Chapter Forty-Three
LUCY
Lucy was running late. She’d bumped into Tiffy outside the Scala Theater and had been cajoled into giving a ‘fantastic!’ update on Chloe and Chandler that had screwed up her schedule.
Super was finally finishing their residency – which had been extended once, then twice.
Tonight was the band’s final show after approximately seven hundred years on tour.
The residency at the Lusso was designed as a break from the grind of the road, but three shows a week hadn’t felt like a break from anything for any of them.
Even Lucy, who did nothing but watch every performance from the wings like the number-one groupie she was, felt like she could use a few months off.
Lucy had long since memorized Super’s entire catalog forward and back. She still cried every time she heard ‘The Breathing Room,’ but for different reasons than all those years before.
Lucy stood in front of the bathroom mirror, in suite 4023, their home away from … well, the other twelve thousand hotel rooms they’d lived in. She inspected her look against a picture of Madonna on her phone.
Close enough.
The final show at the Lusso happened to land on Halloween, so the band decided to make it a party and give it a theme – Eighties Night.
Lucy was dressed as circa-1984 Madonna in all of her MTV VMAs ‘Like a Virgin’ glory.
She slipped on a pair of white lace opera gloves and bedazzled her wrist with as many diamond bangles as the costume shop on Charleston had to spare.
She rushed out of the suite, passing Nicky’s bandmate Hooper in the hall.
‘Madonna,’ he said, by way of a greeting.
‘Rick,’ she replied flatly. Hoop was supposed to be Rick Astley from his most famous video, but something about the combo of the tats crawling up his neck, the scraggly man bun, and the long camel raincoat made him look more like a subway flasher.
Hope no one tells him before I have the chance. She loved giving that guy shit almost as much as Nicky did.
Lucy was spit out by the Penthouse Tower elevator into the lobby and raced past the check-in, waving to the now familiar crew stationed there.
Then she thought of something. ‘Oh, Wanda,’ she shouted to the woman behind the desk. ‘Remind your son to email me that admissions essay, okay?’ Wanda’s son wanted to get into UCLA and Lucy had enthusiastically promised to help.
‘Will do, Lucy,’ Wanda called back. ‘Thank you!’
Lucy spun herself through the revolving doors. Instead of their usual black SUV, she found their driver, Sonny, standing beside a Rolls-Royce.
‘What is this?’ Lucy asked Sonny as he opened the rear door for her.
‘The Range Rover is being detailed. And Nick thought this was more on-theme.’
‘Oh, shit,’ she exclaimed, after her mind caught up. It was a convertible, but the soft top was up. ‘It’s the car from Sixteen Candles , isn’t it?’
‘Same model,’ Sonny replied.
‘Cool,’ she said. ‘Thanks, Sonny,’ she trilled as she slipped into the back.
‘My pleasure, Miss Ciccone,’ he replied, using Madonna’s real last name.
‘Nice,’ Lucy replied with a fist bump.
Lucy plopped herself in the back seat and took a deep, cleansing breath.
Phew. Made it.
The car started up and headed off into Las Vegas.
‘Oh, hi!’ she said to Nicky as he scooted closer to her. She bussed a quick smooch on his cheek, then wiped the red lipstick off with her thumb. She asked, ‘How was your day?’
‘Good,’ he replied dully, before sitting back in the seat. His eyes were focused on the rearview mirror, and he was suspiciously quiet.
She asked, ‘What’s up? Something happen with Wade?’
A ton of family was in town for the final Super show, including Nicky’s sons. Nicky and Wade had gone out golfing. Nicky really only enjoyed golf when he was playing with Alice Cooper. Maybe that was it?
‘Nope,’ Nicky said. ‘All good.’
‘Hey,’ Lucy said. She felt Nicky jolt beside her, but decided to ignore it. ‘Can I be the one to tell Hooper that he looks nothing like Rick Astley and everything like a dirty old man who likes to expose his junk to unsuspecting ladies on the subway?’
Nicky laughed, but didn’t look at her. ‘Sure,’ he said.
