Chapter 19
At the last minute, Marissa’s mom and grandma begged out of the ride I’d offered to Las Vegas. Instead, they said they’d fly up and meet us at the hotel. I suspected they weren’t eager to spend five hours on the road trying to make conversation—which might have offended me had I not been dreading the very same thing. I’d need every minute of the drive to psych up for the weekend to come, which was why I was about to bitch-slap Brie if she didn’t stop talking about what a long-ass drive this was, and why didn’t we bring DVDs for the player?
It was eight o’clock by the time Martucci pulled the Rideshare Mobile into the Flamingo parking lot. We checked in and headed up to our rooms. Marissa’s mom and grandma had already arrived, but Troy hadn’t. (And, ha! I’d told him those carpool lanes would save us time. Plus, Martucci had driven straight through. Brie and I were able to use the bathroom in the motor home, and apparently Martucci had a bladder the size of an oil tanker.)
After calling Kitty Jones, Marissa’s mom, to arrange for all of us to meet in the lobby in an hour, I collapsed on the bed.
“What is it about sitting that makes me so tired?” I whined. “It makes no sense.”
Our room was your standard two beds, dresser, and TV. From the window we could see across to the Bellagio. The fountains in its man-made lake were in the middle of doing their laser water show. It was both beautiful and grotesque, considering how much water was being wasted in the middle of the desert.
Brie disappeared into the bathroom, and I closed my eyes to relax. The next thing I knew, she was saying, “C’mon, wake up! We got partying to do.” When I opened my eyes, Brie stood over me, squeezed into a white halter top and white leather pants. Her hair—these days a shoulder-length weave streaked with hot pink—was pulled high in a ponytail.
“Darn,” I said. “That’s what I was going to wear.”
“It’s almost nine. I sure hope you plan to spiff up.”
Begrudgingly, I dragged myself off the bed. This was nothing I was looking forward to—why had I let Martucci talk me into a party? I should have simply flown them up for the Wayne Newton concert and flown them home.
Too late for that now, I thought, dressing in a short skirt with no stockings, heels, and a fitted jacket over a tank top. I brushed my teeth, slapped on a bit of makeup, and fluffed my hair. A good long look in the mirror—followed by more makeup and fluffing—and I was ready to go.
“Okay, we’ve got to work out a code,” Brie said. “If there’s a sock on the door handle, it means don’t come in.”
“Oh hell, no. I’m getting a good night’s sleep. Don’t even think about bringing a man here.”
“It’s not like I’d let him spend the night.”
“No! No men! Are we clear?”
“Every party needs a pooper, that’s why we invited Ju—”
“Excuse me?”
“Fine. No need to get your panties in a bunch. I got it.”
I’d arranged to meet Kitty and Grandma next to the giant six-foot slot machine in the lobby, and it was a good thing I’d been so specific. I’d have never recognized them otherwise. The grandma eluded my memory entirely, and Kitty Jones had seemed small and faded when I met her at the funeral—as if she’d been washed and run through the dryer at too high a heat. That was to say, nothing like the woman standing before me, who had a healthy at-the-beach glow. Mid-fifties, robust, and with a layered blond bob, she appeared so much the part of a California girl grown up that it seemed odd when I’d heard the twang of a midwest accent when she spoke.
“June, it’s so nice to see you. I’m Kitty. You remember my mother, Mrs. Jameson?”
“Call me Gran. Everybody does,” said the tiny woman next to her. She wore a velour tracksuit, and her curly hood of brunette hair was clearly a wig, which she adjusted without a hint of self-consciousness.
I introduced Brie and then asked, “How was your flight?”
“Went without a hitch,” Kitty replied.
“Although you got to pay for a bag of peanuts,” Gran barked. “Can you believe it? A dollar fifty for a lousy bag of peanuts that used to be free! And you can forget about getting a real meal.”
“Oh, are you hungry?” I asked. “Because we could get dinner.”
“Thank you, but we grabbed sandwiches at the hotel deli,” Kitty said.
