The professor had heard graduate students talk about going to Las Vegas for spring break. It was a popular destination for youths to make poor decisions.. Though asked to attend a National Education Conference almost a decade ago, Longfellow declined the invite. The only time Longfellow had been to Las Vegas was through the works of Hunter Thompson. The very name, Vegas, conjured images of neon lights sparkling in the star-struck eyes of milk-fed tourists. Ringing chatter of slot machines and blaring live bands drowned out intellect, as reason was washed away with drink after free drink. It was a perpetual twilight of dreams devoted to false idols lorded over by glamorous sequin-clad showmen and cocktail waitresses. The city itself was a fizzing drink full of sugary intoxication that only gave a wicked hangover. Or at least that's how the good professor always imagined it. The city was too full of sex and glamour for a man like Longfellow. The thought of the excessive lights, sound, and decadence made him wilt in his seat.
"We'll be there in a minute, my lamb."
"How'd we cross the country so quickly? Weren't we in New York a moment ago?"
"One of the many perks of being me is that time doesn't exist. Or maybe it does, but it just doesn't matter? Being Death might just feel like eternity." She yawned. "There's always work for me to do. Business is booming, but every now and then, I need to get away. Cities like Vegas are great, teeming with frothy energy that makes your heart race. Everyone here is glad to be alive, and they're going to make the rest of the world know it. Don't you agree, Robbie, my lamb?"
"I wouldn't know. I've never been here before."
"Oh, you've missed out, you poor thing."
"What would I have to miss?" They rolled onto the main strip with the most expensive and excessive casinos and hotels. Death's crimson sports car faded into the background, passing pyramids, castles, the Eiffel Tower, and Manhattan. Though the strip showcased some gaudy, cartoonish facades, nothing was as big as he'd imagined it. Longfellow always thought the buildings would resemble cages made of light stretching to the stars. Even the iconic "Welcome to Las Vegas" sign, made infamous by bumper stickers and postcards, was reasonably understated. "Wow, I always thought it would be bigger," he said.
"Feel that surprise right there-that little tingle behind your ears, telling you that you just discovered something new, which your preconceived prejudices lied to you about? That's something you would have missed. Thrilling, isn't it?" Death smirked.
"I'm just as comfortable staying home and reading or going to work."
"Robbie, Robbie, Robbie, vanilla ice cream is comfortable, and plain cheese pizza is comfortable. Every now and then, don't you want a little pepperoni or hot fudge?"
"In that order you sound as though you want pepperoni on ice cream or chocolate on pizza," Longfellow mused sadly.
"Mmmm, my mouth waters in anticipation," she growled. "If you've never tried it, how do you know that it wouldn't be delicious?"
"Common logic indicates that it wouldn't."
"It's not about logic. Nothing ventured, nothing to tell a story about the next day. The people that come here only to wake up the next morning in a ditch with their pockets empty and a buzzing headache still love the fact that they played the game." Death savored every word she spoke as if she were tasting a sumptuous feast.
"I suppose one should hope to come here, lose all his or her money, and become dangerously intoxicated because the siren's song is worth it?" Longfellow said with halfhearted sarcasm in the shadow of the dazzling lights.
"Where's your sense of adventure? Everyone will meet me eventually. When they do, what do you think they regret the most-the things they did or the things they never had a chance to?"
"I would think one should rather delay meeting you for as long as possible. If that means playing it as safe as possible, I suppose that's the trade-off."
"If you play it as safe as possible, what's the difference? You have no concept of adventure, but we'll fix that-that is, if you want to pass my first test," she concluded with a mischievous laugh that twisted a knot in his stomach. "Here we are!"
