He’d mentioned parasailing on Lake Mead, but I think that was just to inform me that it was available for me to do on my own.He probably has a rider in his contract that he can’t do anything dangerous during the season.I don’t know for a fact that parasailingisdangerous, but it sure seems like it to me.
One year, Richie and I drove down to Myrtle Beach for our spring break.We were lying there, baking in the South Carolina sunshine, when a guy came right up to us and said, "Ladies, let me take you up.Only one dollar."He pointed to a boat zooming through the water with a large parachute attached to the back.I squinted and saw that there was a person under the parachute, at least 100 feet above the surface of the water.
We were poor college kids, so one dollar anything seemed intriguing.He had our attention, but I had a feeling that it was too good to be true.I said, "It’s really only one dollar?"
He nodded."Yup.That’s it.One dollar to go up.Forty-nine to come back down."
I bet Richie was thinking about that when she put it on her list.I wish we’d spent the hundred dollars back then to be able to do it together.
The flight was not as bad as I thought it was going to be.I didn’t love the taking off or the landing bit, but once we were at cruising altitude, it just felt like a car ride with less scenery.Apparently, flying is not one of the things that makes me anxious.Who could have predicted that one?
One smutty pirate-vampire romance book—Stolen Starsby Lia Finn—later, and we’re touching down on the tarmac.The person next to me was binge-watching Grey’s Anatomy.I will still never forgive the creators of that show for killing off Denny Duquette.Even if I wanted to rewatch it, the whole Izzy-cancer-brain-tumor storyline hits too close to home.Why couldn’t Richie have had a Dr.McDreamy to take her cancer out before it claimed her life?Because life is not like a TV show or a book or anything else in which we’re guaranteed a happy ending.
God, I wish we were.
The first thing that greets me when I set foot in the terminal is slot machines.The second is Ophelia Henry.I recognize her from her videos.She’s about my height, with her long dark hair in braids, wispy bangs dancing across her forehead.
"Are you Ophelia?"
"Who wants to know?"Her tone is wary.
"I’m Rachel.Rachel Cramer."
Immediately, the suspicion disappears from her face as she breaks into a wide grin."Hi!You made good time.I didn’t expect you for a while longer."
I don’t know how to respond to that.It wasn’t like I was flying the plane and made good route choices, like when you pick the faster lane of the two-lane drive-through at McDonald’s."Thank you for waiting for me.I’ve never flown before, and this is all a bit … overwhelming."The massive high ceilings with chrome and windows.The buzz of the people.The clanging and beeping of the slot machines.
Dear God, there are a lot of slot machines.
"If you played the slots here, would you consider it going to a casino?"I ask Ophelia as we begin to walk, following the signs to baggage claim and transportation.
She thinks for a minute."No, the casinos are an experience themselves.You have to go to at least one.At least that’s what everyone says."She whispers in my ear."I’ve never actually been here, but I’ve been researching it like crazy.Ask me anything.I’ve been studying."
"How far are they from here?"
"A little over a mile.Look there."She points at a window."That’s the Strip.The stadium is about three miles or so from here."
She does seem to know her stuff.
"Oh wow.It’s all so close.I saw the mountains and the desert as we were coming in.Not gonna lie, I was a little nervous we were gonna hit a mountain.It’s all so …"
"Hot and brown.That’s the best way to describe Las Vegas.Hot and brown."
I consult my phone to check the temperature.It’s 99 degrees."It’s mid-September, and it’s almost a hundred degrees!"
"But it’s a dry heat.So is the inside of your oven, but no one seems to make that comparison.Make sure you drink a lot.You’ll get dehydrated quickly."She holds up a large water bottle that’s half-empty."That’s what happened to me when we went to Phoenix, and the weather’s pretty much the same here.Hot as Hades, and guaranteed to give you a headache if you get dehydrated."
"Thanks again for helping me out with this."We’re crossing the second-floor bridge into the parking garage where our Uber is waiting."I don’t think I ever would have figured this out."
"You get used to it.I don’t travel as much as some of the WAGs do, but in general, they’re a friendly group.I really like Hannah LaRosa.She’s with Callaghan Entay, the goalie.We’ve worked together a few times, and she’s cool.You’ll like her too.We’ll hang out soon."
The whirlwind of words coming from her mouth has my brain spinning.I try to process it all."What’s a WAG?"
"Wives and girlfriends of players.I don’t care for the term myself, but we are a group, and it helps to stick together.This life—being the partner to a professional soccer player—can be lonely, and the group helps with some of that."
"I’m not a WAG.We’re just friends."
"Friends"—she makes air quotes with her fingers—"don’t go to these lengths on a moment’s notice."
