The Strip

We jumped on a bus. And the thing about the Strip was that I’d seen it all before a thousand times in the films and TV shows set here.

There was the miniature Statue of Liberty, although the Vegas version still towered over the huge Stars and Stripes fluttering from a flagpole at its base. Behind was a huddle of fake old buildings. Rising over these was the red spaghetti track of a roller coaster. The Strip must have been designed by a kid who’d drunk too many sugary drinks and knew America only through Google Image searches.

That was the only possible explanation.

Look! The MGM Grand, with a monstrous metal lion on a pedestal the size of a football pitch. The thick green sign advertising the casino threw a shadow over the road like a giant’s tombstone. There was a Hershey’s building, done up to look like a chocolate bar (another stomach rumble as we passed). And check out the food hall with its accompanying Coca-Cola bottle made from real glass and bigger than my house. Alongside it were three M&M characters, their wrinkled lips frozen for eternity. They were bigger than our bus. It’d be terrifying if they came alive.

Jennifer leant across the aisle. ‘Is there an Amtrak station nearby?’ she asked a woman.

The stranger grinned back. ‘No. Sorry, babe. There ain’t no trains coming through Vegas and there’s not been for as long as I’ve lived here! We’re like one of the largest cities in the whole of the States to be without a rail service. Google it.’ And she continued smiling as if she were, like, proud of this. She’ll have noticed the exact opposite expression on our two faces. ‘I’ll tell you what there is, though!’

‘What?’ asked Jennifer.

‘A Greyhound depot! And ain’t that just as good?’

Jennifer bought two tickets from a teenager in a baseball cap who spent more time looking at his phone (so lucky) than he did her. This bus station had been built to serve trains. It had the high ceilings and shiny floor tiles you’d expect. We found a space and we sat and we waited as the hour opened up before us like a physics test.

‘Why are there no trains in Las Vegas?’ I asked.

‘Because America,’ she replied, adding, ‘Times like this I miss my phone.’

We sat shoulder to shoulder, reading the subtitles of a muted news report on a huge TV suspended in the corner of this, the waiting room.

Jennifer’s comment had got me thinking. I couldn’t put it off any longer. I had to call home.

‘Can I borrow the credit card?’ I asked. Jennifer nodded. ‘I think I’m going to ring my parents.’

She kind of grunted and passed me the card. I stood and hiked up my jeans like I was about to take part in a gunfight on Main Street. (And feeling like I’d never worn any other boxer shorts than these.)

‘Well … it’s time to receive the biggest bollocking of my whole life.’

‘Bollocking?’ said Jennifer.

‘You know. Like getting shouted at.’

‘Okay. Who cares? I blew up an RV and stole my grandmother’s fortune.’

(She has a point, I thought.)

In between the lockers and the toilets were three phones. I picked up a black handset and pushed the card into the machine. I looked over to Jennifer sitting in the bank of seats across the way. She put a thumb up. I turned back, a dull headache forming, and dialled the number. The phone must have rung at most two times before someone answered.

‘Yeah?’

It was my sister again. The worst of the three possibilities.

‘Hi,’ I said. ‘Let me speak to one of them.’

Amy laughed. I’ve got to admit – this reaction, it broke my thinking. She’s only ever happy when bad stuff’s about to happen.

‘Muuum! Daaaad! He’s alive!!!’ I could hear her shouting.

There was a mouselike rustling on the line as I felt the whirlpool in my stomach that always comes when I’m in big trouble because, really, what had I been thinking? Now, at this Vegas payphone, it felt as if I’d finally woken from a strange dream and, yes, Jennifer, I did care about bollockings.

‘Jacob?’ It was Mum. That was one thing. ‘Where are you? Amy said something about being on a plane in Albuquerque. I’ve been worrying myself sick. Tell us you’re in LA at least. We’re on speakerphone.’

My soul sank at the ‘s’ word.

‘First of all: everything is going well. Really well. And there’s absolutely nothing to worry about.’

(I need to improve my acting if I want to make an impact in Hollywood.)

