I hate Las Vegas. I used to love it. It used to be exciting. Bright. Lots to do, lots of people to do things with. Lots of lots of.
Now, the whole place looks gross. Cheap. Even the good places look kinda cheap. The hotel’s not so bad, but it’s got a cheapness to it, too. A smell. A lingering kinda smell, of people. Too many people. Which makes it okay to get out of there every day to play golf.
The golf’s not too bad. In fact, I’m playin’ better than I have in a long, long time. Probably ‘cause there’s nothin’ else I wanna do. I don’t even mind walking the course some, ‘cause sharin’ a cart with Marc can be an experience in tilting. He outweighs me by about a hundred pounds or more, so that damn cart always feels like it’s tippin’ to his side. I hate that.
But the golfing is okay. And the sun feels good. Feels hot. And I finally got that masseuse to work out the knots and kinks in my back, arms and legs, so who the hell knows, maybe I’m just feelin’ loosened up and okay. Physically. Mentally, I think I’m still in knots.
I want the week to be over. Just about every day I think I’m gonna take out my cell and call Shi and find out what the hell is goin’ on back, there. I’m curious if she’s done anything to the house, or is she just takin’ it easy, and if she’s takin’ it easy, what’s she’s doin’ to take it easy. And where. And with who. Maybe she’s hanging out with Mickie. Or someone I don’t know about.
Shit. Sliced my drive.
I hate this game. This game is about as frustrating as it gets.
“Shit shot,” Marcus informs me, then he sticks the end of a cigar into his mouth, laughs at me, and hauls off a drive into oblivion.
“Fuck you.”
“You wish,” he says.
I hate Marcus, too.
Last night we all hung out in this club at the hotel. It was pretty quiet, a week night, I guess, not that you can tell one night from the other here. And we were just messin’ around the bar and shit. Todd and Marc were drinkin’ and Rene and I were suckin’ on near-beers. I ended up at some table just watchin’ all the action comin’ and goin’. A lot of the girls from the La Femme show were in and out; I recognized ‘em. I’ve been to the show every night since I got here, and if you wanna talk frustrating, gettin’ snubbed by six foot, half naked dancin’ girls is the way to go.
Anyway, I was sittin’ and watchin’ what was going on, which wasn’t anything much different from what goes on in any other bar. People hooking up. People alone. People with people. Groups of ladies. Groups of guys. The staring, the giggling, all that shit. ‘Cause even if it’s high class, the reasons people hang out in bars are the same as if it’s the corner pub: you either wanna drink yourself into oblivion, or you wanna hook up.
I wasn’t there to do either. God knows I wanted to drink. I want a drink right now, as we go barreling over the course in our cart. Bein’ in a bar makes me want one a thousand times more. And God knows, I coulda used the hook up. Not that anything was gonna come of it, but shit, it woulda been nice for one of the women there to come up to me and say somethin’. That hasn’t happened to me in ages. Okay, weeks. Not since I bumped into Summer in that club in LA. Still. Shit.
And there was Marc, chattin’ up some random chick.
And Marc, he’s like, he’s Marc. Nothin’ outta the ordinary. Nothin’ special.
Jesus, what a thing to think. Shi would slap me silly if she knew that I was sittin’ here in this cart gettin’ all jealous and envious of someone I consider a close friend. Or that I think of myself as something ‘special’. She’d not only slap me silly, she’d laugh in my face. Worse. Behind my back.
Hell, I should slap MYSELF silly.
But that’s exactly what I thought. And when Marc took off with that woman, I thought worse things. I resented the hell outta him, and I resented the hell outta the rest of them. I resented payin’ for the vacation, inviting them, that they were havin’ a great time and that I wasn’t; I resented everything. All of it.
And it’s the next day and I’m still not feelin’ too good, because now I feel shitty that I had all those shitty feelings.
And that I got ignored last night in a bar.
No one wants me.
“Man, are you in outer space today? Again?” Marc asks me.
“Sorry.” But I’m not sorry, I want to tell him to go fuck himself, but I won’t, ‘cause he’ll just laugh at me for bein’ in a bad mood.
I tee up my ball and try and concentrate. I’m too, too agitated. Aggravated. I don’t know what the hell I am. I hack at the ball and it goes flying off a million miles outta sight. The other guys kinda ‘ooh’ and ‘ahh’. It was a good hit, a lucky one that actually did something I wanted it to. Without thinkin’ about it, I throw my head back and howl. Just yell. They think I’m crowing over a good shot.
No one wants me.
I’m so pissed off I can’t see straight.
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I’ve decided to be bold. A little. I think, if Alex doesn’t like what I’ve done, the new me can take the heat. I like what I’ve done, though. I like it very much.
The two largest rooms at the bottom of the house are the living room and den. The living room is devoid of taste. The den is burdened with electronics. They face each other across the entrance way, even though the den is up some steps and is the only room that is truly on the ‘street level’ of the house.
