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She was laughing. Big, brilliant smile… wet cheeks, her eyes practically squeezed shut. I know your dirty mind, I know what you’re thinking; but no, it wasn’t that.
The Vegas Strat hotel was towering over us. There were onlookers, cheering us on. Somewhere in the crowd, somebody yelled “Congratulations!”
Lizzy climbed out of the SkyJump fall harness in slow motion. The whole world was blurry, with a tunnel of clear straight to the girl who could kill you with cuteness. Yeah, the adrenaline was spiking, again. You know why, right? On the jump platform, I asked her to marry me.
She was barely moving.
Really, nothing was moving.
That’s where my adrenaline was at.
I was trying to be sly. Before I took the plunge, I asked her to take the plunge… by telling the tech that she was my fiancée. I said it so she’d overhear me — and she did.
Normally, they make people wear skydive jumpsuits, but not her. She’d been petrified up top, almost catatonic some 83 stories up. They settled for getting her in the harness, though I had to laugh: the prep crew took their shot to cop a feel.
Understandable.
Asking her to marry me? That snapped her out of the paralysis. As I fell off the platform, I watched focus replace the mortal terror in her eyes. I knew, that instant, that I’d made the right decision.
She said “yes,” by the way. She jumped right after I did, and she said “yes” as she landed. A “yes” that she did it. A “yes” to my question. Then a big, teary-eyed kiss the instant she was unclipped from the line.
In the shadow of the Strat, the SkyJump landing team surrounded her like a pit crew. They were as handsy as the guys up top, though now she was in on it, laughing the whole time. Credit where it’s due: it looked mostly professional.
So why was I spiking again, now?
Oh, yeah: handsy… on my now-fiancée. And she’s laughing. It was too much to process right now, but as I watched, I didn’t mind it. Honestly, as I forced myself to breathe… I enjoyed it.
#
She scampered out of the gate, pulling me behind her. I glanced at her ass, because… her ass. Perfect, round, firm. She was a showgirl. Or she should be.
I glanced behind us. Now that we were walking away, the SkyJump’s landing zone seemed Golden Knights-small. Then again, this was just falling off a tower, not actual parachuting. Ha. Yeah, try telling that to the mortals who step off the platform.
They’re immortal when they reach the bottom, at least for a little while. That’s where Lizzy was now. I could tell by the bounce in her step, she was on top of the world.
She pulled us right back into the Strat… and stopped.
She turned around and gave me another kiss. “I wanna go again… but you said we had to be some place?”
“Yeah…” Ha! Shit, that’s right. I built us an itinerary, didn’t I? I was still kinda foggy. I checked my watch and looked around. “Food.”
“What?”
“We should eat something.”
She laughed. That big, open smile as she laughed. Those lips. Those big, warm, brown eyes… she was like an anime girl, come to life. I could look at that for the rest of my life.
Good thing, too…
I asked about wait times for the “Top of the World” restaurant. They laughed: this was a Saturday.
I leaned in to the maitre’d, and gestured UP: “I asked my girlfriend to marry me, just before we did the jump.”
He went wide-eyed, then shot Lizzy a glance… and slowly nodded. “I can see why.”
“Thanks.”
“I’m making space for you, but you’re going to have to meet the dress code. Are we working around anything else in your schedule?”
“Oh, shit, that’s right.” I ran timing through my head. “What do you have after nine?”
“I have nothing. I am making something. What time do you want?”
Better build in a little cushion. “Nine-thirty.”
“Done. Look the part.”
“Copy that. Thank you.”
#
She looked at me with those big eyes. It never got old. She pointed at the sign by the elevator. “It says they’re all booked up.”
I shook my head. “Maitre’d thinks you’re cute, so we’ve got 9:30 reservations… but we gotta be in the right threads.”
“Oh!”
She scanned around and found the dress code. None of this, none of that, blah, blah. She was biting her lip as she read.
She spun, almost doing a pirouette. “Wait, you said we’re doing something tonight?”
“Yeah. We’ll do that, then be here just in time for dinner.”
She was biting that lip again. That luscious, bee-stung lip that feels just as good as you’d imagine it would.
Lizzy glanced at her phone, nodding. “I have an idea!”
I shrugged and pointed at the doors. “Let’s make it happen.”
Again, the Big Smile. Those goddamned lips. See, she doesn’t have the cheekbones that I always go for. No, she had chipmunk cheeks. She was hot, but she was cute-hot. Snow White. Or maybe Tinker Bell. No, Snow White. Even my manager had called her Snow White.
Pure as… well, definitely not pure as the driven snow. Driven-through, maybe. Okay, stupid joke, but it made me laugh. Also… gebze escort got me a little excited.
So weird.
