“So it’s not that magician?” I suggested cautiously.
“His name is Max.”
“‘Is’?”
“Well, sure. He’s still alive and well”—just barely—“in Las Vegas.”
“So there’s someone new?”
Somehow that made Temple sound fickle. “Not so new. He lives here at the Circle Ritz too.”
“I always think of a Western movie when I hear that name for your apartment building.”
“Condo. I’m building equity.”
“So it’s over with … the magician?”
Temple smiled, sure that epithet for Max had originated with her dad. There was nothing Midwestern about Max except his origins, and that was an unforgivable strike against him in stable Minnesota.
“Pretty much.”
“Not totally?”
“Yes, totally.”
“So who will we be meeting?”
“His name is Matt. He’s a couple years older than I am. He works in the communications business.”
“That seems a good compatibility factor. Where is he from?”
“Chicago.” The capital of the upper Midwest.
“Oh,” This time the “oh” was stretched out on a rising scale of approval. For gosh sakes again, Max had been born in Wisconsin. Everybody was practically neighbors.
“Yes,” Temple said. “We were just in Chicago to get together with his family.”
“You were that close and you didn’t swing up here?”
“Matt’s job makes longer trips impossible.”
“What is his job?”
“Radio.”
“A disappearing medium, isn’t it?”
“Not for Matt. He’s syndicated.”
“So when can you and this Matt come up?”
“In the next few weeks. I’m checking to see about family vacations.”
“Your brothers go camping now and again in the summer. It’d be easier if you set a date and we go from there.”
“I don’t want to interfere with any expeditions.”
“Oh, you wouldn’t. The boys wouldn’t miss meeting the new guy.”
Temple rolled her eyes. She bet they wouldn’t. They’d always had to hassle her dates from junior high on. One thing about Max. Nobody hassled him. They could try, but it never worked.
“It would be a quick trip,” she warned. “Matt works nights.”
“Not another one! Sorry. It’s your business. I was just … surprised.”
“Gosh, Mom. This is Vegas. It’s such a twenty-four-hour town, it has its own time zone.”
“Seriously?”
“No, just exaggerating for effect. I do that a lot in my job. So, we’re good. I’ll check with Matt and we’ll figure a time to visit that works for you all.”
“Fine, but … wait.”
“Yes?”
“What’s the young man’s last name?”
“Want to check him out on Facebook, Mom?” Temple teased.
“I don’t much go on there.”
Temple smiled. It was a miracle that her mother was familiar with social media at all.
“It’s Devine.”
“I’m sure you think everything about him is, dear.”
“Of course, but that’s the last name.”
“Devine?” This pause was the longest yet. “Not the Matt Devine.”
“Well, he is to me.”
“Temple, don’t be coy. You’re not really with that darling guy from the Amanda Show?”
Temple wanted to close her eyes but Louie reached up to pat her cheek with a velvet paw.
“If you say so, Mom.”
“Temple, honey, that’s amazing news! I don’t know why you are so closemouthed about what’s going on with you.”
Try four teasing, overprotective older brothers, Mom.
“I love the show. But isn’t he an ex-priest?”
“I thought Universal Universalists were open-minded.”
“Of course we are, but I have to wonder if it’s some kind of rebellion thing that you’d go for an ex-clergyman.”
“I passed the age of rebellion over a decade ago, Mom. He’s just a great guy to me, and the only issue with us now is, are we going to get married in Vegas, Chicago, or Minneapolis?”
“That serious?”
Louie leaned his intrusive black nose close to the cell phone as Karen Barr’s deep audible intake of breath wafted into Temple’s ear.
“Not serious. Exciting, happy, wonderful,” Temple told her mother.
“Yes! Yes, of course. But, dear, it’ll have to be a church wedding, and I don’t know that Las Vegas is quite the venue for that.”
“Are you kidding? There are more churches in Vegas than in most U.S. cities. Anyway, I’m not coming up to church-hunt, just to give you all a chance to meet my fiancé.”
“It’s great news, honey. We love you and can’t wait to see you.”
“Same here, Mom.”
Mumbled good-byes ended the call.
Temple slumped in her ergonomic chair.
Midnight Louie lifted a lazy forepaw to bat at the wires as she returned her headphone to its usual position on her desk, curling the wires into a less tempting mass.
She took a deep breath of her own, then released it slowly. “Well, that’s done,” she told Louie. “You’re lucky cats don’t have families and civil and religious ceremonies. Mom’s right. We’ll have to come up with a geographical site and an ecumenical ceremony. No matter what, I am going to get one gorgeous over-the-top white bridal gown to do it in.”
Temple dried her damp palms on her knit shorts and pushed herself to her feet.
Her spirits lifted with her first step back into the living area. She detoured to the kitchen to make herself a peanut butter sandwich, Louie at her heels and then up on the countertop. Louie was the Royal Sniffer, and the Royal Taster if he liked the sniff. He always smelled her food, but usually turned his nose and whiskers away in distaste.
Temple then went to cast herself down on the living room sofa. She pulled the Review-Journal sections across the coffee table to browse. Now that the May weather was growing hotter for the summer, Louie turned himself around by her side, twice, and cuddled up close.
His big furry body was going to get too hot to cuddle with soon, and she’d already had her sweat shop experience for the day.
A small headline below the newspaper’s first section fold caught her eye:
UFOS AHOY ON THE STRIP
“As if my call to Minnesota wasn’t totally ‘phone home, E.T.,’” she mumbled to Louie, munching crunchy peanut butter. He perked a gentlemanly ear. Thank goodness cats didn’t object to talking with one’s mouth full. “Now Vegas is getting all spooked.”
The article made much of a few tourists freaked out by low-flying UFOs they claimed to have spotted hovering over the Strip. Temple shook her head as she read of the darting round “ships” with a broad row of lights beaming a glow around the middle. Probably two Frisbees glued together. People will hallucinate anything, she thought. With all the exotic outdoor lighting in Sin City, a fleet of genuine flying saucers could land and probably be taken for a new restaurant’s advertising gimmick. How would she engineer the effect?
With those silver flattened helium balloons, Temple thought, and a pulsing LED readout like the famous Times Square electronic billboard around the middle. That would work. Hey, the marketers behind this rumor had already scored newspaper ink and even a link to a site where people were mounting camcorder footage and cell phone photos of the phenomena.
And here Temple thought she’d been wandering through her own personal Twilight Zone already this afternoon. Still, inquiring minds wanted to know. Temple picked up her iPad and checked the sighting Web site just to laugh at what people will believe.
The usual jerky videos were fuzzy like all phony UFO footage, but she saw enough to get a sit-up-and-drop-your-jaw moment.
Anyone with a long memory or a thorough grounding in Las Vegas history would recognize this particular model of levitating saucer. The design was crude, the look was hokey, but this shape was not alien to Las Vegas at all.