by C. J. Skuse
We gently came down and stopped, exactly where we had started.
I had my eyes shut again.
“You did it, Beau,” my sister said. “You took your first ever thrill ride. Look at you, Jackass 3D!”
I opened my eyes. “Is it gonna move again?”
“Nope, we’re done.”
Then the dude reappeared and let us out, and I clambered off and promptly stumbled over to the railing and gripped on like the drama queen I am.
Paisley came over to me and put a hand on my back.
“I was really scared, Pais,” I told her.
“I told you, you don’t need to be. I’m strong enough for both of us.” Then she asked, “Should we go check the Paris now? You can try out your French on some of the mademoiselles.”
Still clinging to the safety rail, I shook my head. Sweat droplets flew from my face and the ends of my hair. “I need to cool off.”
We knew from our extensive investigations at Caesars that it had, like, eight pools, so we headed back there and followed the signs. It did cross my mind that we’d be kicked out for not being guests or not having the right attire to be poolside, but there was no guy at the desk when we walked through to the pool area, so Paisley snagged us a couple of fluffy white towels.
And we chilled on chaise longues by the pool for the rest of the afternoon, eating jelly beans. Paisley got us a couple of ice-cold strawberry-and-banana smoothies from the poolside shake shack. I thought about when we were kids at Virginia’s. We’d sometimes spend whole afternoons lying before the fireplace in the den with our sketch pads, a bag of jelly beans, and a jumbo pack of magic markers, drawing and decorating each room in our grandmother’s house, down to the bricks—as though it really were our home. Being there by the pool at Caesars with Paisley was like being a kid again. And it felt great.
“Try lemon and cotton candy,” she said, cross-legged on her chair, squinting in the sunlight. She had stripped down to her underwear. I was still in my T-shirt and jeans. I’d taken off my sneakers, though, and I was lying down. I had loosened up a little.
I pushed my shades back up my nose and felt two beans land on my chest. “Mm, yeah. Pink lemonade. That’s good.”
“I’ve got marmalade. Two tangerine, one lemon, and a lime.” She tossed me two blueberries and a buttered popcorn. “Blueberry muffin. Flavorgasm, trust me.”
I chewed the life out of them. “Yeah, that’s the best.” All possible combos were tested until only a couple of root beers and a strawberry daiquiri rattled in the bag and both our stomachs groaned from greed.
I looked over at her, and she smiled. Her nose wrinkled up, just like it did when she was little. She held up a blue bean to show me.
“Think any of these are magic beans?” she asked.
“Probably not. God, I’m so sleepy.” The warm breeze on my face was bringing me to whole new levels of happiness. I could hear subdued chattering from the other sunbathers and swimmers around me, but nothing too intrusive. Little kids giggling and splashing in another pool a few yards away behind a pink-flowering hedge. More toga-draped waitresses sauntering around with trays of empty glasses. One came and took my empty smoothie cup. I pretended I was asleep behind my shades.
Then Paisley went and ruined it.
“We’re kinda out of money.”
“What?” I croaked, leaning up.
“Almost out.” She sifted several receipts out of her wallet and went through them. Breakfast $35.75. Two Stratosphere tickets at $51.90. Chicken wings, steak fries, and two iced lemonades $39.04. Candy $46.71. Feminine care and shaving gel $18.78. Smoothies $18.00. Deuce tickets $28. More candy $48.63.
We worked out that we’d spent around $180 at the arcade and on snacks. Even so, I wasn’t prepared for the total she gave me.
“We got … $32.19.”
“Shit. We kinda went a little crazy, didn’t we?” Paisley started laughing. “Yep. So back to my original point. We’re kinda out of money.”
I leaned back. I thought I would be more worried than I was. I was so lethargic, I could have fallen asleep midsentence. “It’s not funny. We’ll have to get jobs.”
“Yeah. That’ll be easy. Two sixteen-year-olds with no skills, no references, and no home. Vegas’ll be begging to hire us.”
“We haven’t found Dad yet, and we’ve got no money. What else can we do?”
“Are you getting in the pool?”
That was the last thing I heard her say. I must have drifted off. When I woke up, she was gone.