‘Good, thanks,’ Lucy said. ‘Where are we going for dinner? Think I’m underdressed?’ she joked, waving a hand to indicate her lace-covered bodice.
‘Um, about that,’ Nicky drawled.
Lucy followed Nicky’s gaze through the window and yelled, ‘What the hell?’
Outside the Rolls-Royce, past a tidy sidewalk and a couple of potted cactus plants, was a sturdy square office building. Not a restaurant. Big cursive letters over the door spelled out, Marriage License Bureau .
Nicky turned toward her, and she noticed that he was wearing a black tuxedo T-shirt.
Oh shit.
Lucy carped, ‘I thought you were going to be Spicoli.’
‘I said a character from Fast Times ,’ he retorted. ‘You assumed Spicoli.’
‘Holy shit,’ Lucy said, the fist rays of enlightenment dawning. ‘I’m a … bride and you’re …’
‘A groom, yeah.’
Nicky smiled his soft, pleading smile. The one that Lucy knew, after all their time together, was the prelude to him asking for something. It was usually something kinky, but this felt different.
He took her hands in his, focused those damn irresistible green eyes on her.
‘Lou, I know you said you would only get married again if it was accidentally, but it turns out that’s not actually legal outside terrible Nineties sitcoms. And, fuck do I want it to be legal, baby.
’ He reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a slip of paper.
‘I got Chloe to help me fill out the forms online. All we have to do is hand them this piece of paper.’
Nicky turned one of her hands over and rested the narrow sheet on her palm, their names and a string of numbers and letters typed on it.
Nicky continued, ‘All you have to do is say yes and go in there with me and hand over this piece of paper. They’ll give us a license and we’ll go down to the drive-thru at the Little White Wedding Chapel.’
‘Just like Elvis and Priscilla,’ Lucy said dumbly, because her addled brain was not functioning properly.
‘Yep, except I don’t think that was a drive-thru. And I’m pretty sure it was at the old Aladdin Casino. And I don’t plan on dying on a toilet. But otherwise, yeah, just like that.’
Lucy was stunned. Surprised, but not angry. Just shocked really.
Nicky reached into the pocket of his khaki pants and pulled out a black velvet box. He opened it to reveal three rings. Two wedding bands and an enormous diamond solitaire that glimmered even in the dim car light.
Lucy chuckled. ‘Wow. You know when they say an engagement ring should cost two months’ salary, I don’t think it counts for rock stars on tour.’
Nicky smiled. ‘Worth it.’
Lucy fondled the rings lightly with her fingertips, then tugged the engagement ring from its velvet recess. Inside the band she noticed etching. Writing. It said, There with you, that was it.
She looked up to Nicky with watery eyes, questioning.
He answered her by pulling the two platinum bands from the box and placing them carefully on top of the paper in her palm. Inside the larger ring was etched Everything from you . And in the smaller, was Anything for you . No question mark.
‘Yes,’ Lucy breathed.
‘Yeah?’ Nicky asked, as though he had really been unsure of her answer. This fucking guy.
‘Of course,’ Lucy replied. ‘You’re it for me, Broome.’
‘You mean it?’
‘I would accidentally marry you any day.’
In a flash, Lucy had an engagement ring on her finger, and Sonny was opening the back door for them.
Within thirty minutes, the top was down on the Rolls and they were in a carport with blinking twinkly lights and cherubs staring down at them.
A very nice man in blue suede shoes (who was not Elvis) said, ‘Do you, Nicholas Trent Broome, take this woman, Lucy Diane McManis, to be your lawfully wedded wife?’
And he did.
And then she did.
They slipped rings on each other’s fingers and when the man who was not Elvis said, ‘You may kiss the bride,’ The Crystals ‘Then He Kissed Me’ bubbled from the car’s speakers.
And Nicky kissed her. Long and slow, and with far too much tongue for the number of witnesses present (three).
Their wedding dinner was drive-thru Jack in the Box in the back of the convertible right under the blazing neon of the Welcome to Las Vegas sign in the cool desert night air. It was, without a doubt, the best wedding Lucy had ever had.
It was sure as hell going to be the last.