The Perfect Girlfriend

by Karen Hamilton

  A doorman opens the door for us and bids us a ‘great evening’.

  ‘We will,’ I respond, as we walk downstairs towards a waiting black limo.

  ‘What’s this?’ Nate turns to look at me.

  ‘It didn’t cost much more than a taxi, so I thought we might as well arrive at the Venetian in style. They had a deal on. If we like, the driver can take us sightseeing afterwards. I don’t know about you, but I quite fancy seeing more of Vegas.’

  ‘Hi, my name is Jackson,’ the uniformed chauffeur greets us as he opens the door.

  ‘Thank you,’ I say, stepping in first.

  As requested, there is a bottle of champagne and two glasses ready for us on the side. I pour, handing one to Nate, then pouring one for myself.

  ‘I don’t believe that the champagne was included too,’ he says, taking a sip.

  I laugh. ‘Of course not. But I couldn’t resist when they suggested it as an optional extra. You’ll have to drink it quickly, though, the Venetian isn’t too far away. Cheers!’

  I lean back into the seat and Nate does the same, as Jackson turns round and suggests we ‘buckle up’.

  As we pull away from the bog-standard crew hotel, into the noise and sights of the approaching evening, I accidentally slide towards Nate. I move away. A sliver of barely containable excitement weaves its way inside my chest as we drive towards our destination: the one I carefully selected. It is listed among one of the top ten most romantic hotels in Vegas.

  Nate is in for the night of his life.

  17

  After strolling through the Piazza San Marco arm in arm, Nate and I are seated opposite each other in a restaurant and are now eating marinated prawns at the edge of a canal. A gondola glides past. I pick up my glass of white wine and take a sip. Above the faint smell of chlorine, I catch a whiff of garlic as a waiter delivers the entrée to the table behind us. I am tentatively happy. I feel like I’m moments away from finally living the life I deserve.

  The conversation between us flows naturally. He, too, is happy. He admitted as much when he confessed a few moments ago that he was glad I’d talked him into this outing.

  Our starters are cleared and the ice inside the bucket crunches as our waiter removes the bottle to top up our wine glasses.

  ‘I dread to think what the bill will be like,’ says Nate.

  ‘Don’t. The whole evening is on me. As a thank you.’

  ‘A thank you?’

  ‘Yes. You were very decent when we split up, paying the rent and making sure I’d be all right. I’m sorry again that I took it so badly. I was in a confused place back then. Now that my life is on track, I can look back and see how I could have handled things differently.’

  ‘Well. Likewise. Water under the bridge.’

  We both laugh, given our surroundings.

  ‘What did you think of the club last night?’

  ‘Incredible,’ he says. ‘Whenever I’ve come to Vegas before, I’ve tended to explore in the day. Tours of the Grand Canyon, that type of thing. I’ve been to a few well-known restaurants and local sights, but this trip has actually been fun.’

  We both go quiet.

  I think about how we are here, for now, cut off from the world until reality will try to wrench us apart again. Which is why tonight is so important. How the night plays out will have a big impact on my future.

  No, our future.

  ‘I don’t know how we’ll beat last night, I felt on such a high. I did look at some tickets for shows this evening, but anything that sounded good was sold out or extortionate,’ I say.

  ‘It’s nice enough here. Aren’t they supposed to have street entertainers? And I saw a documentary once about Michael Jackson. He came shopping here and the shops were like Aladdin’s cave.’

  I burst out laughing. ‘Shopping? You?’

  He laughs too. ‘Yeah. I guess not.’

  ‘I think we should go up to one of the bars after this and look out at a proper view of Venice as a taster. I’d love to visit the real one.’

  I reach over and top up our wine glasses.

  A lot for Nate, a little for me.

  I distract him by pointing out a precarious-looking gondolier who looks a little unstable as he approaches a white bridge, whilst above us the skylights darken, hinting at the approaching night outside.

  In the bar, I insist on Kir Royales with extra cassis, even though Nate mutters half-heartedly about ‘operating tomorrow’. We are seated in the centre of the room, so we don’t have much of a view, but the room itself is worth taking in with its high ceilings and opulent decor in shades of black, gold and silver. Behind the main bar, with its backdrop of dark, mirrored shelves supporting hundreds of wine glasses, flutes and brightly coloured bottles, sleek bar staff mix drinks, expertly negotiating the space behind the counter.

