Authors: Deborah Coonts
Home.
A name with no place.
As much as I loved turning phrases on their heads, that one didn’t give me any pleasure at all.
The magnitude of the loss nipped around the edges, but I pushed it away.
Nothing would change that, other than a rifle, my finger on the trigger, and Irv Gittings doing something stupid.
Although, what he’d done to me so far might justify homicide, it would be best to catch him dead-cold certain.
I watched him until he reached the corner. Looking back, he gave me a small wave, then rounded the building and was gone.
I took my time heading to the Babylon, winding through the streets of old Vegas.
Small clapboard houses, some behind bright white picket fences, showcasing new touches of proud owners: fresh paint, window boxes, new sod, and bushes decorating the postage-stamp yards.
The original Andre’s, a famous Vegas chef’s first eponymous restaurant, had started in one of these small houses in a mixed-use neighborhood.
Idling at the curb, I stared at the little building, abandoned for the bright lights of the Strip and a primo spot atop the Monte Carlo.
Forlorn, weathered, unloved, the small space still held magic.
In my mind’s eye I restuccoed it, and fixed the roof tiles; trimmed the hedges and relit the trees with tiny bright lights.
Closing my eyes, I could hear the trio tuning up, then launching into a Sinatra set.
Andre greeting everyone at the door.
The bartender fueling the merriment with heavy pours.
The upholstered walls, the wood floors, the dim lighting that made every woman look fresh and young.
Most of the big events of my life had been celebrated there.
Andre had closed the location not too long ago, devastating many of us natives.
Teddie had taken me there.
A special evening—he could be so thoughtful, so fun.
His smile lit my heart; his touch lit a fire.
When had it changed?
Maybe I’d grown up, grown into me.
And Teddie still played at life, chasing one dream, only to be distracted by the next bright shiny object.
Who knew?
A couple of kids eyed the car, and, not having time to indulge their interest and regale them with all the attributes of fine Italian iron, I checked the rearview, then punched the accelerator, getting grins as I flashed past them.
I checked in with Jeremy.
Flash had answered.
She was pulling stakeout duty while Jeremy went home to lick his wounds and get some shut-eye.
And still no Irv Gittings.
The dealership had been relieved to get their car back.
At some point, I thought perhaps I should either buy one or adopt a Porsche mechanic, but I’d been unwilling to pull the trigger on either.
Life was in flux.
I needed to call Warden Jeffers and get out to Indian Springs.
Too bad cloning or teleporting had not been perfected yet.
Today, I stepped into the service area and took the non-public route to my office.
Staff, hurrying on their duties, giggled and chatted as they passed each other or occasionally shared a stretch of hallway together.
I loved this part of the hotel, too.
I loved making people happy.
Sometimes that led me to put myself last, which didn’t always lead to good decisions.
But recognizing the problem is the first step to solving it, right?
Miss P waited for me in the office, pretending to work, the look on her face telegraphing her heart was elsewhere.
Calm and collected on the outside, she presented a perfectly polished corporate executive exterior.
Makeup in place, hair short and spiky, her curvy body displayed beautifully in a just-tight-enough form-fitting royal blue stretch dress, she looked the part, except for the red-ringed eyes and the tremor in her smile.
Brandy was off making the rounds, I assumed.
“Any fires to put out?”
She pulled her shoulders back and jutted out her chin, doing battle with a bad mood.
“Not really.
Brandy’s got a handle on the holiday party for the whales.
You’re going to meet with her later?”
Just like old times, she eyed me over the top of her cheaters.
I really should hire my own assistant—Miss P was the Head now … the me I used to be.
But we all seemed to be clutching at the status quo right now.
Normalcy, a rope as the quicksand threatened to suck us under.
“Yep, she’s going to text me.”
The whales and their baubles seemed so far removed from important right now.
Of course, they were the wax on the gaming skids, and, as such, needed to be coddled.
I just wasn’t in the mood.
“The media are leaving us alone for the moment.”
She lost some of her stuffing.
“What?”
“I have a wedding to plan.
Poor Delphinia is beside herself.”
Delphinia planned all the weddings at the Babylon’s Temple of Love, and she’d agreed to help with Miss P’s even though Cielo would be hosting the festivities.
“There are still more decisions to make, colors, flavors.”
The normally efficient Miss P wound down, looking totally overwhelmed.
“And the groom?”
I pretended to be interested in a pile of messages in my in-box.
Miss P knew I’d rather pet a rattlesnake than flip through missives from people who all wanted something.
She slapped my hand.
“Working on that.
Finding out I’m still married is a bit of a complication.”
“Yes, well, let’s talk about that.
But not here.
Come with me.”
I turned the tables, catching her hand, then easing her from behind her desk.
“We both need a little dose of reality.”
She resisted.
“Reality?
Where’s the fun in that?”
“Having two hot guys, both incredibly accomplished and in love with you?
Your reality looks pretty damn good from where I’m sitting.
Don’t let a little blast from the past tie you in knots.”
She shot me a look.
“You think so?”
Clearly, her look was meant to remind me of Teddie and Jean-Charles.
“Take your shot.
You know I can be relentless, so you might as well humor me.”
She grabbed her sweater from the back of her chair.
Shrugging into it, she followed me out the door.
