“Hey, I designed those. They’re not cheap looking,” Sam said.
“Guys, come on,” Mike said. “You still haven’t said anything. I’m a ninja. This is the best costume. … Grant, that leotard is riding up your crack.”
“You would know it’s called a leotard,” Grant said. “And why are you looking at my crack?”
“I’m not,” Mike said. “You’re … whatever you want to call it. It’s disgusting.”
“Dude, your costume doesn’t work,” Grant said.
“Why?”
I tugged off my costumed head. “How does a ninja make you think about weddings? If you approach someone dressed as a ninja, they’ll run away, not take a brochure.”
“And Hello Kitty is better? Hello?”
“He has a point,” Camille said. “It’s like having my Hello Kitty doll talk to me in your voice. Creepy.”
“Right?” Mike said. “Now Elvis. Elvis makes sense.”
Camille smoothed down her pants. “Thank you, Mike. I added some sequins. You can never have enough sequins.”
The boys and I turned back to planning. Camille was the only one who ever took Mike’s side.
“So no high enders?” Dax asked.
“Most of the people staying somewhere nice already have their wedding planned, and it’s at some swanky hotel, not a little chapel,” I said.
“Especially a dive like Cupid’s Dream,” Mike muttered.
Dax plunked off his head and grinned at Mike. “You’d be surprised how many businessmen love Elvis. We’ve had almost a dozen celebrities married at our chapel, you know, and it’s just a different experience—”
Sam held up his hand. “Hey. Daxter. We’re not selling your chapel, we’re selling Holly’s.”
Grant snorted. “The Daxter.”
Porter pounded Dax on the back. “The Daxinator.”
“Daxerea,” Mike said.
I slipped my arm around Dax’s and leaned on his shoulder. Dax had to know that he’d just wiggled a millimeter closer to the inner circle. Insults. Nicknames. By the end of the night they would be giving man hugs and planning summer surfing trips.
“Okay, Porter. You clearly know the market. Where do we go and what do we do?” Dax asked.
We sipped our hot chocolate while we finalized our strategy. We broke up into teams of two, with each team given three hundred flyers and the goal to have a conversation with at least thirty different people. Sam and Camille got the airport, where they’d amp up the lovey dovey for couples fresh off their flights. Porter and Grant took the sidewalk in front of M&M’s World and The World of Coca-Cola, where the skeevies in costumes would take a picture with you for five bucks.
There were also a lot of illegal immigrants there, passing out advertisements for strippers and escorts that could only be described as porn. By the end of the night, the street was littered with thousands of naked girls. I hoped people didn’t drop our flyers with the nudies.
Mike was banished to Fremont Street.
“Fremont?” Mike whined. “For Fremont, I get forty dollars.”
“They have those good hot dogs over there,” Porter said.
“But all the girls are old and veiny.” Mike hit Porter’s leg with his plastic sword.
I did not ask him to elaborate on the veiny. “Hey, I know you said Bellagio is high end, but since we’re staying outside, Dax and I should work the fountains. Everyone always stops, it’s romantic—”
“Romantic for who?” Sam wiggled his eyebrows. He’s the only person alive I knew who could actually do that. Before, it was cute. Now, I just wanted to shave them.
“Uh, other couples. Are you a three-year-old?” Romantic for me, Sam. I’d had to endure Camille and him making out all over this town. For once, I wanted some Strip-view romance. Because, as I may have mentioned, Dax said he loved me.
Dax reached for the bill. “Hey, I’ll take this. No worries.”
We gaped at Dax. No one had ever, ever picked up the bill, not even at Pepe’s taco stand. We’d split crepes with the expensive hot chocolate, and at ten bucks a pop, it had to be close to seventy. “You don’t need to do that.”
“But I want to.”
“Wow. Thanks, Daxmania,” Porter said.
Dax kissed my cheek. The first time he touched me, I thought my body would explode. And now that those words were between us, around us, I thought my heart would shatter. But I scooped up my heart and shoved it into a box, a box I could open and analyze later, privately, when I could stare up at my ceiling and count every moment that somehow led up to the perfection of this.
