Vegas Girls

by Heather Skyler

  Jane jumped into the water, fully clothed, then began dragging Astrid, flailing and frantic, back to the edge. Ivy got down on her knees and reached for her mother’s hands. Somehow she found them, then pulled as hard as she could to get her safely back up onto the deck.

  Jane lifted herself out easily and knelt beside Ivy. Astrid was sitting up with her knees to her chest, sputtering and coughing, but she seemed to be fine. How long had she floundered in the deep end before Jane broke Ivy’s trance? It couldn’t have been more than thirty seconds. Astrid’s green blouse was suctioned to her body with water, and Ivy took in the dark shape of her bra beneath it, the rolls of fat at her waist. Her shoes had come off in the water, and through the dark hose Ivy noticed that her toes were gnarled and bumpy, an old woman’s toes. Ivy tried to absorb every detail of her aging body, hoping it would help her to find an ounce of compassion, enough to allow her to apologize for pushing her into the pool at least, but nothing came. This woman felt like a stranger to her now, worse than a stranger—she would feel compassion for a person she’d never met—she was an enemy.

  “I’ll get some towels,” Jane said, rising.

  “Okay,” Ivy said, still kneeling close to her mother. She searched her face, absorbing the lines and hollows, the age spots and smudged eye makeup. Her blonde hair was sealed tightly to her skull now, two strands striping her forehead. Her eyes were closed, and Ivy watched the twitching of her thin lids, spanned with fine blue veins. When she opened them, Ivy flinched back, as if she’d been struck.

  “I know you don’t understand why I left, and I can’t really explain it, but I don’t blame you for hating me. I deserve it.”

  Ivy nodded, unable to speak. It was true. She hated this woman.

  Jane appeared and crouched down to hand Astrid a large, yellow towel. “I took some clothes out of your bedroom, Ivy,” she said. “I hope that’s all right.” She passed Astrid a pair of gray sweatpants and a pink T-shirt.

  “I don’t care,” Ivy said.

  Astrid accepted the clothes then pushed herself up to standing. “I’ll wash them and get them back to you tomorrow. I promise.”

  Ivy shook her head. “I don’t want them back.”

  “It’s no problem, really.”

  “Please,” Ivy said. “Keep them.”

  “I’ll just change in the bathroom,” she said, then walked across the pool deck and disappeared through the sliding glass doors.

  Jane retrieved the pool net and worked for several long minutes to get Astrid’s shoes back on dry land, plunking one black heel beside Ivy, then another. “I guess those are ruined,” Jane said. Her clothes were sealed to her skin with water too, but she looked agile and lean, as if her black tank top and denim shorts were part of her skin.

  “C’mon,” Jane said, taking Ivy’s arm. They went inside and sat down on the couch, waiting for Astrid to finish and leave. Ivy expected some sort of admonishment from Jane for pushing her own mother into the pool, but they sat in companionable silence, Jane’s damp arm linked through hers.

  When Astrid returned from the bathroom, she looked better. Her thin hair had already begun to dry, and Ivy’s clothes fit her just right. Her old clothes were in a plastic bag at her side. “I guess I’ll be going,” she said.

  Jane stood and walked to the door, and Ivy stayed on the couch for a long moment, then rose and joined them. Astrid tried to hand Ivy a card, but Ivy wouldn’t hold out her hand to receive it. She understood she was being childish, but she was using all her strength to simply stand here, and accepting what looked like a business card was more than she could handle just now.

  “It’s where I work, in Phoenix. In case you ever want to get in touch. I plan on staying there for as long as they’ll have me.” She smiled weakly and shrugged, but Ivy just shook her head.

  Jane reached out and took the card, and Astrid looked extremely grateful. “Thank you, dear,” she said softly.

  “Oh, wait, your shoes,” Jane said, and raced outside.

  “You know, being a mother isn’t easy,” she told Ivy softly. “You’ll understand one day.”

  Ivy just shook her head. “I’ll never understand.”

