Cat In A White Tie And Tails

“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.”