Neon Burn

by Kasia Fox

  “Anything?” he answered.

  “I g-got in.”

  “And?”

  “Nothing. She’s hardly g-g-g… She hardly has anything in her apartment. It’s small.”

  “You’re sure? You were thorough.”

  “I’m sure. Didn’t miss anything. K-k-k-k-kept it looking how it was like you said. Only took one pair of panties.”

  “Jesus, Bert.”

  “I’m k-k-k… joking around.”

  “Can the boss count on you for this? I wonder.”

  “If it was there I would’ve found it.” The dude paused. “There might be a problem though.”

  “Better not be.”

  “There was a neighbor. Young guy. Indian or something He saw me leaving when he was c-c-c—”

  “Jesus Christ, Bert. Spit it out. When he came home?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Did he get a good look at you?”

  “Nuh-uh.”

  “Stay away then. We’ll be in touch.” It made Skinner feel very cool to sign off like that. We’ll be in touch. Like something Vin Diesel would say. His phone chimed. A text from Berkley saying they’d be waiting at the valet out front. Skinner drove out of the self-parking garage and swung out in front of the casino. The two girls looked buzzed. They wore different, skankier outfits than when they went in and carried shopping bags full of whatever they bought with Ron’s money. It made him anxious to get going with his plan. If he had his own club, he’d have his pick of ladies, like Ron.

  “Don’t you two look pretty,” he said. “Where are you off to next?”

  In the rearview mirror, Berkley winked at him. Skinner felt himself stiffen. Once, when she was trying to get information concerning Ronnie’s whereabouts on a certain night, Berkley had persuaded him to tattle with a mindbender of a blowjob.

  “The wedding chapels!” Ronnie’s daughter said.

  “Drop us off downtown,” Berkley instructed coolly. “We’ll walk.”

  Tessa squealed. She must be drunk. Skinner checked her reflection in the rearview mirror. She was looking out the window at the pedestrians streaming across the Las Vegas Boulevard crosswalk. Her cheeks were flushed pink. One of the straps of her dress had fallen down her shoulder. Next to her, Berkley gazed at the tops of her breasts. Berkley looked up and met his eyes in the rearview. She took the tip of her tongue out of her mouth, drew it across her top lip and smiled like a cat.

  “Sounds like Berkley’s been a bad influence on you this afternoon, Ms. Paul,” Skinner said.

  “She did make me drink a lot.” Tessa didn’t sound unhappy about it. When Ronnie had told him to keep an eye on her, did that mean reporting back on Berkley? What was she up to anyway? No good could come of that devious look in her eyes.

  “You watch out for that one,” Skinner teased.

  “Oh, I know,” Tessa said. “The first time I saw her? She was outside with her top off.”

  The light changed and he turned onto Las Vegas Boulevard.

  “You didn’t tell me that!” Berkley said. “What a little pervert you are, spying on me.”

  There was a rustling in the back seat, like the girls were play fighting. Skinner wanted to look – he desperately wanted to look – but if he got in a wreck driving Ronnie’s woman and his daughter, his boss would kill him. No doubt about that.

  16.

  “If you were going to get married at one of these chapels, which would you choose?” Berkley linked her arm with Tessa’s and leaned in conspiratorially as they walked the sidewalk in downtown Las Vegas. They’d already toured the casinos along Fremont Street and walked through a shopping center made of shipping containers. Now, finally, they were touring the wedding chapels on foot.

  Tessa took in the palm trees and bail bond businesses and pawn shops around her. She was having so much fun. It felt like she’d never had fun one day in her whole life until now. So this was why people drank in excess.

  “That one.” Up ahead was the cutest of the cute churches in view. Little Flowers Chapel, the sign said. That was the name of her church back home. Sort of. “Can we go in?”

  “You know what I say?”

  “Yes!” Both women shouted at the same time.

  Inside the chapel was a reception desk manned by a stout woman with a heavily powdered face and what looked like a curly black wig on her head. When Tessa asked if they could look around, the woman said they were only allowed in if they were part of a wedding party.

