Las Vegas: Atonement and the Wedding Planner (Part I)

Some intrepid traveller I have proved to be. Indeed, I should be ashamed.

Forgive me, friends, but I have traded my much longed-for trip to Santa Fe, New Mexico, for a Pucci scarf, two pairs of Fluevog shoes and some other stuff only my bank manager knows about. My sole defence is that they were all on sale (mostly) and I was there. And I know my mother would be proud. She thinks New Mexico is too hot and fears I’d be kidnapped by a cowboy (no such luck). Moreover, she loves a good bargain.

Riddled with guilt, though, I think it only fitting that I do something to make up for my gross act of betrayal to committed globetrotters everywhere, especially those who have spent time giving me where-to-eat tips for Santa Fe, not to mention my very tolerant hosts, who have probably been looking forward to my going away for a while. So, as penance for the latter, I have decided to interrupt my life as a global bum and international woman of mystery to become a wedding planner.

Wedding bells (well, distant ones)

Maximus and The Lovely C have been toying with the idea of getting married for some time now. We guests-in-waiting have had our hats on standby for nigh on a decade. But although the bride and groom in question are madly in love, they’re also madly indecisive. As soon as anyone fluffs up their feathers or flattens their fedora, even the vaguest of plans vaporise. The only thing on which they have settled after years of champagne-fuelled musing is that any nuptials should involve a beach and a pig on a spit (I’ve always assumed this would be part of the reception rather than the ceremony, but I should probably check).

[Editorial note: I have been asked, since publishing, to specify that this is not just any old hog, but a wild boar, though I'm still not sure whether it's for eating or part of a ritual sacrifice.]

Then again, it could take place in a vineyard. Or maybe on an island. Or a boat. With lots of guests. Or only a few. Or none. So, they clearly need the kind of help only a professional wedding planner can offer. And by happy coincidence, I’m available. Furthermore, it just so happens that The Lovely C and I are taking off to Las Vegas, Wedding Capital of the World, for the weekend while Maximus is on the other side of the Atlantic being a Very Important Professional. I figure that with a lot of cocktails and the sheer romance of flashing, neon cupid thingies, I can sort this out.

What happens in Vegas ...

Clark County, Nevada, in which Las Vegas resides, will issue a marriage licence in a matter of minutes in exchange for a glance at a valid ID and $55 in cash. The county website helpfully informs you that there’s no waiting time and no blood tests (which is good, I guess, because otherwise it would be a hospital). Las Vegas accounts for about 5% of all US weddings, with about 120,000 couples getting hitched there annually. Not only is it a fairly stress-free way to tie the knot, it’s also inexpensive, with the cheapest civil ceremony I could find costing only $50 at the Civil Marriage Commissioner’s Office, though you have to provide your own witness (they suggest you hang around and grab one).

But you can get married pretty much anywhere in Vegas. Indeed, you don’t even have to get out of your car if you opt for the whizzy drive-thru option. Or you can exchange your vows at one of the myriad purpose-built wedding chapels, many of which are inhabited by Elvis and where the King, himself, will preside over your nuptials and serenade the bride as she walks down the aisle with classics such as Fools Rush In or Suspicious Minds, presumably to let her know it’s not too late to change her mind.

A touch of class

A far classier option, though, in my opinion, is the Viva Las Vegas Wedding Chapel, home to Gothic Weddings, which offers an appealing “cemetery setting for your Las Vegas wedding with fog, tombstones, and ghouls”, according to its website, www.gothicweddings.com. As part of the Graveyard Special, you also get “haunting wedding music” and “one dead witness”. Nice. Or you can opt for a Rocky Horror Picture Show theme and be married by Frankenfurter to the tune of I’m Just a Sweet Transvestite. Fishnets at the ready. Oh, yes.

And you’d be in good company. A near endless list of celebrities and almost-famous people has been married in Vegas (though not necessarily by Frankenfurter), including Elvis and Priscilla (Beaulieu, not Queen of the Desert), Frank Sinatra and Mia Farrow (I had no idea), Angelina Jolie and Billy Bob Thornton, Richard Gere and Cindy Crawford, Paul Newman and Joanne Woodward, Bob Geldof and Paula Yates, Jon Bon Jovi, Dudley Moore, Britney Spears, David Cassidy, George Hamilton, Judy Garland, Jane Fonda, Kirk Douglas, Rita Hayworth and Mickey Rooney (seven times – I guess he had airmiles). Of course, most of them are now also divorced or deceased, but I’m not taking that as an omen.

Where my cunning plan may fall down just a bit is in the fact that Maximus is not really in the right place at the right time. But I’m confident that we can overcome this teensy-weensy issue. I mean, who wants the groom interfering in the marriage preparations in any case? Exactly. So, Maximus, brace yourself. We’re about to board. You may be married before you know it. Literally.

(To be continued ...)

© Poilin Breathnach 2009