  ‘We’ll just have the one cocktail,’ I say with a reassuring smile. ‘When in Rome. Or Venice or Vegas. And we’re not even working until late, so let’s just relax.’

  When Nate stands up to seek out the Gents, I take a quick look around. The bar is fairly dark and no one is taking any notice of me. I reach down for my bag, take out a pill, hold my glass beneath the table and drop it into my glass. Using a cocktail stirrer I mix it. I reach over for Nate’s Kir Royale and swap our drinks around. As he returns, approaching our table, I take a deep breath.

  ‘I’ve got a confession,’ I say, taking a sip, not quite meeting his eyes.

  ‘Go on,’ he says.

  I look up. Since my experience with Katie I’ve done more research into drugs, and the poison is in the dose. It can take up to half an hour for Rohypnol to kick in, but I now have to monitor his alcohol intake, otherwise this can all go horribly wrong. I feel as responsible as an anaesthetist.

  ‘Jackson’s coming back shortly. I asked him to take us on a tour. I thought it would be fun to sightsee in comfort. I’m having such a good time, I don’t want this evening to end. I’ve got a four-day Riyadh after this, which means no gym, no pool, probably no socializing – apart from in a curtained-off family area in a coffee shop, from what I’ve heard – and apparently I’ll be stuck in my room with only the BBC World Service for company.’

  ‘It’s not too bad there; they have other channels.’ He grins. ‘But you’re right about this evening, and I’m having a great time too,’ he says. ‘Let’s go for it.’

  I take his response as a sign that he’s up for anything as I watch him sip his drink. I don’t finish mine, as I need to stay in complete control.

  ‘Can we take the longest possible route, please?’ I say to Jackson as we leave the gold and the brightness of the Venetian behind us.

  ‘Sure.’

  Our champagne bottle has been refreshed; a new one is in its place. Nate doesn’t seem to notice. The surreality of it all is mesmerizing; even I feel a heightened sense of excitement and anticipation. I sit closer to him and point out a tall tower.

  ‘The Stratosphere Tower,’ he says.

  Our thighs touch.

  Nate turns to look at me.

  I put down my glass, ease his from his hand and place it in the side holder, then I lean towards him.

  We kiss.

  It is like the first time, only better and even more dream-like, because I’ve wanted this for so long that every single second I’ve been in pain now seems blotted out. The overwhelming smell of his aftershave is intoxicating and I feel giddy.

  The limo stops. I pull away from him. I need to get my words right, but all the things I need to say are jumbled up in my mind. I look outside. Relief swamps me. We’re only at some traffic lights, so we’re not there yet. The car moves forward. I am disorientated, I’ve no idea how long we have left until we arrive at our first destination. I hope I didn’t accidentally drug myself. I think back. No, I definitely swapped our drinks around.

  Facing Nate, I say, ‘I’ve had an idea. It’s a bit mad, but hear me out.’

  ‘You’ve arranged a bungee jump off a skyscraper.�
��

  ‘Not quite.’

  His breathing is heavy, his face is flushed. His eyes are bright. I’ve only ever seen Nate properly drunk a few times and it’s usually been after nights out with his uni mates. He stares at me as though ready to listen. He doesn’t quite look himself, he’s smiling but seems a bit vacant. Nicely compliant. I could tell him anything right now, or do anything at all, and I suspect he’d be none the wiser.

  ‘Part of this tour is of the Little White Chapel. It’s got a drive-through “Tunnel of Love”. Let’s go all out for the total Vegas experience.’

  ‘Get married?’

  ‘Well, yeah. People must get carried away all the time so they must have some sort of cooling-off period or . . .’ I struggle to think of the right word. ‘Safeguards,’ I blurt out. ‘What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas. Don’t a lot of your colleagues say that? You told me that once.’

  ‘It’s just a saying.’ He goes quiet.

  I give what I hope is an understanding smile before I lean over and speak to Jackson via the intercom. ‘Can we have some music, please?’

  ‘Sure. What kind?’

  ‘You choose. Something uplifting. And loud.’

