“I don’t know. This is your town, babe.”
It was only two o’clock. I didn’t really feel like going to Michael and Sierra’s yet, but I didn’t have any other brilliant ideas.
“I like Las Vegas,” I said. “It’s not what I thought it would be.”
“So you’ve told me,” Daniel said, doing a great job of making his voice sound like a pout.
Inspiration struck. I got on the freeway heading west. Traffic was still light, and soon we were cruising out Blue Diamond Road. The sky was clear, and the snowcapped summit of Mount Charleston peeked over the red and gold ridges of the Spring Mountains.
The thing that has surprised me the most about Las Vegas is the surrounding countryside. Somehow, when I was here for Michael and Sierra’s wedding I didn’t notice that the city is ringed with mountains. I left with the same impression I’d arrived with—that Las Vegas is an artificial oasis in a flat, arid expanse, sort of like an outpost in Antarctica or a colony on Mars. That impression is helped along by quite a few people who live here. They act like the city is an island surrounded by deep space. Maybe that’s a good thing for those of us who’ve figured out differently. It keeps places like Red Rock Canyon and Mount Charleston from being as crowded as Walmart.
My first thought was to drive Daniel through the amazing geological formations in Red Rock Canyon, but when we neared the entrance to Spring Mountain Ranch State Park, I changed my mind, paid the entrance fee to the ranger at the gate, and drove up the road to the parking area next to the old ranch house.
“The other side of Vegas,” I said, unbuckling my seat belt. “Come on.”
“It’s cold,” Daniel said when he opened his door. “I didn’t bring a jacket.”
“I should have warned you,” I said. “Sorry.”
“Brrr,” Daniel said as a breeze caught the sleeves of his T-shirt.
“Hey, wait a second!” I said. “I’ve got something for you!”
I moved around to the side door of the Max, opened it, and rummaged through my bags of presents.
“Merry Christmas Eve,” I said, presenting Daniel with a flat box from Electric Canoe. “I’m sorry it isn’t wrapped.”
Daniel lifted the lid off and pulled the tissue paper aside.
“This looks expensive,” he said, running his fingers over the leather. I looked at the garment the suave salesman had helped me select. I could have sworn I had purchased a dark brown jacket, but in the natural light of day, there was no denying it looked like ripe eggplant. And the appliqué insets and tooled details that had seemed so understated next to all the more flamboyant offerings in the store now looked like the sort of accents the cast of Hombre might choose. But—well, there it was, proving beyond a doubt that Las Vegas had stripped me of any good taste I might ever have possessed.
I sucked in a breath and steeled myself for whatever Daniel was going to say. But he didn’t say anything. Instead, a slightly stunned smile appeared on his face as he slipped the jacket on.
“What do you think?” he asked dubiously, holding his arms out.
Damn! He looked like a hustler in training.
“It’ll keep you warm,” I said.
Daniel tried to catch a glimpse of himself reflected in the car window. I’m not sure he did, but when he turned back to face me, his smile had stretched into an all-out grin.
“I can keep up with your family now,” he said, turning up the collar and striking a male model pose. “How did you know I’ve always had a secret longing to be a lounge lizard?”
“You’ll really wear it?” I said.
“Well, it’ll look a lot better after I grow a mullet,” he said, “but if you don’t mind a nerd in pimp’s clothing, sure!”
He zipped the jacket up, and I was glad that I had chosen the right size.
“I actually love it,” Daniel said, and he wrapped his purple arms around me. “And I love you.”
After that, it was as though we’d never been apart. Hand in hand, we walked the trail in the hills above the ranch house. Quail scattered in front of us, and we heard wild burros hee-hawing in the distance. On our way back to the car, a stag with many-pronged antlers suddenly bounded over a nearby ridge. He stopped when he saw us. We stared at each other for a moment. Then he turned, and his sure-footed hooves danced over the rocks and carried his white tail out of sight.
“I told you Las Vegas isn’t what you think,” I said as we made our way back down the hill to the Max.
