Three Questions

by Meagan Adele Lopez

“Wouldn’t you ravver it happened that way, than to be showered wi’ gifts and false promises? An’, then, when ya’ve got the rock on yer finger – he goes off to find some brighter and shinier piece of skirt? Huh?” She glowers at Chelsea. Chelsea slinks under her thumb and nods, her bottom lip trembles, her eyes unable to leave the trance of leopard dress lady.

  “Oh, an’ anuvver thing – Englishmen will invite you along with the lads – they won’t leave you at home while they’re off playin’ poker and havin’ strippers on their laps. American men – they are bloody wankers. Fuckin’ hell, I miss those Brits.” Leopard pouts her lips, stares at herself in the mirror, pulls out some more lip gloss, pulls up her dress so that her breasts don’t fall out, and goes on her way.

  We stand there for a moment in shock, wondering if we should heed this cocaine-sniffing, leopard print wearing woman’s advice. I look at Chelsea, her eyes are practically crossed and her jaw is to her chest. I crack up laughing.

  “Wow.”

  “Yeah.”

  “She has a point.”

  “Definitely good to know.”

  We make a pact to keep each other in tune with where the other is at all times tonight. I know she won’t do anything with Miles, but the more drinks she gets in her, the more likely I am to lose her somewhere in the casino. The more drinks I get in me, the more likely I am to get lost. Already I like this situation a million times more than I did the one last night. It feels right.

  We re-enter the room, and Guy gives me a wink. Normally, I would hate winks. Winks are the type of thing that can churn your stomach if it goes the wrong way, or is given by the wrong person, or is followed by a ‘here’s-lookin’-at-you’ trigger finger point. His is casual, quick and just for me, as if he’s letting me in on his little secret. I’m his confidante. I like his wink.

  He buys me another drink and asks me if I want to head downstairs to the casinos for a bit. I oblige, and let Chelsea know I’m going. She smiles and mouths “Have fun.”

  THE CASINO

  Although the Playboy Club and the Ghost Bar are picking up a bit, it is still Easter Sunday, and there is literally no one in the casinos. We find a cozy leather lounge chair to sit on and play a coin game with aliens and Martians. I sit on his lap because, well, the chair isn’t big enough for the both of us. I suck in my stomach as I do.

  He explains to me how earlier in the evening they had played the blackjack table and won a lot of money. He wants to spend it on us – his words. US. Not the country, but he and I. I smile smugly and say “that’s fine”.

  We talk about nothing in particular. It’s not deep or sentimental. It’s just natural. There’s no over-emphasis of any certain topic and I’m not trying to be someone exceptional, or to woo him with my wily ways. I don’t feel like we relate on a love for the arts (thank God), and I have no clue about anyone who plays soccer or football. Sometimes I don’t understand certain words he uses, and have to ask for clarification. He says I mumble and makes me repeat whole sentences, but I’m used to this (my own mother makes me repeat sentences).

  At some point we start kissing. I don’t know if it was in the elevator coming down to the casino or in the casino. It all happens as if it had happened before in some parallel universe. It comes so effortlessly and unselfconsciously.

  His eyes crinkle a bit around the edges when he smiles. You can tell he’s been out partying heavily for a couple of weeks; the labor of a single traveling man. There are long silences at times that aren’t at all uncomfortable. I have no desire to move from this spot. I ask him a lot of questions and sometimes repeat questions because I forget he’s already answered them. He feels my love handles.

  “Oh, don’t do that,” I say.

  “Do what?”

  “I didn’t want you to feel those. I hate them.”

  “What? These?” He pinches them again and I squirm. I swat his hand away.

  “Yes, those. I swear I’ve been going to the gym and nothing helps.”

  “It’s natural for a woman to have curves.” I stare at him. Could he be real?

  “This is me holding it in, you don’t want to see it when I relax. Anyway, you have no idea how much we’ve eaten today. I’m not normally this bloated.” I cringe as I hear the words come out of my mouth. I’m not lying though.

  “I think you look incredible. Anyway, you’re on holiday. You’re allowed.” I believe him. I relax my stomach a little and release my muscles. I sink into his chest. I don’t think twice about it.

