by C. J. Skuse
He dropped my jacket on the chair and went to the window. “Oh my God, Paisley …”
“What?”
“The car is gone.”
“Huh?” I levered myself up. Beau had his hands on the glass and his mouth wide open.
“Our car, the F-Fiero, the goddamn car, it’s gone! Oh my God. We gotta call the cops—”
“They work fast around here, I’ll give them that,” I said, leaning back down.
“Who?”
“Those bums we saw hanging around the dumpster. Musta taken it.”
“You knew they were gonna take it?”
“We had to lose it, Beau. It’s hot. Cops are gonna be after us. Skank may even come after us. We don’t wanna draw attention to ourselves.”
“How the hell are we gonna get anywhere? Now we’re stuck here!”
“We’ll find Dad by the end of the week. He’ll look after us.”
“Paisley …”
I turned over and tried losing myself. I could hear Beau sighing and padding around the floor. Zippers. Unpacking things. I heard his bed springs. Then a sigh. And pretty soon, a snore. I opened my eyes a little and turned onto my back, reaching down beside me to the shoe box. I pulled out a letter.
So how’s my little girl? I guess you’re not so little anymore. I always think that when I see you again, I’ll be able to scoop you up in my arms like I used to when I came home from work. You’d come running downstairs to see me and jump from the bottom step. I remember the last time we saw each other; I tucked you in for the night. You reached up and hugged me so tight. If I’d known that was going to be the last time, I would’ve made that hug last longer. I love you, Paisley.
Dad xx
BEAU
TEN
THE STRIP,
LAS VEGAS, NEVADA
The next morning we hit the Strip. It was hot in Vegas. “Day-am hot!” Paisley kept saying. Much hotter than LA. I was half-starved from the day before and wanted to eat something before my stomach started munching on my other organs, but she insisted we go straight to Caesars Palace to look for Dad. We split the difference. We went to Caesars Palace to eat.
The hotel itself took some navigating around. The place was enormous. It was obscene opulence times twenty, with extensions in the rear and fountains in the front. It was perfectly trimmed hedges and stretch limousines. It was marble pillars and gilt statues and people who smile at the right wallet.
I’d only ever heard about Caesars when there was a big concert on HBO or something, but to actually see it was unbelievable. The Forum Shops’ entrance to Caesars was like a mall in itself, and we weaved our way through its maze of designer boutiques. The place was echoey and smelled of cinnamon and caves. There were a few tourists around, looking through windows and throwing coins into the huge ornate fountains that spanned the base of the escalators. We found this little café called the Stage Deli. I got the works: coffee, orange juice, supersize buttermilk pancakes with whipped butter, maple syrup, sausage links, bacon, eggs, and toast. And I ate every single crumb of it, aside from a triangle of toast that I insisted Paisley eat. She just ordered a fruit platter. Then we got into an argument over the tip. Paisley doesn’t tip. She doesn’t believe in it.
We walked through the main casino, where Paisley saw the sign for the concierge’s desk. It was at the very front of the hotel in the massive pillared reception area that looked more like the check-in for an airport. A snaking line of tourists with large suitcases was already waiting and it was only, like, nine thirty in the morning. Out front, white limousines and cabs were pulling up one after the other, and men in burgundy uniforms were falling over themselves to load luggage onto gold carts.
The concierge wasn’t at his desk. I rang the bell.
He appeared. A tall, thin, mustached guy with strangely tiny hands.
“Good morning, welcome to Caesars Palace, my name is Leon, how can I help you this morning?”
He’d taken so long introducing himself, I’d almost forgotten what we were doing there. Then I remembered.
“We were wondering if you could help us. We’re looking for somebody.”
“Are you lost?”
“No, we’re just looking for somebody. An employee. We were told he might be working here.”
“I’m sorry, but I’m not at liberty to give out information about employees. That’s confidential.”
Paisley broke in. “We just wanna know if he works here or not.”
“No, that’s out of the question, I’m afraid. If it’s a matter of employment references, you would need to speak to our—”
“Look, jerk-off—” Paisley started, leaning into the desk.