  “Too bad,” Tessa said. She wasn’t all the disappointed.

  Then Berkley cut in. “Actually, we are a wedding party.”

  Tessa colored. “No we’re not.”

  “Well, technically it’s not a wedding. It’s a vow renewal.” She selected a cherry hard candy from a glass bowl on the counter, unwrapped it and placed it on her tongue.

  “I don’t – ” Tessa started.

  “Just say yes,” Berkley reminded her, winking.

  The cost of a practical joke vow renewal was so shocking that Tessa had to pinch her lips together to keep from gasping when Berkley plugged Ron’s credit card into the machine. How was she going to explain the expense to him when he looked at the bill? Once the transaction cleared, the woman in the curly wig became much more hospitable. She wedged herself between the reception desk and the wall, wiggling free to lead them to a vestibule. Afternoon light flooded through two arched stained glass windows featuring pictures of doves carrying swirling blue ribbons strung with red hearts. The same small space also housed a humming industrial cooler containing different types of wedding bouquets and the stacked Tupperware containers from an employee’s lunch.

  “I like the red roses. What do you think, love?” Berkley purred.

  Fools Rush In played over the stereo system as Tessa walked down the aisle clutching a bouquet of daisies. Blood-red roses were better suited to Berkley, who stood by the lectern at the front of the chapel next to the woman with the curly wig. The Elvis impersonator accompanying Tessa had to be at least six-foot-four and, body-wise, the late-model version of the king. Only four tiny pews flanked either side of the aisle which made for a short procession.

  When she reached the lectern, Berkley grasped Tessa’s hand and the two of them giggled. As it turned out, the woman with the wig was the justice of the peace who’d be performing the ceremony. The woman gave a little speech about the love Tessa and Berkley shared, and the commitment they’d already made to each other. When she pronounced them loving wives and said, “You may now kiss your bride,” Tessa laughed and held out her hand for Berkley to kiss. Instead, Berkley grabbed Tessa at the waist and pulled her close. She ran her hand up one side of Tessa’s neck until her fingers were in Tessa’s hair. She tugged on the hair. Her mouth was open; their lips brushed against each other’s. The moment was so surprising, Tessa was mid-laugh when Berkley kissed her. Her lips came down, soft and full over Tessa’s. Her mouth tasted like white wine and cherry hard candy. Slipping between her lips, Berkley’s tongue caressed Tessa’s. She felt dizzy and embarrassed and too warm as Berkley’s soft tongue worked over her mouth. Then, abruptly, Berkley pushed Tessa away from her and threw her head back laughing like it was all a joke. Tall Elvis sang Viva Las Vegas into a karaoke machine. Berkley and Tessa walked arm-in-arm down the aisle. There was something hard on Tessa’s tongue. The remnants of Berkley’s candy.

  “Thank you,” Elvis said. “Thank you very much.”

  The town car was waiting on the corner of Las Vegas Boulevard and Clark Avenue.

  They slid into the back seat and Skinner asked if they’d gotten into any trouble. Tessa was still rattled by the kiss.

  “I have a little headache,” she confessed, putting a fingertip to her temple.

  “Poor girl. We’ll get some food in you.” Berkley told Skinner to take them to The Golden Steer. To Tessa she said, “It’s Ron’s favorite restaurant. Classic Las Vegas type place, so you know what that means – full of old farts like your dad.”

  “They do an
interesting bourbon sour there. Put a splash of red wine in it.” Skinner found Tessa’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “Ever had a bourbon sour?”

  “More alcohol?” Tessa replied, distracted. She was reading a text from Dev: Hope things are good. Wanted to let you know that I saw an old guy coming out of your apartment today??? Said he was doing plumbing work. Did the super mention this? Tessa frowned. She wrote back saying that she didn’t know anything about work in the apartment and that she’d check.

  “Or you could get a Long Island iced tea,” Skinner mused as Tessa dialed the super at her apartment building. Voicemail picked up immediately.

  “I bet you like those,” Skinner said.

  “What?”

  “Long Island iced teas.”

  “Hm. I don’t drink much.” Tessa hung up without leaving a message. Skinner lost interest in the conversation.

