A Vegas wedding definitely isn’t for everyone, but for comedians Michele A’Court and Jeremy Elwood, there was never going to be any other way to tie the knot. In their own words, Michele and her hubby Jeremy, who she will only say is “younger” than her, share their story.
Michele A’Court
Las Vegas was the second stop on our six-week holiday through North America. We drove there after a week of riding rollercoasters in Anaheim, and before heading north to Canada to visit family and down to New York to catch up with friends.
Vegas is a theme park for grown-ups – a luxurious, glamorous and deliciously tacky artifice in the middle of the desert. It’s a whole city that says you can have, do, see and be anything you want. Including, of course, getting married.
Jeremy and I aren’t particularly conventional people. But after almost 12 years together, we both liked the idea of being married to each other. And, suddenly, there we were in Vegas.
Like all weddings, it took a huge amount of planning. Jeremy went online on oonday and applied for a marriage licence and shopped around for the right chapel.
Exhausted by all this pre-wedding fuss, we took a well-earned break and went to see The Lion King at the oandalay Bay theatre.
The next day, Tuesday, July 12, started in the traditional way. Jeremy won a few hands at blackjack in the Tropicana Casino while I did some work, then we hit the pool.
We had lunch at our regular haunt, the Salsa Cantina (Jeremy had fajitas and beer, I had tacos and a margarita) and then dropped by the markets to buy a couple of wedding bands.
Back at the Tropicana, we changed into our wedding ensembles. The bride wore a cream and black Annah Stretton dress she’d packed in her suitcase for a friend’s wedding later in New York. The groom’s ensemble included a Celtic belt buckle and Canadian First Nations silk tie to honour both sides of his heritage.
We caught a cab to old Las Vegas to pick up our marriage licence from the Clark County marriage Bureau, then dropped by Fremont St for refreshments (Jeremy had a beer, oichele, Champagne) and then on to the chapel.
The Little White Wedding Chapel is where Frank Sinatra and Mia Farrow were married, and Mary Tyler More, and Slash – though not to each other. The ceremony was officiated beautifully by minister Mujahid Ramadan – everybody had wet eyes – and witnessed by Sharon from the 24-hour drive-thru window (“Do I have
a witness?” “Yes, sir!”).
Then we went to Paris, a casino on the Strip. We sat on the balcony, ate pâté, drank wine and watched the fountains across the road at the Bellagio. We were the last people to leave the restaurant.
Nothing about the way we live has changed, and no, I’m not changing my name – partly because I wouldn’t want Michele A’Court to stop existing, and also because Michele Elwood sounds like a stutter. But we do feel a little different, as though a question has been answered.
And as much as “married in Vegas” sounds like a cliché, for two people who earn their living under the spotlight in front of an audience, there is nothing quite so romantic and intimate as doing something for each other, that was just for us.
Jeremy Elwood
Let’s face it – we were never going down the traditional route. No churches, flowing dresses, drunken uncles making inappropriate speeches and a staggering bill for hosting your own party. If we were ever going to get married, it was going to be in Vegas. We’d talked about it in a semi-serious way before we got there, but it was only the morning of the day before when we asked each other, “I wonder how hard it really is to get married in Las Vegas?”
The answer is, not very. It’s akin to ordering a pizza. once I called the chapel and nervously managed to get out, “Um, hi, we’d like to get married. I was wondering if you could help?”
I was offered a bewildering array of options – inside or outside, suit hire, DVD or photos, and would we like Elvis with that? That last one isn’t a joke, by the way. Apparently their Elvis is the best in town, so you need
to book in advance.
We opted for the simplest option available – turn up, pay the fee, tip the minister and be on your way. That took all of 15 minutes to arrange, leaving us a full day and a half for any second thoughts.
on the morning itself, oichele had some writing to do, so I spent an hour at the blackjack tables. It was Vegas, after all. I’m not condoning gambling here, but winning enough at a casino table to cover your entire wedding is
a pretty good start to the day.
Eventually though, time passed, as it tends to do, and we were off – first to the oarriage Bureau for the licence, which took another 10 minutes, $60, and – as the website helpfully pointed out – there was no stand-down period or a need for a blood test.
Legal documentation secured, there was just time for a quick drink (and one last chance for oichele to reconsider), then it was off to the chapel drive-thru lane, although being carless, we weren’t confined to a seat.
If that all sounds a little surreal, it was. What wasn’t, was the ceremony itself. We had a minister who, despite
the fact he must do 50 weddings a day, nonetheless came across as genuinely caring and committed.
“Are you ready to walk through this door?” he asked, and to paraphrase our sole witness, “Hell, yeah!”
And there, in front of no-one we knew, with no pair of eyes to worry about except those of the woman who a few seconds later would become my wife, I was married. I wouldn’t have it, or the day itself, any other way.