“Eight-dollar sandwiches,” Gran added. “You’d figure at that price it’d at least have had that fancy mustard, but nope. Plain old French’s yellow.”
“Whatever you do, don’t drink the bottle of water in the room,” Brie said, her voice a warning. “You assume it’s free, but there’s a small note on it that says it’s three bucks. They’re counting on you being too drunk to notice or too thirsty to care.”
“I’d never be that thirsty,” Gran said. I noted she didn’t mention she’d never be that drunk.
“Hey, where’s Martucci?” I asked, partly out of curiosity and partly because I was running out of small talk.
“He’s our friend who drove,” Brie explained before turning to me. “While you were doing your Sleeping Beauty thing, he texted me to say he was playing five-card stud. Unless we needed him, he’d see us in the morning.”
Kitty glanced at her watch. “Troy should be down any minute, but I don’t want to keep you waiting.”
“No rush,” I said. “The only thing I need to do is book a massage for tomorrow.”
“That sounds divine,” Kitty gushed. “Oh, would you mind terribly if we tagged along? A girls’ day at the spa might be fun. And then Wayne Newton in the evening. What a delightful trip this is going to be!”
I debated whether to mention that the massage was one of the items on the list but decided not to bring it up. It was so much easier to pretend that this was a typical Vegas getaway and not the strange odyssey that it was. The list at this point was the elephant in the living room—it was gigantic, and it smelled something awful, but damn it, we were all going to carry on a conversation around it as if it weren’t there.
Kitty was ringing Troy to see where he was when he showed up—and talk about your cool drinks of water in the desert. Black slacks, a casual silky shirt, the beginnings of stubble along the jawline. Mmm.
“Look at you,” Kitty said, giving him a hug hello. “You must be beat. Have you been up since three?”
“Yeah,” he said good-naturedly, and then hugged his grandma as well.
I was hoping I might get in on that hugging, but he gave a nod to Brie and me. “Girls. How’s it going?”
“Never better,” I said as we all walked the few steps to the hotel’s casino area.
Brie rubbed her palms together. “I want to find me a drink and then a craps table—in that order. Should the craps table have a fine gentleman or two at it, all the better.”
“I’m with you on the drink,” Troy said. “You’re on your own on the men.” He nodded toward a bar. “What’s everybody having?”
He took our orders and left to get our drinks. Kitty said, “Anyone up for blackjack?”
“Too much sitting around for me,” Brie replied. “Craps you get to scream a lot and jump up and down.”
As if on cue, a cheer went up from one of the craps tables. It was a group of guys, most in cowboy hats, whooping it up. Even though the table was already mobbed, Brie said, “That’s my table. Bring me my piña colada when Troy gets back, will you?”
Kitty, Gran, and I stood for a while, watching the scene. “You gamble?” Kitty asked me.
“A bit. Roulette’s my game. I plan to win big tonight.”
“You sound confident. You must be feeling lucky,” Gran said.
And there it was again: the elephant. Yes, I planned to win money…to donate to charity. Another item from the list. The list I was busy pretending didn’t exist, even though it was the sole reason we were here.
After Troy returned with the drinks, Kitty and Gran went to find nickel slots. I figured those weren’t exactly going to win me the big buck
s, so I was glad when Troy turned to me and said, “You up for hitting the tables?”
“Love to.”
It was prime time in the casino. We could find only one seat open at any of the roulette tables, and that was at a twenty-five-dollar minimum bet table. Although I’m usually more of a five-dollar-bet kind of gal, I grabbed the one available stool. “You have to bet big to win big,” I said with bravado.
Troy rifled through his wallet and held out a hundred-dollar bill. “Here, you bet for me.”
I waved it away. I have a few basic rules for Vegas that I live by, which are as follows: Dress slutty, accept any free drink that comes your way, and always, always bet your own cash.
“Watch…,” I boasted, turning to the table and setting down five twenty-dollar bills, “and learn.”
Also at the table were an elderly couple, a drunk guy who at first glance I thought was asleep, and four girls who were clearly at a bachelorette party since one of them wore a bridal veil.