I butted in. “His name’s Buddy Argent. We’re … friends of his. We just need to know if he’s here or not.”
“I’m sorry, son, but I am not at liberty to discuss employee information with members of the public.”
“Don’t ‘son’ him, you patronizing bastard!” Paisley shouted, marching off straight into the casino. She turned as she walked. “Fuck you, you know what? Fuck you!”
I turned to the concierge, my cheeks aflame. “I’m sorry. It’s just really important that we find him. Thanks anyway.”
He threw me an alarmed look and nodded, gesturing to the old ladies behind me to come forward. You had to know how to handle my sister, and if you didn’t, you got your ass handed to you. I felt a little sorry for him. He thought he had power before he met Paisley.
I saw her amid a sea of tourists and flashing lights and the whir and woo of a zillion machines. Old women in baseball caps jamming slots with quarters and fishing out tickets. Guys with sunburns in Hawaiian shirts pummeling buttons and swigging beer. The whole place smelled strongly of sweat and decade-old cigar smoke. A blonde waitress sauntered over, draped in a toga.
“Sir, can I get you anything?” she asked me, hand on hip.
I shook my head, amazed she didn’t even bother to card me. I attempted a smile, but I felt myself blushing and my head automatically dipped. She was too cute. I needed to get to Paisley.
I continued through the casino and back out into the mall, where Paisley had been heading. More tourists were milling around, and I could just see Paisley’s head right at the end of one of the streets that made up one arm of the huge shopping complex in that part of Caesars. She was sitting cross-legged beside one of the marble fountains, staring up at the ceiling, which was painted to look like bright blue sky and clouds. This big godlike statue was in the middle of the monument, sitting on a throne and smiling with hollow eyes. Moldy green coins lay at his feet. I could smell the stale water and chlorine as I got closer.
I sat down next to her on the balustrade. “Pais?”
“I know I overreacted. I don’t wanna talk about it.”
“Let’s keep asking around then, ’kay?”
“Yeah.”
I wanted her to look at me. She did. She jumped down and I followed her.
That day we walked the length and breadth of the entire hotel. There were six towers to the complex: Augustus Tower (where there was a spa and a couple of wedding chapels and some very snooty-looking restaurant where this waiter gave both of us the evil eye), Centurion Tower, Roman Tower, Palace Tower, Octavius Tower, and Forum Tower, where we had eaten breakfast. Paradise Eddie hadn’t mentioned any one tower in particular, so we had to try all of them. Forum Tower seemed to be the hive of all activity, so we asked at all the bars and restaurants in there. No sign of Dad, nor anyone who knew him. Planet Hollywood let us sample chicken strips in their new barbecue sauce, so we stayed there and had lunch.
And then we kinda settled into the spirit of things. People were nice to us, so it was okay. Paisley was okay. Frustrated, but okay. And I was doing my best to help her forget about Dad for a while and just have fun. I didn’t say as much, but I was having fun, too. We sat with some random kids, watching the fish in the huge aquarium while their parents were in a store. A boy and girl, about seven or eight. We gave all
the fish names and little personalities, and me and Paisley made up a story about them going about their daily business under the water. I could have talked to those little guys all day.
But instead we covered as much of the Strip as we could, evading certain death on crosswalks and bypassing the many street sellers we came into contact with: guys touting water or show tickets; women wearing too much mascara offering discount vouchers for the monorail or the Fashion Show Mall; a giant M&M with legs handing out leaflets and posing for photos.
The following day, we headed to New York New York, where we walked through this casino that was supposed to be like an indoor Central Park but with slot machines. It even had street signs and fake stone pathways, and I kinda felt at home. Dad used to take us to Central Park sometimes to see the toy boats on the lake or the polar bears at the zoo. The hotel had a mock-up indoor Coney Island, too, upstairs from the casino, with this arcade and all these games. We found a dance machine and ate Twizzlers while stomping out a rhythm together, side by side. The song was called “Everlong,” but I’d never heard it before. Paisley said she liked it. I kinda did, too. We even had a little audience watching us.
