Road to Paradise

by Paullina Simons

  “Don’t think for a second it’s bravery,” Candy whispered to me. “He bets because he doesn’t care, because he has money to lose. That’s not bravery, it’s indifference. He’s reckless, and because of that he wins. Cards love reckless gamblers. Casinos love careful gamblers. They know, the more careful you are, the more you’ll lose.”

  I felt better. “Hey, you want to get going?” I asked.

  “No way. He’s my blackjack.”

  “I should probably check on Gina.” I wanted to avert my eyes. “We’ve left her alone too long.”

  “Shelby, Shelby, Shelby,” Candy said, holding on to my arm. “You’re so thick. Why do you think she hasn’t left as she threatened to yesterday? If Gina could, she’d gamble alone in the closet. The last thing she wants is to have you standing over her shoulder watching how she’s blowing my money.”

  I took a step back.

  “Stay with me,” Candy said soothingly, one hand on the Reckless Man’s back, the other on my hand. Reckless Man looked neat and sharp Wall Street, middle-aged trying to look late youth.

  Candy couldn’t play at a $500 table, but Reckless Man placed a chip in front of her and said, “I’ll take a gamble on you. Go ahead. Bet. See how you do.”

  “Thanks,” she said, and without blinking got a 10 and wanted to double. Amused, he gave her another chip. She won a thousand bucks. He told her to keep her thousand, and placed a chip in front of her again.

  “You play until you lose my $500, okay?”

  Candy got blackjack. The next hand she split two 9s (with his money) and won both hands. After eight straight winning hands, she finally lost one, and gave him back his chip, gave the dealer $10, and had earned three thousand dollars for herself!

  “Cand, let’s go. Quick,” I whispered. “Look how awesome you did.”

  “Awesome for what?” she said, pushing me slightly away. “If you and I split that money, it’ll be just enough for you to get back home, but what will it do for me? Go. Go, check on Gina. Come back in twenty minutes.”

  “How do I know when twenty minutes are up?” I said grumpily, watching as Reckless Man got her a premium drink, and they toasted, flirting a little. He looked besotted, so I bowed out and went to find Gina. Wasn’t hard to find her—she was in exactly the same place we’d left her hours before.

  “Money holding out?” I asked, sipping my drink, my fourth or fifth. I felt myself getting tipsy. Gluttony. Avarice. Sloth. Pride. I can handle it. I can have more. I deserve it. I haven’t had any fun. I deserve some fun. I’m worthy of fun. I ordered another screwdriver.

  “Barely holding out,” said Gina. “What about you?”

  “Got a few hundred and intend to hold on to it.”

  “I won $700,” said Gina, “but I’ve lost almost all of it now. I’m waiting to get hot again. If I won that much, so quick, I could win again. And more. God, this is the best place. How’s Candy doing?”

  “Pretty good. She seems to have all the luck.”

  Gina laughed at the unintended irony of it. I didn’t laugh because suddenly Candy was behind me, pulling me away, spilling my drink. “Listen to me,” she said in a low voice. I could barely hear in the din of the casino floor, but she refused to speak louder. She was very close; her hair tickling my ear. “Listen, Reckless Man has offered you and me a thousand bucks each if he can watch,” she said.

  “If he can watch what?”

  She just looked at me. How dense I must have appeared to her, thick to my ankles. How naïve. I even repeated my question. It was the look in her eye that eventually gave me my answer, but I would not have guessed on my own without her help.

  My eyes widened. “Are you out of your mind?”

  “Shelby. Are you out of your mind? A thousand bucks. Combined with the few hundred in your hands, that’s enough to get you home, no? Come on. He pays up front. We close our eyes, we think of England. I promise you, it’ll be the fastest one thousand bucks you’ll ever make.”

  “You have gone mad,” I said. “Absolutely not. Not in a million years. Never.”

  A million years is a long time.

  Never is a long time.

  “Just to point out,” I said, when we were in the elevator, going up to his penthouse suite on the fourteenth floor of Circus, Circus, “he dropped more cash on two rectangular pieces of paper with pictures on them than on us. Just pointing out we rate less than paper.”