  He is so enthralling to me, and I think that to someone else, he might be slightly boring, but to me he’s remarkable. He looks at me at one point, holds my chin and says again, with more emphasis, “You are incredible.”

  “I know,” I say, sarcastically tossing the words away. “No. You are.”

  “Duh.”

  “Adele?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Just let me compliment you.” I let his words sink in. This is the first time I’ve heard them from a man’s mouth and believe that there is no hidden agenda coming from underneath. He simply believes me to be incredible, and I will buy it for now.

  “OK. Honestly, it makes me embarrassed,” I admit.

  “I can tell.”

  “Oh. I didn’t mean for that to come across. I guess I’m not as good at hiding my feelings as I think. Anyway, I thought you English weren’t ones for compliments.”

  “We’re not. But I’ve never wanted to say nice things to anyone like I want to say to you. And you’re not good at hiding your emotions. I like that.”

  “What else have I done that you’ve picked up on?”

  “Well, I knew you didn’t really want to go outside in the Ghost Bar when you said you did.”

  “Cocky!” I playfully hit him on the chest.

  “But I have to be honest, you had me worried for a second when you barged through the glass doors and didn’t look back. I thought you had decided to leave after all.”

  “I had. I figured it was better to leave before I could miss you. Although, it was useless. Whatever it is that controls my feet, it wouldn’t let me leave. And I somehow knew I had to find out more about you.”

  “I’m glad you did. Otherwise I wouldn’t have this fit bird sat on my lap.”

  “Fit bird? What is that some type of really toned peacock or something?” A laugh bursts from his mouth.

  “No, you’re just a fit bird.”

  “What is a fit bird?” I repeat.

  “You.”

  “Got it. I think.” We sit in silence for a moment, grins spread across both our faces. “You know, I don’t normally admit when I’m embarrassed. Why do I feel like I can tell you anything already?”

  “I feel the same. Ask me a question,” Guy says.

  “OK. Let me think.” I tap my finger on my chin. “Why did you want to go traveling, and what made you leave work?”

  “Good one. It’s boring though.” I give him a look of disgust.

  “Like anything you could say would be boring to me,” I answer. I refrain from mentioning Shakespeare.

  “Well, I had been at the job for eight years. The job I was on the verge of getting – the promotion I had originally applied for – would no longer have existed in the restructure they were implementing, and I didn’t want to continue in the same role. I thought that if they were going to offer me stacks of money to leave, than I may as well leave, especially knowing I would not be happy in the same job. May as well give it to someone else who would be happy. The package and the money were too good to pass up.”

  “You’re right. Bored. No interest,” I say. He squeezes me tightly and I give in. It isn’t hard to give into him. “Fine. Continue.”

  “The decision to travel didn’t come until after all that. My friend made me – you know, the one who asked you for a drink?” I nod my head and smile.

  “Sam,” I say.

  “Him. Otherwise I probably wouldn’t have done it. I had been considering traveling, but I also considere
d buying another house.”

  “Another house? How many houses do you own, mister rich?”

  “Just one.”

  “And how old are you?”

  “31.”

  “Gosh, I haven’t even considered buying. Anyway, continue.”

  “Why? How old are you?”

  “Quarter lifer.”

  “Nice. Good age.” He smiles at me. I move my body off his. I want to face him so I can hear the rest of the story, so I sit myself on the aliens and Martians’ machine.

  “Go ahead,” I say.

  “Right. So, it wasn’t until Sam convinced me that I’d be crazy not to see the world and take some time off that I really considered it. He has done loads of traveling himself and knows how much you can get out of it. Honestly, I’ve been fed up with the routine of drinking every weekend as well – knew something needed to change. The idea to start with Africa kind of fell into my lap.”

  “I’m so jealous. That sounds like such a great opportunity.” I can’t bear to think what will happen tomorrow when I wake up and realize this is all a dream and he’s flying far away from me. “How long have you been in Vegas for?” I say instead.