“We aren’t in Las Vegas,” Daniel said.
“That’s like saying you aren’t in New York if you go to the Statue of Liberty,” I said.
Daniel was quiet for a moment, and we paused to watch a hawk circle overhead. Then he turned to face me.
“You’re absolutely right, Copper,” he said. “Las Vegas isn’t what I expected.” He looked down at his jacket. “That’s not the surprising thing, though.” He stroked a sleeve and shot me the same smile that made me fall in love with him back in college. “The surprising thing is that you aren’t what I expected.”
After our jaunt out to Spring Mountain Ranch, we stopped at the Golden Nugget to take a shower and change clothes. That should have taken thirty minutes tops, but somehow an hour went by before we were ready to leave. Our clothes came off quickly enough, but showering and getting the new ones on was extraordinarily time-consuming. It also left the bed rumpled.
Daniel drove my car to Michael and Sierra’s because I don’t like mixing cell phone conversations with steering responsibilities, and I wanted to get my call to Julia Saxon out of the way before Heather called to grill me about what progress I’d made.
I figured with a little luck, I’d get her voice mail.
I had no luck. Julia answered on the first ring.
“Copper!” she said when I identified myself. “Thanks for calling! How was the rest of dinner?”
I had to give her credit. She always started with social banter.
“The champagne was the best part,” I said. “Thank you. It was really thoughtful of you.”
“It’s not every day you add a family member,” Julia said. “That’s so exciting.”
“It is! I—”
“Did you find the tape?” So much for social banter.
“No,” I said. “But I’ve talked with Heather Vetra.”
There was a pause.
“Tell Heather Victoria’s the reason I’m working on Christmas. I’m fully aware of the family’s—needs.”
“Good,” I said. “Because apparently things are going downhill.”
“You mean Jason,” Julia said. “I know.”
I was about to say something more on the subject, but Julia cut me off.
“I’m very interested in getting my hands on any tapes, Copper. I asked Victoria to record her conversations with the American Beauty guys. If she did, it would be very helpful to hear them. It could help her case, and her case could help her family.”
I had to admit that made sense, but I still didn’t want anyone to know I had pilfered some of Victoria’s stuff. I also couldn’t help thinking about guys in white sneakers. I had a hard time believing that Julia’s sidekick was the thug who attacked me, but the thought kept popping up.
“So keep looking.” Again, I got the distinct feeling she thought I was lying. “Call me if you find anything, no matter what time. And I don’t care about Christmas.”
Wow. Julia was working on Christmas. I was impressed by her apparent dedication to Victoria’s case, but I still wondered what I didn’t know. After all, I was lying about the tape. Maybe Julia was lying, too. Maybe she didn’t want it to nail the American Beauty guys; maybe she wanted it for something else entirely. Was she the right person to trust? For that matter, was Heather? Clearly, I needed better perspective, but how I could get it was anyone’s guess.
I might as we
ll report what Julia had said to Heather, I decided. She answered her cell phone on the first ring, too.
“It might be good news,” Heather said after I’d relayed Julia’s comments about getting the McKimber family back on track. “But I’ll reserve judgment until there’s cash on the barrelhead. It’s just too easy to say, ‘I’m working on it.’ ‘I’m working on it’ doesn’t get Jason help. Speaking of which, what are you doing for Richard and Jason for Christmas? I’m taking dinner.”
“Oh—um—I’ve assembled a care package,” I said. “I was going to take it over there tomorrow afternoon,” I added, improvising as fast as I could. “It’s food, mostly. A ham and—cans of stuff. Things you can eat without cooking. Also paper plates, napkins—you know, picnic stuff.”
When I hung up, I sensed some serious attitude beaming at me from the driver’s seat, but Daniel didn’t say anything except, “I turn left here, right?”
“Right,” I said, “I mean yes—I mean left, and—” I paused. I had been about to say, “I’m sorry,” but I wasn’t sorry. I was actually shocked that I hadn’t thought of doing something nice for Jason and Richard on my own.
