With so many thoughts in her head, she checked in with Chantella and decided to walk back to the convention center. It was a beautiful day, not as scorchingly hot as Las Vegas could get, and the sky was as blue as she’d ever seen it. That was the great thing about Roger being her boss; schedules were always flexible. She thoroughly enjoyed the walk. She passed dozens of people, mostly tourists, along the way. The majority of them were chattering away, so happy and seemingly carefree. Normally she would enjoy watching the people and mentally critiquing their mode of dress, but she was supposed to be clearing her head. It didn’t help, however. She was just as befuddled about the Brian situation as she was at The Electra. Only now she didn’t have the giant strawberries and succulent grapes to assuage her discomfort.
When she arrived back at the Full Court Press booth, several people stood in line. Wesley was watching as Spencer signed a comic for a fan. She felt admiration and sympathy for Wesley, as he was a talented artist who hadn’t caught his break yet.
“Make it to Buzzie the Shoe King,” the fan gushed, practically drooling.
As Spencer wrote with a flourish, Russell, aka Muskman, approached with a middle-aged guy, wearing way too much denim, in tow.
“What’d I tell you?” Russell said triumphantly, thrusting one arm forward.
“I swear, I heard he died in a fire in France.”
Spencer, now in a gauzy shirt, tan shorts and sandals, stood up and stretched his legs. “I’m getting low on “Muskman” #3 and “Phar Out” #2.”
“I’ll get ‘em.” Wesley pulled out a box from beneath the table and began going through it as the Shoe King paid Ellie and headed off. Spencer sat back down and rifled through his shoulder bag, coming up with a fresh pen.
“There were only twelve issues of “Muskman,” right?” a fan asked.
“That’s right,” the artist answered. “Who should I make this out to?”
“Juanita. She’s my sister. She’ll go nuts. Why did you stop?”
“Oh, it’s all timing.”
Sludge walked up during this exchange. “Yeah, and it’s pretty hard to be creative when you’re drowning in Scotch.”
“I’ve been sober for more than twenty years, slimeball.”
“And how sober were you the night you burned the warehouse down?” Sludge sneered.
Spencer stood, nearly knocking over his chair.
Ellie tensed. “Come on, guys. Did you want something, Mr. Sludge?”
Spencer laughed. “Mr. Sludge. That’s a laugh. And an oxymoron. Or moron, at least.”
“I just wondered if anyone would actually come to see this has-been.”
“Well it’s better to be a has-been than a never-was,” Ellie huffed, then realized what she had said. She turned to Spencer. “Not that you are. A has-been, I mean.”
Sludge took a step closer. “At least I can remember where I was in the ‘60s and ‘70s.”
Spencer didn’t budge. “Too bad nobody cares.” He sat back down.
Sludge started to walk off, then turned back. “And I never started any fires that could have killed my friends.”
Ellie gasped as Spencer leapt out of his chair, past the table and tackled Sludge. They went at it, exchanging punches and engaging in heavy-duty tussling. Sludge, who was thin but surprisingly strong, had Spencer pinned down when Muskman came flying out of nowhere and suddenly jumped onto his back with an “Ayeeeeeeeeeeeee!”
Well, you can’t ever say life is dull working for Full Court Press.
Everything seemed to happen quickly after that. Wesley pulled Muskman off the pile and tried to separate the other two as a crowd gathered, with several guys and at least one woman, who wore a black and white striped onesie, shouting enthusiastically. Men, and apparently quite a few women, did like a good fight. Ellie paced back and forth, jumping up periodically to try and see above the crowd. Finally, a couple of no-neck security guards in starchy gray uniforms pushed their way through the gathering and pulled the combatants apart.
One of Sludge’s eyes was almost swollen shut, and his lip was split and bleeding. His hair was all askew and he looked decidedly more disheveled than usual. Spencer looked slightly better but his hair had come out of its tie. A small cut on his cheek was dripping blood and he was shaking his hand, which must have been hurting.
“C’mon, you two,” said one of the guards, with a firm hold of Sludge’s arm, “Let’s go get this sorted out.” He addressed the crowd. “Show’s over, folks.”
Wesley looked over his shoulder and called out to Ellie. “I’ll go with them!”
Wesley was so young, but he was such a born leader, a patriarch, though he didn’t quite fit into that typical patriarchal niche. Too bad he’s too young for you. You got that right. But it didn’t mean she couldn’t appreciate him. Not that she would ever betray Chantella’s friendship, even if they were all the same age. You’re not quite so loyal to Cindy, are you? God, she hated that voice.
