Chapter 16

Friday, December 23

The alarm on my cell phone went off at seven. I must have fallen asleep, because it woke me up. But I couldn’t have slept for more than three hours, because David and I stayed up until after three playing backgammon, and I was still wide awake when I went to bed. My arm still hurt, and my brain refused to slow down.

I dragged myself to the bathroom. One look in the mirror told me there was no way I was going to work. The scab on my jaw was far too noticeable, and I had huge dark circles under puffy eyes. A constellation of purple bruises had appeared on my right arm, and my shoulder ached.

I called Chris Farr, got his voice mail, and left a message saying I was sick. It wasn’t quite true, but it didn’t matter. I had to look at least halfway presentable when I picked up Daniel, and that was going to take coffee, Advil, dark circle concealer, and time.

David had left early, and I was happy to have a whole peaceful house to myself for a couple of hours. I turned on some Mozart and took a leisurely bath improved with what I assumed was Rebecca Nussbaum’s ylang-ylang bubbling bath oil. The phone rang while I was in the tub, but this time I wasn’t even tempted to answer it.

The hot bath made my shoulder feel much better, and afterward I made coffee and sat down at David’s kitchen table in my sweats. Thank God for David, I thought, and I wondered how I could ever thank him enough for letting me stay at his house and for taking care of me after my awful experience. A Christmas present didn’t seem quite right, even if I called it a Hanukkah gift. I finally decided I’d get him something nice for New Year’s. Something to wish him a happy new life, since it looked like his marriage really was on the road to nevermore.

But mostly, as I sat there in David’s kitchen, I was thinking about Daniel. Even with my cut and bruises, I still felt that kind of anticipation you only feel when someone you’ve been longing for is about to arrive. While I was in the bath, I had let that delicious, tingly feeling take hold of my belly and spread out all over my body. It stayed with me while I dried off, and it didn’t go away when I put on my clothes. As I sat imagining our reunion, it grew even more intense. I’d often gotten pretty excited when Daniel and I were online, but there was nothing like the real thing—real bodies, real contact.

By the time I left to pick up my Christmas gifts and go to the airport, I felt almost completely normal. Except for the cut on my chin, my face looked pretty good, and I was glad it was long-sleeves weather. None of my bruises would show until I took my sweater off.

:: :: ::

I love McCarran Airport. If I ever get really depressed, my cure will be to go there and hang around the escalators all the arriving passengers come down. College buddies, party girls, Asian families, brides-to-be—they’re all exploding with excitement because they’re finally setting foot in—ooh, ooh, ooh!—Las Vegas. The anticipation is so intense that if you inhaled it, you’d probably get high. But when I arrived to meet Daniel, all that euphoria was no match for my own. I hadn’t seen him since August. That was nearly four months. In four months, a rabbit attains adulthood! In four months, entire insect civilizations rise and fall! It’s a freaking eternity!

But now, it was about to end. Daniel’s plane was on time—hallelujah, praise the Lord, and thank you, Jesus!—and I knew he was on it because he sent me a text message from L.A.

I’m about to board! See you in an hour or so, babe!

He sounded as excited as I felt.

I waited behind the security checkpoint, where I could see arriving passengers walking from the gates. Daniel was easy to identify from a distance. He is tall, and I would recognize his sweetly gangly lope anywhere. He had a curly mop of sun-streaked hair, and I could swear his smile was electrically enhanced. If a fairy turned a golden retriever into a man, the result would be Daniel Garside. A shiver ran through my body as I watched his approach. He was here at last!

I kept my eyes glued on him, but he didn’t make especially rapid progress. He was talking to a woman while he walked. They were laughing and using their hands, and then she dropped her shoulder bag. A bunch of stuff spilled out of it, and Daniel helped her pick everything up. Damn. I wouldn’t have paid much attention if she’d been an old lady or a mom with three kids, but this chick was Vegas perfect. She had the mile-long legs, huge yet mysteriously perky breasts, and a lion’s mane of blonde hair. I watched as she touched Daniel’s arm, and they both laughed. Then, all of a sudden, something seemed to be wrong with her shoe. Needless to say, it was of the stiletto-heel variety, and she leaned on Daniel while she adjusted it.

I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised. Daniel really did have the irresistible charm of a beautiful, friendly dog. Women and children always found him instantly appealing. I couldn’t begin to imagine what it was like to have dental hygienists, postal clerks, and Denny’s waitresses all immediately ready to climb into bed with you, but that was the story of Daniel’s life. The amazing thing was that men liked him, too. My father thought he was “a wonderful guy,” and Michael had told me that he was really glad he was joining the family for Christmas because “he’s a lot of fun and so obviously right for you, Copper.”