  Then Jane was beside them with the shoes, which she passed over to Astrid. She looked at them for a second, then slipped them into the plastic bag with her clothes, and turned to go. “Good-bye,” she told Ivy, then stood searching her face, waiting, Ivy knew, for an offering.

  “Good-bye,” Ivy said.

  Her mother shrugged, then walked out the door, and Jane closed it behind her.

  REX

  Even though he knew he’d done the right thing by not sleeping with Jane, he now deeply regretted it. The house gaped empty around him, echoing, cluttered. His unmade bed was piled with sheets and last night’s clothes. He sat on the edge and pulled the clothes back on over his newly washed body, not caring that they smelled of cut grass and sweat.

  Kristina would be here in an hour or so with the girls, but until then he needed to occupy himself or else he’d find an excuse to run around the corner and talk Jane into coming back, which he didn’t think would be very difficult since he was the one who had rejected her.

  He fished his baseball mitt and ball out of the hall closet then went out on the front lawn and tossed the ball in the air as high as he could, catching it neatly on its way back to earth. The sound of the ball hitting his mitt had its usual soothing power, and soon he began to feel at ease in his own body. He should really start playing again, just for fun. It wouldn’t be that difficult to find a team. It would likely work better to mend his fractured soul than any church, though he was still considering that too. Baseball. Church. Nursing school. These were definitely the building blocks of one possible life.

  His neighbor’s door opened, and Rosemary wandered out onto her lawn and stood watching him, her arms crossed over her chest. He could see from her expression that she wanted to say something, and he steeled himself for some criticism that hadn’t yet occurred to him: the ball hitting his mitt was too loud, he’d done a poor job mowing his lawn, his daughters made too much of a ruckus playing in the driveway.

  She walked slowly to the edge of her own grass then stood watching him. She wasn’t smiling, but her expression was not unfriendly, so he decided to stop tossing the ball and see what she had to say. It was the polite thing to do.

  Up close she smelled flowery, and her skin was thickly powdered. “How’s your daughter’s finger?”

  “Fine. Almost healed. Thanks again for helping me out.”

  She waved a hand through the air, dismissing her role. “So how are you holding up anyway?”

  The question was so unexpected that he laughed. “Me? I’m all right, I guess. I’ve had better years.”

  “My husband and I divorced a long time ago,” she told him. “Before you moved in. It was one of the most awful years of my life, but better than the two years before that when all we did was scream at each other.” She tucked a strand of gray hair behind her ear, revealing a silver hoop. “He lives nearby, and I still see him at the grocery store once in a while, or sometimes I have to go to a big event with him like our daughter’s wedding, and every time I’m surprised that we were married for so many years. Now, he just seems like any other kindly older gentleman I’d meet. There’s nothing special about him anymore.” She shrugged and looked up at him. “Maybe there never was.”

  He nodded, aware that she was trying to help Rex by telling him this story, but it only saddened him further. In twenty years, at Polly’s wedding, would Kristina just be another face in the crowd? “How long were you married?”

  “Let’s see. Twenty-two years. Funny, I’ve been divorced now the same number of years we were married. I hadn’t realized that.” She laughed and the sound was surprisingly girlish. “I’ve had a few boyfriends since then, but no one who really stuck. But you’re younger than I was, and you’re a man. You’ll find someone, like that.” She snapped her fingers.

  “I don’t
think so,” he told her. “Actually, I’m not sure if I want to. I really loved Kristina. Still do, I guess.”

  “I know,” she said softly.

  Her words seemed to touch his skin, to open a panel in his chest. Breathing was difficult for a minute, and then easier, as air flowed into his lungs in a rush. “Do you want to toss the ball?” he asked her.

  She laughed again and shrugged. “Sure, why not? Just don’t break my finger.”

  He handed her his mitt, then backed across his lawn to the driveway. She looked funny wearing a baseball mitt with her flowered housedress and white cardigan, but she was smiling gamely, her mitt lifted to her chest. Rex tossed a ball to her underhand and she caught it, then flung it back. It curved out to the side and then into his waiting hands, hitting his palms with more force than he’d anticipated. The slight stinging felt good, just right, and he tossed it back again and she caught it.

