Chapter 17
brIGGS
Dirty Shirley’s was a karaoke bar just off the Strip. When she texted and said that’s where she wanted to go, I recognized the name from the videos of me singing. It made me wonder if that was how I ended up there in the first place, at her insistence.
I could just say no. But I had a feeling when she said non-negotiable, she meant it. There was zero wiggle room with her.
All of this was happening because I opened my big mouth and insulted her with a very simple question. I was really going to have to be more careful with my words.
The bar was exactly how it looked in the videos.
Low ceilings, sticky floors, neon signs advertising beer brands in colors that were slightly too bright for the dim room.
A small stage at the back with a microphone stand and a screen currently displaying the song menu in pixelated font. The place was maybe a third full.
I stood in the entrance and let my eyes adjust.
I spotted Mandy immediately. She was talking to the man behind the karaoke console, her dark hair loose around her shoulders, wearing shorts and a pink top that showed off her ample breasts. Damn. She was wearing pink sandals with a tiny heel. For the briefest moment, I thought, that’s my wife.
She glanced over her shoulder and spotted me watching her. There was no point pretending I had just walked in. She had busted me staring at her. She gave me a small smile, said something to the karaoke operator, and then turned to face the stage rather than coming to greet me.
The opening notes of a song started up. I recognized it immediately. I had this song in every one of my playlists. Up, down, working out, relaxing or studying, it was top tier.
Then Mandy walked up to the stage, picked up the microphone, and started singing.
She was terrible. Genuinely bad. The notes she was reaching for probably had every dog in a twenty-mile radius crying. Her timing was also way off.
I prayed Caleb Followill, who made this song and the band, Kings of Leon, famous, never heard this. It was atrocious.
On the big chorus she closed her eyes and committed fully.
“You know that I could use somebody,” she screeched.
My shoulders inched up to my ears, but I didn’t move. I couldn’t move. I was transfixed. I felt someone bump me as they walked by.
I watched my accidental wife sing one of my favorite songs in front of strangers. She had ears. I knew those ears worked, so she had to know how terrible she was. But she did it anyway. And she was looking directly at me while she did it. That song was for me.
I couldn’t name the feeling I had. But it felt weird. Good. Warm. But strange. Was this the warm and fuzzies I heard people talk about but had never personally experienced?
She believed in this moment. Whatever her plan was, she had committed to it entirely.
The song ended. She lowered the microphone, and a handful of generous patrons applauded. She hopped off the stage and crossed the bar toward me. I noticed she was walking a little fast, like she was running from the scene of the crime.
“Was it terrible?” she asked.
I shook my head. “That’s one of my favorite songs. Kings of Leon. Use Somebody. How did you know?”
She flashed a dangerous smile I was coming to recognize as trouble. Trouble for me. “Either I’m psychic, or you told me on our wedding night.”
“You remember what happened that night?”
“No.” She pulled out her phone. “But the internet does.”
She held up the screen and pressed play. It was a video I hadn’t seen. In the video, I was watching her sing that exact song and I looked totally in love with her. I looked completely, embarrassingly, irreversibly gone for the woman on stage.
I cleared my throat. “Where did you find this one?”
“Someone tagged me this morning. It’s been making the rounds.”
“I’ve seen a different video,” I said. “I was the one on stage.”
“Oh, I’ve seen it.” She giggled. “Should I call you Elvis?”
“Please don’t.”
“At least we’re both embarrassed,” she said.
“Very much so.”
“I know I can’t sing but you seemed quite confident.”
“I was very drunk,” I said. “And thankfully, I don’t remember humiliating myself.”
“Liquid courage will do that for you. Let’s sit down.”
“I’m not getting up there and singing,” I told her.
“Of course not.”
“I’m not drinking.”
“Me either.”
A waitress appeared at the table we secured. “Club soda,” I said.
“Diet Coke,” Mandy added.
The waitress didn’t look happy as she walked away.
“So,” Mandy said, folding her arms on the table and leaning forward slightly. “I’ve been thinking.”
“About?”
“About how we ended up here.” She gestured around the bar.
“Well, considering neither of us rented a car, it’s safe to say we didn’t drive.”
“No, I mean here. In this situation.”
“Me either. I hate that it’s a blank spot. Feels like a night I should have some memory of.”
“I don’t know whose idea the wedding was, and we probably never will,” she went on. “But something happened that night. Something that made two people who’d been snapping at each other all day decide to get married by the end of it.”
“Tequila,” I said. “Tequila happened. I imagine a lot of it.”
“I’ve been thinking. Why not retrace our steps? Find out what we were doing before the wheels came all the way off. See if any of it still applies when we’re sober.”