Ellie and Russell returned to the booth as the entourage walked off, followed by a few gawkers, and the crowd dispersed. She looked at him. Russell didn’t seem to fit into a niche either. He’s nicheless. She chuckled.
“What?”
Well, she wasn’t going to tell him that. “I’m guessing there’s still a little baggage there,” Ellie said.
“A boatload, apparently,” he agreed.
Russell found a piece of paper and wrote up a sign that said, “Be Back Later” and taped it on the board announcing Spencer’s appearance. Ellie wished she’d thought of that. She couldn’t help watching him as he leaned over to tape up the paper. She wondered what he would look like naked. Whoa! Put the brakes on there. Fantasize about one naked guy at a time.
Somewhat apprehensively, as if her skin didn’t fit right, she began rearranging the t-shirts. God knew how many times she had done that already. Russell watched her, thinking how dependable and stable she was, not all flipping out because of the fight. Ellie was solid, not that she’d take that as a great compliment, he imagined, but it was.
She glanced at Russell then and realized his fur had gotten a little ruffled in the fight. She walked over and smoothed it out on his shoulder just as he began to sing. Touching him—or his fur—she felt such a connection it stunned her. It wasn’t Russell, she told herself, removing her hand as if it had been in a fire pit. It was Muskman, or the idea of Muskman. Yeah, keep believing that.
Buffalo gals won’t you come out tonight
Come out tonight, come out tonight
Buffalo gals won’t you come out tonight
And dance by the light of the moon.
Ellie looked up and stared at him. He kept singing.
As I was walking down the street,
Down the street, down the street,
A pretty little gal I chanced to meet,
Oh, she was fair to see.
She still stared. He stopped singing.
“What?”
“Nothing. Nothing.” She looked past him and her whole expression changed. “Oh, good. You’re back.”
He turned to see Chantella approaching.
“I’m going to get a drink. I’ll be right back,” Ellie said as the younger woman stashed her purse under the table.
Ellie headed off as fast as she could without looking like she was running for her life, but Russell rushed right after her, following her to a snack bar, where she purchased a soda and stood off to the side, drinking it.
“Must you follow me everywhere?”
He smiled. “Yes, I must.”
“Where’s the Tifster?”
“She went to find some shrimp cocktail.”
Ellie sighed wistfully. “I used to be Tiffy and Chantella.”
“Hard to picture. Seeing the old boyfriend’s dredging up old memories, eh?”
She took a long swig and gave him an exasperated look. “Why doesn’t Muskman concentrate on Muskman for a change?”
With that she took another sip of her soda and walked off. Russell, of course, followed.
“You’re making a mistake, you know,” he said.
“I haven’t done anything.”
“Muskman knows this. Muskman is all-seeing and all-knowing.”
Unfortunately, just then he walked into a giant sandwich board with a resounding thwack!”
It was the highlight of Ellie’s day.
* * *
Early that evening, at the Courtyard DuMont pool area, Bonnie, Roger and Russell, in bathing suits, sat at a table enjoying tropical drinks and watching Chantella and Wesley and Spencer and Tiffy in the pool. They were playing chicken, with the women on the men’s shoulders, trying to knock each other into the water while a couple of middle-aged women cowered in the shallow end of the pool. Both the Full Court Press women looked stellar in their skimpy bikinis. Chantella’s was dark green, complementing her alabaster skin, not to mention her several tattoos, including a fierce-looking black-and-white dragon on her back, and Tiffy’s was bright blue, highlighting her perfect tan. Chantella’s exotic colorful tattoos in key spots just enhanced her attraction. No surprise there. Tiffy also had a tattoo, a red rosebud on her right shoulder.
“They decided not to press charges on each other,” Bonnie told Russell.
“Sigh.”
They all looked over to the pool as Tiffy shrieked with delight, attacking Chantella with abandon.
“Tiffy seems to be enjoying herself,” Roger observed.
“Yeah,” said Russell, taking a sip of his mango colada. “She’s surprisingly competitive.”
Bonnie looked at Russell contemplatively. “We could take them, you know.”
She smiled engagingly, they both looked at Roger, who shrugged, and then back at each other. Then they both jumped up simultaneously and ran to the pool and threw themselves in, just as Ellie approached the table and sat. She wore a black one-piece suit with a black and white polka dot, mid-thigh length cover. Black, the woman’s forgiving color worldwide.
She looked over at the pool. “I’m not even going to ask,” she said.
Bonnie and Russell emerged from under the water with Russell on Bonnie’s shoulders. They attacked, and he quickly disposed of Chantella. Then they turned on Tiffy.
“Hashtag, no…!”