  The skin on his cheeks and forehead was beginning to burn, but he didn’t want to quit the game for sunscreen. Rosemary dropped a couple of balls, and he did too, but for the most part they kept a steady rhythm. She seemed to be enjoying herself and paused the game to remove her sweater and toss it on the grass. “You’re good,” he called over to her.

  “Thank you,” she trilled back. “It’s been a long time.”

  Kristina would be here soon with Polly and Callie, and Rex wondered how she would react to this strange game of catch on her old front lawn. Likely, it would irritate her. She’d never much cared for Rosemary’s nosiness, even before their fights and the woman’s subsequent admonishments had begun. He guessed she may still be mad about the way he’d talked to Peter the other night, or the fact that he’d been sitting across from her house last night watching the windows—he was sure Ginger had told her, despite her promise not to—and he decided he would apologize for whatever he’d done wrong, if need be. There was no use in causing more discord. It would not make anything better.

  He saw Kristina’s car round the corner at the far end of the street, her small face above the steering wheel. As she drew closer, he could make out his daughters in the backseat, both of their blonde heads bobbing to music. He would pitch the tent in the backyard tonight, he decided, and they could grill steaks and roast marshmallows, then curl up together under the tent’s orange dome and tell ghost stories. He would tell them about the time he took their mother down into the cave, deep beneath the shell shop, and how he was certain he’d seen a dark shape lurking beneath the water.

  RAMONA

  “So I told Nash about the baby, and he was actually pretty excited.” They were poolside, sipping iced tea under the yellow umbrella. Rocky and Fern were having one last swim before the drive to the airport.

  “You told him before you told me?” Ivy asked.

  “You already knew,” Ramona said.

  “That’s true. I did.” She smiled and leaned back, crossing her legs.

  “And he is the father,” Jane added.

  “Okay, okay, I forgive you,” Ivy said with a laugh. “I’m happy for you both.”

  Water sprayed over the edge and hit Ramona’s bare legs. “Sorry, Aunt Ramona,” Rocky called to her. He’d just begun calling her that, an hour ago, and now he was leaving. She waved and smiled to show him it was fine, then watched as he paddled over to the steps where Fern was playing in a pink inner tube.

  Ramona had slept at the Golden Nugget last night, going over everything in her mind. Before falling asleep, she’d begun to write a song in her head that she managed to remember this morning. It was about the drive home she would make today, that long road through the desert, the miles of empty land flanking Interstate 15, which were too harsh to support much life. The words weren’t exactly right yet, but the image was there: her car cleaving a line through that still and barren land, while a new life grew inside her. It would be difficult to craft without sounding too sentimental, but she would try. It was something to work on.

  “Why aren’t we swimming?” she asked her friends. “It’s getting hot.”

  “Jane has to leave in half an hour,” Ivy said.

  “My suit’s packed,” Jane added with a shrug. “Besides, I’ve already been in once today.”

  “I still can’t believe you pushed her in the pool,” Ramona said, trying to suppress a laugh.

  “It isn’t funny,” Ivy said, setting her lips in a tight line. “She could have drowned.”

  Jane nodded, as if agreeing, then broke into a grin. “It’s a little bit funny.”

  “You would have pulled her out if Jane hadn’t been there,” Ramona told Ivy. “She would not have drowned.”

  “You don’t know that,” Ivy said.

  “Yes,” Ramona said firmly. “I do.”

  Ivy shook her head, then pressed her lips together. Ramona could tell that she was trying not to smile. “It was an awful thing to do,” Ivy said.

  “Well, she sort of deserved it. One shove in the pool for twenty years of absence? That seems more than fair,” Jane said, nudging Ivy with an elbow.

  Finally, Ivy allowed a laugh. “Well, when you put it that way.”

  “Do you think you’ll ever call her?” Jane asked.

  “I don’t think so,” Ivy said. “But maybe. You never know. I do like knowing where she is, for some reason, even if I never speak to her again. At least I know she’s okay.”