PAISLEY
ELEVEN
APOLLO POOL,
CAESARS PALACE, THE STRIP,
LAS VEGAS, NEVADA
Beau had eaten so many jelly beans he’d crashed on his lounge chair by the pool. Candy always had that effect on him, even when he was a kid. It didn’t affect me at all, but it always put Beau into a sugar coma. I watched him snooze for a little while, his forehead creases disappearing, his dark brown hair falling across his face, his long eyelashes fluttering on his cheeks. The best part about Beau is that even though he is actually really beautiful for a boy, he has absolutely no fucking idea.
I went into the ladies’ changing rooms, intent on just cleaning myself up, making myself look less underage, before I headed into the casino in search of bulging back pockets or shortsighted grannies with buckets full of quarters. I took off my faded Queen T-shirt, replacing it with a lonely white fitted blouse I found hanging on a gold hook by the sinks. There were other clothes around I could have chosen: a gold camisole, a pukey pink sarong, a psychedelic red and yellow shirt with big black buttons.
No. Go simple, Pais, I said to myself.
I bagged my boots and looked for another pair of shoes: There were silk mules, f-expensive-looking strappy sandals, red kitten heels. I went for stilettos, black with a silver heel. They were ever-so-slightly too big, so I stuffed the toes with toilet paper until they fit. Women staying at Caesars were either too stupid or too trusting with their stuff, and I didn’t care which. Bags were lying around for the taking, but on inspection I found they were just pool bags, not purses, so no money. There were makeup bags lying around, too. I put on some blazing red lipstick and fired up my eyelashes a little. I’ve never really seen the point of perfume, but one of the bags had a little bottle, so I sprayed some of that on as well. It smelled like the Skank—lust and dead flowers. The shirt was a little tight and the heels a little high, but I ain’t as fussy as Goldilocks. I checked my look in the mirror, pushed what little boobs I had up in my bra, and undid two buttons. I looked good. I shook out my hair. I looked older.
I strutted back through those wide marbled passageways like I was the new owner of the place. If I looked or acted sixteen years old in any way, shape, or form, they’d kick my ass outta there for sure. To my way of thinking, the dudes scoping for under twenty-ones would be so knocked out by my T&A they wouldn’t think of carding me. Think mature, think mature, I kept saying to myself. Be cool. Back across the lobby, the wind from outside blowing my hair as the doors opened and closed, tourists goggling my fabulous bare legs–high heels combo: I had sunshine in a bag, and I knew it.
Without overworking the swagger, I ventured onto the casino floor. I bypassed the blackjack, craps, roulette, and mini baccarat tables, glided past the keno area, and hung around the slot machines waiting for someone on Wheel of Fortune, Megabucks, Blazing Sevens, or Jeopardy! to leave their purse or wallet vulnerable. I was trying to walk as steadily as I could. My feet were killing me and my bag was tugging on my shoulder from the weight of my boots. I checked coin trays, sizing up some redneck tourists who’d had a few too many, waiting for an opportunity to fleece them. A group of guys watched me from one of the tables. One of them, in a leather jacket, smiled. I was gonna be all, “Yeah, as if. Keep dreaming there, Leather Boy,” but I didn’t. I smiled back. Might get a free drink out of it, I thought. What was the harm?
A fat guy was leaning on the side of an Elvis machine as his girlfriend played. He w
as talking to a young couple. They were droning on about moving in together, and the fat guy was all like, “Been there, done that, divorced the bitch,” and he sounded like the kind of guy you meet on vacation and can’t shake off. He’d had hair implants, too, by the look of it. Bad ones. Total walking midlife crisis. I made a bet with myself that he had a Ferrari. I pretended to play a neighboring slot machine and listened in for a good ten minutes. The Midlife had no awareness of me, even though I did look badass delectable. He was too busy talking about himself. He didn’t even notice that his wallet was teetering suicidally out of his ass pocket. Running out wasn’t going to be easy in my heels, but I could do it. I knew I could do it without him seeing.
But his girlfriend ran out of quarters, so he had to dip into the wallet to get some bucks for her to change up, then tucked it back down deep into his pocket. Chance wasted.