  The car threaded through the streets, making a right at a huge sign framed in hundreds of lit bulbs, proclaiming the building to be the world’s biggest gift shop. Not far away, Skinner pulled in front of the restaurant.

  “Order a classic martini for me,” he said glumly to Berkley as they left the car.

  The restaurant had horseshoe-shaped booths upholstered in red leather and the walls were hung with giant oil paintings of meaty-looking cows. While they waited for their table, Berkley and Tessa sat at the bar, where Berkley ordered two martinis. “For Skinner,” she said, as if the man had been wounded in battle. At the very least, Tessa thought, she could count on eating the olives.

  The bartender mixed the drinks and Tessa excused herself to go to the rest room. Two women came in the bathroom and sat in the stalls on their side of Tessa, carrying on their conversation about a friend of theirs who’d ditched them that night. As the women chatted, Tessa went to the sink. Who was the girl in the mirror? That girl didn’t look like a baby anymore. The high heels Berkley insisted on buying for Tessa made the muscles in her legs look sleek and arched her back. On the drive from Caesars Palace, Berkley had smudged a smoky eye on her and handed her a tube of nude lipstick. From her new little handbag, Tessa retrieved her phone. She posed, snapped a mirror selfie and texted it to Dev with the message I’m not wearing a bra and I’m drunk. That would make him happy. Smiling, she tucked her phone back into her purse. The two women emerged from the toilets and approached the sinks. Tessa washed her hands.

  A tall woman in a shiny purple dress leaned into the mirror and widened her eyes.

  “If you want to ditch him, we have an extra ticket to the comedy show,” a woman with a dark, asymmetrical bob was saying as she splashed her hands with water.

  “We have to go to Morgan’s charity thing,” the woman in purple said. “I made a big thing of it to Chris, and the only reason he agreed is Morgan is dating Callum Quinn, the boxing guy? Apparently he’s supposed to show up there tonight. Chris is obsessed with American Prizefighter.”

  “Oh my god, take me. Screw stand-up comedy!”

  “Morgan would break your face. The claws have fully retracted.” The purple dress woman raised her hands in the air like paws and hissed. The women laughed. Holding the door on their way out, the woman with the bob complimented Tessa on her dress.

  “Sorry for eavesdropping but where is that charity thing tonight?” Tessa asked, acting on her impulse. “My boyfriend is, like, so obsessed with that American Prizefighter guy too.”

  “That nightclub Billions,” she said. “Maybe I’ll see you there.”

  “We’ll see,” Tessa said. Her phone buzzed. Dev had sent a row of head-exploding emojis and the words, Do I even know you anymore?!!

  “Your drink is getting warm.” Tessa looked up from her phone and saw two martinis sitting on the bar. The drink in front of Berkley was half finished. A light right above Berkley’s seat beamed right down on her, making her hair look a clownish shade of red. She pointed to her phone, lying face down on the bar top.

  “Ronnie called. He can’t make it for dinner,” she said.

  “He has to!”

  “Welcome to being a loved one of Ronnie’s.”

  “I feel like I’ve hardly seen him at all today,” Tessa said, dropping to the bar stool. The disappointment must’ve been plain on her face because Berkley adopted a more consoling tone.

  “He feels bad. Believe me.” Berkley nudged the martini glass toward Tessa. “Drown your sorrows. That’s what I do.”

  Tessa sipped. Once the drink was in her mouth it was all she could do not to spit the bitter liquid out. “That’s what a martini tastes like?” She ate one of the olives to banish the taste of pure, unsweetened alcohol. “Wow.” She coughed. “How can you drink those?”

  “It’s a big girl drink,” Berkley said. “Would you prefer a virgin piña colada?”