  “Let’s at least put our feet in,” Ramona said, rising from her chair and walking to the water’s edge. Frank had cleaned the pool half an hour ago, and its blue depths were pristine and inviting. Ivy appeared at her elbow and looked down into the water too. “You should stay another night, with us,” Ivy said.

  “I can’t,” Ramona said. “I’ve got a show tomorrow night. Besides, I’m sort of homesick.”

  Lucky cried out then, from the bedroom, and Jane leapt up. “I’ll get him.”

  Ramona and Ivy watched her disappear through the sliding glass doors, then sat down on the edge and dropped their feet in the cool water.

  “Do you think she’s okay?” Ivy asked.

  “I think so,” Ramona said. “She looks happy.”

  “She does, doesn’t she?” Ivy mused.

  Jane appeared in the doorway, holding Lucky in her arms, then walked over and handed him to Ivy before settling down beside Ramona and dipping her own feet into the water. Ramona thought about how long she’d known Jane and Ivy and how much longer she hoped to know them. Once her son or daughter was born, she would travel to see each of them more often; maybe she’d bring Nash along next time too.

  “Come in,” Fern called to them now, waving from the circle of her inner tube.

  “Yeah, come in,” Rocky added, sending a splash toward their shins that fell short of hitting their skin.

  Ivy looked at Ramona, then Jane, before she shrugged and slipped into the waist-deep water. She was wearing a blue sundress, and the skirt floated out around her in the pool, its color darkening to a deep lapis. Lucky was cradled against her chest, his feet submerged, and he squirmed in her arms until she lifted him up and around so that he was facing everyone. This seemed to make him happy.

  Jane went next, slipping in up to her middle then diving forward, all the way under, before surfacing with a grin. “It feels great. Your turn, Ramona.”

  Ramona shook her head. It had been her suggestion that they swim, and now she couldn’t bring herself to join them. She was wearing the shorts and tank top she’d planned to wear driving home, but her clothes would dry quickly. It wasn’t that.

  She placed her hands on her stomach, watching her friends and their children circle around her. There seemed to be an invisible line between her and the people in the pool, and once she crossed it, there would be no going back. She saw herself driving home again, her car the only one on that long stretch of desert. There was a certain insulated comfort in the image.

  “C’mon,” Jane said, waving her in. “What’s the holdup?”

  “I think I’ll just sit this one out,” she sai
d.

  “Ramona,” Ivy scolded. “It’s your last day here. Play along.”

  She was beginning to straighten her spine at their urging, preparing to lift her legs out of the water and go sit at the table alone. It would be easier to return with a baby she decided. A child could be a shield, a buffer of sorts.

  Ramona had one leg out of the water when she felt small slippery hands wrap around her other calf. It was Rocky, attempting to pull her in. His touch was so unexpected, so different from the touch of a grown person, that she relaxed for a moment. Then there was a yank of unexpected strength, and she was in the water, completely submerged.

  She stayed under for a long second, looking up at the quivering surface of blue layered with the drifting shapes of palm trees, the sky behind them, slightly lighter than the water. It was warmer in the pool than she’d realized and peaceful. The silence of the water was thick, the voices of Jane and Ivy moving on top of it. Rocky’s legs kicked beside her as he treaded water, most likely worried that she would be angry with him for pulling her in, but she wasn’t. She wasn’t angry at all.

  Ramona touched her stomach again, then pushed up and surfaced beside her friends.

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you to my father, Paul, and my mother, Juliet, who have always been encouraging about my writing, even when it manifested itself as tawdry teenage poetry.

  Much praise and gratefulness is due to several of my writing friends who helped me in the early or late stages of this manuscript—and believe me, there were many stages: Michelle Wildgen, Guy Thorvaldsen, Ron Kuka, Heather Lee Schroeder, Andrew McCuaig, and Tenaya Darlington.

  Many thanks to my wise and tireless agent, Rayhané Sanders, and to my editor at Skyhorse, Maxim Brown, for believing in this book.

  Finally, thank you to my husband, John; my son, Malcolm; and my daughter, Lux. I’m so lucky that you’re my family.