A Billionaire for Christmas

We sit together on the same side of the booth, expecting Fingers to show up and sit across from us.

“Would you like to order?” a friendly gum-chewing waitress asks, also on roller skates.

“Should we eat?” Emma asks.

“Why not? Godfather Miles did give us some spending money.”

She laughs at me again.

I’m gonna kill Miles for this.

We order the breakfast buffet, fill up our plates with hash browns and bacon, and then lean back and scan the parking lot outside, trying to figure out if any of the approaching patrons of Big Mike’s could be Fingers. We’re both pointing at a skinny dude wearing white fingerless gloves and a purple pimp hat, certain that’s him, when a guy slips into our booth and says, “You must be the Bostons,” as he holds up a phone with a picture of us sleeping on the jet bed on the screen.

Which is super creepy, but not wholly unexpected at this point.

“That’s us.” Emma beams. “And you must be Fingers.”

“No, no, no.” The guy laughs. “No, I’m Clarence. Fingers is the big boss. I’m the wedding point man.”

I squint my eyes at him. “You don’t look like a wedding point man.” He’s wearing a cowboy hat and smells like mint chewing tobacco.

He smiles broadly at me. Lotsa teeth. “Keep people on their toes. That’s our motto. ‘Weddings that keep you on your toes.’”

“Hosted by Fingers.” Emma beams.

I shake my head and shoot her a look that says, No, babe. Not now. Cowboy here looks unstable.

But Cowboy Clarence takes it all in stride and says. “So, what kind of wedding were you envisioning? Hmm? Five-star hotel with a mani-pedi package and a wedding party of thirty?” He winks after getting all that out. Like it’s a joke.

“No,” I say, narrowing my eyes at him. “We’re only here for like five more hours. Just a quick, super-spontaneous, super-ridiculous elopement wedding so we can teach her mother a lesson.”

He snaps his fingers and points at me. “Ferris wheel?”

“Maybe.” I shrug.

“Dude ranch?”

“Is that a thing?” Emma asks, hopefully.

“Sure. We can make anything happen, sweetheart. Anything you want. Fingers is your man.”

“Maybe not a dude ranch. Learning how to ride sounds time-consuming. Something fast. We really do have to be back in Key West for Christmas Eve dinner.”

“Mother-in-law got you by the balls, huh?”

“No,” I say.

But Emma says, “Oh, yeah, she does. Got him good too. She says jump, he jumps.”

“I do not. Do you have like…a menu? Or something that spells it all out for us? We’re not sure what we want, but we’ll know it when we see it.”

Cowboy clicks his tongue at us like we’re ponies and points his finger like a gun. “I got you.” Then he whips a brochure out of his back pocket and slaps it on the table. “Take a good long gander at this. I’m gonna go rustle me up a breakfast burrito at the counter. BRB.”

He gets up and heads towards the counter as Emma and I look dubiously at the crinkled, wrinkled, is-that-a-coffee-stain?, used-up, tri-fold brochure he left behind.

We side-eye each other and laugh.

“Still game?” Emma asks.

“Hey, I’m in. Let’s do it.”

I pick up the brochure by the corner edge and flip it open.

“‘Welcome to Fingers’ Fantasy Weddings. Where we keep you on your toes,’” Emma reads.

I just shake my head. Because I can’t.

“Oh, look. Here’s a picture of the underwater wedding at the aquarium. That really does sound like us, don’t you think?”

“Yeah. It does. But this is our one wedding. Do we really want to be us?”

“Oh, fuck. I don’t think we can, anyway. You need to show proof of SCUBA certification.” She eyeballs me. “We can’t exactly call home and have my dad email them over, right?”

“Probably not. But look, here’s a rollercoaster wedding. That sounds fun.”

“Skydiving is kinda cool.”

“And terrifying,” I add. I mean… I’m not gonna come right out and say it, but falling out of a plane doesn’t sound like the best way to start your new married life, if you ask me.

“I don’t know. Maybe a little adrenaline rush is what we need?”

“How about this one?” I laugh. “Shotgun wedding at Red Mesa Resort! Look, they’re all dressed up like gangsters.”

“Maybe that’s where Miles moonlights on his days off?” Emma quips.

“OK, OK. He was lying. Fine.”

I’m so gonna kill Miles the next time I see him. I really thought we were friends.

Cowboy Clarence slips back into the booth chewing on a breakfast burrito. “So. Make up your minds?” He winks at my almost-bride.

“Not yet,” I say.

“We like a bunch of them. We’re just not sure which one.”

“We only get to do this once,” I add. “It’s kind of a big deal.”

Clarence puts up both hands. “I get it. Totally get it. And it’s your lucky day. Because here at Finger’s Fantasy Weddings we get you.” He points to us like this is all part of the act. “That’s why we offer the Ultimate Fingers’ Fantasy Wedding Buffet.”