The Big Blind (Nadia Wolf) Read Free

go-go boots were not a normal part of my daily wardrobe. Frankie insists on the uniform. However, there isn’t a whole lot of breathing room left once I squeeze myself into it. The nice part is it appears as if I have giant boobs which is not an every day occurrence for me.
    I swiped on some mascara and picked out cherry red for my lips. At least my lips could have a little color. My skin tends to bleach out when I wear white making me into something of a vampire. On second thought, maybe the cherry red would resemble blood. I blotted off the lipstick not wanting to scare the customers in their drunken state.
     
    Frankie was poised and ready for the steady flow of couples. Bernie and Vivian were in the chapel too. They’re residents of the retirement home located a couple of blocks away. They come in every night to volunteer as witnesses and to watch some free entertainment. Sometimes they bring their retired neighbors to watch as well. Since it’s late at night, we never have a flood of seniors. Although, I always know when it’s chili night at the retirement home because a handful of seniors, armed with a pocketful of antacids, joins the party. Tonight Bernie and Vivian dressed in green.
    “Welcome to All Celebrities Chapel,” I said to the first couple who stumbled in. “Kermit is presiding over the ceremonies tonight.”
    “We want to get married,” a platinum blonde in her early twenties said. She balanced a man against her to support his inebriated weight. His head was slumped over; drool dripped from the side of his mouth.
    I scrutinized the man who wasn’t focusing well, let alone breathing. “Sir, are you here to get married?” I asked.
    “I told you we’re here to get married,” the blonde clipped.
    “I know what you said, but I want to know what he says.”
    Normally I wouldn’t argue with a bride, but the man was hanging on to consciousness by a thread. I didn’t think he was going to make it up the aisle. And Frankie hates it when they throw up on his decorations . . . or him.
    “Baby-pooh, tell her we want to get married.”
    The man stared at her with a vacant expression.
    “Uh, perhaps you and baby-pooh should come back when he’s coherent,” I told the blonde.
    “No! I bought him drink after drink so he’d agree to come here. I’m not leaving until we’re married.”
    “Do you have a marriage license, or do you still need one?”
    “I have one in my purse.”
    “Can he at least say, ‘I do’?”
    She told him to say it, but he didn’t. She scolded him to say it, but he wiped the drool on her shirt instead. She grabbed onto his jaw and moved his lips while she muttered “I do” under her breath.
    “Nope, that won’t cut it,” I said. “You’re welcome to stay in the waiting room until he can say the magic words.”
    The blonde huffed and strong armed the man to the waiting room.
    I’m seriously thinking about writing a guide for Dragging Your Drunk Man to Your Las Vegas Wedding . Number one: Get your man happy drunk, and maybe a little stupid drunk, but not incoherent drunk. I’m sure there’s a mathematical equation to determine how much booze it would take.
    As I contemplated my book, a couple stumbled in with Lenny trailing behind them. Their bodies swayed like they were on a boat in a bad storm. I grabbed the woman’s arm to keep her from falling.
    “Can we get . . .” The woman stared at me, lost in her drunken fog.
    “Married?” I tried to fill in the blank.
    “Oh, yeah. That’s it.” She smiled as her eyes crossed.
    I shrugged. At least she could speak.
    Lenny handed me their marriage license. “There aren’t too many couples right now.” He scratched his mustache. His rounded belly stretched his tuxedo t-shirt to its maximum elastic capabilities. “I’ll take the bus for a spin and see who I can round up.”
    Frankie hired Lenny to drive customers between the chapel and the Marriage Bureau to obtain their marriage license. He sometimes picks up