  He obliges, not only with the music but by dazzling us with disco lights.

  We both burst out laughing and clink glasses again.

  ‘Probably best to cool it,’ I say as he takes a sip. ‘We’ve drunk quite a lot this evening.’

  Nate grins, as though nothing in his life will ever trouble him again. The night-time traffic is slow as we creep along. Nate’s grin becomes soppier. He tries to kiss me, but his mouth lands on my cheek. He then asks Jackson for ‘something different’. I assume it’s going to be something romantic, but he suggests Guns N’ Roses. As he mimes along to ‘Paradise City’ – thank God, without any air guitar actions – I do my best to hide my agitation. I know he’s not himself, and that’s kind of the point, but he’s not taking this seriously enough.

  We stop. Jackson opens the door. I step out, as though I’m going to have a word with him. Nate follows me out.

  We all stand at the bottom of several steps leading up to a stone building.

  ‘Thanks for your help,’ I say to Jackson. ‘Hopefully, we won’t be too long.’

  ‘Take your time,’ he says.

  ‘What is this place?’ Nate looks at Jackson.

  Jackson looks worryingly puzzled. ‘The marriage licence bureau.’

  ‘You’ll need your passport,’ I say to Nate, leaning over to slide it from his back pocket as I try to distract him.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘We need ID to make the arrangements. Jackson’s got everything else sorted, don’t worry.’

  I lock my right arm through his left and start walking him up the stairs. He feels heavy and is walking slowly and deliberately, as though every step requires the utmost concentration.

  ‘Will there be music inside?’ he asks.

  Shit. He’s supposed to be calm and happy, not totally out of it.

  ‘Later, maybe.’ I try to think of the name of at least one of the band members of Guns N’ Roses to pretend that they got married here, but they all elude me. ‘This is all very rock ’n’ roll, though, music or no music.’ Inwardly, I cringe at my words, but I can’t think of anything else to say. ‘Come on.’ I link his arm tighter and almost drag him up the final few stairs.

  At the top, Nate hesitates so I lean forward and kiss him. A younger couple emerge from the entrance doors. As they walk past us, the man raises his hand and high-fives Nate.

  ‘Good luck,’ I say to them. ‘See?’ I turn to Nate. ‘This is a great thing we’re doing.’

  Holding his hand, we step into a well-lit building. But it’s probably good, as Nate blinks several times and looks normal. My eyes seek out the sign for the Express Lane. There is a couple ahead of us. I want to scream at them to move out of the way. Instead, I keep hold of Nate and distract him by reminding him of the time we queued for ages to get into the London Aquarium, only for the fire alarm to go off as we reached the tills.

  Inside, I silently pray that there is no reference made to the online form I’ve filled out in advance. When we are summoned forward, I take a deep breath. Thank God.

  ‘Good evening,’ I say, handing over my reference number, paperwork and both mine and Nate’s passports.

  ‘Thank you,’ replies the bespectacled woman, tapping on her keyboard.

  Nate looks ill at ease, so I squeeze his hand. I try to relax, to look calm, as if it doesn’t matter how long or short the process is. But it is worrying, because Nate looks as if he expects to wake up at any moment. And then, frighteningly, he opens his mouth as if to say something, but I smile and shake my head. It’s hard to concentrate, but I force myself to act how I imagine someone genuinely in my position would. I keep smiling throughout.

  ‘Good luck to you both,’ she says as we walk away.

  ‘Remember what I said,’ I say to him, heading for the door, resisting the urge to run. ‘Tonight is on me. Let’s head back to the fantasy world.’

  Jackson opens the door for us again.

  ‘Thanks,’ I say as I hand the paperwork over to him.

  ‘Thanks, Jackson. You’re a great driver,’ Nate says as he high-fives Jackson. ‘Where are we off to next?’

  ‘The chapel,’ Jackson replies.

  I step inside the limo first. As soon as Nate sits down, I hand him his glass and kiss him, before breaking away and sitting beside him.

  I raise my glass. ‘Cheers! Here’s to a wild night. It’s so exciting. Nothing feels real.’

  We clink glasses. It’s almost a done deal. Not long now.