What they also meant was that Daniel was the sort of guy who could pull in a reasonable paycheck and maintain the family baby in the style to which she was accustomed. I could live with that. It kept them from asking too many questions about other aspects of our relationship, like the ones we were going to be enjoying between the Golden Nugget’s sheets. I had friends in college who could talk openly with their families about sex, but there’s pretty much a blanket taboo against it in mine.

I was beginning to wonder how Daniel was going to handle introductions when he and the babe moved past the security checkpoint. But I needn’t have worried, because as soon as he saw me, Daniel stopped talking midsentence, broke into a huge smile, and sprinted toward me. He gathered me into his arms, and lifted me off my feet. Right there in the airport, we kissed again and again and again.

“Oh, God, I missed you,” he said, crushing me close. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

Before I could say a word, he kissed me again—long, deep, and hard. Then again. And again. Finally, he pulled back a little, and I tried to speak.

“I love y—”

“What happened to your face?”

“Oh—nothing. Cut myself shaving. Daniel—”

“Yeah?” he said, kissing me again.

“Let’s get out of here.”

Fortunately, the only luggage Daniel had brought was on his back, and we didn’t have to waste any time at the luggage carousels.

“Okay,” I said after Daniel’s backpack was stowed in the back of the Max and we had finished hugging and kissing each other some more in the parking garage. “We can cruise the Strip, or we can take the freeway. The Strip will take an hour. The freeway will take half.”

“Where are we going?” Daniel asked.

“Hotel,” I said.

“Freeway,” Daniel said.

:: :: ::

I had thought we would have dinner at Michael and Sierra’s—I know that’s what Sierra had planned—but that’s not what happened. My cell phone rang at five o’clock. By the time I had unwillingly extricated myself from a complicated embrace, crossed the room, and rummaged through my backpack, the ringing had stopped. Michael had left a voice message.

“What was that?” Daniel asked as I slid back into bed and snuggled up next to him.

“Change of plans,” I said. “I have no idea why, but we’re having dinner on the Strip instead of at my brother’s house. At Mondrian. It’s a 400-star restaurant at the Bellagio. You know, the kind where the chef owns his own jet.”

I kissed him, and fifteen minutes went by before we took the time to breathe again.

“It’s weird,” I said. “Sierra made pastitsio for tonight.”

“Maybe she’s saving it for tomorrow.”

“Nope. She has a crown roast for Christmas Eve. Something’s definitely up.”

Daniel rolled over on top of me, pinned my arms down and kissed me.

“How’s your shoulder doing?” he asked. “Better?”

“All of me’s better, now that you’re here,” I said.

Daniel kissed the bruises on my arm.

“You won’t need a stepladder as long as I’m around,” he said.

So, okay, I lied to him about my injuries. I just couldn’t bring myself to ruin our reunion by telling him about all my problems. I’d tell him when the time was right. I’d tell him when I could make him understand the whole picture.

“Whatever’s going on with your family, we can handle it,” Daniel said.

“What makes you so confident?”

“I’m great with other people’s parents,” Daniel said matter-of-factly.

“And sisters-in-law?”

“I like Sierra,” Daniel said. “She’s feisty.”

“She’s about to become a mother,” I said, and I told him about my soon-to-be-nephew.

“Really, Copper, it’ll be okay. We can’t let a little family drama mess up what little time we have together.”

My family’s theatrics seemed a lot more like a major Broadway production, and that was nothing compared to the other drama going on in my life. But Daniel managed to take my mind off it all with a kiss I felt all the way to my toes.

“So how do we dress for dinner on the Strip?” he asked during a lull in the action. “I’ve been living in cargo shorts for months, but I did bring some long pants.”

“Oh!” I said. “That reminds me!” Slithering out from under Daniel and crossing the room to the closet, I pulled the strapless minidress Heather had given me from my garment bag.

“What do you think?” I said, slipping into the dress and holding it around me.

“Damn!” Daniel said, a huge grin spreading across his face. “You really have gone native!”

But I didn’t wear the dress to dinner. Despite Daniel’s best efforts to talk me into it, I chickened out and put on my demure little black dress. I wasn’t as ready as I thought I was to shock my family.

We took a taxi to the Bellagio, though I could have driven the Max. I figured that if the evening got intense, I wouldn’t want to restrict my alcohol intake. Daniel didn’t feel like driving, either.

“I have all sorts of fantasies involving the backseat of a Vegas cab,” he said.

“They have cameras now, you know,” I said.

“Ooh. Better yet.”