And I wonder,
When I sing along with you,
If everything could ever feel this real forever,
If anything could ever be this good again.
We did that same song three times. Our audience stayed for all three times. We were perfectly in sync. It was a good song. It sounded like us. Those lyrics were going around my head all day long.
If everything could ever feel this real forever,
If anything could ever be this good again.
Our audience even clapped when we finished.
We played at the arcade for about two hours, throwing balls into baskets, shooting laser tag, speed-racing in a Daytona simulator. I got thirty tickets for Skee-Ball and won some cotton candy and a monkey pencil topper. Paisley was pretty good at the three-point throw and won, like, fifty tickets, and she picked for her prizes two packs of heart-shaped stickers, a bag of Jelly Bellys, and a light-up popsicle ring that glowed through her cheeks when she sucked it. She managed to get seven of those stickers on my back and neck before I figured it out and had her peel them off me.
After a slice of pizza and a blue Gatorade from a vending machine in the lobby—the only slot we could actually play—Paisley rode the roller coaster that goes around and through the hotel (I wimped out and waited for her in the gift shop), and then she suggested we go to the other end of the Strip for the views.
By the time we reached the Stratosphere, this endless knitting needle pointing right up into the warm Las Vegas sky, I had just come around to the idea of going up to the observation deck. But I was adamant I wasn’t going on the rides. I sat watching the casino from afar, from the under-21 “safety area,” while Paisley got the tickets.
“Here you go,” she said upon her return, handing me my ticket.
I looked at it. “Pais, my ticket says Tower and Big Shot. What does yours say?”
She showed me.
“Huh? Yours says Tower and three rides. Big Shot’s a ride.”
“Yeah, I asked if you could just go up, but they have this law and if you’re going up to the tower you have to go on at least one ride. Otherwise you can’t go up.”
“I can’t.”
“Yeah, you can,” she said, taking my arm and guiding me up the stairs to the security check. “I’ll be there. We’ll hold hands if you want. Big Shot’s just this big donut going up and down on a stick, and you’re strapped in.”
“Yeah, but it’s right at the top. It’s, like, the tallest thing in the world!”
We joined the end of the security line.
“I did say to you I didn’t want to go on any rides, Paisley …,” I kept saying.
“I know, but you have to. Come on. You might even, just maybe, enjoy it. Have a little fungasm maybe. Don’t be afraid of it, Beau.”
I fretted the whole time on line. She kept trying to reassure me, patting my hand and stuff, but I was really starting to sweat, especially when we were frisked and asked to take off our belts by security.
In the elevator, panic set in. “Paisley, I can’t. I just can’t. What if …” I leaned in to her. “What if I need to pee?”
“Do you need to pee?” she asked, prompting looks from others in the elevator.
“No, but it happens to people when they’re scared. They pee.”
I only stopped whining when we got out and saw the view. It was absolutely incredible. We were standing behind the glass and looking down on tiny little Vegas, laid out beneath us like a child’s model built from matchboxes covered with sequins.
“It’s so beautiful,” I gasped, sticking a quarter in the observation telescope.
“Yeah,” she said. “Can you see our motel?”
I swept the telescope around as wide as it would go. “No, I can see Paris. We still haven’t seen Paris. We gotta do that. Maybe tonight?”
“Yeah, yeah,” she said. “I’m gonna get a slushie and then I’m gonna go on my rides. You want?”
“No thanks.” I didn’t take my eyes off the telescope.
“Aren’t you gonna come watch me risk my life?”
“Yeah, I’ll be there in a minute.”
I watched Paisley on her rides from behind the glass on the other side of the observation deck. If I thought my sister was crazy before, I knew she was crazy now. There she was, spinning around on this big umbrella contraption, nearly a thousand feet in the air, dangling off the edge of a building. Who in their right mind puts three thrill rides a thousand feet up in the sky? And she wasn’t even holding on! She was laughing. Waving! If it had been me, my knuckles would have burst straight through my skin from the sheer pressure of holding on so tight.
