“It sounds to me like you’ve been carrying a heavy load around with you for a very long time,” he’d said when I wrapped things up after a good half an hour of non-stop talking.
“Well, it’s nobody’s fault but mine that I’m carrying it,” I said. “If I hadn’t done what I did –”
“No, Andie. Stop right there. I haven’t known you for very long, but I already know that you’re a good person. Sometimes, bad things happen to good people. When they do, we have to give ourselves a break.”
“But I can’t, Leon, not after what I did.”
“Yes, you can. You need to forgive yourself. The only person who can give you absolution now is you. From what you’ve told me, I think that’s something you’ve deserved for a very long time.”
I shook my head.
He took my hands in his. “Please, Andie, just let it go. Don’t let this eat you up and destroy you.”
I shrugged. “It’s too late. It already has.”
“It’s never too late to make a fresh start. Don’t deny the world everything that you have to give. You’re far too special for that.”
He smiled, and suddenly I felt that I could conquer anything if I had him by my side . . .
“If you could just fill this in, Madam . . .”
The voice of the lady behind the lost-luggage desk brought me back to reality. I sighed, but took the pen to fill up the forms with a renewed vigour. If filling up a book’s worth of forms brought me a step closer to Leon, then so be it. The pain of this journey, and the company, just might be all worth it.
Chapter Eight
An hour later, we grabbed a taxi and made our way to the hotel with our hands numb from all the form-filling. It was one I hadn’t heard of, a low-budget hotel on the outskirts of the downtown area called Topple Town. I didn’t expect much from it, and just prayed it wouldn’t live up to my expectations.
The exterior of the hotel did nothing to allay my fears. The entire building looked like it was crumbling in upon itself. The top floors of the hotel seemed to hang significantly over the entrance, and the windows were positioned further and further to the left the higher up you looked. The hotel looked as if it had been built on quicksand that had been unsuccessfully cemented over. I swallowed, and prayed that my room would be on one of the lower floors. But even more worryingly, the hotel was practically located in the desert. It stood on its own on a dark street off Las Vegas Boulevard, with not another amenity of any type in sight, even a brothel. I flipped my head around to get my bearings. The reassuring lights of downtown were right behind me, and yet miles away on foot. It was the kind of hotel you’d only stay in if you were leaving the city the next day and wanted to avoid traffic in the morning – there seemed to be absolutely no other reason for this place to exist at all.
Colm strode off into the hotel as soon as he’d paid the taxi driver, so I followed. It wasn’t the kind of street you hung out in on your own. Even the taxi driver looked relieved to be getting out of the vicinity – he was probably expecting his hubcaps to be ripped off if he stayed parked for long enough.
Despite seeing all the lights of the Strip and being dazzled by the slot machines as we walked through McCarran Airport, the lobby was a shock to the system. It was decorated in pure, unadulterated seventies-style garb, and was so bright as to be almost fluorescent. The walls were covered in orange wallpaper with a dreadful blue swirly design that burned your retinas if you looked at it too long. The desk was far bigger than it needed to be, and yet it was overcrowded with what looked like thirty years’ worth of guest paperwork. The wood of the desk was missing chunks at intervals around the edges, as if it had been hacked by a chainsaw, and the resulting effect would frighten young children if this had been a family-friendly hotel – I could swear there were carvings of tortured faces in it when I looked for long enough. And the carpet – oh my God, the carpet. Twirls met whirls and waves met swirls, all in a regurgitated Shepherd’s Pie colour. A few random slot machines were dotted around the lobby in a haphazard manner.
I looked around, expecting to see A Clockwork Orange or Fear And Loathing In Las Vegas playing on an ancient VCR somewhere – or were VCRs even invented back then? Everything looked so ancient that you could only assume that the hotel wasn’t just going for some seventies chic look, but genuinely hadn’t been decorated for several decades.
Colm seemed as if he was drinking in every inch of the place, though. He was gazing around the joint with a huge smile on his face, and the thought flashed through my mind that it was the first time I had ever seen him smile an authentic smile. It suited him to not look like a miserable bastard for a change, even if it was only for a few seconds.
