Sunday, April 13, 2008

A Tough Time to Wed (Conclusion-R)

As I had said before, I was ill the whole time during our wedding trip. This did not end with wedding day.

After the wedding, Marcie decided we should walk to the Stratosphere. On the way there, Reverend Paged by His Cellphone pulled over and offered a ride, which we took.

We started toward the doors. "I can't wait to try the ride," Marcie said.

"I can't wait to have a drink and relax," I said, pinching her butt.

"Honey, can we take the ride first?" she asked, pushing up against my arm with one of my favorite parts of her. It was a surefire tactic.

"Yes, we can," I said.

We hit the ride. It was not much of a roller coaster, far too short and not very fast, but it was high above the valley and we saw for miles and miles.

"Oh, that was fun," she said to the attendant. "Thank you."

But as we cleared the door into the Top of The World Lounge, she leaned in close and whispered, "Honey, did you think that ride was kind of short?"

"Yes," I said. "Mercifully short. I'll meet you at the bar?"

"Oh, honey, are you okay?" she said. "Oh, geez. I'll be at the end of the bar."

And so another dash to the restroom ensued, this one without anything but a lot of horrible cramps and loud gas. I felt pretty greenish when it subsided.

We enjoyed our drink and I kissed her as she looked out on the view of the valley. She commented that I felt hot and I made a lame joke.

It was time to go. "Let's do the roller coaster at New York New York next," she said, excitedly charging down Las Vegas Boulevard.

I stopped and she looked at me. I waited for her to put it together. She refused to budge, and I realized that she was working her list. Lists were like inviolable plans from which nothing shall stray in Marcie's world.

"Honey, it will be so fast, and if you get sick, you get sick," she said.

"How about I rest and try to not get sick anymore on my honeymoon?" I asked.

"Fine," she said. "But don't expect to wait on you and baby you. You're sick, you have a little stomach ache. You're not dying."

She worked on me for a half hour. Finally she called, got a reservation and left the room, snarling "Fine, if you want to be such a big fucking baby, I'll go by myself."

When she came back, she brought me some Pepto from the4 Osco or Sav-on down the street. She apologized and then let me cuddle up with her while she described her roller coaster adventure.

"Well, it is totally fun," she said. "You go through loops and barrel-rolls, you're like 150 feet off the ground, and people are screaming the whole time."

She had sat in the front with "a nice young man," as she put it. I knew it was a jab at me, but i just kissed her as she described the roller coaster car, which was a cross between "an old New York cab and a hot rod."

I enjoyed her happy banter as I drifted off a little. She woke me up and kissed me, and after a very sweet first-time-as-a-married-couple lovemaking session, we took a bath.

When she got out and started to dress for later, I closed the doors and rejoiced that my stomach had held out with the pepto, though its disquiet was coming back with a vengeance.

We went out for a nice bite at the Monte Carlo's steakhouse, where I ordered a meal I thought my stomach had settled enough for the next day. It had, until I got back to the room and lost it.

That night, we saw George Carlin at Bally's, and his act became a part of our ritual visits. As a side note, I had to get up four times total from the opener through Carlin's act, so some of it seemed fresh the next year, though Marcie did not think so.

Marcie got home, drunk and happy, and passed out in her evening wear. I was awake until some more pepto kicked in.

I thought the last day of our little elopement would be the best. I awoke with a settled and happy stomach. My fever had broken, leaving a spectacular Frank-shaped, wet dent on the bed. I felt great.

We ordered in for breakfast and Marcie crossed off yet another item from her list. We had a tender morning and wandered down to gamble for an hour or so, then off to her next stop: Mandalay Bay.

Mandalay Bay had hosted the Lennox-Tua fight the night before, and the crowd had not completely dispersed. We enjoyed a little walking tour of the grounds first. I was fine.

Then, after a quick peek of the head into a restaurant, a smell kind of hit the wrong nerve and my stomach rumbled audibly.

"Oh, honey," Marcie asked. "Are you hungry again?"

I was not, and I gave her a grim shake of the head. "No, no. I think I am fine."

We walked past a couple of restaurants more, and watched the pretentious wine tower with its rigged bartenders going up and down on wires. My stomach was more sour by the minute. I chugged some pepto.

By the time Marcie tried a little more gambling, my belly was in full revolt. We made it to the shark encounter, then Marcie said we shoudl give the shark exhibit a visit.

I was dubious, and my stomach agreed with that outlook. "Let me ask if they have restrooms in the tour, okay?"

No restrooms.

"Frank! Come on!" she said.

I was not glad that I skipped it, but shortly after she left on her own, instead of waiting a little for me to be sure all was clear, I went into the restroom. I got out when she returned. but she had already written her little note.

As she tucked it away in her purse, she commented, "You know, you are going to regret not petting the sharks with me and not riding the roller coaster. Mark my words."

I do regret those things, of course. I also regret every moment in which I could have gone with her to a movie I did not really want to see, or taken a walk with her in Point Loma instead of surfed mission beach.

I regret working my job when she was sick, not being able to be there every second, and every lost moment that necessity and society and general life kept us apart.

But they did not seem like important things at the time.And these regrets are far outweighed by the times I took the risks she wanted me to so we could have more life together in the time we did get.