  As we approach the chapel, my heart thuds so loudly I can hear it. Jackson parks alongside a white Cadillac. A Ford Mustang emerges from the chapel driveway. As we step out of the limo and Jackson directs us towards the Cadillac, the couple inside the Mustang wave at us and shout, ‘Good luck.’

  I wave back. Nate rises to the occasion and gives a brief wave.

  On the back seat of the convertible is a bouquet of red roses and a matching boutonnière.

  ‘What’s all this?’ Nate says, staring down.

  Jackson stands near the driver’s side, sliding in a boutonnière which matches Nate’s.

  I whisper, ‘It’s just part of the package.’

  Nate stands still, looking puzzled.

  Out of nowhere, a surge of violence rushes through me. I want to push Nate inside the car; his hesitation is going to ruin things, unless he pulls it together. I’m so close. So, so close. This feels like the final hurdle. ‘You owe me,’ I’m dying to say to him. Which he does.

  ‘All set?’ says Jackson, pulling back the passenger seat for us.

  ‘Yes,’ I say brightly. ‘Come on,’ I say to Nate.

  He steps in. I want to cry with relief.

  ‘Do many people switch cars in the middle of the journey?’ Nate asks Jackson.

  Jackson laughs in the nervous way that people do when they’re not sure whether or not someone is joking.

  I lean over and slide the boutonnière into Nate’s shirt button, then sit back, reach over and put my right hand on his thigh. He doesn’t put his hand on mine or do anything that connects us to this moment. Never mind. We have the rest of our lives for small gestures. I rest my roses on my lap, stroking the petals with my free hand. But when I next glance over I’m horrified to see that being exposed to the outdoor heat – combined with alcohol and a mere one pill – seems to have had a soporific effect on Nate. His eyes keep closing. He needs air conditioning.

  I lean over. ‘Nate! Darling, we’re nearly there.’

  He gives me a soppy grin and opens his eyes, but he stares ahead.

  As we approach the Tunnel of Love I almost can’t bear the suspense any longer. This night has to be as perfect as possible.

  ‘Isn’t this amazing?’ I say to Nate. ‘I feel like I’m on a film set, waiting for lights, camera, action!’

  Nate
grins.

  Relief floods through me. My whole body feels weak.

  ‘This beats last night,’ he says.

  ‘I’m going to enjoy every moment,’ I say. ‘I’m sure I won’t do anything like this ever again.’

  ‘Me neither,’ says Nate.

  We reach the entrance. Jackson drives up to the window and a minister approaches us from a side door. His dreadlocks are tied back into a ponytail. He is wearing a welcoming smile.

  ‘All set?’

  ‘Sure am,’ I hear myself say in a fake accent.

  I must be more nervous than I realize. But after what I’ve gone through to get here, I’m entitled. Every bride is nervous on her wedding day and I wouldn’t be normal if I didn’t feel even the slightest bit of anxiety. The minister introduces us to ‘the officiant’ who is a tall woman, with long, dark curly hair. She looks angelic, not unlike the ones painted into the midnight-blue ceiling above us, with stars and silvery crescents among the angels.

  Jackson steps out of the car and stands politely to attention.

  The ceremony begins. At approximately fifteen minutes, I’ve chosen one of the shortest ceremonies possible – but still, a quarter of an hour is a quarter of an hour.

  ‘Welcome, Elizabeth Juliette Magnolia Price and Nathan Edward Goldsmith. Are there any guests joining us from the United Kingdom this evening?’

  I shake my head and from deep within, I summon up all my self-belief. I picture myself as an actress playing an important, career-changing role at a theatre-in-the-round production.

  ‘We are gathered here today . . .’

  I smile and take hold of Nate’s hand.

  He whispers, ‘Can’t we just go back to the bar?’

  I whisper back, squeezing his hand, ‘We can go back in a minute.’

  ‘Do you, Nathan Edward Goldsmith, take Elizabeth Juliette Price to be your lawful, wedded wife?’

  I hold my breath.

  He looks at me.

  ‘I do,’ I gently coax in a whisper.

  ‘I do,’ he repeats.

  When it’s my turn to repeat my vows, my voice doesn’t sound like my own. I wish William was my page boy but, of course, he’d be too old now. He could be a witness or could have given me away. I feel a twinge of guilt at not inviting Barbara.