We arrived at the Bellagio about half an hour early, which gave us time to gawk at the glass-flower ceiling in the lobby, check out the oversize Christmas tree and four trillion poinsettias in the conservatory, and gasp at the price of beluga at the piano ’n’ caviar bar.

We were still early, and the slim blonde at the desk suggested that we wait in the bar. Daniel ordered a beer, but when the bartender asked me what I wanted, I couldn’t resist ordering a dirty martini. I’ve always found those girlie, fruity martini drinks easy to resist, but the flavor of expensive vodka and olives is something else entirely. Dirty martinis are my tragic weakness.

“Want a double?” Daniel asked. “You’re not driving.”

Unfortunately, I said yes.

Well, maybe it wasn’t so unfortunate. I didn’t get drunk. And it was probably good that I was a little anesthetized when my beloved family members began to darken the doorway.

My mother showed up first. She was alone, and at first I didn’t recognize her. The light was dim, but that was only part of the reason. Her hair was different. It was blonder and fluffier. In addition, she had on a black, V-necked top I’d never seen before. It wasn’t super racy, but it was definitely clingier and lower cut than anything I’d ever seen her in. This was a lady who usually wore big bulky sweaters, the kind knitted from fat yarn on needles the size of rolling pins.

I looked at her again, and there was no doubt about it. She’d lost weight. She had never been hugely heavy, but now she qualified as almost slim. I hadn’t noticed yesterday because she was wearing a big Christmas sweater and roomy slacks. Tonight she was wearing snug black capris and high-heeled sandals.

“Hi, Mom!” I said as soon as my vocal chords would obey.

“Darling!” she said. “And Daniel! Merry Christmas!”

She did the hugs and kisses thing, and I noticed that her perfume was different, too. “Makeover” was the word that kept popping into my head. I didn’t think she’d gone under the knife, but she’d definitely had a noninvasive remodel.

Daniel asked her what she wanted to drink.

“Campari, thanks,” she said. “Oh, and soda.” She turned to me while Daniel relayed her wishes to the bartender.

“Darling,” she said, reaching her hand out to touch my jaw. “What happened here?”

“Oh,” I said, “Just a stupid little cut. I ran into something in the dark.”

She peered at my face again in the dim light, but my answer seemed to satisfy her.

“Daniel’s wonderful, Copper,” she said. “We’re all so happy for you.”

“Thanks, Mom,” I said, wishing I’d had enough vodka to add, “And I’m so thrilled about you and Patrick.” But instead I said, “Where’s everybody else?”

“Oh, they’ll be here any minute, I’m sure,” she said, looking at her watch. “What do you think of my hair? I went to the salon here at the Bellagio this afternoon.”

“It’s great, Mom,” I said. “What does Dad think?”

She didn’t answer, and I was still wondering how she had managed to arrive on her own when Michael appeared. He was wearing a white turtleneck sweater under a sport coat, which looked kind of clerical if you already knew he was a priest, but ordinary if you didn’t.

“Where’s Sierra?” I said. “And Dad?”

“Sierra’s here,” he said. “She just stopped at the restroom.”

That didn’t answer my question about my dad, but he showed up before Sierra did. He looked pretty sharp in a camel hair jacket and white shirt, and it was the first time I’d ever seen him in designer jeans. They were even the kind with a few tiny artful rips and artificially faded spots.

We were just about to follow the slim blonde hostess to our table when Sierra joined us. If I had been startled by my mother’s enhanced appearance and my father’s updated wardrobe, I was nothing less than stunned by Sierra’s ensemble.

She was wearing a dress, and the last time I had seen her in a dress was on her wedding day. This, however, was no virginal billowing of white tulle. It was fire engine red. Strapless, it ended midthigh, and the fabric was something that looked stretchy, slick, and wet. The dress was enough to cause instant eye fixation, but I did manage to notice the fishnet hose and high-heeled gold sandals. She’d also fluffed her hair up into a sex kitten ‘do. I used to wonder how Sierra had made it as an exotic dancer, but now I realized I had things backward. The real question was how she’d managed to hide her headlights under a bushel well enough to masquerade as a preacher’s wife.

As we walked to our table, my parents seemed as stunned as I was by Sierra’s entrance. They kept sneaking glances at her and looking shocked. What was going on? I wondered. Hadn’t they seen her at home? Then I looked at Daniel. He was smiling a little too happily. I poked him in the ribs.

“I told you to wear that dress,” he whispered.

Damn! He was right! I’d missed my chance to make a splash, and I’d never have another one. If I wore that dress tomorrow, it would only look like I was trying to catch up.

“I don’t like being the center of attention,” I snapped back.

