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Faye
“I’m sorry, did you order this with or without lime?” asks a frazzled young bartender with a histrionic glaze in her eyes. She hands me my beer, her desperation and exhaustion cutting through me as she waits for my response.
I take it from her, sliding it awkwardly over to my side of the bar. “Um, without, thank you,” I reply, handing her two dollars as a tip. Ihadordered it with a lime, but I’m convinced that she would fall to pieces if I had implied a mistake on her part.
She smiles with relief, snatching the dollars I’d left as she sprints to the other side of the bar to tend to a group of bloated, red-faced old men. They’ve been badgering her for the past twenty minutes or so, and even I can see that they’re just doing it for a power trip.
I’ve been watching all the old eccentric men at this bar, and so far, none of them have had anything of interest to contribute to my people-watching experience. I suppose rich men don’t need to be interesting, intelligent, or fun to be around when they have money, but goddamn, does that seem like a waste!
There have been a few bachelorette parties. Contrary to the banal and insipid nature of the rich men, I’m fairly certain that I’ve watched some women ruin their entire lives tonight. I’ve seen some lose thousands on the slot machines, kiss men who were clearly not their husbands, and slap each other when they start to get out of control. I would never approach them, and I would certainly not want to be friends with them, but I can appreciate what they bring to the scene of messy, broken people in a Las Vegas casino.
The casino is just as chaotic as I could have expected it to be, but I hadn’t thought that it would be quite this hellish. I’m shocked that there isn’t a warning posted somewhere for patrons who suffer from seizures – even I’m growing nauseated by the nonstop flickering and strobing emanating from every square foot of the game floor.
When I planned this trip, I knew I wouldn’t be able to afford the more expensive, all-inclusive resorts for the entire stay, so I decided to splurge on this one night. It would be a crime not to try to absorb the full Vegas experience while I’m here, even if I can’t actually have it. It feels like such a poor-person thing to do – going on vacation when I clearly can’t afford it, spending all of my savings and maxing out at least one credit card just to pretend that my life is worth living.
The fact that I chose to come here at all, given my lack of funds and disinterest in gambling, is a mystery to me. After I had broken up with Cody, all of my friends had told me that the best way to get over a relationship is tofind myselfby traveling. At first, the prospect of a solo trip seemed cool and exciting, and I spent days musing over the possibilities. I planned little vacations in my head, bouncing from France to Italy to Thailand and everywhere in between.
When I looked at my budget, it was obvious that I was living in a fantasy.
When I was a teenager, I had been under the impression that being an adult would be all about backpacking across Europe, collecting tattoos in foreign countries, and being in fulfilling and passionate relationships with musicians. As I got older, I became disillusioned by the fact that anything worth buying costs an arm and a leg, and you can get fined for parking for three minutes too long by the sidewalk downtown.
And now I’m here.
Vegas wasn’t even my idea. My friend Lenora had suggested it, and I could see a look in her eye that told me she was prepared to live vicariously through me if I chose to go. Given my budget and the provocative nature of the city, it was the obvious choice. I knew Cody would be fuming at the idea of me living it up in Vegas while he picked up the pieces of his joyless, pathetic life, so I was instantly sold.
Vegas is the place where people go to party, not to mourn or find themselves, so I could go by myself without feeling like I was letting Cody win. Besides, I had always wanted to go on a trip with him, and the fact that I’m taking a vacation right after the breakup can at least show him that I’m over his shit.
I walk another short lap around the casino area, glancing in every direction as I search for something uncomplicated to participate in. I know absolutely nothing about gambling, and I feel a little silly running around without anything to do. If someone has been watching me for the past hour, they might be convinced that I’m a robot or an alien who isjust barelyable to play the part of a human if nobody is paying attention.
That’s also how I feel.
I’m making my rounds past the same group of men that had been harassing the bartender when I notice a briefcase that has been left on a blackjack table about twenty feet away from me.
Though I admittedly don’t have any real idea of what a briefcase would be doing in a place like this, I’ve seen enough movies to make something up. That alone is enough to keep me invested in finding out, and if I can remain inconspicuous long enough, I might just be able to.
Twenty minutes go by, and I don’t see a single person even approach the briefcase once. It must not be of any importance, because if it had been full of cash, someone would have swiped it by now. But still, what could possibly be the purpose?
Am I overthinking things because I’m hopelessly bored?
I’ve been here long enough to know that this place has nothing for me. I’m ready to head back to my room to sit in the dark in defeat with a pizza and a bottle of horrifically overpriced Merlot. The last thing I can think to do to make this little excursion to the casino worth it is to turn in the briefcase to the front desk in case someone truly did just leave it behind. What are really the odds that it’s the target of an organized crime syndicate? Even in a place like this, it’s possible to let my imagination run away with me.
My beer is almost gone, and I’m sweating under the lights as I contemplate my next move. Would it really be this easy for me to walk over and take it from off the table? Why am I letting myself get so worked up over this?
It’s getting late anyway, and if I take my sleeping pill soon enough, I won’t have to worry about being woken up by drunken rambling next door or squirrelly kids running up and down the hallway. How exciting!
I glance over to the briefcase one last time before I decide to say fuck it.
Before I begin to walk over, I put my shoulders back and lift my head a bit to give any onlookers the impression that I’msupposedto be there fetching the case. If I look skittish and uncertain of myself, I’ll more than likely get stopped by someone, and I’m not sure that I have the energy or the patience to endure that right now.
Still, the rush is alluring enough.
My heels tap mutedly along the carpet as I approach the Blackjack table that holds my strange little prize. I’ve kept my expression as neutral as possible, but my cheeks are hot from the anticipation and embarrassment that I’ve forced myself to feel for no reason at all.
While I doubt I’ll be able to open the case, I’m curious beyond words as to what could be inside of it. Even if it were nothing, I’m certain that it belongs to someone important. It just has thatlookto it. Far too expensive and well-maintained to belong to a member of the Great Unwashed like myself.
But, again, I could just be extrapolating.