  “We got here on Friday. Before that we had decided to do a tour of the west coast. I’ve done some of the east coast and Chicago many times – I have a few friends who live out there, but had never really seen California.”

  “Oh, you were in California last week?”

  “Yeah. A few of us – Miles included – started in San Francisco. We headed south from there. We even stopped in LA for a couple of days, Santa Monica and then down to San Diego.” They stopped in my city, where I live. Surely they must have been near me at some point. “Where do you live in LA, by the way?”

  “Hollywood. Right off Hollywood Boulevard.”

  “We did the Hollywood thing. Had to see the stars on the sidewalk and all the costumed characters. What is up with those guys anyway?”

  “Did you get a picture with any of them?” We’ve been like this for at least an hour. Our conversation’s flowing from important things to the completely inane.

  “Yes, Elvis got a bit frisky with us.”

  “He does that! My friend Martha was in town and I swear he licked her ear. I live literally a block from the Chinese Theatre – Sycamore Avenue.”

  “That’s the street we parked on.”

  “You parked on my street last week? How on earth do you remember that?”

  “Was it last week? Yeah, I guess it was. All the days are blending into one. No, I remembered Sycamore because, and this is a tedious, but bear with me…”

  “No. Can’t handle anymore of your monotonous -”

  “You will listen, you little…” He grabs my waist and tugs me back onto his lap. I laugh.

  “You are so easy to pick on,” I say. I kiss him on his cheek. He gently handles my chin and looks into my eyes. His eyes are so soft, so tender. I trust him immediately when I look into them. He presses his lips to mine and holds them there. I wrap my arms around his shoulders and squeeze. We kiss tightly and intensely, and neither of us wants to let go. At some point, we unwrap ourselves. “You give me butterflies.” He shakes his head. His eyes look misty and I want to disappear in them.

  A warm feeling floods my body. I have never felt so secure. Do I trust it? “Tell me, tell me.” I push away the intensity, promising to go back to it sometime in private. I can’t fall apart at the seams with this virtual stranger. I can’t let myself.

  “Tell you?” He looks confused.

  “Sycamore.”

  “Oh, right. So, when I was doing some research on traveling to Egypt – the Sycamore tree kept coming up. Apparently, they saw it as a tree that acted as a pathway for the newly dead to make their way to heaven. You could say the trees are symbols of a rebirth or awakening of a sort, and I found that particularly suiting for…well, for my plans whilst I travel. Anyway, see, I’m not the only one who can get deep here – you thought your Shakespeare would top it, huh?” I’m not sure, but I think I see a blush from him. So I was right about my Shakespeare being the absolute worst idea I’ve ever had.

  “So I’m not the only nerd in the casino then?”

  “Nerd?”

  “Like dork. Don’t tell me you don’t know what nerd means?”

  “This will be a fun language lesson for us both, me thinks.” He flicks the tip of my nose. I kiss his forehead. “There was a gym on top of the garage we parked in with balloons everywhere. Is that right?”

  “Yeah, that’s my gym. They just opened about a month ago, and so I assume they’re still trying to tell people they’re open. Wow.” There is a pause while we both smile cheekily back at the other. “Maybe we walked by each other. Wait, was that you who streaked and got arrested last Wednesday?” I try to lighten the mood.

  “Must have been. You were that fit bird who ran after me, huh?” We both laugh at our jokes, and look for more parallels in our life.

  The same year I lived in Paris, Guy was there for work every other week because his company had a swell of meetings in Paris during that time. We imagine us checking the other out while grabbing a panini next to L’Eglise de Madeleine, or sipping wine in the hotel George V off the Champs Elysée.

  Last May, when I visited England for the first time, and stayed in Notting Hill, he could have been visiting his friend Liam who lived right off Clarendon Road. They were probably meeting for an Italian meal in Portobello Market at their favorite restaurant, Osteria Basilico, where Laura and I ate dinner one night.

  It’s possible that on my first and only trip to Chicago in July five years ago, he was eating a Chicago style pizza with his bud, Sid, while I was getting my cards read in a psychic’s parlor up the stairs with her three gypsy children peeking through the curtain from the other room, and she told me I would fall in love with someone in five years time.