  There was an edge to her voice Tessa hadn’t heard before. To appease her, she took a second sip. Nope. Just as awful as the first. Holding the slim stem of the glass made her feel like a more sophisticated version of herself. This feeling was the only reason Tessa could think of for voluntarily consuming something so awful-tasting. Berkley had her face in her phone again. Tessa tried to engage her with the few personal questions, which Berkley answered without interest. Tessa asked how she’d met Ron – “at the club” – and where she was from – “all over.” Finally, when Tessa asked if she had any siblings, Berkley gave her such a pitying smile, Tessa shut up and drank the disgusting martini. After a few minutes of silence, she impulsively blurted, “What do you know about this guy Cal Quinn?”

  Berkley set her phone down. “You mean Callum Quinn?” She sipped her drink, raising her eyebrows over her martini glass. “I know better than to say his name around Ron.”

  The two women considered each other without speaking. If Berkley was going to be vague, so would Tessa. As much as Tessa wanted to talk about Cal, she wasn’t drunk enough to spill her feelings to her dad’s girlfriend.

  “Some women in the bathroom mentioned him, that’s all.”

  Berkley shrugged, polished off her martini and signaled to the waiter for two more.

  “No,” Tessa said. “We’re going.”

  “Where?” Berkley looked amused.

  “To my dad. To his club. What’s it called?”

  “Peaches.”

  “Really? Okay. Wow. We’re going to Peaches. My first time at a strip club.”

  “Oh, babe. Anytime I pop in at the club unexpectedly, there’s a good chance I’ll learn something I wish I could forget. Maybe we shouldn’t.”

  Tessa glared at her. “I’m not some prude you know. I can handle it.”

  For the first time in the last hour, Berkley seemed amused. “I don’t think you’re a prude. I bet you’ve been waiting for an adventure like this.”

  “Exactly! And you have to say yes, remember? Those are the rules.” Tessa pounded back the rest of her martini and stood.

  “Seeing as you want to know your dad better,” Berkley’s voice was uncharacteristically cautious, “One thing you might want to know is that if you don’t obey Ron, he gets very angry.”

  The club was in a dark, industrial part of town. Out the window, Tessa watched the glittering casinos and the fancy people fade away, replaced by tire shops and commercial plumbing businesses. The skyline of the strip was still visible, but this was a different Vegas than the one of tourists in wedding dresses and celebrity chef restaurants.

  “Are we close?” she asked.

  “Right up ahead,” Skinner replied.

  The car slowed as he signaled to turn into a parking lot. An older woman sat on a lawn chair sitting on the sidewalk right before the turn in. She had rigged up a flashlight to shine on her and the cardboard sign she was holding. The light made her look crazed, illuminating a blurry picture of a young man in outdated clothing. Tessa leaned closer to the window to read the sign. She saw the words, Ron Doucette –

  “Tessa look!” Berkley cried, grabbing her shoulder and pointing out the opposite window. Above them was a massive lit bi
llboard with the words American Prizefighter between photos of two boxers glaring at each other. “You were asking about Callum Quinn? That’s his company.”

  “What’d you wanna know about Callum Quinn?” Skinner asked.

  “Wait, what was—” Tessa started before Berkley interrupted.

  The car turned into the lot and the billboard and the woman with the sign disappeared behind them.

  “If I were Callum Quinn, I’d just put a picture of myself on all the billboards. Might turn a lot more women into boxing enthusiasts,” Berkley said.

  “You like that? C’mon, the guy’s obviously a juicer,” Skinner scoffed.

  “He’s not my type,” Tessa said.

  “So what is your type?” Berkley asked.

  What was her type? Back in college she’d been drawn to academic types. Guys who seemed like they’d be better at proofreading your thesis paper than building a fence. Cal didn’t seem like the type to do either of these things particularly well, and yet he seemed like such a man. That was the trick of the muscles, she supposed. Or maybe, Tessa thought, her problem with Cal was that he wasn’t her type but that she knew she wasn’t his type.

  “You know what he said to Ron the other day outside the house? He said, ‘I’m in no hurry to get mixed up with a daughter of yours.’ Can you believe that?” Tessa said.

  Berkley snorted. “I’m sure Ronnie didn’t like that one bit. He can be a real hot head.”

  “Think Callum Quinn’s not a hothead?” Skinner jumped in. “He intimidates everybody and that’s the way he likes it. Here we are.”