The dealer—an Asian man whose name tag said José—gave me twenty-five green chips. “To match your eyes,” he said, smiling.
Troy leaned close. “I never noticed that you had fluorescent green eyes.”
“I was hoping he’d give me purple,” I whispered, “to go with my skin.”
Five spins of the roulette wheel later, I was broke.
“Hard to believe you didn’t even get a corner of a number,” Troy remarked, quite unnecessarily. The drunk guy had a wall of chips in front of him. My only consolation was that the bridal party hadn’t fared much better than I had.
I set down another hundred dollars and said to José, “Hit me again.”
This time I got an edge of number 27, which gave me a six-to-one payout. That was enough to keep me alive for another five minutes before I busted again.
“There’s no love at this table,” I said with a frown, getting up. “Maybe the slot machines will be luckier.” I scanned the casino, which was really bustling now with gamblers and crowds of people passing through to head to dinner or shows.
“Quarter or dollar machines?” Troy asked.
“Quarters. You witnessed both the beginning and the end of my high-roller days.”
“If you’re not feeling up to it, we don’t have to gamble.”
“Yes, we do,” I said grimly. “I intend to win a big pot of cash so I can donate it to charity. Cross one off the list.”
“Ah, I remember that one. Well, I’ll pitch in anything I win tonight—and no matter how late it gets, we won’t give up until we’re flush.” We walked up to two unattended machines sitting side by side. “How about these?” he asked.
“They’re great…especially since I’ll get to sit directly under that sign that says, ‘Loose Slots.’ What woman wouldn’t love that?”
“Oh, how you tease.”
Lord knows I would have liked to, if I hadn’t been so worried about everything going right.
“So, Troy,” I said, aiming for nonchalance as I perched on the edge of the stool and fed a twenty into the machine, “how’s your mom doing, anyway? She certainly seems okay, but I don’t know her so I can’t tell.”
“She’s doing fine.”
“Should I give her a copy of the list? Or talk about it more? I mean, I haven’t been—”
“June, don’t worry. It’s going perfectly. She and Gran are touched that you’re doing this.”
“Because I could make a photocopy of it. I’m sure the hotel has a copier.”
He grabbed the scruff of my neck in a massage. Warmth shot through me. “I swear you can relax.”
As if with his hand on me like that!
A waitress came up then to take our drinks order. Troy ordered a beer. Sensing a long night ahead, I asked for a coffee with whipped cream. “Lots of whipped cream,” I said.
“Do you want a parasol with that?” she asked sarcastically.
“Ooh, yes! Please!”
After she left, I hoped that Troy would resume massaging my neck, but instead he said, “So how’s work? Avert any crises lately?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact. I have a big presentation with the boss next week. If I do well, I could get promoted to management,” I said. “That’s why I was so happy on the phone the other day when you helped me come up with an idea.”
“A promotion? I must’ve missed something. Last time we spoke, you were about to get fired.”
I pulled the handle on the slot machine and won twelve quarters. “That’s the sort of roller coaster my life’s been on.”
“No kidding. So what’s this big idea?”
I suddenly became self-conscious as I was about to say it out loud. What if it was stupid? Better to find out now than with Lou Bigwood, I supposed, but I didn’t want to appear foolish in front of Troy, either. Hesitantly I said, “A street race. Well, a highway race, to be accurate. What I’d do is set up two cars to race in rush-hour traffic. One would be a guy driving alone, and the other would be carpoolers.”
“I’m not sure I follow. It wouldn’t be much of a race at rush hour. What would they be able to do—twenty miles per hour?”
“That’s the point. The guy driving by himself would have to deal with traffic. The carpoolers could use the carpool lane. They’re almost guaranteed to win. It’ll be a live demonstration of how the carpool lanes are faster.”
“I came up with that idea? I am a genius.”
“Do you really think it’s good?”
“You’ll have media all over that. Believe me, you’ve got nothing to worry about. That manager position is yours.”
“Well, I have to be realistic. You’re into racing. I’m not so sure our CEO is. He may not get it.”
