It’s as quiet as a church.
I can be sane in here.
I came by myself. I don’t want another night of watchin’ my friends hooking up with this girl and that girl. They all went back to Tabu, to La Femme; they’re hittin’ the shows and clubs and I’m not. I’ve seen enough.
I think about that as I play with the stack of chips in front of me. So far, tonight, I’m ahead, so the stack is thick, and the chips are fat. This is the only place I’ve been ahead since I got here. My golf game fell apart. I already know that I won’t be out there tomorrow for a quick nine hole before we leave. I’m a loser as far as the clubs go. And I found out that no, I don’t really appreciate watchin’ great lookin’ naked women right now. It’s about half a thrill. Maybe. I don’t respond.
I place a bet. I don’t even pay attention to where I’m puttin’ my chips, or how much I’m betting.
I don’t respond to anything anymore. Nothing has hammered home a point that’s now sharp in my head as much as this week in Vegas has. Not three hundred AA meetings, not hour after hour on a shrink’s couch, not my failed relationships. None of that has made it so clear to me how my life revolved around drinking and being high. This week has.
I’m not the outgoing asshole I used to be. I’m not confident at all. I think I’ve had more anxiety attacks this week than I’ve had in a lifetime. Not those big ones, little ones, but a string of them. I don’t think I know how to approach people, or how to be with them if they approach me. I think that I’ve got a ‘hands off’ sign hangin’ ‘round my neck and it’s a big one, one in neon that could rival any marquee on the strip outside.
I win my bet. The croupier slides a matching stack of chips to me. One of the waitresses moves up against my side and asks me if I’d like another drink, another orange juice; whispering the question in my ear. I just nod. I don’t care. Sure, bring more juice. I really need a smoke, and I’m gonna leave this table soon anyway, so what the hell, waste it. Or not. I think I’m on a roll at this table, so maybe I’ll stay and see what happens. It doesn’t matter.
I push my chips to another square on the felt.
The casino is one place where I don’t feel that anxiety. You can be alone in here and it’s okay. No one expects you to do anything but place a bet. You don’t even have to do that. You don’t have to think, you can just be. They bring you drinks. They’re very cordial. It’s cool in here, the air.
I didn’t even dress tonight, really. Some of the people here are decked out. I’m just in some khakis and a big old T-shirt with another shirt thrown over it. Dark glasses. In case. In case of what I’m not sure, but in case. There’s not a real dress code, I’ve been in this place in jeans and shit. I’m not even shaved; I didn’t care this morning. Why shave when no one is paying a goddamn bit of attention to you?
I win my bet again. More chips. A little ripple of sound from other people at the table. I feel some of them move in closer. It’s not about me, it’s about my luck. They want a hit off my luck. I’ve done the same thing sometimes; found myself edgin’ up on a winner to try and hit off their luck. That’s all it is. The waitress returns with my juice. It’s a huge glass of it. Fresh squeezed. Sweet. I drop a chip on her tray, and her eyes go wide. I guess it was too much, I’m still not payin’ attention to what I’m doin’, but what the hell, I can afford it be over tipping. She smiles. Big smile. And I feel her hand touch my arm as she mouths ‘thank you, Sir’.
Sir. That sorta cracks me up. It’s ‘Sir’ when you’re winnin’ big. Every time.
I move the stack again, takin’ a few off the top and puttin’ those chips in front of me. I guess by now I’m not playin’ with my money, I’ve won enough to be playin’ on the house. That’s cool. Why play on me when I can play on them? Right?
Someone brushes my arm. Big, tall, blonde. She smiles. I smile. She leans over and places her bet with my bet, keeps her arm against mine. The bet wins. Again. The table erupts. The big blonde grips my arm so hard I can feel her nails dig in. There was a time when I thought that was the most erotic feeling on earth, long nails diggin’ into my skin.
Now it just hurts.
I move that arm so she has to let go, take my chips and leave the table. It’s time to cash out.
~~**~~**~~***~~**~~**~~
I leave the hotel. I’ve done everything I can in there, and I’m restless. I head over for the Bellagio. I was thrown out of there once, me and Howie. We decided to stay there during one of the tours, instead of at the MGM, ‘cause the fans knew we were at the MGM and there was no peace there. Then we go and end up making enough noise to wake the dead, and they kick our asses outta there. I still don’t know if I can ever go back and stay there, but I damn well can go back there and shop.
They got the best shopping, and I got a pocket full of money.
I don’t even know what I’m lookin’ for. I don’t need anything. Not a damn thing. I just want to buy somethin’. Shopping has always been a kind of relaxation for me. Bein’ able to walk into stores and just buy what I want. That’s always made me feel good. Havin’ the money to do it, too. That’s made me feel pretty good.
The limo drops me off. It will wait for me. No matter how long I’m gonna be. I have no idea how long I’m gonna be. Doesn’t matter, when you drop the kinda cash I drop in town, they wait.
The Bellagio is a quiet hotel, too. Even more quiet than the MGM, ‘cause some of the MGM is a mad house. The Bell is for quiet, classy people.
No wonder they threw us out.
I laugh to myself, but I can feel the smile on my face.