“I’m going to have to go shopping later,” I said. “Or tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow? What’s going to be open on Christmas?”
“Pretty much everything,” I said. “It takes more than a holiday for Las Vegas to shut down.”
Daniel let out a big, overburdened, long-suffering sigh, but he didn’t have time to say anything before we pulled up in front of the vicarage.
Chapter 18
Dinner was better than I thought it would be. Something had gotten straightened out between my parents and Sierra. She was talking again, and she was wearing pants.
My mom looked more like her normal self, too, except for the poofy golden hair. And my dad made a really sweet attempt to be fatherly.
“Want to play backgammon, Copper?” he asked, after he had helped clear the dessert dishes. “It’d be like Christmases past.” We used to play backgammon after dinner on Christmas Eve while we waited to go to the midnight service.
“Sure, Daddy,” I said before I could stop myself. Daddy! It had been a long time. Our eyes met, and I think all four of them twinkled. “So long as we use the doubling cube the way it was intended.”
He laughed. “Oh, yeah,” he said. “You mean I should never touch it, but if you’re winning, and you do, I have to accept?”
“Something like that,” I said, smiling. Really, my dad can be so sweet.
And so can Daniel. He took on my mother in Scrabble!
I felt like pinching myself. I was in love with a guy who had figured out that playing Scrabble with my mother on Christmas Eve was practically the key to world peace. He even invited Sierra to join them, which was even more brilliant. I knew Sierra would say no—she had to play Super Hostess on Christmas Eve, but I could tell she liked being asked.
The nicest news of the evening was that we were going to see Nicky the next day. Sierra had been visiting him every day, and Michael went most days, but the rest of us hadn’t met him yet.
“I hoped we could all go this evening,” Sierra said at dinner, “but visiting hours in the children’s wing end pretty early, and I don’t want to be rushed. If we go tomorrow afternoon, we can stay as long as we like.”
It’s amazing what power a baby has. I mean, Nicky wasn’t even there yet, and nobody knew him, but the effect was enormous. My mother had gone shopping today, and there was a Mount Fuji pile of presents under the Christmas tree. Every package had a tag that said “Nicky.” My dad had fallen under the spell, too. He spent the morning putting together a pirate ship in the living room.
Nicky even worked his magic on Daniel and me. On our way back to the Golden Nugget after church, we stopped at a drugstore on the Strip. I bought a stuffed duck and a red-and-white striped sleeper suit, and Daniel picked out a sponge frog. Really, that kid was going to get more presents than all the lost angels in Las Vegas, but I really thought he deserved them. He was the reason the whole family was making an effort to get along. It was hard to believe, but a waif who was abandoned in a shopping cart was turning out to be the prince of peace.
Church was okay, too. Saint Andrew’s was nearly full, and it actually looked pretty good thanks to a hundred or so poinsettias in red foil-covered pots, the gift of “an anonymous donor.” I couldn’t help wondering if some misguided Christmas elf had stolen them from Home Depot. The organist had practiced more than usual, and we sang “Oh Come, All Ye Faithful” in English and Tagalog. After the service, Nicky scored another heap of presents from parishioners, including an obviously “pre-owned” Big Wheel tricycle that barely fit in the trunk of Michael’s Jetta. It would be a while before Nicky could pedal the thing, but it was the thought that counted.
:: :: ::
It’s Christmas, I kept telling myself after midnight, but it was hard to believe. I had never spent a Christmas outside of New England before, unless you count the year we went to New York City with my aunt from Rhode Island. But it’s impossible not to get into a Christmas mood in New York City. We window-shopped on Fifth Avenue and went to the midnight service at St. John the Divine. More importantly, we had lunch at Rockefeller Center and watched the ice skaters. What I mean is, it was cold. Las Vegas in December is only chilly. I didn’t need a white Christmas to get in the mood, but I was beginning to think it might take something more than a cactus draped with twinkly lights.
