A Billionaire for Christmas

Roller-skating waitresses have now been transformed into wedding-dress models. They skate in, the long trains of their gowns trailing out behind them, and then turn, hold hands, and skate in roughly the shape of a circle with hands in the middle. They shout, “One, two, three, BRIDE!” like this is a ‘go team’ chant on a football field, and then they spin backwards and flip up on their toe stops with hands in the air in a grand ‘tada’ gesture, like they just dismounted off the uneven bars at the Olympics.

Emma applauds. “Oh, my God, that was amazing!” She looks at me, still clapping like crazy. “This is the best wedding plan ever.”

The little dress lady says, “You pick dress now. I make it,” in her scary Russian accent.

“OK!” Emma says, still very excited.

“But… should I be here for this?” I ask. “It’s supposed to be a surprise?”

“It will be surprise,” the dress lady says, nodding her head. She calls out, “Machine!” and Emma and I jump a little at how loud such a little person can be. But then we laugh. Because the hostess skates out with a sewing machine on a wheeled table.

“I make custom,” the dressmaker says. “She pick favorite style, I sew up. You see later, bossy man.”

“Right here?” Emma says, looking at me with a huge grin. Like this whole thing is so crazy. “In the restaurant?”

“This not restaurant. This Big Mike’s.”

“OK!” Emma’s clearly on board with that illogical explanation.

“Wow,” I say, looking at my watch. It’s already almost eight o’clock. “But we have to be back on the plane by eleven. Is the dress gonna be ready in time?”

“Time, no problem. Take twenty minutes.”

“Twenty minutes?” Emma exclaims, looking at me all flushed pink with delight. “You’re pretty fast!”

“You pick style now. I make fancy dress for you.” And then she snaps her fingers and the roller-skating models start another routine.

I have to admit, none of these dresses are very spectacular. They’re all a little bit ragged. And the trains are kinda dirty from being dragged across the floor. And yeah, if this is only going to take twenty minutes… I’m not convinced what Emma ends up with will be anything amazing.

But Emma doesn’t seem to notice. And even if the dress isn’t amazing, it will still be special. Because from what I’ve seen so far, this Fingers dude, he’s definitely cornered the market on fantasy Vegas elopement weddings.

The whole fuckin’ thing is insane.

Emma gets up and starts looking over all the dresses. The dressmaker snaps her fingers again and a whole team of women appear with measuring tapes and start measuring Emma while she points to various elements she likes.

Another team works on my measurements and there’s lot of talk about buttons, and lace, and chiffon, and bodices, which is all a little bit boring. But then I hear ‘garters.’ And ‘corset.’ And ‘stockings.’

I can get on board with that.

Except… this is kinda taking a while. The next time I look at my watch it’s nearly nine o’clock.

I walk over to Emma. “Hey, babe.”

“Oh, this dress, Jesse. Oh, my God. You’re gonna love it.”

“I already do. But… it’s getting late. I don’t understand how we’re gonna do three weddings in two hours. It doesn’t seem possible.” I direct my apprehension towards the stoic dressmaker. She ignores me. So I say, “Excuse me. Do you know when we’ll be… you know, getting this show on the road?”

She shakes her head, pins in her mouth as she fusses with one of the roller-brides’ dresses. “Not my department.” Then she juts her chin at something behind me.

I look over my shoulder and see a tall, thin man wearing a faded red polo shirt waving his fingers at me. His blond hair is clearly combed over a large bald patch on top of his head and he’s chewing on a toothpick like a moment hasn’t gone by in the past fifteen years where he didn’t have a toothpick in his mouth. It dangles for a second, then his tongue flips it over to the other side of his mouth, and it bounces between his lips to the beat of Under the Boardwalk playing on the jukebox.

I walk over to him. “Are you one of the Thumbs?” Which I realize is an inside joke between Emma and I, but it must not be original, because he gets it.

“Yes.” He laughs. “I’m Steve, your Fingers’ Fantasy Wedding Pick Three Buffet coordinator number one. Are we almost ready here? Or does your bee-u-tee-ful bride-to-be need a few more minutes?”

“Yeah, ah… I think so. Emma? I’m not trying to rush you, but”—I tap my watch—“it’s getting late. We wanna make sure we get the full wedding experience.”

“Full wedding experience coming your way,” Steve assures me.

“OK, OK, OK,” Emma says. Then she points to something else on the dress and turns to walk over to us with her shoulders all bunched up to her ears, wide toothy grin on her face.