In contrast to everything ancient, the guy working behind the desk looked about twelve. He barely glanced up when we landed in the lobby, so I eventually had to park my head on the twisted wood of the desk and stare him out of it.
“Yeah?” A bored glance upwards.
“Yeah, we’re booked in to stay here.” I slammed my documentation with my booking reference number onto the desk, hoping the ashes of some poor soul who’d died of old age while waiting for their room wouldn’t rise up from the impact.
The youth flicked back his greasy mop and gave my A4 sheet the once-over. He turned to a PC, which I could have sworn was one of those old Wang models they stopped making in the nineties. He looked up at Colm. I took this to be as close as he was going to get to asking Colm for his check-in information, so I grabbed Colm’s documentation from his fist and handed it over. Colm barely noticed, he was so busy gawping around the place. I wondered, not for the first time but more vehemently than before, what the hell was wrong with him.
“Your room is Number 25.” The youth threw a key on the desk.
I wasn’t sure which of us the room was for, but he seemed to be looking at both of us.
“What about the other one?”
“Only one key per room. You two will have to share it.”
“No, I meant the other room!” I could barely hear my own voice for the alarm bells going off in my head.
“Have you two had a fight or something? Looks like you’re gonna have to make up. We’re fully booked.” He sat back, with the attitude of someone who was about to enjoy the fireworks.
“We booked two separate rooms! We’re not a couple!”
“According to the system, you only booked one room.” He didn’t even look surprised. I started to wonder if this happened a lot. The Wang, or whatever it was, whirred ominously as he spoke.
“Your system is like something from The Flintstones, and it’s obviously got it wrong! We gave you printouts there with our booking reference numbers!”
“Number. You both had the same reference number.”
I rounded on Colm, who was standing behind me looking worried. “Why did we have the same reference number?”
“Hey, don’t ask me. One of the administrators in our place booked this trip. She’s quite new, so maybe she made a mistake . . .”
“Oh, great. I knew I should have booked all of this myself, instead of relying on Éire TV!”
“Well, why didn’t you, then?” He crossed his arms.
I looked away and resumed glaring at the youth. He’d obviously had a lot of experience at being glared at, because it didn’t seem to perturb him in the slightest. It was as if we weren’t even there.
“Check that thing again for another room,” Colm told the youth. “And do it quick before it explodes.”
I had to hand it to Colm – he had that quiet-sense-of-authority thing going on. The youth instantly started tapping on the keyboard, but he was shaking his head before he even touched a key.
“No rooms left,” he eventually said after a long process of tapping and re-tapping. “You’re booked in at the same time as the annual Retro Reunion party from the University of Nevada.” He flicked a hand in the direction of the wall to his right, upon which lived a montage of curling photos of groups of fifty-somethings posing o
utside the hotel in their best 70s gear. “It’s the class of ’78 this year. We’re all very excited about it.”
“I’m sure you are.” I started to warm to the youth. It wasn’t his fault he worked in such a kip, and at least he had a healthy sense of irony.
“Are you being sarcastic? This is a family-run business, and if it’s not good enough for you, I’m sure my dad won’t be sorry to lose custom from people like you.” He looked me up and down in my linen jacket and trousers as if I had been wearing a pelt of rotten potatoes. And he was eyeing the key on the desk as if he had plans for it. I no longer liked him.
“That’s enough.” Colm whipped up the key and whisked me away from the desk and towards the elevator in one fluid movement.
I stalled and folded my arms across my chest. “We’re going to have to get somewhere else.”
Colm pressed the elevator button. “We’re miles from another hotel. You fancy going for a two-mile walk, do you? Be my guest.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’ll get a taxi.” I went back to the desk to retrieve my abandoned hand luggage, glowering at the youth as I approached the desk. He glowered back, up for a fight.
Colm wiped a hand across his face. “It’s five o’clock in the morning Irish time. I’m falling asleep standing up. If you want to go off and find somewhere else to stay, off you go – I’ll take the room. Suits me great. But if you think I’m going out on the street to wait for a taxi to pass, you have another think coming.”
