Sage Heart
It is March 8, 2019. Friday afternoon. Guess where I am? In a Class A twenty-six foot motor home ( Blue gingham drapes, flowered upholstery, and six beds) with twelve people, that headcount already including the thirty-something driver whose smile reminds me of Johnny Depp, which made it easy for me to like him.
That, and before we all boarded the massive RV, he each handed us a chocolate bar, because his wife works at a candy store at the mall and there was too much stock yesterday, which, by the way, was also Sparkle's bridal shower, held at a quaint cafe near her and Flair's condo.
Cleo and I were the only ones who disapproved of the four male strippers, and the two of us forced ourselves to remain civil as they sexily danced to Careless Whisper. Yes, we had been mature, dignified, diplomatic.. Until one of the male dancers stole a kiss from Penelope.
Things rolled downhill after that ordeal. A slap. A kick. A rapid string of crisp curses. Penelope was ferociously berating her assailant when another stripper copped a feel from Shell, Cole's girlfriend--yes they're official. Long story short, both unethical strippers wound up with a black eye and no pay.
"Where are we going to stay in Las Vegas?" asks Shell, who is sitting next to me.
Because it's a four-hour drive from Los Angeles to Nevada (by van), Jae, Res, Cole, Penn, Cleo, and Flair are taking advantage of the tedious commute. How? By sleeping.
The only people awake are the driver (obviously), me, Shell, Core, Knox, and Arrow. Some of us are gazing out the window, sightseeing, while the others are on their phones, listening to music and or munching on snacks.
I can't believe we're going to Las Vegas. Just the week before, Sparkle was telling everyone over the brunch table at a sophisticated restaurant, "I told Chord I was fine with anyplace near, like maybe San Diego or Sacramento or San Francisco.. but he insisted on Vegas. I mean, I said it as a joke back in high school. I had told him back then, 'If we're ever getting married, I want it to be in Las Vegas.' Because people always poke fun at marriages there, and I thought, why not prove them wrong?"
A few hours later, we've arrived.
Sin City.
It is Friday evening and we're standing in the lobby of the Venetian Hotel, and it's such a crazy place. There's a gigantic ornate dome above us, lined with what look like paintings by Venetian masters.
There's a fountain with a fantastic golden globe sculpture. A man in a redneck handkerchief is playing the accordion.
Chord returns from the desk, where he's been checking us in.
"Here we are," he says, waving a stack of room keys. "I couldn't get all adjoining, but at least we're all in. And there's a promotion going on today, so we got a freebie," he adds, brandishing the other hand. "Complimentary chips for the casino."
"Casino chips?" Knox perks up. "Come to mama!" She happily swipes the chips from Chord.
One hour later, my head is a whirl of lights and music and traffic noise. It's like, everywhere you go, there's a live band playing at full volume, and the only instruments are slot machines, and they only play one track: bleep-bleep-bleep-bleep.
I actually have a headache from all the clamor, but I don't care, because we're having a brilliant time. We've driven up and down the Strip in a limo which the Venetian concierge fixed up for us, and I feel as though I've been around the world. I even had "Parisian Poulet" for dinner--chicken strips. They were delectable.
When the twelve of us part ways to roam about-with our maps and phones-I pause at a coffee outlet and am getting myself a latte when I see a woman nearby, sitting at a bistro table, with a bleached blonde ponytail. She's in her fifties, I'd surmise.
She's wearing a black denim jacket decorated with rhinestones and is playing some kind of card game on her phone. On the table in front of her is a massive cup full of change for the slot machines, and on her t-shirt is printed ROCKWELL CASINO NIGHT 2018.
She must know about gambling. And she'll want to help a newcomer, surely? I wait until she pauses in her game, then approach her table.
"Excuse me," I say politely. "I was wondering, could you give me some gambling advice?"
"Huh?" The woman looks up from her phone and blinks at me. Oh wow.. She has dollar signs on her eyelids. How on earth did she do that?
"Er.." I try not to stare too blatantly at her eyes. "I'm a visitor and I've never gambled before, and I'm not sure how to do it."
The woman stares at me as though suspecting a scam.
"You're in Las Vegas and you've never gambled?" she says at last.
"I've just arrived," I explain. "I'm going to a casino later on, only I don't know which games to play or where to start. I wondered if you could give me any tips?"
"You want tips?" The woman's eyes are fixed on me, unblinking. They're quite bloodshot, I notice. In fact, underneath all the rhinestones and makeup, she doesn't look in great shape.
"Or maybe you could recommend a book?" I suggest.
She ignores my question. "You know what? My tip is, don't do it. Don't go near it. Save yourself."
"Oh," I say, perturbed. "Well, I was planning on having a quick go at a roulette table or something."
"That's what we all said. Are you an addictive type?"
K-pop is NOT an addiction, nor an obsession or infatuation. "No."
"Gambling is toxic," she says intensely. "Just the feel of the chips in your hand. The rush. The buzz. It's like crystal meth. You only need one hit and that's it. You become a slave. And that's when your life starts to spiral. That's when the cops move in."
I stare back at her, freaked out. "Right!" I say brightly, and start to back away. "Well, thanks for your help anyway.."
"Crystal meth," the woman repeats in sinister tones, and locks her bloodshot eyes on mine. "Remember that. Crystal meth."
"Crystal meth." I nod. "Absolutely. Bye!"
Crystal meth?
Oh God. Should I be going to a casino at all? Is this all a bad, bad idea?
It's almost an hour later and I'm still feeling unnerved, even though I've been on a soothing gondola ride with Cleo and Penn and Flair. Now Cleo opted to take a nap in her hotel room while Penn and Flair have gone off for another "sneaky cocktail" as they put it.
Strange. It's almost midnight but I don't feel the least bit tired.
"Hey Sage!" I jump, startled when an 18-year-old girl clasps my shoulders from behind. Her brown hair is mid-length and she's wearing a black leather jacket over a white shirt and ripped jeans. "So, did you gamble yet?"
I shudder. "I don't dare," I reply to Knox. "This woman just told me that gambling is like crystal meth and if I dip my toe in, I'll get sucked in forever."
Knox nods gravely. "It could happen. It happened to me. And it happened to my old high school friend Tanya. She never recovered from one night of online poker. It took hold of her and she was never the same person again It was a pretty tragic story."
"Where is she now? I say fearfully. "Is she.. dead?"
"Pretty much." She nods. "Alaska."
"Alaska's not dead!" I exclaim indignantly.
"Her parents were transferred to work at an oil rig. But before that, she was a gambling addict like me." She grins euphorically. "So what shall we do? Hit the casino?"
Honestly, hasn't she been listening?
"Knox, no! Crystal meth!" I gesture my hands in exasperation.
"You're not taking that seriously?" Knox gives a sudden guffaw. "Sage, gambling is fun."
"But that lady said--"
"Relax." Knox puts her palms on my back and ushers me toward the casino. "Let's go and hit the tables. If you start to look anything like an addict, I'll drag you away. Promise."