I met up with her when she came off, handing over her liquefying slushie. “You’re Insanity, let alone the ride,” I told her. “How could you do that?”
“Just gotta be done, Beau,” she said, taking a big old slurp of her slushie. “When in Vegas …”
Next she did X-Scream, which was this little eight-seater roller coaster, stuck out on a limb from the building, that kept going up and down on its little track as though it was about to fall off the edge. I didn’t open my eyes to watch her for most of it. I thought she was gonna come flying out and fall to her death at any second. But again she laughed and waved, and again I felt like the cowardly turd waiting for it all to stop.
I handed her slushie to her again when we met up. “Weren’t you scared?”
“Nah,” she said, panting, taking multiple sips, then getting instant brain freeze. She pinched her nose. “Piece of cake,” she gasped, and stuck out her tongue. “Blue yet?”
I shook my head.
“Come on,” she said, linking my arm and tossing her cup into a garbage can. “Now we’re both going on Big Shot.”
“Paisley …”
“I’m not scared, Beau. So you shouldn’t be, either.”
“Yeah, but I’m not you. I’m really not.”
Paisley didn’t hear any of my pleading, my fretting, my declarations of illness.
“Sorry, I’m a little deaf at the moment, Beau. Must be all the FUN I’m having!” she shouted in my ear.
We took the elevator up to the highest level of the tower and joined the line for Big Shot. A dude at the top was taking tickets. I stood in front of my sister. I put my hand back, and she grabbed it. I thought of the Wonder Twins, the real Wonder Twins. The superheroes, touching hands to activate their powers. I wondered if it would work for us, if just a touch of my hand could give me Paisley’s courage. Then I realized how stupid that was.
“It’s all right,” she whispered in my ear. “You’re gonna be fine.”
“Okay,” I kept whispering to myself. My palm was as slippery as a jellyfish.
We took our seats and buckled ourselves in.
“Do these bars come down? Why hasn’t he come around to put the bar
s down? What if he’s forgotten about this side of the donut, Paisley?”
“He’s coming, look.” And the guy came around to our side and checked our belts and pulled down the large red bars to hold us in place.
“Y’all ready for this? Sit tight,” he said to me.
“Hell yeah!” said Paisley. “You wanna hold my hand, Beau?”
I shook my head, gripping the bars at my shoulders, tugging on them a little to check they were secure. I was belted, strapped down, locked. I couldn’t fall out.
I heard the song from the arcade in my head again.
If anything could ever be this good again.
The only thing I’ll ever ask of you,
Gotta promise not to stop when I say when.
We sat there, poised. I shut my eyes and breathed in. Once, twice, three times, waiting for it to start, waiting for the jolt, the surge, the screams.
“Paisley …,” I said.
“Yeah?”
“Are you scared yet?”
“No. So you shouldn’t be, either,” she said again. “This is gonna be great.”
I opened my eyes for just a second, met her gaze, and nodded. And on my next intake of breath, the donut was released and shot up and up and up and up into the sky, way faster than anything ever, and right up to the top of the spire on the tallest tower in the whole wide world.
“WHOOOO-HOOO!” Paisley yelled. “Look, Beau, look at Vegas. Look, you can see everything! Look at the desert!”
“I can’t open my eyes!” I screamed. “Oh my gaaaaahhhhhhhhhd!”
And down we went and then whoosh up we went again, lingering for a second at the top, where I briefly opened one eye, and then schoom down again, guts to the throat, eyes to the skies, and then whoooooosh up again, four times over. On the fourth time, I opened both eyes at the top and it was like the camera shutter came down. I only looked for a moment, an instant, but the view was enough to last my lifetime. Everything was so much smaller and more beautiful. I couldn’t see the dirt or the depression or the gambling addicts. I couldn’t see the pimps or the hos or the homeless. I couldn’t even feel the heat. I just saw Vegas. And it was beautiful.