I had always wanted to bring a guy to the Bellagio fountains. The man-made, Strip-side lake dazzled tourists with the fountain show. Unlike most places you saw on TV or movies, Bellagio lived up to the hype. The final scene in Ocean’s Eleven was filmed here, meaning George Clooney and Brad Pitt leaned on our same railing. Although in real life they were way too old for me, in that movie, at this place, they were the ultimate Vegas mascots.
Dax and I found a spot and promptly abandoned all hope of passing out flyers. I’d never been one for PDA, but I’d also never dated a boy like Dax. We lodged our costume heads between our feet so we could kiss. Also, to save passing children from horrid Hello Kitty nightmares.
He rubbed my shoulders and grinned down at me. “Bet you bring all your fellas to this spot.”
“I don’t bring ‘fellas’ anywhere.” I nodded to the next pillar over. “And I usually bring them to that spot. This spot is new for me.”
He nuzzled my neck. “How many guys have you dated anyway?”
“Like, gone on dates with?”
“Sure.”
“Thirty-seven.”
He paused midnuzzle. “Knowing you, I’m sure that’s an exact count. Seriously, did you start dating when you were eight?”
“No. I waited until I reached double digits. Why, does that bother you?”
“I can’t decide.”
“Twenty-nine of those dates were onetime things. I don’t have a great retention rate.”
“Then it doesn’t bother me, I think.” He resumed the nuzzle. “Do you want to know how many girls I’ve dated? Or more than dated?”
“Why would I want to know that?”
“Because … because … every girl I know wants to know those kinds of things. And about earlier …”
Either he was hoping for more relationship definition, or he was asking me to say I love you back, which was not happening tonight, even if I fell into the fountains and he rushed in to save my life. These are the things couples discuss in a relationship, not that I’d ever been in a relationship, just watched those relationships at their wedding-day pinnacle. What I wanted for me individually was to kiss this boy while a billion gallons of water shot up forty-five stories into the air for gaping tourists wearing denim shorts in February. That’s really not asking for much.
“I know. I can’t believe Mike dressed as a ninja.”
Dax dodged my kiss and cupped my face. “I’m serious. I want to talk.”
“So. Talk.”
“I never know where I’m at with you.”
“The Bellagio fountains.”
“Holly.”
“I can only have so many conversations like this.”
“This would be our first conversation. First and a half, if you count that time I called you my girlfriend.”
“Yeah, and I went with it.”
“Went with it? Do you know how unromantic that just sounded?”
I rubbed my hand down my face. “Look, Dax. I love that you are super in touch with your emotions and can share all these things with me. I’m serious. It’s great. But I’m not like that. I wish I was. And … you didn’t tell me what happened with your grandpa. So it’s not like I know everything that’s up with you.”
“Are you kidding? I’m, like, the most open book in the most open library in the open world.” He frowned. “And I know I just said open too many times.”
“You’re always the one asking me questions,” I said. “Tell me something you haven’t said to someone else.”
“Uh, I did. In the valet.”
My face flamed. Idiot. He was the most open book. And he did mean to say those words. It wasn’t an accident. “I mean … I don’t know what I mean.”
“Okay. Fine. Look at this.” Dax flipped out his wallet. It was one of the first things I’d liked about him, how worn his wallet was. Loyalty to an accessory speaks volumes about a person. He dug underneath the credit cards and found an old picture of a couple on their wedding day. “This is my mom and dad.”
“Can I look?”
He handed me the picture with care. I held the photo like an ancient map. His mom’s dress was all lace and poufy sleeves, her veil dripping jewels. The outfit dated the picture to the early, maybe mid-nineties. “They’re so happy.”
He nodded. “They always were.”
“I thought my parents were happy too.”
“But now they aren’t?”
“Not together.”