“Right,” Daniel said. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

We all sat down, everybody sticking with their partners. That was fine with me because I’ve always enjoyed the exciting secret games you can play under a tablecloth. The hostess handed my dad an electronic tablet and told him it was the wine list.

“Just touch each selection with the stylus for more information,” she said in a well-rehearsed soliloquy. “We have over three thousand fine bottles to choose from, and our wine steward will be with you in a moment to answer any questions you may have.”

And probably run a credit check, I thought to myself. This was the kind of place with plenty of four-digit prices on the wine list.

As we sat there in the silence following her departure, I looked around the table. “Why are you all dressed like fashionistas?” I wanted to shout. “And how come you didn’t arrive together?” Suddenly, I was jealous of David Nussbaum. In his family, it would probably be fine to blurt out whatever question was on your mind. But in the Black household, rule number one is: Never ask the obvious question, especially if you’re dying to know the answer.

The silence continued until I said, “How did you manage to get reservations here at the last minute?” I looked at Michael when I said it, but I realized I had no idea who was responsible. Mom? Dad? Sierra?

“Julia Saxon got them for us,” Michael said. “One more reason I’m glad she’s on my team.”

Just then, the wine steward showed up. Right behind him was a stylish young sidekick carrying an ice bucket already holding a champagne bottle.

“A friend thought you might like to start with a bit of Cristal,” the steward said in one of those generic European accents that might be French, might be Italian, and might have been learned in wine steward school. He handed Michael an envelope, popped the cork, and filled six flutes.

“À votre santé,” he said before he vanished.

Michael opened the envelope and slid out a card. “Oh, how nice!” he said, and he read the message aloud. “I understand you have something to celebrate—I hope this helps! Merry Christmas to the Black family. Julia.”

“That is so lovely!” Mom said. “Merry Christmas to all!”

We all drank and pretended to smile, but nobody said anything more, even though I was positive Julia meant us to celebrate Michael and Sierra’s new baby, not Christmas. Damn. It was going to be a long, weird evening, so I practically emptied my glass on that first swallow.

“So how’s life in Costa Rica?” Dad asked suddenly. Black family rule number two: When the going gets tough, change the subject.

“Damp,” Daniel said. “Green.”

“Tell us all about it,” Mom urged, leaning forward on her elbows. “I’m sure it’s fascinating.”

But just then the waiter showed up and recited the evening’s epic poem about what the chef was concocting in the kitchen. After we had all decided which free-ranging creature and prepubescent vegetable we preferred, I excused myself to find the restroom. I didn’t really need to go. I just wanted a break.

I had almost reached the door when Michael stopped me.

“They moved out,” he said.

“What are you talking about?”

“The parents. They’re staying here now.”

“You mean here—at the Bellagio? Why?”

“Hell, I don’t know.”

Michael was upset. He never says “hell” otherwise.

“No idea?”

“Nope. But Sierra’s taking it personally, and I can’t say I blame her. She knocked herself out getting the house ready for them, and now it’s not good enough.”

Unless it’s the new grandson who isn’t making the grade, I thought. If this was a comment about baby Nicholas, it was despicable.

“It’s a horrible thing to do,” I said, still not quite believing it. “Except—”

I paused. I still wasn’t sure I should tell Michael about Mom’s email correspondence.

“Except what?” Michael glanced back in the direction of the table. “Tell me. I’ve got to get back and keep the peace. If something sets Sierra off—”

“It’s just that Mom—well, she’s got some things going on.”

“Now there’s news,” Michael said.

“No, new ones,” I said. “I think—I think she’s having an affair.”

Michael laughed. “You’re joking,” he said. “Right?”

I shook my head, and his smile faded.

“Well, I wish you were,” he said, “because that’s exactly what I’m beginning to think about Ted.”

“Really?” I said. “Why?”

But just then my father appeared. Michael sighed and rolled his eyes at me as the two of them disappeared into the men’s room.

“We took a boat over to Cocos Island,” Daniel was saying to my mother when I got back to the table. “There are still a lot of people who think there’s a fabulous treasure hidden there, but we were just doing plant inventory. The only treasure I found was a perfect conch shell, unless you count all the iguanas and hermit crabs.”

“It really does sound intriguing,” Mom said. “I’ve always wanted to visit Central America, but Ted always talks me into Europe.”

That was news to me. I’d always thought my father traveled only to please my mother, and she always chose Paris or London. I looked at Dad as he picked up his napkin and sat back down. His mind was at least a light year away. What the hell was going on with them? I wondered. Half listening to Daniel’s description of the iguanas and parrots that shared his beachside cottage and half wondering what secrets my parents weren’t telling, I polished off another glass of champagne.