“It’s not the past that’s giving me so much trouble,” she said, as she matched my stride toward the elevator.
“It’s the future.”
Holiday cheer echoed through the lobby, the crowd in full family and fun mode.
The Vegas vibe shifted at the holidays in a subtle way.
The whole naughty thing moved toward nice.
Hooking my arm through Miss P’s, I drank in the joy.
We’d made it across the lobby before I hazarded a look at her.
The sadness I’d seen in her face had faded a bit.
“It’s going to be okay.”
I squeezed her arm, pulling her close.
“I know.
Somehow.”
We let the crowd carry us into the Bazaar, the great Hall of Conspicuous Consumption, which jibed perfectly … this being Christmas and all, when present buying reached unparalleled heights.
Not in any hurry, and with no real plan or destination, we wandered, indulging in window-shopping and other lollygagging that would never be part of a normal business day.
But these days were anything but normal, and sometimes just slowing down helped put the train back on the track.
“What are you going to do about your place?” she asked as we perused art neither of us could afford in one of the two high-end original art galleries.
“I don’t know what’s left.
Romeo said maybe later today I could get back inside and get a few things.
But, if my supposition is true, the explosion occurred in the bathroom and was rigged to blow out, taking not only the bathroom but also my bedroom with it.”
I shrugged, thinking about what all that was.
Jewelry from the Big Boss, my collection of vintage designer clothes—which had taken all of my adult life to pull together.
My shoes.
That was a punch to the gut.
I had some great shoes, also collected through the years.
Limited styles, commemorative pairs, irreplaceable.
The Manolos Teddie stretched out.
The Chanel he wore better than I did.
All of that hurt my heart but, in the grand scheme, not too important.
I could’ve lost so much more.
“You think life is trying to tell me something?”
“Let go?” Miss P gave voice to what I knew in my gut.
It was time to move on.
“Enough about my problems.
Let’s start tackling your pile.” I steered her deeper into the Bazaar.
“I know just the place.”
The Daiquiri Den was a small thatched-roof stall off to the side in the Bazaar across from the Temple of Love.
We both took stools and plenty of time to make our decisions.
With yards of daiquiri in hand—mine strawberry, peach for Miss P—we turned our backs to the counter so we could fully appreciate the flow of holiday cheer ambling by.
Neither of us spoke until we’d each made it a foot into our drinks.
“I believe we left the story in Africa?” I prompted, feeling a rum glow.
“Yes. Kenya.”
Miss P took a long pull on her drink.
“We were just kids.
Me straight off the farm.
Cody a bit more worldly … from Mason City and three years older than my twenty-one.
Cody wanted to be a doctor and was getting some practical experience before committing fully to medical school.
I was getting off the farm.
With my basic knowledge, I could stitch up cuts and all of that, so I handled nursing duties.”
“How’d you learn how to do that?”
“In the middle of nowhere, help is hard to come by. You need stitching up, a calf delivered, or a bull neutered, I’m your go-to gal.”
“A few of your impressive list of talents.”
I’d worked my way through over half my drink and was feeling flushed with the milk of human kindness … that’s what they call rum, right?
“Okay, so you guys got together, I can fill in those gaps.”
Being visual, I usually shied away from too much detail.
“But why does Cody think you guys are married?”
“It’s really not clear.
We got caught up in a tribal wedding ceremony—things there can be very harsh with the young women traded for cattle and the like.
One of the elders wanted to marry me.
It was a bit dicey.”
“So, to avoid that, Cody stepped in.”
“Yes.
It was a long time ago.”
Miss P’s cheeks flushed—the alcohol apparently having an effect.
“He was very dashing but such a child in so many ways.”
“He was what, twenty-three?”
“Twenty-four.”
“Scientists have proven that the center of the brain in males responsible for judgment doesn’t mature until at least twenty-five, and that’s an average.”
Teddie was working on the far end of that bell curve.
“Really?”
Miss P, for all her farm knowledge, couldn’t hope to compete with the education in all things male earned by a young woman raised in a whorehouse.
“It’s true,” I nodded like the oracle of Pahrump.
“He’s still damn impressive, though.”
I know, not helping, but it was the truth.
He’d saved my father’s life.
Enough said.
“Isn’t he, though?”
The words rushed out on a sigh.
“After all these years, you’ve not married and neither has he.”
An interesting observation, I didn’t like where it led.
“Connection in the past can be a heady thing.
It can make you think that just because the past was fun, the future could be, too.
Problem is you both are two different people now.”
“It is nice to share some history with somebody,” Miss P acknowledged.
“Don’t get caught up in the past and lose sight of the future.” Spoken like the true fraud I was.
“I could tell you the same thing.”
Leave it to Miss P to call me out.
Teddie could pull all those strings, and did, and we didn’t even go back that far.
But it was enough.
I could only imagine how strong the pull was for her with Dr. Cody Ellis.
“So why is he here now?”
“After Kenya, we both went our own directions. I’m not sure either of us thought of the tribal ceremony—we thought it was a quaint bit of partying.
Cody went off to medical school, and I wandered a path that brought me here.
My parting words to him were to look me up when he grew up.”
She laughed, which sounded a lot like self-deprecation.
“Looking back, it wasn’t Cody who needed a bit of maturity.”