“If he’s a man, he’ll get it. We can’t help ourselves—we have some sort of imperative to drive vehicles fast. Drink beer. Wage wars. But if you’re concerned, how about I come to your presentation and help you out? We could give your boss a live demonstration.”
“Are you serious?”
“Sure, why not? I’ll drive my car in a regular lane, and you and your boss can take the carpool lane. I’ll even wear racing gear so it’s obvious you’re not going up against a little old lady. I’ll look pro.”
This felt too good to be true. I waited for the other shoe to drop. “It’s next Friday at three o’clock,” I said cautiously, expecting him to tell me it wouldn’t work.
“I’ll be there. Count on it.”
Giddy, I gave the slot machine’s arm another pull. I’ll be there. Count on it. Aside from, “No, no, I insist, you take the last piece of chocolate,” are there any words that tug more at a woman’s heart?
I was pondering this happy thought when Kitty and Gran walked up.
“There you two are!” Gran said. “We’ve been over at the nickel slots. I’m up fifteen big ones. You should’ve seen it.”
“Way to go, Gran,” Troy said. “Although you might want to donate that to the fund we’re starting. June is trying to win money for charity. In fact,” he said, easy as pie, “it’s one of the items for the list. Marissa wanted to make a big donation.”
I glowered at Troy—did no one explain to him that mentioning the elephant was forbidden?
“Oh, how wonderful!” Kitty exclaimed. “Ma, we’ll have to pitch in our winnings!”
Considering her outrage over the eight-dollar sandwich, I expected Gran to balk, but she said, “Shoot, I’d have played the quarters if I’d known.”
Kitty turned to me. “What charity?”
“She didn’t specify. A lot of groups collect out here in the streets. Was there one Marissa was particularly fond of?”
“Drinks!”
The waitress returned and hefted Troy’s beer and my coffee with whipped cream and—yes!—a parasol.
As I grabbed my drink and tossed tip money on the waitress’s tray, I heard Kitty squeak, “A parasol.”
“Hmmph?”
Kitty suddenly had that grayish, washed-out look I remembered from the funeral. “
A parasol,” she mumbled. “Marissa…she always loved parasols in her drinks. Even as a little girl, if we were at a restaurant, she’d insist they put one in her milk. Who gets a parasol in her coffee? I’d expect it in a fancy drink, you know…but coffee?”
Tears slid down her face, which seemed to have crumpled and turned into a wadded tissue before me.
Troy jumped to his feet and put his arm around her. “It’s okay, Mom. Everything is okay.”
“I’m sorry,” I sputtered. “I didn’t…I mean, that is, I—”
Troy pulled Kitty aside to comfort her while I stood there, dumb and confused.
Gran clucked. “Here we go again.”
“I feel terrible,” I moaned. “I shouldn’t have…” What? Ordered a drink with a tiny umbrella? How could I have possibly known?
“Don’t you fret,” she assured me. “You’re doing the best you can. We know that. It’s just, the little things sneak up on you. Kitty can brace herself for a weekend where we’re going to see Wayne Newton to help complete a list…and by the way, I’m quite excited about that. I’m his biggest fan. But sometimes you get blindsided. She didn’t see the parasol coming. No one could have.”
Gran went over to take Kitty’s elbow and lead her away. Troy came over to me. “My mom could stand to call it a night.”
“Of course.”
“See you tomorrow?”
“Sure.”
A lesser woman might have noted that surely Gran could have handled Kitty—that if they took Troy, too, I’d be alone.
All alone.
In Vegas, surrounded by clanging machines and groups of people drinking and cheering.
Yes, a lesser woman might have felt sorry for losing a wild night of gambling and flirting—and a promise from Troy that he’d stay and help win the pot of money.
She might have even mildly resented the sight of three bodies retreating toward the elevators while she stood there alone, cashing out the money left in her slot machine.
Two quarters made a tinny chink, chink noise as they hit the tray.
The stress of the day caught up with me then, pulling on my body. Sleep. I needed sleep. There was no reason I couldn’t put off gambling until the morning.
The Next Thing on My List Page 20