Part of the problem was that I couldn’t be sure that same cactus didn’t have lights on it year-round. As Daniel and I cruised the Strip after church, I tried to figure out what was Christmas and what was everyday Las Vegas, but I failed. The only thing I was sure about was the cone-shaped, color-morphing, fiber-optic tree in front of Caesars Palace—definitely a Christmas addition. But I had no idea whether the faux Brooklyn Bridge was always festooned with lights, same with the trees in front of the Bellagio. And what about those little red lights outlining the top of every hotel tower? Were those airplane beacons or Christmas decorations?
But it was still Christmas, even when I found myself alone in a casino hotel bed. When we got back to the Golden Nugget, Daniel stayed downstairs to play poker. It was possible that he was beginning to understand how important the Victoria McKimber affair was to me. Even so, lying alone in a big strange bed didn’t do much toward putting me into a jingle bell mood.
I was just dozing off when Daniel burst through the door. He had a pair of plush antlers clipped on his head and a glass mug of eggnog in each hand. Setting the drinks on the dresser, he took off all his clothes except the antlers. Then, retrieving the mugs, he joined me in bed.
“I’m dreaming of a tight Christmas,” he said, handing me a mug and clinking his own against it. “I think if I really want to be serious about poker, I’m going to have to start saying no to all those cute cocktail waitresses.”
“Like that’s going to happen.”
“The eggnog’s not bad,” he said. “They started bringing it around after midnight.”
“And the antlers?” I asked.
“I have no idea how I sprouted those,” he said. “I didn’t even realize I was wearing them until I saw myself in the elevator mirror.”
Fortunately, Daniel had always been a sweet and dopey kind of drunk, and alcohol never affected his powers in bed. Suddenly, it was a season to be jolly, and afterward, I slept in heavenly peace.
:: :: ::
In the morning, we dutifully headed over to the vicarage, where Sierra served a Christmas breakfast that should have won her a Betty Crocker kitchen makeover. After we’d polished off the last perfect maple-walnut cinnamon roll, we headed into the living room and destroyed the wrappings on a couple hundred thousand Christmas presents. Most of them were for Nicky, of course, but my mother had done a good job shopping for me, too. Among a raft of other household accoutrements, I
scored a new coffeemaker, a new blender, new wineglasses, and even a full set of new dishes. It was like a bridal shower, and I wasn’t the only one who noticed the similarity.
“The groom shouldn’t be here,” Sierra commented as I opened up a box containing six placemats and napkins, “and we really ought to be playing some silly games.”
Fortunately, Daniel isn’t flustered by such comments.
“I’m not the groom,” he said. “I’m the stud.”
It was great! Sierra was the one who blushed, and my parents pretended not to hear. Black family rule number three: If you pay no attention to rude comments or body noises, they never happened.
When all the presents had been unveiled and everyone else had found a good napping spot on a sofa or comfy chair, Daniel and I escaped to my apartment. We only had an hour or so before we were all supposed to head up to the vacant lot at the corner of Craig and Twelfth for “Christmas at the Crossroads.” We were going to serve Christmas dinner to the homeless, and then we’d go meet Nicky at Sunrise Children’s Hospital. In the meantime, it was actually kind of nice to be in my own apartment, and Daniel was eager to use my computer to catch up on email.
Sekhmet—I still didn’t like calling her Delilah—showed up with the top half of a pigeon as I was unlocking the door. It was gross, but I also felt a tiny bit flattered. As soon as she got inside, she stretched out on my TV. She was acting like she was my cat, even though I didn’t deserve it.
I had just finished washing and drying my new “authentic French bistro” wineglasses from China by way of Target when Daniel said, “God, aren’t you going to love living in Berkeley?”
I looked at him. I could see his smile over the top edge of my laptop screen, nicely illuminated by the glow.
“Me?” I asked. “When am I going to live in Berkeley?”
“I guess I’m asking you to,” Daniel said. “I won’t know until March or so, but I’m sticking with botany, and the only person I want to work with is Karl Erickson. If I don’t get into Berkeley, I’ll bum around another year and try again. If that doesn’t work, I guess I’ll give up and go to med school.”
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