He motioned to the tourists surrounding us. “I wonder how many of these people think they’re happy, or pretend to be happy.” He rubbed at his eye. “I wonder what happy even means.”
“Maybe happy isn’t forever. Maybe it’s just moments, and you save them up and hold on for all the in-betweens.” I gave him back the picture. “It’s nice that you have this. My grandpa used to send me funny greeting cards.”
Dax flinched when I said the word “grandpa.”
“Sorry. We can talk about your poppy if you want to. Or not.”
“Let’s go with not. Let’s talk about yours.” He slid his picture back into his wallet. “How are you doing? With missing him?”
“Some days it’s normal. That he’s gone. And some days I forget that he even died at all. Some days I’m mad at him because of the chapel thing, some days I’m really grateful. I feel like I wake up to a bingo game every day, and some ball is going to pop up and decide how I’m going to feel.”
“B-5. You’re angry.”
“G-41. You sit home moping and eat soup. But you know how it is.” I paused. “Are you ever going to let me read that letter?”
“Probably not.”
“Can you tell me something else in there?”
Dax rubbed his hand along his hair, shaking out the static. “This was weird. Your grandpa knew my dad, I guess. My dad was the one who first came in when Poppy bought the chapel. Your grandpa was really impressed with him, took him out to drinks a few times. Dad never got involved in the Victor/Jim feud. And your grandpa didn’t want you and me involved to carry on the fighting either. He wanted …” Dax breathed. In and out. “He wanted me to know my dad loved me just like your grandpa loved you.”
“What made him even think of that? Did you ever talk to him?”
“Never.”
“That wasn’t like my Grandpa Jim, to reach out to a stranger like that, especially in some deathbed letter.”
“You and I have a lot in common.” Dax shrugged. “Maybe your grandpa thought we shouldn’t be strangers.”
The music to the fountains started then, the white lights blinding. The bursts of water danced and swayed, erupting into the sky and cascading back to the lake. Dax leaned his forehead against mine. It probably sounds dumb, but it was the most amazing, profound, sad, and happy moment I’d ever felt.
We kissed for a while, long enough that I knew people were watching us, two teenagers in furry costumes. Dax started to say something, but I covered his beautiful lips with my pointer finger. It was a rather dramatic gesture, and I sort of liked the emotion of it all. “I don’t know if he meant to, but Grandpa couldn’t have given me a better gift than you.”
“Besides a cloud sweater.”
“Well, of course.” I kissed him again, slow and lingering. I thought about saying I love you. I thought how good those words would feel on my tongue. “Thanks for telling me everything. About your dad.”
He laughed. “What do I say, you’re welcome for showing you how messed up I am?”
The music started again. The fountains went off every fifteen minutes. How had it only been fifteen minutes when it felt like the whole world had changed?
“We’re all messed up,” I said. “I think life is just about finding the right people to be messed up with.”
Chapter 18
The fountains went off four more times, and we didn’t leave that spot. We kissed, we talked, we found happiness in our little moment. Then this guy with headphones accidentally crashed into me. I cussed him out but ran after him to apologize and gave him a brochure. Which reminded me that we were there because of brochures, and we went into a frenzy for the next thirty minutes. One man told me he would give me five dollars if I left everyone alone.
“I’m worried,” Dax said, as water erupted around us.
“What for?”
“That you’re right. I might almost, sort of like Vegas now. Of course, I’ll have to move to the Bellagio to maintain this feeling. But this is on my top-five list.”
“What’s ahead of it?”
“Well, there is this doughnut place on Eastern that has amazing cinnamon rolls. But Bellagio fountains with my Hello Kitty girlfriend? Right up there.”
Around eleven, I texted my friends and asked if we could meet up Monday to figure out who won the brochure handoff. My curfew was midnight and I had to be at the chapel early the next day.
“This is kind of like our Valentine’s date, huh?” Dax asked. “Since tomorrow we’ll both be working ten hours.”
“I’m working eleven hours,” I said.
“Are you trying to top me, counting girl?” He took my hand and we walked up to the Bellagio valet.