I looked at her. “You want to recreate our wedding night.”
“I want to understand it. There’s a difference.” She paused. “And honestly? If we’re going to convince people this is real, we should probably have some kind of actual foundation to work with. Right now we have a wedding neither of us attended mentally.”
She wasn’t wrong. I hated that she wasn’t wrong.
“How do you know it will work?”
“I don’t, but do you have any other ideas?”
I looked away from her briefly. Across the bar, someone was beginning an extremely confident rendition of a Bon Jovi song. I watched for a moment, then looked back at her.
“Wait, I know what you’re doing,” I said.
“What am I doing?”
“You expect me to get up there and humiliate myself again.”
“I don’t expect anything,” she said. “I’m just suggesting we retrace our steps.”
“I’ve only done karaoke drunk,” I said. “And I’m laying off the booze for a while. Possibly forever.” I looked at the stage and then back at her. “I’m not getting up there. Ever.”
She grinned. “I’ve already saved that video in case you work some Blackwell magic and try to make it disappear.”
“You and my brothers,” I muttered, shaking my head.
“You don’t have to sing. I have spent the day investigating. It feels like I’ve been on a treasure hunt. I think I found something.”
“Oh God, please don’t tell me I jumped in the Bellagio fountain.”
“No.” She laughed. “Well, maybe. I don’t know. I haven’t found video evidence of that—yet.” She pulled up another video and turned the phone toward me.
I didn’t recognize the setting at first. It wasn’t the bar. It was outdoors, nighttime, the bright glow of the Strip visible in the background but not immediately close.
Then I saw the horse.
And the carriage.
And myself, sitting in the driver’s seat at the front, holding the reins.
Mandy was visible in the back of the carriage, draped across the seat like she was on a chaise lounge, one elbow propping her up, the other hand holding what appeared to be a drink. She looked like she was waiting for someone to paint her portrait.
“What the hell was I doing?” I said. “Did I steal a carriage?”
“Just wait,” she said, and I could hear her trying not to laugh. “Thirty more seconds.”
On screen, I stood up in the moving carriage. I had straightened to my full height and planted my feet a few feet apart. I was holding the reins with both hands like I was competing in the Roman Colosseum.
I hung my head. “I was way too drunk to be driving a carriage.”
“I think the horses did most of the work,” she said. She was laughing. “They were very professional about the whole thing.”
“Unlike you,” I said, nodding at the screen where she was lounging in undeniable luxury. “In the back like a queen.”
“I see absolutely nothing wrong with that.” She put down her phone. “It was my wedding night.”
“What if there is a warrant out for my arrest?” I asked. “Shit. Where are the fucking horses now? Did we leave them somewhere?”
She burst into laughter. “I hadn’t thought of that. I don’t know.”
“Mandy, this is serious. That’s a felony.”
“Is it?”
“I need to buy a baseball cap.”
“What?” She was still laughing, tears forming in the corners of her eyes.
“A disguise. I can’t be walking around Vegas if the police are looking for me. Do you know what would happen if I got arrested? Adrian would lose his mind.”
“Briggs.” Mandy was wiping her eyes now, barely able to contain herself. “Relax. I’m sure you’re not the first person to take a joyride in a carriage. This is Vegas. Weird shit happens here every night.”
“That doesn’t make it legal.”
“No, but it makes it less likely anyone cared enough to report it. And if they did, trust me—you would have heard about it by now. You’re Briggs Blackwell. If there was a warrant, every gossip site would be screaming about it.”
I sat down slowly, my heart still racing. She was right. Of course she was right. But the idea that I’d done something that stupid, that reckless, made my skin crawl.
“I don’t do things like that,” I said quietly.
“You did that night.”
“I was drunk.”
“Yes, you were.” She leaned forward with a smile. “But you were also happy. Really, genuinely happy. I’ve watched those videos about fifty times today, and in every single one, you look like you’re having the time of your life.”
I picked up my club soda and took a long drink. The bubbles helped settle my nervous belly. “I don’t remember feeling happy.”
“That’s because you don’t remember anything.”
“So what do you want from me?” I asked. “You want me to get up on that stage and make an ass of myself again? Sober this time?”
“No.” She shook her head. “Just a few memories. That’s all I want.”
I should have been freaking out. I was but not really. I was actually feeling kind of excited.
“Let’s go find a carriage,” I said.
She stood immediately, like she’d already known I was going to say yes.
“Try to look enthusiastic,” she said. “You’re a newlywed.”
“I’m thrilled,” I said flatly.
She laughed all the way to the door.