Ellie couldn’t help but notice the girls’ tattoo. She had long since become familiar with Chantella’s artwork. Tiffy’s was a surprise, but she supposed it shouldn’t have been. Maybe that’s what Ellie should do while she was in Las Vegas to mark the new, improved version of herself. Get a tattoo. Of what? Two naked men? Something to ponder, as if she didn’t have enough to think about. Are you even allowed to get a tattoo when you’re sober, or do you have to be drunk?
At the table, a cocktail waitress made a notation of Ellie’s drink order—a root beer—and moved on to the next table.
Ellie studied Roger, who looked a little tired and lost in thought. Maybe the move to France was weighing on his shoulders. Or maybe it was the fight. She was struck again by how things change, how a person is on one path and then suddenly on another, totally different from the previous direction. It’s not always a good thing and not always a bad thing. It just is.
“Do you ever wonder what would have happened if there had never been a fire?” she asked. She had no idea where that thought had come from.
“Nah,” Roger said, swishing his rather strikingly blue drink around with his straw. “If there hadn’t been a fire, there would have been a flood. That’s life.”
“I never took you for a cynic.”
“Not a cynic, just a realist.”
Ellie brushed some debris off the table. “I’m gonna miss you. Are you sure you want to move to France?”
“Yeah. It’s time for a change. France is our Volume Two.”
“You just want the French to think you’re a god.”
“Yeah, that, too,” he smiled.
More shrieks, splashes and laughter emanated from the pool. Once again, Ellie felt a sense of sadness that Roger and Bonnie would be gone and she’d be out of a job. No, it wasn’t really that. She’d be out of these dear, fun, intelligent, unique people. She could always find another job. There was something a lot more important than having a mega career, as politically incorrect as that might be in this era of the independent woman. She felt fortunate to understand that at a young age. Relatively young.
“Bite me.”
Roger looked up. “What?”
Yet again she resolved to stop talking to her alter ego. At least in front of other people. Quickly she shifted gears and nodded toward the pool. “Why don’t you join in?”
He took a sip of his drink. “Sigh. Roger doesn’t do water.”
“Would that be coastal France you’re moving to?”
Before he could answer, they heard a page. “Telephone call for Ellie Lambert. Call for Ellie Lambert.”
From the pool, Russell watched as Ellie got up and walked toward the hotel entrance in her ravage-me black suit and dancing polka dots. Just then Tiffy attacked him with a vengeance.
“Yaaaaaaaaaaaaa!”
Momentarily it occurred to him that between Ellie and Tiffy, he was going to get whiplash.
* * *
Ninety minutes later, Ellie emerged from her hotel room wearing an emerald slacks outfit and carrying a lacey wrap as Tiffy and Russell, dripping wet and laughing, trudged happily toward their room.
“Hashtag, I think I have water on the brain.”
Ellie wasn’t touching that one.
Russell turned to her. “Have fun tonight.”
Tiffy rewrapped the towel around her miniscule bikini. “Are you seeing that guy again?”
Ellie suddenly felt fat. “Brian. Yes.”
“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” Russell said, shaking his head sadly as if she were about to shoot a puppy.
“Buzz off.” Great comeback. What are you, 12?
Russell watched Ellie go, her cute little butt hugging those green pants. He stared at her a little too long. Tiffy noticed.
* * *
Once again, on her drive to meet Brian, Ellie had mixed feelings. She wanted to see him and she didn’t. Would she feel different if the fiancée weren’t in the picture? Hard to say. A moot point, she supposed. Still, she wanted to see where their relationship could go and then again she didn’t. And she couldn’t get Russell’s irritating, disapproving face out of her head. When did he become her conscience? Russell, with his hands all over Tiffy, practically a teenager. Like he should talk. Of course, Tiffy’s not engaged. “Shut the hell up.”
The Back in the Saddle Casino parking lot was almost empty. When she cautiously opened the door and walked inside, the premises were dark and spooky, and the place felt resoundingly empty. Suddenly she felt like she was in an old Bruce Willis movie. “Die Hard” or something, with the evil megalomaniac terrorist with the accent hiding under a craps table with an Uzi. This was even worse than her axe murderer visions. She slowly sidled past a row of slot machines, feeling exceedingly creeped out. She had never noticed before how human slot machines looked with their changing expressions and moving arms. Now she was just getting weird. Well, to be honest, she supposed she was always a little weird. She was just being imaginative. Or looking for an excuse to bail.
“Hello? Brian?” She could hear the quiver in her voice. What a wimp.
No answer. She kept walking, slowing with each step. Just like in a horror movie when the stupid girl walks toward the scary noise instead of running away. How well did she really know Brian? Maybe in the last five years he really had turned into a serial killer. Well, he’s a pretty incompetent one then, since he’s let multiple opportunities to dismember you slip through his fingers.
