Only she remembered what happened on her wedding. And that is exactly what Ari had planned.


As she stood at the altar, with her groom and Elvis the minister, she felt warm and tingly inside. It wasn’t because she was getting married, it was because she was about to take Porter H. Scarsdale III for all he was worth.


Meeting him in Vegas, 24 hours ago, hadn’t given her the time she usually required to pull off a plan this big. But she had a few tricks up her sleeve, and Barry. All she had to do was text Barry two words, LV NOW, and he was there. And then her burner phone was gone.


Ari entered the chapel, a cascading bouquet of bright pink flowers in her hands. Her dress hugged her body in all the right places. Porter practically drooled. He had a few friends with him, like most middle-aged frat boys do when they go to Vegas. There were five in all, plus Elvis (the older Elvis, not Blue Hawaii Elvis) and the organ player who looked like she’d smoked a pack a day since 1964.


Ari practically glided down the aisle, ignoring the awful squeak of the organ, because in less than two hours she was going to be on a private jet with more money than she’d know what to do with. Porter’s frat boys drank from a flask they shared. Mrs. Elvis took pictures from her seat in the front pew.


When Ari reaches Porter, the organ music fades and Elvis sings, sweat drips from every pore on his face, and his white jumpsuit sticks to his body in places Ari doesn’t want to see. Ari wobbles. Porter takes her hand and helps her up the red carpeted steps.


The bride and groom turn to face Elvis. Ari smells the alcohol on Porter, or is it coming from Elvis? Porter shifted and tugged at his collar, black hairs poking out from the edge. She wished this were over, but she had been sure to get the full service plus all the extras at the Elvis Wedding Chapel. She needed the time for the scam to work. Porter was easily convinced to purchase the Extra-Deluxe full wedding service. After all, $3000.00 was barely his dinner tab.


“What about a ring?” Ari asked, stretching out each word in her best southern drawl.


Porter tugged off his pinky ring. Ari holds back a gasp. The ring must be at least 10K.  


“You can wear this until we get you one made,” Porter said.


She didn’t care about the pictures, the flowers, or that Elvis was going to sing three songs. This was the last time she was doing this scam. She’d already retired. But when she literally stumbled into the hairy back of Porter at the private rooftop pool and lounge, she could not pass up this opportunity.


Raven, her real name, had always wanted to use the character Ari, a sweet, innocent, home-grown girl next door. When she bumped into Porter and spilled her pink Cosmo all over her white hotel pool robe, it was like the universe was lining her up.


Without missing a beat, she pretended to be nervous and said something about ruining the hotel’s robe. They were going to make her pay for it. She was here because she’d won a jingle contest for a Mobile furniture store. It had been her first time on a plane, she’d said, and the tears rolled from her eyes. Porter told her not to worry, it was his fault. He clicked his fingers and whispered something to a very attentive staff member. Ten minutes later, she had a new Pink Cosmo and a fresh robe, and the marriage scheme was well on its way.


A day later, and she is about to marry the son of one of the world’s wealthiest men. But not really, marry him. Because she’s Raven, not Ari, and none of this was real, and no one here will remember anything that happened. Porter won’t remember her name. And all evidence of any wedding will be erased. Like it never happened.


After they exchanged I dos and had a passionate kiss, which made Ari sick to her stomach. Elvis sang “All Shook Up” as they walked down the aisle. The spotlights flashed around the room, and the fog machine came on full force. Porter coughed and said something about too much fog. As the disco ball dropped Ari slipped on a mask, her bouquet covering her face.


It was all so fast that no one knew what hit them. Elvis warbled, faded, and then flopped to the ground. The organ player lay with her forehead on the keys. Mrs. Elvis and her polyester dress slid off the pew and onto the floor. The frat boys collapsed. Porter dropped like a fly.

Becoming Raven again, she rifled through Porter’s pockets. She took his phone, wallet, and hotel room key. She did the same with the frat boys. She took the digital camera from Mrs. Elvis and left $500.00 for her to buy a replacement.


As she was about to leave, Raven tossed her bouquet over her shoulder. It landed on the floor, next to Porter. She laughed, pushed through the door, where Barry had just arrived with Porter’s Bentley. Three hours later, her private jet was in the air, and Barry was doing his thing with the cell phones and computers–emptying the accounts (mostly) and leaving no trace.


Porter woke first. Rubbing his head, he looked around the dark chapel. He picked up the wilted bouquet and noticed his pinky ring was gone. One by one, the wedding guests began to wake, Elvis being last. None of them could remember how they got there or what happened.

Raven was the only one who remembered what happened on her wedding day. And she laughed about it every time she put on that pinky ring.