Lizzy pulled me out through the doors, back onto the Vegas sidewalk — and she got looks. Her purple spandex short-shorts and what was essentially a sports bra, she definitely got looks. What show had she escaped from?
She felt it too. I could see her absorbing the attention. She held up a hand for a taxi… then held it up higher… then — fuck it — did a little spin-jump and I swear to God, a Cadillac station-wagon literally screeched around the corner, stopped right in front of her — and fucking Elvis himself got out.
“Did the lady call for a taxi?”
“YES!” And she climbed in, no questions asked.
A mid-70s, white, pink-top, Cadillac station wagon? The fuck planet did this come from? “Are you fucking serious?”
He lowered his sunglasses for sincere eye-contact. Yeah, the Elvis voice: “Serious as a heart attack.”
This guy was old enough to be my dad. Slightly heavy-set, side-burns, pompadour… but he was Elvis. Older, seedier Elvis, but definitely Elvis.
“Sure. Why not.” I climbed in after Lizzy.
He slid in behind the driver’s wheel like it was a dance move. “Where are we headed?”
“Hang on…” She was searching on her phone.
I remember seeing a brochure for Elvis-in-a-Caddy tours. “Are you the tour guy?”
“Pink topless caddy? No, that’s my brother, Elvis.”
“I’m guessing that’s your name, too?”
“My mother mistakenly named me Richard. The tour guy? His mother mistakenly named him Jesse. But we’re Elvis.”
I leaned back in the seat, taking it all in. Fare box, camera… this guy was legit. “Elvis drives an Uber?”
“Until I can get the band back together.”
Lizzy leaned forward. “We need clothes.”
He glanced at her and nodded, grinning. Yeah, I know what thought just went through his head.
She was tapping her phone against her lip. “Something… Boho.”
“Boho. Gotcha.” He lowered the sunglasses like they were racing goggles. “I know just the place…”
#
We rolled out from the Strip, but Elvis carried the spirit with him. He was focused on traffic, mumbling lyrics as he drove.
That moment of overwhelm at the base of the Strat? Yeah, that came flooding back. I let it flow over me a moment. It was all marriage-flavored anxiety, but it wasn’t actually cold feet.
Right off the top, I knew this wouldn’t be 2.2 kids, dog, and a McMansion-in-the-burbs life. Okay, honestly, that was kind of a relief.
Lizzy wasn’t what I expected for a bride, but she was still cute as fuck. No, this was a relationship with a girl I met by being “the other guy” when she cheated on her boyfriend. We’d figured out she was addicted to the cheat… and goddammit, I was addicted to her — including that part.
This girl did the Dance of the Seven Veils, and each veil was a different fucking red flag. I knew she loved me more than anybody else, but let’s be honest, she loved sucking cock most of all.
She was obsessive-compulsive in the way you want a girlfriend to be… but a wife? She would not be a “faithful” wife.
No, we’d be swingers. She’d be a hotwife, a slut-wife, and somehow… I loved that about her. I didn’t want her to change.
I was an adrenaline junky and Lizzy…? Lizzy was mainlining epinephrine.
“…There’s a thousand pretty women waitin’ out there, and they’re all livin’ the devil may care…”
I was never an Elvis guy, but the song sounded familiar. And if I was picking up the words right, it fit Lizzy.
Not even sure he knew he was singing. “…And I’m just the devil with love to spare, so…”
I couldn’t help but laugh. Yeah, that tracked.
The rhythm was coming to me and I had a pretty good guess what was coming next. I took just enough breath to join him.
Surprise: Lizzy jumped in.
All three of us: “Viva Las Vegas, Viva Las Vegas!”
#
We got to whatever they call their artsy district and Elvis did a slow-roll down the street. “What strikes your fancy, miss?”
She scanned the line of vintage boutiques. “That one!”
Two seconds later, she was out the door.
Elvis and I glanced at each other and he turned back to watch her jog toward the shop. “She’s lively!”
“Yeah. She’s…” Lively? “She’s high-energy.”
“Fireball,” he grinned.
Once the peaches disappeared, logistics rushed back. Transpo. I looked around the interior. It was clean. Authentic. “I never knew Cadillac made a station wagon.”
Elvis held up a finger. “Once. They did it one time, in 1974.”
“And you… right.” This guy was driving a museum. “You are the King.”
“Hail to the king, baby.”
I couldn’t stifle the laugh. This guy was good. “So, we get done here, we’ll need to get back to the strip. Mirage, I think.”
“Show?”
“Yeah.”
“Beatles. Cirque. Good one.”
“You know it?”
“Of course. They’re closing that show, too. You’re just in time!”
“Okay. Wow. So, then, dinner back at the Strat, right after.”
“A gümüşhane escort man with a plan.”
“Yeah, what I need is wheels. How long can I book you for?”