“Hello? Yoo-hoo! Anybody here?”
Was she getting punked? She was about to turn around and run screaming for the parking lot when Brian suddenly stepped into view and the lights came on, revealing a ready-for-business casino with non-human slots, poker and craps tables, a roulette wheel, keno, a bar, a restaurant area with black leather booths and a small stage.
“What do you think?”
She gazed around in awe, taking it all in. It looked great and even smelled like a new casino, all leathery and spicy. The change from a couple of days ago was astounding. Very impressive. “It’s fabulous, Brian. You did it. I knew you would.”
“We could open tonight, except for the headliner. Are you hungry?”
“Starved.”
He turned toward the kitchen. “Andre!”
A burly chef, in a crisp white smock, stuck his head out of the kitchen doorway and Brian gave him a thumbs up. The chef waved. Brian snatched up Ellie’s hand, thinking how perfectly it fit into his. In his own way, he was as torn as Ellie, feeling as if he stood on the edge of a great precipice. Would he go over the edge? He didn’t know, but he knew this moment in time felt right. Cindy was attending a bachelorette party for her cousin across town, so there was no danger of an awkward moment.
“You wanna dance, talk, what?”
“Let’s sit.”
He led her to a booth near the stage and slipped in next to her rather than across from her. He looked at her warmly. She was all tingly.
“Did you ever have a moment you wanted to last forever?” he asked.
She smiled. “I have. I’ve had a lot more I wanted to go away and never come back, however.” She looked around. “I’m not really a cowboy person, but I like this place. A lot.”
The casino was rustic but in a 21st century kind of way, with the bar and stage resembling an old-time saloon. A large screen ran a stunning western video of cowboys herding cattle, a bull rider making his eight seconds, a gorgeous sequined cowgirl waving her hat and other scenes, including glorious mountain and woodsy scenery that might have been Yellowstone or Yosemite National Park.
As she continued to appreciate the little nuances of the casino, Andre wheeled out a cart and delivered two luscious steak dinners—Brian remembered she liked hers medium—with a delicious vegetable medley in green and orange and white colors that seemed incredibly bright and garlic mashed potatoes with bacon and something else crunchy in them. They enjoyed a fine red wine with the repast. It felt so comfortable being with Brian, as if five years hadn’t passed. They chatted more about their families and the changes in Las Vegas over the years, laughing and occasionally surprising each other. They shared a chocolate mousse dessert. The meal was winding down when Andre reappeared with the cart. He removed the plates and silverware as well as the napkins and condiments.
“Will there be anything else, sir?”
Brian looked at Ellie and she shook her head. “No. Thanks, Andre. Just be here tomorrow by 2 or 3. I expect a packed house when we open.”
Ellie thanked him as well. Andre nodded and departed as Brian lit a candle and hit a switch that dimmed the lights.
“Cindy’s dad isn’t a mobster, is he?”
He chuckled. “No, he’s a podiatrist.”
A few minutes later, they were dancing to a cowboy ballad, her head resting on his shoulder just like old times. As the song ended, she looked up at him and watched in slow motion as his lips came closer and closer. He kissed her, and it was nice. Nice? Just nice? Remember, nice is good. And a little scary. She didn’t feel ready for this. In truth, she felt a little panicky. After a long enough time that she probably gave him the impression she was more than ready, she ended the kiss and took a step back.
“I…I better go.”
Brian looked at her with such sweetness, she wanted to throw herself back into his arms. “Are you sure?”
She so wasn’t. “Y-yes. You have a big day tomorrow. What time do you open?”
“Five.”
Ellie walked to the booth where they ate dinner and retrieved her lace wrap. “I might not be here then, but I’ll get here as soon as I can. I bet you can’t wait.”
Brian held her hand as they walked to the front door. “Whatever else you are, you’re a good friend, Ellie. I’ve missed that.”
At the door, he pulled her to him and kissed her again. She was weakening.
“Is he a vindictive podiatrist?”
He smiled. “I have to go home tonight.”
“Yeah. Me, too.”
“Aren’t you afraid Andre may tell someone?”
“No. I just had dinner with an old friend.”
“Who are you calling old?”
He grinned as she walked out the door without looking back. In her head, she was remembering an old rerun of “I Love Lucy.” She could distinctly hear Fred Mertz saying, “Oh, what a tangled web we weave…” She knew the line was actually from a poem written by Sir Walter Scott, but it was Fred Mertz’s voice she heard. She was sure that said something about her, but she wasn’t sure what it was.