I looked over at the guys at the table. They had moved. Another ship sailed.
I got bored real quick of fishing for loose change after that. I headed for the bar that overlooked the casino. I slipped as gracefully as I could onto a bar stool and ordered the most mature drink on the menu, an iced tea.
“Can I see some ID please, ma’am?” said the bartender.
“For an iced tea?”
“I’m sorry, ma’am, house rules.”
It had to happen. I huffed and puffed around in my bag and found my wallet. I pulled out my Photoshopped ID and handed it to him. He looked at me. He looked suspiciously at it. He handed it back.
“Thank you.”
Then he went off to make my iced tea. I scoped the bar. It was nearly six thirty and there were a few guys hanging around, sitting at tables. Mr. Suspicious returned with my tea and took my money and went to the register to get my change. It was loaded with cash. Good thing I’d left the Eclipse back in the motel room, or I might have just cut out the middleman, or at least the barman, right then and there.
The iced tea was pretty terrible.
By a quarter to eight, the bar was a little busier and more guys had gathered to watch some football game on a screen in the corner. I fixed my eye on some gray suit sitting at a table by himself. He looked like he’d been stood up. Black hair, shiny brown shoes, a gold watch he kept checking. Pretty soon I was getting longer looks in my direction. I could feel his eyes on my legs. I saw his wallet on the table. We exchanged a smile.
Then this bleached-blonde pigeon bagged my guy and they left. So it was back to square one. I was on my second iced tea. No other guys were alone. Maybe I’m in the wrong bar, I thought. Maybe there was a singles bar somewhere filled with desperation and big bucks. Eight o’clock came and I thought about going back to the motel. Music pumped. Looks were exchanged. Iced tea was sipped. I could feel my disappointment Hulking over into anger that I’d failed to reel in any big fish.
All I could do was sit, sit, sit, sit. And I did not like it, not one little bit.
“Can I get you a drink?” a voice offered. A man leaned against the bar.
I looked him up and down, just to appear distant. It was the guy who’d smiled at me earlier. He was okay-looking. Late twenties, I guessed, though I could have been wrong. If I looked twenty-one, he could have been way older.
“I’m solid, thanks,” I said, caressing my iced tea.
“Come on, we can do better than that. Please. You look so lonely sitting there by yourself. It’s my duty as a gentleman.” He smiled.
“Okay. I’ll have a Coke. Thanks.”
He seemed surprised. “Sure thing.” He scrolled through a wad of one dollar bills he got out of his brown leather jacket and placed them on the counter. I slipped down from my stool and teetered toward a table in a dark recess of the bar. Yes, I thought. Just reel him in. Where’s he putting the goods?
Inside jacket pocket. Damn. He arrived with the drinks and settled them down on the table. He was wearing cowboy boots, gold-tipped.
“I hate to ask, but some idiot stood you up tonight, right?” he said.
“Uh, yeah. You could say that. I was just waiting for my knight in shining armor.”
“And along came me,” he said. He had oily skin and curly blond bangs that he flicked out of his eyes. He was good-looking in a young country-western-singer kinda way. Eyes were watching me from another table. I looked around. The other guys from his party were sitting around a plasma screen in the corner, and one by one they all looked away.
“They your friends?” I said, motioning to the TV threesome.
“Yeah.” He leaned in. “Want me to introduce you?”
“Not really.” I smiled. I felt his hand heavy on my knee.
“Is that okay?” he asked.
I looked down at his hand. “Yeah.”
“You’re really beautiful, you know.”
“I’m not supposed to be here,” I told him. “I’m not twenty-one yet.”
He shrugged. “Hey, I’m easy to please.” His hand moved up my thigh a little. I didn’t like it.
“Like, nowhere near twenty-one yet,” I said.
He ran his tongue slowly over his lip. “I had a feeling.”
I got a gross feeling in the pit of my stomach.
“Ain’t seen you around here much. First time in Vegas?”
I nodded, picking up my Coke. “You?”
“Nah, second home.”
“Really?”
“Pretty much. Come here with a bunch of my boys once or twice a month. Play the tables, have some fun, then roll on home to Austin.”