“Ninety-nine an hour on the card, baby.”
Steep for a taxi, but this guy was a rolling show. If he had a flat rate for credit, I’d try my luck away from taxes and fees. I laid out five bills. “Cash?”
“For her?” He scooped up the Benjamins. “You’ve got me until sunrise.”
“Perfect.”
#
The sign was painted in swirly antique gold: Bohemian Rhapsody. Queen song, right? Wait. Boho = Bohemian? Well, learn something new every day.
I pushed through the door and heard a little tinkle. There she was, with the shopkeeper, with a rolling rack of clothes next to them.
“Babe! This place is great!”
“You should thank Elvis for recommendation.”
She grinned, obviously a dirty thought… just as I’d intended.
“You must be the fiancé!” The clerk took a moment, coming over, all smiles herself. “You remind me of somebody!”
“Hi. Clooney,” I said, extending my hand. “George Clooney. You’ve probably seen some of my work.”
She shook her head. “Closer to Brad Pitt. Young Brad Pitt.”
Behind her, Lizzy was squinting at me, trying to see it.
“Uhh… I’m-“
“Casper Van Dien!” the clerk shrieked.
Lizzy jumped up. “YES!”
“Who?”
She shook my hand like I had just entered her lair. “Ever see The Legend of Sleepy Hollow?”
“Saw the cartoon when I was a kid.”
Lizzy was grimacing, rubbing her neck for some reason. “Uh, skip that one.”
The clerk pursed her lips. “Johnny Rico?”
“Oh, yeah! Okay…” I glanced in a mirror. Did not see that.
Behind the clerk, Lizzy was giving me a serious-eyes, slow-nod. Was that a “yes, totally” or was that a “just go with it”? Whatever. I just went with it.
“Sizing,” the clerk warned.
“Huh?”
She reached out and grabbed my shoulders. “Oh! Ohh…”
“What? Everything okay?”
“Yes! I have something, but it’ll require a minute. I’ll have to take in the waist, but, oh, yeah… So… Look around, I’d suggest over THERE, and let me get her in the changing rooms.” Yeah, my brain went there. “Then we’ll do you.”
“I, uh… I like the sound of that.”
She gave me a knowing smile and slipped back to Lizzy.
“Over there” was their jewelry selection. Two sections: costume jewelry, free to fondle, and vintage jewelry, behind security glass.
Lightning bolt: engagement ring. Jesus H. Wedding ring.
I glanced behind, toward the girls. The clerk was a tall blonde wisp, and looked like she lived and breathed this stuff. I glanced back at the case and there was an artsy engagement ring: diamond middle, with a pair of red, blue and green stones swirling out. Matching wedding band. All the color fit for an artist. Rings fit for Lizzy.
A glance out the window, and there was Elvis, entertaining people as they walked past the Caddy. A glance behind me, again, at the cutesy-dirty little slut now known as my fiancée.
Yeah, a new plan was forming.
#
The shopkeeper — her name was Jez — was a wizard: pinning, measuring, making adjustments, and finally sewing stuff on Lizzy’s selection and mine.
My selection. Who am I kidding? I stood there like a mannequin, getting shooshed, no less, while they dressed me from brown leather shoes, to blue-gray slacks, off-white shirt, dark blue vest, topped with a maroon tweed jacket. Kinda worked, though I felt like the Mad Hatter.
Jez showed me how to fold a golden-paisley hanky into a three-point “pocket square” and dropped it in the breast pocket of the jacket. It matched the tie, though a Windsor knot apparently wasn’t good enough. This had to be a “Stephanie Rose” knot.
We were at two failed attempts to tie that knot, and were running out of time, when Jez grabbed my chin. “Your girl is an artist. You WANT to learn this knot…”
“Sally Rose…?”
“Stephanie. It’s also known as the Jugger Knot.”
“Oh.” A second later, the name sunk in and it got an honest chuckle. I glanced in the mirror, finding new motivation. “Ha! Jugger Knot… Why didn’t you say that the first time?”
Thirty seconds later, it looked like my tie had folded itself into a rose under my collar. Jez stood there, her jaw hanging open.
“How?”
“I’m good at rope work. Knots and stuff. You know.”
She bit her lip and turned away, her cheeks turning pink.
Not super-sure what I just stepped in there, but I’m betting her idea of “rope work” and my idea of “rope work” were a little different.
Lizzy came around the corner and stopped dead in her tracks. She stared at me, wide-eyed, for a moment.
“I am so wet right now…”
I glanced out the window. “I know a back seat where we can go.”
Those chipmunk cheeks parted for a million-watt grin.
