys. You look great.”

“You too,” Krys said, a little too crushingly. She turned to Temple. “Good show. Some Ultra Violet gel nail polish for the ring thing would have been a major pop, but you really got your girl on.”

“Thanks,” Temple said, shaking her head as Krys moved on. “One dedicated fanatic already.”

As the dance music stopped, everyone applauded, and Tony Valentine stepped onto the empty dance floor. Tall, crowned by dazzling white hair, patrician, he brought the happy buzz to absolute silence.

“My name is Tony Valentine, and I’m here to give out some valentines. I’m here to toast the future of this lovely couple.” He raised a champagne flute as everyone present with one to flaunt mimicked his gesture. “And to announce that they will be staying in Las Vegas, after a suitable honeymoon elsewhere, to head up their own syndicated television talk show.”

Gasps. Buzz. Applause, applause. Smiles.

“The Crystal Phoenix will deeply miss Temple Barr,” Nicky Fontana stepped forward to say, “but we have always been her fans and will follow her to assured triumph in her new career. And,” he added, “I think Mr. Valentine has another heart up his sleeve.”

Tony stepped back into the spotlight. “Also, I wish to announce that another beloved personality at the Crystal Phoenix is stepping into the limelight.”

There was a pause. Two waiters carried a linen-clad dining table to the center of the dance floor.

A purple velvet pillow was imported to the table by Aldo Fontana, who fluffed it.

Eduardo carried in a zebra-stripe cat carrier and deposited it on a white velvet dining chair Ralph placed center stage.

Chef Song, the executive chef whose white cap was far higher than Tony Valentine’s natural Lyle Lovett-style pompadour, placed a simple low bowl on the table.

Something savory was heaped therein.

Eduardo unzipped the carrier with a dramatic gesture.

Midnight Louie poked out his jet-black nose, surveyed the room left and right, up and down, sniffed the zipper edge and the tablecloth edge, wrinkled his nose and jumped onto the purple velvet pillow. Cameras and cell phones clicked and flashed.

Nicky Fontana stepped forward again. “From a humble start as a homeless stray on the Crystal Phoenix grounds, Midnight Louie has captured our regard for his transition from a canny yet perhaps desperate wanderer to a productive resident guardian welcome wherever he goes.

“He is small, but fierce.”

Midnight Louie sat, leaned forward to inhale the aura of the single exquisite bowl, nodded, and proceeded to lap and chomp the contents. Right in front of Chef Song. It was not koi, but it was exquisite seafood. He would endorse nothing else.

“The first bowl of Á La Cat International Chef tidbits,” Tony said to applause, “and there will be a ground-breaking commercial series featuring Crystal Phoenix favorites Miss Temple Barr and Mr. Midnight Louie, Esquire.”

A roar went up from the crowd.

Miss Temple came to pose cheek to cheek again with Louie. She lifted her leg and ankle bearing Midnight Louie Austrian crystal pump to the center of the white velvet pillow on the chair as cameras and films captured every image and wolf-whistles abounded…

Midnight Louie burped. He opened a heavy-lidded eye. He seemed to be on the floor, in his carrier, behind an uninspired hotel convention tablecloth of burgundy linen.

Had he been dreaming?