“I already topped you. I passed out one thousand percent more brochures.”
“You passed out ten.”
“And you did zero.”
He pulled out the stack in his back pocket. “I will distribute these by myself now that I don’t have you distracting me.”
I swooped in to nibble on Dax’s lip. It was the kind of kiss that made me want to forget about work tomorrow and slip up to a room with him instead. But Sam was in the valet loop and the cars behind him kept honking. He was either waving me over or flipping me off, I couldn’t tell. I was dizzy when I slid into Sam’s car and he sped out of the valet.
I held it together. Don’t ask me how, but I held it together. I wanted to sing and sob and ask Sam if this is what love was like and how long everything would last. I watched Dax in the back window as we careened away. I understood every love song, movie, and book ever created or even imagined. With this barrage of emotions, you can see why I didn’t initially pick up on the vibe happening in the car between Sam and Camille.
I leaned forward in the center seat. “So did you guys have any luck tonight? Bellagio wasn’t biting.”
Sam stared at the road. Camille fiddled with the horseshoe necklace she always wore. Neither responded.
“Uh, guys? Everything okay?”
Camille turned so I could see her profile, could see the red in her eyes, the puffiness of her skin. She hadn’t been crying, she’d been sobbing, and once I snuck a glance at Sam, it was clear he wasn’t doing too well either.
“No,” Sam croaked. “Not okay.”
I sat back. What should I do? Ask questions? Offer advice? Stay quiet? They’d had a fight, I had no idea what about and it wasn’t my business, but we had a twenty-minute car ride ahead of us and Sam was my best friend and I actually really liked Camille now, so I should do something? Nothing?
“We broke up,” Camille said just as Sam turned onto the I-95.
“You broke up,” Sam said.
Camille gave him a hard stare. “You’re not going to go around saying that now. You don’t have a right to do that.”
“I didn’t want to break up,” Sam said.
Camille twisted around in her seat, her seat belt getting stuck on her high-necked Elv
is collar. “Sam wants to get married. Tell him he’s crazy.”
“Sam loves you, maybe you will get married someday—”
“Not someday,” Camille said.
“Sam.”
Sam glanced at me in the rearview mirror. “Why is that a shock? Why not? I didn’t say tomorrow, just as soon as Camille gets done with school.”
“Why are you even talking about that now?”
Camille fiddled with her bell sleeve. “Sam … Sam kind of proposed. At the airport. By the taxi pickup line.”
“I gave you a promise ring, that’s not a proposal. I’m showing you that I’m committed.”
Or he wanted Camille to show that she was committed. I knew Sam, and putting a ring on it was his way of protecting his territory.
“But she’s a junior,” I reasoned. “She’s still got a year and a half to go.”
“Camille’s so ahead that she’s finishing her home schooling early.” Sam’s eyes were back on the road. “She graduates in spring, and told me this week that she might go away to college. Which is totally against our plans.”
“Sam.” Camille’s voice was pleading. “Then we talk about it this summer. Just because I got into all those schools doesn’t mean I’m going.”
Sam slapped his hand on the steering wheel. “It doesn’t mean you aren’t going, either. We planned this. We would tell your parents after graduation, get an apartment, go to UNLV.”
Camille looked down at her hands. “You planned that. Then you told me your plans. It wasn’t a we decision.”
“You’ve never said anything. Anytime I talked, you always agreed.”
“I mean … I talked about it. But we didn’t set things in stone. I was trying out ideas. You know I’ve always wanted to go to school in Washington. My dad’s whole family is there. I don’t see why I’m the one who has to compromise on everything, why all the plans center around what you want and not me.”
“You just never said this before,” Sam muttered.
Camille bit her lip. “Well, I’m saying it now.”
The only thing worse than their fighting was the silence. Sam flew along the freeway at over eighty-five miles an hour, his beat-up truck rattling along. If I didn’t die from his driving, I would die from the awkwardness.
The Chapel Wars Page 16