I gave the once-over right back to her: yellow skirt, low-rise swirly; blue shirt, loose, sheer and lacy, with six different necklaces that pulled my eyes right to her perky tits. Long but izmir escort thin coat over it, with intricate embroidery, more for modesty, I guess. Red ribbon in her brown hair. Looked like she’d just stepped off a movie set.
“Liz, you look fucking amazing.”
Somehow, the grin got wider and she started dancing through the store. “LaaLaa-la-la-la…” The tune sounded familiar. Someday my prince will come?
Jez stepped close, leaning in for a whisper as she patted the right pocket in the slacks… and dragged her fingers right across my zipper. “Don’t worry. I’ve got you covered.”
“I can feel it.”
She gave my cock a squeeze, right through my pants, and it really felt like I’d fallen down the rabbit hole. This was another universe.
Jez spun away and held up her phone. “Liz! Can I get a picture of you two together?”
“Sure!”
One shot was prim and proper. Another playful… a third one, I was dipping Lizzy deep for the kiss she needed.
Jez’ phone disappeared in some odd pocket and she just swooned and sighed, looking at us. “I’m gonna put these up and tell everybody it was Johnny Depp and Christina Ricci!”
I laughed, but I don’t think she was kidding.
#
We walked out of the store, our previous outfits in a bag, and Elvis did a double-take. He swung a hand around like a kung-fu move and two-finger pointed at the pair of us.
“THAT… is amazing!”
Lizzy did a little curtsy.
Elvis just could not look away. “Snow White finally has her Prince Charming!”
I looked down, glanced between us, and finally put the colors together. Holy fuck, how did I not see it?
#
The sun was low on the horizon as the Caddy launched out of the Arts District, headed back to the Strip. One stop at a red light was just enough time for Elvis to pop a pill and wash it back with a Gatorade.
He saw me looking. “ADHD, so I take a little prescription to keep me focused. Adderall. Want one?”
Jesus. This guy really was Elvis. “Not yet. I might ask later, though.”
Lizzy leaned forward. “Do you have anything snacky?”
He tapped the glove compartment. “I’ve got peanut butter cups, but they’re not, uh, normal.”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“Ten milligram.”
“Huh?”
“Edible,” I explained.
“Very, very edible,” he confirmed. “Though at 10 milligrams, that might be enough to send you to space, little lady.”
She blinked between the two of us, then held out her hand. “Yes, please!”
#
We came in hot, landing at the Mirage like our tail was on fire — and just in the nick of time. Elvis knew right where to go, and we rolled out to the LOVE Theater.
She looked wide-eyed at the sign… then walked over and hugged it. Yeah, that peanut butter cup was already kicking in, hard.
I grabbed her hand and pulled in through the main doors.
“I’ve always wanted to see a show!” she sobbed.
The Beatles were echoing through the Lobby. “I know! We should see this one while we’re here! Let’s go!”
I flashed my phone-tickets at the ushers and they waved us in like royalty, guiding us down the rows, all the way to the front.
Lizzy’s jaw was hanging open, tears streaming down her cute little cheeks, as we took our front-row seats.
Just as we settled in, the last of the lights lowered and the artistes of Cirque du Soleil made their grand entrance. I think was the final night of the show.
Not gonna lie, I wasn’t ready for it.
Cirque are amazing athletes, and what they did on stage was beautiful. I know just a little about choreography — I’m a PT and I’ve treated dancers before, so I’ve studied the kinesiology. This troupe was world-class. Then there was the acrobatics and the aerials… I could appreciate what all of them did, flowing through space, making everything sexy without even trying.
That said, this show circled around Vietnam. That was the music. That was the era. That was LOVE.
That was way before my time, but I put in my time. My experiences were a lot dustier, a lot sandier… but everything else was so fucking true.
They had a VW Beetle on stage, and all I could think about was my doorless Hummer, with the peace signs I’d painted all over it.
At times, I had tears in my eyes.
The whole show, I had Lizzy’s hand in mine. Except when she stopped to squeeze my thigh. Yeah… groovy.
The sound rocked right through us, the lighting and the visuals were pure psychedelic. Kinda wished I’d had a high-octane Reese’s Cup, because Lizzy was giggling, and swooning, and cooing and oohing and aahing. She caught the eye of a few of the dancers, and smiles were traded.
Honestly, I got plenty of sly winks, too, but I’m sure they were just being nice.
I found myself splitting time between the show and watching Lizzy watch the show. She was absorbing it, her eyes never stopped moving, her lips almost never stopped smiling or singing along.
Almost.
There were a couple of times, yeah… but I think I’ve mentioned those moments. And you know what…? In those moments, she stopped to look at me. She knew.
I smiled, but I had to look away.
This girl. Love: It’s never what you expect. The Stones said it better than I ever could: You can’t always get what you want, but if you try sometime you’ll find you get what you need. Same era. I think I finally embraced that.
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