‘Are you in Los Angeles?’ demanded Dad.

‘Not quite. Almost. But … I ended up getting a lift.’

‘A lift? With who? Where are you? Can you hear how unhappy I am?’

‘I’m in Las Vegas.’

‘Las Vegas! What are you doing there? Las Vegas! Have you been kidnapped? Should I ring the police? You don’t have to say anything incriminating, just yes or no,’ said Mum. ‘Is it the Mafia?’

‘He’s not been kidnapped. He’s an idiot,’ said Dad.

‘No, Mum. Dad—’

‘No, you’ve not been kidnapped or—’

‘I’ve not been kidnapped.’ And I found (a tiny amount of) confidence from the realisation that, actually, I hadn’t been kidnapped, not really, and I had got all this way. And, yes, I could do with a shower and I’d love to brush my teeth, but, like Amy said, I wasn’t dead, which was good. ‘I’m going to be in LA by the end of the day. I’m just a little behind schedule, that’s all.’

‘Jacob?’ asked Dad in a concrete voice. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’

I held the phone away from my ear to reduce the impact of his voice.

‘Improvising,’ I said. ‘Being proactive.’

‘Impro-what?’

‘Like you—’

He cut me off.

‘End of the day? You miss that film and you’re grounded for eternity. No PlayStation, no nothing. Your social life will be finished. Do you understand?’

(In different circumstances I might have asked, ‘What social life?’)

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Sorry. Umm …’

Didn’t he know I’d missed it? Didn’t he know the scene was due to be shot pretty much now? Time to be brave and admit everything. Because there was only so much they could do when they were thousands of miles away.

‘Yeaaaah,’ I said. ‘Sooooo.’

There was a pause. I could hear Dad lick his lips. Mum’s voice droned unintelligibly in the background.

‘What happened to your phone? Were you mugged?’ I made a noise like ‘agh’ that was prevented from turning into a word by Dad continuing. ‘You go straight to that studio or the hotel or whatever and you make sure you turn up on time, you hear me? I’ve told half of Somerset about you being in this bloody film.’

‘About that … I just wanted to say I’m safe.’

(And a massive coward.)

Mum spoke – the sugar to make the poison palatable.

‘Look, the reason we’re all worked up is that the studio called.’

They knew! They knew I’d missed the scene! That’s why Amy had sounded so happy! It had been a good life, kind of … I wish I’d eaten more adventurously. It might have been interesting to have had a girlfriend. The kissing. The hand-holding. People go mad for all that.

But … wait … hadn’t Dad threatened me with an eternal grounding if I missed the shoot? Something wasn’t right.

Mum continued: ‘Your scene, the one you’re supposed to be in the background for?’

‘Yeah?’

‘They changed plans because of the snow. You weren’t the only one stuck in Chicago. They’re half a day behind schedule, Jacob.’

‘For God’s sake, they’re shooting tonight!’ shouted Dad. ‘Didn’t you know?’

My brain turned into a question mark. How could I have known?

‘Yes, definitely tonight, I think,’ said Mum. ‘Your tonight. It’s so confusing with the time difference. Wait a mo. I’ve written it down somewhere.’ I couldn’t hear the mutterings. ‘You’re eight hours behind, right?’

‘Mum?’ I said. ‘What did they say?’

‘Yes, plans have changed – they’re shooting tonight! You’ve got enough time.’

Goodbyes were said, promises were made. Back in the waiting area, Jennifer asked if I was still alive.

(People seemed to really care about my mortality.)

‘Get this,’ I said, trying not to smile from ear to ear as my heart beat with birthday excitement. ‘They’ve not shot my scene. If I get there today, there’s still a chance I’ll be in the superhero movie. Fortune and glory. Hollywood and all that. It takes, like, four hours, right? There’s still hope, Jennifer.’ I remembered that I was a teenage boy talking to a teenage girl. ‘But, you know, if I miss it, I miss it and that’s cool too. Whatever.’

‘Great news,’ said Jennifer. ‘Really great news. The hope.’ Her face told a different story. ‘The bus takes five hours, by the way.’