About the time the waiter was trying to talk us into an architecturally significant dessert, I heard a familiar voice talking to the blonde at the check-in desk.

“The Black family,” it said. “They had an eight o’clock reservation.”

It was Julia Saxon, all smiles in a sparkly green cocktail dress that made me wish once again that I had worn my bronze satin number. A man in a tux was with her, but he hung back. I tried to get a good look at him, but all I could see was curly gray-brown hair ringing a bald spot, a hawk’s beak of a nose sticking out from under black-rimmed glasses, and a cell phone earpiece the size of a TV remote stuck to the side of his face.

“Michael!” Julia practically gushed. “I’m so glad everything worked out!”

Michael introduced her around, and we all thanked her for the surprise champagne.

“Congratulations to all of you,” she gushed again. “I’m so happy for you, Sierra, and I can’t wait to meet little Nicky.”

Sierra was trying to respond when Julia abruptly turned again to Michael.

“Can you meet tomorrow?” she asked, suddenly all business. “I’ve got a few things we need to go over.”

Michael was caught off guard.

“Uh, sure,” he said.

“My office. Eleven o’clock.” Then she turned to me.

“Copper,” she said, too fiercely to be friendly. “Have you found the tape recorder I loaned to Victoria? Or any cassettes? Richard McKimber doesn’t have them.”

I gaped at her.

“Copper, they could be very important to her case against American Beauty.”

“I haven’t seen anything like that so far, but I’ll keep looking,” I said, “I still have quite a bit of material to go through.”

Julia stared at me, and I couldn’t squelch the feeling that she thought I was lying. “Do it tonight,” she said at last. “Call me tomorrow. Have you got my cell number?”

As soon as I punched her number into my phone, Julia pasted another big smile on her face, wished us all another “Happy holidays,” and swept away on the arm of her tuxedoed escort. As they disappeared, I saw the guy was wearing white running shoes. They couldn’t have stood out more against his black suit if they’d been wired with Christmas lights. Just like the creep last night, I thought. What an odd coincidence.

:: :: ::

I mentioned my parents’ change of address to Daniel on our way back to the Golden Nugget.

“I’m sure that’s why Sierra was dressed like that,” I said. “She’s always tried to come across as the demure daughter-in-law, but now I think her attitude has pretty much changed to ‘Go to hell.’”

“I don’t think it’s Sierra’s housekeeping that made your folks move out,” Daniel said. “I think they’re splitting up.”

“Mom and Dad? Never. They still hold hands at the movies. They still pinch each other’s bottoms.”

“They’re staying in separate rooms.”

“No they aren’t!”

“You didn’t notice when we were leaving?”

“Notice what?”

“Your mom said, ‘Ted, I’ve got your reading glasses, in case you need them.’”

“So what?” I said. “She probably meant they were in her purse. She keeps a fully stocked drugstore in there, among other things.”

“Your dad said, ‘I’ll stop by later and get them.’”

“He said that?”

“Yup.”

“You must have misunderstood.”

But I can’t say I really believed that as we walked toward the hotel. My parents are sometimes clueless, but I’ve never known them to be rude. Was it possible they had moved to the Bellagio because they couldn’t handle sharing a double bed? The four-poster in Sierra’s guest room wasn’t even a queen. As we walked into the casino, my head was spinning at the thought of my parents ceasing to be a unit. It was as though someone had just told me that all the faces had fallen off Mount Rushmore or the Brooklyn Bridge had collapsed.

I looked at Daniel. His face was wearing a mesmerized half smile, and I suddenly realized that this was the first time we were walking through a casino together without pressure to get to the other side. Earlier, we’d checked in and made a beeline for our room. At the Bellagio, we’d steamed right past the slots and table games to get to the restaurant. But now, the glitz and ka-ching were working their magic on Daniel. As I watched him survey the scene, I tried to remember the first time I’d stepped into a Las Vegas casino. It hadn’t been all that long ago—less than a year—but it seemed like an eon. God! I was already a jaded old-timer.

“It’s still pretty early,” Daniel said tentatively when we reached the elevator. “Would you like another dirty martini?”

“Would you like to play poker?” I said.

“Maybe just for a few minutes,” Daniel said. “I’ve been practicing online.”

After assuring Daniel that it was perfectly fine with me if he played poker for a while, I went up to our room alone. I’m not sure it was perfectly fine, but it also wasn’t horrible. I should be glad he’ll be able to entertain himself while I’m at work, I told myself. Really, it’s a good thing.

I fell asleep watching Celebrity Dance Marathon, and I woke up when a naked man slipped in next to me and kissed me on the ear.