  It’s been five years, I think to myself.

  “You alright?” Guy asks me. I realize I’m staring straight ahead - for how long, I have no idea. I’m looking at the face of a dark, high-haired waitress in a short black skirt, black panty hose and a corset, who is waiting for my drink order. She looks exactly how I picture a cocktail waitress in Vegas should look, except for her shoes. Her shoes would be more fitting on a second grade teacher with a plaid skirt and blue cardigan. They have a 1/2 inch heel and a strap goes over her foot, comfortable and logical. “Another drink?” he asks.

  My throat is getting dry again – the curse of drinking in Vegas. “Tap water and scotch on the rocks, please,” I say to the waitress.

  “Wow. That’s quite the drink,” he says to me after the waitress leaves.

  “Oh, is it not lady like?”

  “No, I like it.”

  “What time is it? Maybe I shouldn’t drink a strong drink.” I look at my watch. The hour hand is hovering near the 2. “Two. Oh.” My thoughts are flying, and I feel sweaty and hot all of a sudden. I need to get away. “I know I haven’t brought this up, but I’m planning on going home this morning. I have work today – or in the next 7 hours, and I have to drive back before the traffic gets bad,” I say.

  “You can’t seriously be planning on driving home?”

  “Yes. I will just grab some water and a red bull, after I sleep for like an hour. I don’t get paid if I don’t work, and there’s no way I can show up late tomorrow.” I don’t say how much I want to stay with him. I don’t say that I am sorry because at this point my job and salary is my only assurance in life right now. I don’t say how much I hate my job, or that I want to run off with him to Africa. I also definitely don’t mention the psychic in Chicago.

  “OK, I understand. I want you to do what you want, but it’s dangerous to drive that far on so little sleep, don’t you think?”

  “I’ve done far more dangerous things in my life all on my own. You don’t need to worry.” That was a bit harsh, even for me. I only mean to come across as confident and fearless, but my subconscious is butting in and
insists on building that barricade between us instead. It won’t allow such close human interaction so quickly. ‘Haven’t you learnt from your family’s mistakes?’ it whispers in my ear. Yup. There goes the partition - my blockade – my Berlin wall that Captain Subconscious is determined to keep from falling down. I’ve had men come in and try to control it. It knows the preliminary stages of this recipe for entrapment.

  I roll my eyes at myself. So tough, and so unloved. I do it to myself. At these types of moments, I don’t feel sorry for myself. I just feel anger. And for what? He was only showing that he cared, and yet I don’t believe him. I don’t believe that he could care so quickly…even if I do.

  “Well, I hope to see you again if you are leaving shortly,” he says. I can tell he’s doing his best not to sound needy. He sounds adorable.

  “I don’t see how that would be possible with you traveling to Africa and all that. It’s a nice sentiment, but let’s just have fun tonight.”

  “I’ll be back here in four months. Every year I travel to Chicago to visit my friend Sid. I already have my ticket booked for July. Come meet me.”

  “Don’t be silly. You’ll have forgotten about me in four months’ time. You don’t want to have to worry about some girl in LA that you met in Vegas for a couple of hours while you’re traveling and having the adventure of a lifetime.” I just want to be realistic.

  “Why wouldn’t I want to?”

  I don’t know what to say to that.

  “Well, of course you should want to because I am the most amazing woman you’ve ever met,” I smile, “but let’s be sensible.” That word. “Trust me, you’ll meet someone else along the way or you’ll want to travel off to the next place, and I wouldn’t want to be back here pining away for this English guy who’s romping around the world. You’ll get bored with me. I mean, Vegas does weird things to people.”

  “I really fancy you, and I don’t know what it is about you, but I promise you I will meet you in four months. You can ask any of my friends about my word. I never say something I don’t plan on acting on.” He is so genuine that the cement holding my bricks together is disintegrating away and being filled with a warm mush. I have a vivid image of my heart beginning to grow like the Grinch’s cartoon heart, getting larger and redder by the second, about to burst out of my rib cage for all to see.