I opened my mouth, but he pre-empted my words.
“Do you really think he’s going to ring one for you after that little exchange?”
“Fine. I’ll hail one myself.” I picked up the handle of my little suitcase, flicked the case on its wheels and stormed out of the lobby. No sooner had I hit the street than I regretted my exit. It looked even dodgier without the back-up presence of the taxi driver and Colm – not that I trusted Colm to do anything if someone came along and murdered me anyway. He was one of those people who’d have no conscience about eating you if you got stuck in an Alive situation. But he was all I had in this place.
Three minutes and twenty-seven seconds passed without sight or sound of a taxi. Three minutes and twenty-seven seconds ago, the hooded figure that was making his way up the long street had seemed very far away. Now, I could practically smell his breath from where I stood. I hated judging people based on something as small as a hoodie, but I had a bad feeling about him. It wasn’t a cold night. Why was he hiding his face under a hood? I turned the other way. If I got too scared, I could always forget my dignity and run back into the lobby. Yes, nothing to worry about. Although I didn’t like the look of the silhouette that was ambling towards me in the opposite direction either . . . he was a very heavily-set man, the kind that could knock you out with his little finger. He could even have been a wrestler in a previous incarnation. What hope would I have against a wrestler? I couldn’t even beat my little cousin at arm-wrestling, even when chocolate was the coveted main prize.
I swung around and looked back at the approaching hoodie who was now almost upon me.
Then a hand grabbed my shoulder.
I was so shocked, I couldn’t even breathe for a few seconds. The wrestler. Oh God, he wanted my handbag. My company credit card. All my dollars. Not to mention my lovely Butlers Chocolates, purchased on the way over. All would be gone. In a twist of irony, I’d be completely dependent on Colm for everything, when all I’d been doing was trying to get away from him. I couldn’t help it. I screamed so loud that Jim Morrison must have heard me in his grave in Paris. The scream was for the somewhat delayed realisation that my personal safety was now gravely at risk, and not for the threatened dependency on Colm, although that was something else to scream about at a later stage . . . There wasn’t a sinner on the street, and doubtless the hoodie would be happy to watch me be mugged and maimed and tortured by this thug holding my shoulder . . .
“Andie, stop screaming, you lunatic! It’s me! Jesus, do you scream as a hobby or something?”
“Colm! For God’s sake, what are you doing grabbing me by the shoulder like that? Have you no sense!” I shrugged him off so hard that my shoulder hit my ear.
“I’m bringing you back in before you get attacked, that’s what.” He grabbed my case with one hand and my arm with the other. He had me yanked back into the lobby before I even knew it was happening.
“I don’t know how people like you manage to cope from one day to the next. You’re a liability to yourself.” He pressed the button for the elevator. “Here’s what’s happening. We’re sharing that room tonight. We flip a coin for who gets to sleep on the floor.” The elevator arrived. “If I don’t get some sleep soon, I’m going to kill someone in cold blood, but I can’t sleep worrying about you gallivanting around the streets like a halfwit.” I opened my mouth, but he put a hand up.
“No. I’m not listening to your nonsense.”
The elevator door pinged open to reveal a dingy corridor with shabby brown wallpaper flecked with a rusty orange colour. As I left the elevator, I wondered what to do. The thought of going back out on the street wasn’t appealing, but neither was spending the night in the same room as someone who was as dismissive of me as if I was a used tissue. Someone needed to tape him and let him listen to himself, with his patronising guff!
Room Number 25 was at the end of the corridor, as far away from the elevator as was possible. I yawned, and realised I was jaded myself. There was only one thing for it. I’d have to stay in the room, but I was getting the bed. I couldn’t let someone as condescending as Colm have it, on pure principle.
I was pleasantly surprised by the room. Yes, the décor was as vile as expected, but it was warm and spacious. I instantly wanted to fling myself under the duvet and sleep for twelve hours. But the second Colm had dumped his bag, he plonked himself slap bang in the middle of the bed and rooted in his pocket for a coin.