  “Laminated paper, but okay, your point noted. So?”

  “Cand, you just won three thousand bucks. For God’s sake, take the money, and run.”

  “I’m not doing it for me, Sloane,” she said. “I’m doing it for you. So you can get home.”

  The green elevator doors opened. “Do we have a time limit?” I asked.

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Well, with a guy and a girl, you know when you’re done, when the guy is done, but with . . .” I couldn’t say it. “How do you know you’re done?”

  “After fifteen minutes, fake it, Shel.”

  I went quiet, my heart beating frantically. I couldn’t believe we were walking down the well-lit corridor. The carpet was gold-toned and plush. “What about Gina?” I asked. “We didn’t even tell her where we were going. What if she goes looking for us?”

  “Shelby, she hasn’t moved off that stool for hours. Is she really going to move in the next fifteen minutes?”

  Heart beating ever more wildly, “Fake what?” I ventured. “Being done?”

  “Hey, girlfriend,” said Candy, knocking cheerfully into my shoulder. “Ain’cha considered the possibility you might not have to fake it?” A throaty laugh. A big toothy smile.

  Wildly, wildly, wildly.

  Turned out, though, I didn’t have to fake being done.

  I wish I could say it went off without a hitch, without incident.

  But the mild-mannered gentleman who would indifferently drop six grand in a few minutes was less mild mannered when it came to us. His suite was a luxury apartment, fancy linens, marble in the bathroom (where I spent way too long trying to get up my courage), and recessed mood lighting. There were three TVs and gold lamps, a shiny dining-room table, a sofa, big closets with mirrors. I thought I could live in a place like that the rest of my life. Have the maid turn down my bed every evening. Have champagne brought up. Fresh towels. And outside the floor-to-ceiling windows Reno twinkled down below. If it weren’t for the fact this place was in Reno, it would’ve been smashing. Candy knocked on the bathroom door for five minutes. Come out, Shelby. Come on. Stop hiding. He’s waiting.

  We agreed on terms, he paid us, I asked for the overhead lights to be turned off, and we lay down together on his swanky sheets. Somehow, though I don’t know how, I managed to overcome my trembling embarrassment and mortification enough to forget his presence in the nearby chair. I don’t know how much time passed, perhaps fifteen minutes, perhaps the blink of an eye, when suddenly he announced he wanted more; he wanted to participate. Panicked, I sat up, trying to remember where I’d left my clothes, my shoes, all the while stammering, No! No, no, no. Candy placed a calming hand on my shoulder, and told him she was willing. He shook his head, said it was me he wanted, that I had no choice. I refused and stood up. The man loomed menacingly near. I was naked and scared, and began to cry. Candy stepped between us, took his hand, while pushing me aside. “Come, honey,” she said to him. “I know what I’m doing. She don’t know how. She don’t know nothing.”

  He laughed, mocked me—“There are four things that should never flatter men,” he said. “I don’t know what the other three are, but I know number one. The caresses of women.”—but his mockery allowed me to dress and split, leaving her behind. I asked if she was going to be all right, but she didn’t even turn to me as she shut the bedroom door with the back of her foot. “Go!” was all she said.

  I waited for her on a bench right outside the elevator bank, fidgeting, biting my nails, my fingers unsteady, my knees. I was struggling not to think of he
r, and not to worry about her. Failure on both counts. She came downstairs half an hour later, looking roughed up. Her eye was swollen, her mouth pulpy. I jumped up. “Are you okay?”

  “That guy was something else. Did you take your money?” She was slightly lisping as if she’d lost a tooth.

  I nodded. “I’m fine.” I could barely look at her. “You got yours? What happened?”

  Without looking at me, she told me Reckless Man had taken her money, taken the thousands she’d won at his table. Told her it was his. Threw her a chip as she was leaving. She showed me. Five hundred dollars.

  “Oh, Candy.” My voice trembled, I wanted to cry. “You’re going to have a black eye.”

  “Oh, Shelby. That’s not the important thing.” She looked so despondent.