“Where’s that?”
He finally moved his hand and glugged down half of his beer, gasping at the sheer heaven of it. “Texas. You?”
“Jersey.”
He nodded. I looked at my drink. I sipped. There was vodka in it.
“There’s vodka in this. I just said Coke.”
“So you got more than you asked for. Come on, one drink’s not gonna hurt.”
I put my mouth on the edge of the glass and tipped it. I stirred it a little with the special golden Caesars Palace swizzle stick, took out a couple of the ice cubes, and pretended to sip it again. I hate alcohol. I hate what it does to people.
“What’s your name?”
“Zooey,” I lied. “With two Os.” I’d read it in a book at school and thought it sounded cool.
“Zooey. That’s a beautiful name. You want another one?”
“Another name?”
He laughed. “No, another drink.”
“No, I’m good.” I laughed, my eyebrows raised at the mere suggestion less than ten seconds into an already full glass.
“My name’s Steve. So, Zooey, you here on vacation, or …?”
“Yeah. Just having some fun, same as you.”
He leaned in a little closer. He had long nose hairs. I could see the color of his wallet in his inside pocket. I just wanted to grab it and run outta there, but I had the damn killer heels on, so it wasn’t an option.
“Look, if you want, we could hook up. I could show you around sometime.”
“That’d be good,” I said. It was my turn to lean in toward him. “You look like a man who knows where he’s going.”
He sank the rest of his beer, never once taking his eyes off me. He wasn’t drunk enough, and I couldn’t think how to get the wallet quickly and take my heels off and grab my bag all in one swift motion. It just wasn’t going to happen. But I needed that money. Money = more Vegas = Dad.
He put the glass down and his eyes seemed to light up. “You know, it’s funny,” he said with a laugh. “I know we only just met, but don’t you think we have a connection? Like we were destined to meet or something?”
“Kinda,” I said. “So, you staying here at Caesars?”
“Yeah. You?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ll walk you back to your room,” he said.
“No. I don’t wanna go back just yet. I’d rather stay here. With you.”
“Why don’t we go up to my room? It’s a suite. It’s got a Jacuzzi.”
He exhaled, like he was a little nervous, and his breath hit my face. He smelled of leather car seats when your dog’s been sick in the back.
He took my hand and stood up. His hand was big and covered mine. Had a strong grip, too. He handed my vodka and Coke to me. “You can take it with you. They won’t mind; they know me here.” We walked to the steps and he stopped. “I’m gonna get another coupla beers. Wait here.”
I did as I was told. It was going too far, but I couldn’t go anywhere else. Steve didn’t strike me as the kind of guy who’d just put up with a girl running out on him. In any case, I couldn’t run in those damn killer heels. I put the Coke on the rail at the top of the steps and plunged my hand inside my bag. I rooted around.
Steve looked over and smiled. I smiled back. He’d left me just long enough. I picked up my drink again.
“Sorry about that,” he said, eventually returning with two bottles in one hand. “Gotta keep hydrated, know what I mean?” He took my hand and led me down the red carpeted steps toward the elevators, just as Caesar himself and a harem of scantily clad maidens walked by.
“Whoa, what’s all this?” I asked Steve. He took my hand, squeezed it. I looked up at him but didn’t shake it away. I smiled.
“He does this a few times a day,” he said. “It’s a different guy every time. Tourists love it.”
Steve started to get a little huffy as tourist after tourist filed past us to get a closer snapshot of the Roman emperor. We then had a clear runway to the elevators, and there was one already open so we broke into a run—or in my case, a stumble. Damn. Killer. Heels!
He got me inside. Two couples were already in there with their suitcases, but we managed to squeeze in right at the edge and were mirrored on all sides. He pressed me back against the wall and it started to rise. The elevator, I mean. Though I did feel him against my stomach, at first nothing much, but as the elevator jerked and stopped at points where there was no one to be let in, he got harder. He pressed against me more.
He whispered in my ear that I was sexy.
The elevator shuddered and some of his beer spilled on the floor. He cussed. A gray businessman threw him a dirty look.