“Heads, I get the bed.” He threw the coin up in the air.
“No way! Who says you get to call?”
He did an annoying annoyed-exhale thing that people do when they’re annoyed. “Fine. Call it.”
“Tails.”
“But that’s what you would have had if . . .” He shook his head.
I enjoyed his exasperation.
He threw the coin, and smiled when it landed. “It’s the floor for you, then.”
I shook my head in disbelief. “What sort of a man makes a woman sleep on the floor?”
He walked over to the wardrobe. “There’s a spare duvet in here. I’ll use the bathroom while you get yourself ready.”
“No, you will not!” I grabbed the duvet, and made a run for it into the bathroom. If I couldn’t have the bed, he couldn’t have the bog. Let him go down to the lobby. And as soon as he was gone, that bed would be mine. I ran into the bathroom and locked the door. Throwing the duvet over me, I sank to the floor and waited for Colm to come knocking and arguing with me to let him in. Then the strangest thing happened – I noticed how large the bath was, and it started to look appealing as a place to lie down. Just until I got the bed, of course. I threw off my shoes, wrapped myself in the duvet like a mummy, got into the bath and lay back in it. A dry bath. It was a new one on me.
As I waited, nothing happened. I started to get bored. There wasn’t a peep out of him, and I had to conclude that he’d fallen asleep. In my bed!
Suddenly, I heard the sound of creaking, followed by a weird springing noise. Colm was obviously thrashing around the bed, trying to get comfortable. Enough was enough. I threw off the duvet and got out of the bath in a huge rage.
I stormed out of the bathroom ready to argue for the bed, but the sight of Colm standing beside it in only his boxers threw me. His hair was so tousled that it was touching the ceiling, his eyes were just a slit as they tried to keep the light out, and he had the confused look of someone who’d just woken up from sleepwalking.
“What were you doing in there?” he asked in a dazed voice
.
“You want to see what I was doing? You come with me.” I marched over to him and dragged him into the bathroom by the arm. It felt weird touching the naked skin of someone I barely knew, but I had a point to make. I gestured towards the bath in disgust. “You’re a disgrace, making a woman take a duvet into a bath!”
He looked at me in total amazement. Then, to my astonishment, he got right into the bath and wrapped the duvet around him.
“You’re right, you’re right,” he said in a voice so muffled with sleep that I could barely make out what he was saying. “You take the bed. It’s all yours. Now goodnight.”
He turned around in the bath, curled up, buried his head into the part of the duvet under him, and was snoring within seconds.
I was thrown. Colm being nice? He must have been feeling guilty for being so nasty to me earlier. Sometimes people do surprise you, don’t they? I shrugged away my confusion and made my way towards the bed. I almost cried with happiness when I saw the crumpled-up duvet waiting for me. I caught a corner of it, threw myself under it, and . . .
Promptly found myself flat on the floor.
The bastard! The underside of the bed was torn and the mattress was dipping right onto the carpet! My arms and legs were jutting into the air, my torso, bum and thighs trapped.
“Colllllmmmmmm!”
I shouted and ranted and raved until the neighbours banged on the wall, and still I could hear the sound of Colm’s oblivious snores.
As I finally managed to extricate myself from the mattress through a mixture of pulling, rolling and acrobatics, I knew that a war had officially started. Ironic, really, considering that I’d come to Vegas as a lover, not a fighter . . .
Chapter Nine
Where do you start when you’re making a documentary? I’m fecked if I know. Interviewing drunken models (all of whom I knew from working with them) and football players (em . . . same story, different reason) was a far cry from planning an entire storyboard for how this show would pan out. Truth was, I hadn’t a clue where to start when it came to finding Leon. Everyone seemed to have got carried away with what a fantastic idea this was, but nobody had put any planning into it. Whenever I complained to anyone in Éire TV about it, they’d be full of talk about how timing was everything – we had to move fast and get this filmed before the fickle public lost interest in it. Maybe that would have been a good thing, much and all as I wanted to see Leon again. Jesus, how did I get myself in these situations?
[2014] Looking for Leon Page 7