  “I’ll give you half my money.”

  “No, it’s yours.”

  “No. I never would have it without you. I’ll give you half.”

  “You can’t get back home on half.”

  That was true. I didn’t know what to do. “Oh, God, Candy.”

  “Don’t worry,” she said. “Easy come, easy go. Let’s find Gina.”

  And I wanted to say, that was easy? “Where do you think she is?”

  “Exactly where we left her.”

  And she was. She had half a drink left, and about the same number of small chips strewn in front of her. Her gaze was glassy.

  “Hey, Gina,” said Candy, taking my arm, holding on to me, because her legs were buckling, as if she were about to break. “Ready to go?”

  “Is it time?”

  “Well, I don’t know. Do you feel you’ve played enough?”

  “What time is it?”

  “Must be close to sunup.”

  “What?” That made her inflect upward, almost in surprise. “Just one more hand,” she said. “I’m feeling lucky.”

  She lost. She played one more. She lost. She played until only the black, $100 chip was left. If she broke into that, she would play until it was gone. Candy pulled her off the stool. “One chip left,” said Candy, dragging her away from the table. “A hundred bucks. Your bus ticket to Bakersfield.”

  I shoved Candy. I wished she wouldn’t keep bringing up Bakersfield.

  On the way out, I asked Candy if she had looked for Lena in the casino. “No,” she replied. “When I have a gnawing need to search for her, I say, Dear God, please help me forget and not think about her ever again. Please.”

  “Does it work?”

  “No,” Candy admitted. “But my father would say it’s because I’m aiming too high. He says when you want to try your hand at forgiveness, don’t start with the Nazis.”

  Gina was in a world of her own, counting, recounting, muttering formulas under her breath. She hadn’t even noticed what had happened to Candy’s face. She said she had put two hundred dollars on two face cards, split them, and lost.

  “Gina, don’t you know the cardinal rule of gambling?” said Candy. “Never split a winning hand.”

  “Yes, but I wanted to double my money!”

  “And instead of winning $200, you lost $200. So you’re actually $400 in the hole.”

  “That’s stupid math,” Gina said. “Did you win?”

  Candy flashed her $500 chip. “Lena, my ass. Like we need her.” She gave me a look I did not return, my face burning hot.

  “You told that man my name was Bunny,” I said to Candy back at the motel. Gina was in the bathroom, and we had two seconds to ourselves.

  “I changed your name not for the man, but for Jesus.”

  “You think your charade can fool Jesus?”

  “Yes. Bunny did it, not you. I thought you’d be more comfortable with that.”

  Burning hot, I couldn’t look at her. I was very scared still, and so tired my eyes felt full of burning sandpaper. So this is what a glimpse of life on the other side was like. You give it to them, they give it to you, then beat you with one hand as they take it away with the other. Unwashed and fully clothed, I sank on the bed and fell asleep.

  When I opened my eyes, it was 5:00 P.M. I felt bloated, disgusting and disgusted, like a sinner who’d been up all night, and now couldn’t face day. That was me. I couldn’t face day.

  While the girls went to the pool, I walked half a mile to my phone booth and called Emma, telling her not to wire the money; I didn’t need it.

  “Now you tell me. After I’ve just debased myself to that man.”

  You and me both, Emma.

  “So where’d you get money from?”

  I told her we won it at the casino. I tried to stick to at least a partial truth, as if lying were just too undignified. Back at the hotel, the girls were out in the parking lot lounging on rusted chaises. They’d been in the water and their bodies were wet. We hadn’t moved the car in three days. It was still in the back by the bushes.

  We should have been spending our time figuring out what we planned to do, but it was far easier just to put on string bikinis and lie out in the parking lot at six in the evening under the hundred-degree desert sun and turn our faces to the sky. Thanks to Candy we had about 2,000 dollars between us, and could put Lena and her thieving skankiness behind us. We wanted desperately to put Erv behind us, too, to forget his menacing presence, and that made us reluctant to talk about tomorrow’s plans.