It’s nice to just wander through the shopping arcade. Nice stores. Upscale. I’m usually somewhere in the middle. I don’t really buy quality, I buy quantity. And with that thought I hear Siobhan’s laugh echoing in my head. I think she’d agree.
I wonder how she’s managing this week. Tomorrow I go home. I’m looking forward to it. I want to sleep in my own bed. I want to wake up to smell Shi’s cookin’. I wonder if she would hang around this weekend. I never said anything about it, and neither did she, so I don’t know what her plan is. I could call, tell her I need her to work the weekend. But I really don’t need her to work the weekend, other than do some cookin’, and I guess I could eat out.
But I’d like it if she was hangin’ around. And, like, if she maybe was havin’ Mickie or someone over, too. Some company. Even if it’s HER company. Somethin’ different. Or not. Or maybe just her and Tish and hangin’ at the pool and... And I don’t know what the hell I want.
I’m standing in front of a display of pearls, staring at them and not even seeing them. They’re smooth and round and pale. Very pretty. Not anything I would ever pick. Not for anyone. But there’s this one pearl and it’s on the end of a strand of bluish greenish beads. The beads are the color of Siobhan’s eyes. The exact color. That color pulls me into the shop. The carpet in the shop is thick. I can’t hear myself walking. I can’t hear other people walking, so when a salesperson comes up beside me, she scares the hell outta me.
“Is there something that you’d like to see, Sir?” she asks.
“Uh, yeah, that necklace,” I tell her, and point to the back of the display window. She unlocks the case, brings out the necklace, and lays it on a velvet tray. It looks different out of the window, the stones look paler. Not right. I shake my head and leave. There’s nothing interesting in there, in Tiffany’s. It’s too sedate. I was just attracted to the color, but the color wasn’t even there.
I wander more, window shopping, up down, wherever. I pause outside one of the casino rooms, then move on. I don’t want to gamble any more. I don’t want clothes. I don’t know what the hell I want until I stumble on another shop, Tesorini. It’s not any less intimidating than Tiffany’s, but it has different colors to it. And it sells watches. I like watches. I’m going to look at watches.
I never make it to the watches. A case of jewelry distracts me. Somethin’ weird is in it. The jewels, they change color. Red to blue to green to amber. I walk back and forth, makin’ sure I’m not losing my mind, or my sight. Again, I don’t notice the salesperson, I’m too involved in checkin’ out the jewelry.
“Fascinating, isn’t it?” he says.
“Is that stuff for real?” I ask.
“Yes. It’s alexandrite.”
“No sh.. kidding?” Alexandrite? Is this stuff screaming to me, or what?
“Discovered in Czarist Russia, and named after Czar Alexander the Second. It changes color when the light changes. Would you like to see some pieces?”
I want to see all of it. It’s amazing shit. And sure enough, it changes color under different lights. The pieces the man is showing me are old, in old type settings. The gold holding the stones is mellow with age and I usually don’t like things that look like that, but the stones just make the items. There’s a necklace, a pendent, that I particularly like, ‘cause it’s peculiar. The setting is a silver-ish hand, and it’s cupped, holdin’ the stone, which is kinda large, but very clear and dark. There’s a ring on the hand and the stone on that is a pearl. The dinkiest, tiniest pearl I’ve ever seen. And the hand is comin’ outta these waves of silver, like it’s offerin’ up the stone.
I want it.
I need it.
I have to have it.
The impulse to buy is overwhelming and I do it, I hear myself saying, ‘yeah, I’ll take that’ and then I think I hear a price; somethin’ outrageous, I’m sure, but I don’t care. I want this necklace. I want them to buff it up and put it in a nice, satin lined box and yeah, they can wrap it, too, it’s a gift. It’s a gift. But before they do that, I hold it. I hold it in my hand and cup my other hand over it and watch the color of the stone change from a bluish green to a deep, deep blood red that’s almost brown.
Alexandrite.
Something special and rare and out of the ordinary. Something that I want to be. Something that I thought I was, but now I know that I was really only drunk. Drunk and high and thinkin’ I was all those things when I wasn’t anything like that at all.
This is what I came to Vegas for. Not to forget everything. To remember something.
I hand the necklace back so it can be put into a box and wrapped up. I hand a credit card over, then change my mind. I have a pocket full of cash; my winnings from the roulette table. I take my card back and count out the hundreds, one after another. Why not? Something that’s not a bill, somethin’ that I own outright. Something worth something.
They hand me my purchase in a tiny bag. They gotta be kiddin’. I’m not carryin’ around this fruity little bag. I give it back and put the narrow box in my pants pocket. Is that a necklace in my pocket, or am I just damn glad to have it? I twist the pun and it makes me laugh. I’m happier than I’ve been since I got here. I’m fuckin’ happy. Happy to have been a winner tonight, happy to have found this strange bit of jewelry. Happy, excited, that the stone is like my name, or maybe my name is like the stone. I don’t know; don’t care. I just care that I have this thing in my pocket and that I’m goin’ home and that in twenty-four hours I’m gonna be outta here.
In the limo, I remind myself to buy one of those big ass stuffed lions they sell at the MGM. I wanna get somethin’ for Tish, too, ya know.
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© 2003 Chandrah, Inc.
© 2003 (*> Baby Bird Productions, Inc.