The walls were white. Plain whitewashed, textured plaster, applied to resemble old adobe style walls.
They’re not white now. In each of the rooms three of the walls are in varying shades of ocher, ranging from the palest yellow to a deep, dun tone, all of them rubbed with hints of the other colors to create more prominent shadings and textures. The yellow walls look aged. In contrast, the fourth wall in each room is a vibrant, rich orange. In the living room, it’s the wall with the fireplace. In the den, it’s the wall facing the built in cabinetry. The orange highlights the permanent focal features in the two rooms.
It didn’t take long for me to choose the colors, or even hire painters. Less than a day. It was all done within forty-eight hours, because it wasn’t a very big job, there’s very little furniture to move, and I was willing to pay a little extra to get it over with quickly. Also, I knew what I wanted. I was surprised at myself in the paint shop. I wasted about five minutes looking at earth tones when I saw the orange and built my palette against it. And within the forty-eight hours it took to have the rooms painted, I’ve worn out the sample chips in my bag taking them into fabric stores and antique shops.
I hope Alex likes black. I hope he likes wrought iron. And wood. I know that he’ll like the chairs I bought to match the coffee table I talked him into. He’ll like them better when the cushions for them are made. And the sofa. He’s got to like the sofa in the living room because it compliments the one in the den. And the new window treatments, too, because the flowing drapes are gone and I’ve had shutters ordered that will be installed tomorrow.
It’s not exactly House & Garden in here, but it’s not the mish mash of nothing that was there before, either. The lines are more linear, the rooms are cleaner looking. I’ve taken out a lot of the curves, even if it meant removing something as small and subtle as a round mirror on the wall, and replaced those things I’ve moved with pieces from other rooms in the house, or new ones. Pieces that are squared off and sleek. Leather, wood and metals. Hammered tin and burnished silvers. A leather ‘vase’ studded with hammered brass tacks is on the floor, standing three feet tall, stuffed with stalks of dried pampas grass.
The look is masculine. Not so much modern, as crisp, although I found several pieces of art work in a place down in the colony below the house that I’ve taken on consignment. They’re nothing more than swatches of color on canvas, possibly the most muted, softest things in the rooms besides the cushions. But the colors were right, and the dulled symbolism spoke of western sunsets and the desert.
I hope he likes this.
Today I’m going to look at some Native American artifacts. I’m sure I can find things that will help to pull the rooms together. And I’m keeping the rest of the rooms in mind, because I want to build on the Mission,/Native American/Arts and Crafts themes as I go from room to room, until only hints of the antique styles are left in the upper rooms to blend with more modern themes.
And orange.
I think oranges and reds and yellows are good colors for this house. Bright to muted. It needs sunlight in it, and it will bring in warmth. I think this house needs some warmth. The front of it is shaded by huge, old trees, and the back is facing the cool ocean. Color, texture, depth. I’m bringing it in, and if he doesn’t care for it, I guess he can take it back out.
I wonder if I can persuade him to replace that pool table in the ‘pool’ room? It’s hideous. And I saw one that would fit the room to a tee. I’d like to make that room over in the darkest tones I can find, in deep reds and greens, the darkest stained wood, because I want it to be the most sedate room in the house. Something of a smoking room quality to it. If he drank, I’d suggest a bar in there, or at least a corner of the room devoted to good bourbons, heavy crystal glasses, and cigars. Maybe we could replace the bourbon with Red Bull?
I take a walk through the ‘bottom’ of the house one last time before heading out to the shops. Now that there’s so much color in the two main rooms, these others need a hit of it more than before. Even the kitchen. Nothing to do in there but the walls, unless he opts for something more elaborate in cabinet styles. There’s no harm in looking and bringing home a few examples, and I make a mental note to do just that.
I hope Alex is having some fun out in Las Vegas. Maybe one of these days I’ll get out there. I’m in no hurry.
I’m not even in any hurry to travel coastal California, or to even hunt up some of the places I’ve lived out here. Long Beach isn’t far at all. But I like it right here in Malibu. It’s a quiet community. It’s so far been a friendly community. Even the people at the markets and in some of the shops are beginning to recognize me, and it’s only been a little over a month since Tish and I got here. It feels like we’ve been here a long, long time, though. As if we belong here, and have always belonged here.
Ah, no, there’s no urge in me to move on. To the contrary, I feel the need to put down roots more than ever. That feeling is probably reinforced by all of this ‘nesting’ I’m doing for Alex. That thought makes me smile.
I DO hope he likes all of this. And that he’s having a good time this week. He seems like someone who’s in need of a good time. Then again, aren’t we all.
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© 2003 Chandrah, Inc.
© 2003 (*> Baby Bird Productions, Inc.