  We planned instead for today. Where should we go to eat? We should eat well, we hadn’t had a good meal in so long. Maybe we should go shopping. Buy a few new things. We should definitely buy a present for Tara. What would she like? What did five-year-olds like? No one knew. No one had any idea.

  “What did you like, Candy?” Gina asked, pleasant and subdued. Hostility had been replaced by affability. Her bathing suit was riding up—she had gained weight on our journey, she was spilling out of the top, and the bikini-bottom strings were digging into the flesh of her hips. “When you were a five-year-old?”

  “I dunno,” said Candy without opening her eyes, her face still up to the sky, the cheek under the left eye bruised and swollen. “Perhaps I colored, or made cups out of clay. Possibly I planed pine. Made glass mobiles to hang over cribs. I made wooden crosses.” She smiled. “With my nubby little hands I made beautiful wooden crosses. One of them still hangs in my father’s room. He prays underneath it.”

  “Okay, then,” said Gina. “Perhaps we’ll get Tara some rough-hewn wood. Here, honey. Your mommy has some lumber for you. Careful not to get a splinter.”

  Candy smiled. She hadn’t gained any weight on our journey, she was still skinny, and her body had little pieces scraped away, at the torso, on the arms, around the knees, little bits of body that would never tan, places where life and Erv had crashed into her.

  “All girls like to paint. We’ll get her some markers. Some coloring books. She’d like that.”

  “She would,” said Candy. “Maybe a doll?”

  “What about a puppy?” asked Gina.

  “A real puppy? You’re mad.”

  We chuckled, soaked our skin under the Reno sun, then dunked our bodies in the bath-warm water. Suddenly, we all agreed we were starved. And had nothing to wear. So we threw on some rags, left the ’Stang in the lot at Candy’s insistence and took a cab to the mall. We spent a blissful hour buying jeans and black dresses, and sandals with wraparound straps. We bought new mascara, red lipstick, and hair mousse. Candy bought nothing for herself, only a large, blue rubber ball decorated with yellow flowers for Tara—“So we’ll have something to do together,” she said—and a pink lace dress fit for a princess, plus white shoes with silver buckles and a gold buckle for her hair. “She’s not brown-haired like I once was,” she said. “She’s gold blonde like her daddy.”

  We changed in the public bathroom, slapped some powder on our sunburned faces and with our loot in shopping bags, took a cab to Glory Hole on Virginia, stumbling in our high-heeled sandals, while the men ogled and the ladies glared—at the men! We asked for a quiet table in the back. I chose to sit next to Candy with Gina across from
us, but only because I didn’t want to keep looking at her. For some reason looking at her filled my chest with an emotion so thick and wordless that I was afraid one small glance would reveal my inner commotion. So I sat next to her, where I was close, but didn’t have to see her. While she talked, I smiled into my salad, into my steak, into my glass of red wine. I could smell her Jovan Musk. We got some cheap Cabernet Sauvignon from Sonoma, and it tasted good to me but I wouldn’t know—I was not a red wine drinker. But we were having steak, and it felt mature and grown-up to order red wine with our red meat.

  Gina and I had to drink down two bottles of wine before we were able to broach the unspeakable with Candy. We had to figure out what to do next, what to do tomorrow. We couldn’t just sit in the parking-lot pool until the manager got tired of Candy’s offerings and threw us out.

  Candy listened to us cough and splutter, glass in hand. I was worried she’d throw it at us.

  “You can’t go to Paradise, Candy,” Gina finally blurted. “You can’t show up there, looking for your daughter.”

  Candy did not understand.

  “Where do you think Erv is?” That was hard to say, even on wine.

  “Why would he be there?”

  “Why wouldn’t he be?”

  “Why would he be? How does he know where I’m headed?”

  “He doesn’t know you had a baby?”

  “Duh. Of course he knows that,” she said. “But he doesn’t know where Mike’s family moved to.”

  “No?”

  “No!”

  “One Western Union receipt to Paradise,” said Gina. “Or perhaps your mother. Does your mother know where your baby had gone to?”

  “I don’t think I ever told her. I didn’t trust her with much.”