The hostel bed proves too tempting to resist. After his shower, and a hot dog eaten too fast, he rolls into the bunk and closes his eyes. Just a couple of hours, he thinks.
When he wakes, bleary-eyed, with a taste of onions in his mouth, mustard dried to a crust on his cheek, it’s early evening. He fumbles for his trainers and finds a piece of paper tucked into one of them: See you at Ally’s tonight! Levi.
He calculates that he’s got a little time to explore, find somewhere to eat, see what this place has to offer before he meets Levi and his friends. He puts his guidebook in his pocket.
He walks the boardwalk for a while, checking out the arcades, craning his neck to stare up at towering casinos, and then, with a jolt of something that feels like electricity, he sees her. She stands up from a bench. She’s hard to miss: tall and slim, dressed entirely in black, and with such a sad expression he wonders if she’s just been to a funeral. His fingers fall still and his shoulders straighten as she walks by, so close that he catches the slant of her cheek in profile, the shine of bare skin. Sunlight picks out golden glints in her light brown hair, pulled off her forehead, tied at the nape of her long neck. Nobody else appears to notice her. It’s as if she’s a ghost, he thinks. He watches as she goes down the steps onto the beach, big workman boots clumping un-ghost-like against the wood, and his gaze follows her across the sand towards the ocean. He feels an urgent need to go after her, and his body flickers into involuntary movement, but she looks as though she needs to be alone. He turns away.
It’s getting chilly, the last dregs of sunlight seeping away. He settles himself at a corner table of a café called the Beach Shack, where he buys a plate of chips and ekes out a flat white, watching the deserted sand. He’s hoping to see the girl again. He imagines that he’ll spot her easily in her black clothes. But she doesn’t make another appearance. Disappointed, he reads through his guidebook again. He loves facts and stories about the places he’s visiting. He orders another coffee and reads about the Mob shooting each other on the streets of Atlantic City in the twenties.
After the waitress has asked for the fourth time if he wants anything else, he closes the book with a snap and stands up, stretching stiff muscles. When he finds Ally’s on Pacific Avenue, he asks the bouncer what the band is. The roar of chatter from inside is already deafening. The hulking man in black pea coat and dark glasses frowns, cupping his hand to his ear.
‘Who’s playing tonight?’ Sam shouts again.
‘The Magic Men,’ the bouncer says. ‘Cover act.’
‘Cover act?’ Sam’s heart plummets. He hesitates. Maybe there’s another band, something authentic and interesting, playing somewhere nearby? On the other hand, it’s cold, and entry is free. He dithers, trying to make up his mind.
‘Sam! Sam Sage!’
Levi looms over the shoulder of the bouncer. He steps forward, flanked by two ruddy-faced young men, his companions so exactly as Sam imagined, it makes him laugh.
‘Hey, buddy.’ Levi gives him a playful punch on the shoulder. ‘You came. You won’t regret it. It’s a cool place.’
And Sam is corralled into the club by three blonde giants, all of them clapping him on the back, offering to buy the lagers.