They pulled in front of a low-rise hotel with an elongated spade-shaped sign of red lights next to it. The top of the sign had gold letters framed in azure, and it read "Dunes." Longfellow felt slightly dizzy, as he couldn't place where this hotel belonged in a canyon of flashing lights. It was as though the universe curved around the Dunes like a bubble. He couldn't tell if it was nerves or something far grander-even supernatural-that lay outside his realm of expertise and imagination. Once they got closer, the unnatural queasiness brought on by the sight of the hotel passed through Longfellow. Death parked her car and tossed the keys to a valet. The valets gazed at her with their mouths open, trying to decide which was more beautiful, the lady or her ride.
"If you boys want to take her for a spin, it's no fun until you hit one hundred twenty." She winked at them.
"And remember to buckle your safety belts," the professor called after them as they sped off.
"Must you be such a delightful little fuddy-duddy?" Death tapped him on the nose.
"It's not fair to entice them. It's dangerous to tempt them to take risks like that."
"Nothing is just or equitable, except me. That's what makes living fair." She flung her brilliant orange mane over her shoulder and started to walk into the hotel.
"You might be an adorable little man, Robbie, but you're sounding like a broken record. Would you care to join me inside?" she beckoned.
"Don't leave me alone," he whimpered, scurrying after her.
Entering the lobby of the hotel, the same dizziness that struck Longfellow as he left the car hit him harder. He stumbled and fell but never hit the ground. Death was waiting for him, her arms outstretched. She wrapped her silky hands around him, bracing his collapse. His faced flushed in embarrassment for tripping and for being so physically close to a woman. It felt wonderful to be held, a sensation Longfellow had denied himself for an eternity. This was inappropriate. He straightened himself out and restored proper decorum.
"I must apologize. Is that blood loss getting to me?" he wondered aloud. The wound on his chest and stain on his shirt had vanished, as though they had never been there. It was wishful thinking. Longfellow felt no pain, but he knew he was still inches from shuffling off the mortal coil.
"Don't apologize, and don't look so embarrassed. It's my fault. This hotel was knocked down years ago. Bridging space and time can wreak havoc on your stationary canals."
"Did we just time travel?" Longfellow gasped. Looking around he noticed that everyone in the lobby was dressed in suits and dresses tailored from the fifties.
"Do I look like H.G. Wells? Though if I did, you probably wouldn't have enjoyed falling into my arms so much," she taunted. The bashful professor looked at his penny loafers, as she continued, "Think of this more as a memory. When something dies, it's gone, never to return-save for one or two exceptions."
"And what about me?" he worried. Was it too much to ask to be one of the exceptions?
"Well, my lamb, I haven't been entirely honest. You're only mostly dead."
"Mostly dead?" He pondered the term, looking again to where his wound had been. It was a juvenile line that sounded vaguely familiar to the old man. A sprig of hope flowered somewhere in his dusty, moldy mind. Hope was a sentiment he had outgrown decades ago.
"Now come on. We're going to be late for the game." She led him through the crowd to an elevator. Longfellow squirmed awkwardly, brushing through the people. He was relieved once they entered the elevator.
"So everyone here is just a memory?" he asked her, as she hummed to the dull elevator music.
"You know, I didn't really put much thought into it," she mused. "Why?"
"If my memory serves me correctly, organized crime had a great deal of involvement in the Dunes. I don't want to be caught in the crossfire."
"Oh, poor, old, silly Robbie. What's the mob going to do to you while you're with me? Make you only mostly dead again?" She giggled charmingly. The elevator came to a stop at the top floor, opening into a sprawling penthouse suite that was filled with smoke. The boisterous sounds of laughter and argument came from beyond. A group of people with stacks of chips sat around a crescent-shaped table. A professional dealer shuffled a deck of cards and tossed them to the players.
"We'd better hurry. They started without us." Death took the professor's hand and pulled him into the smoke-filled room.
"That's the challenge of my life? You want me to play cards?" Longfellow remarked, raising an eyebrow. He vaguely knew the rules of the game. Bets were placed based on the assumption that your combination of cards was better than your opponents' cards. It was all played by statistical chances and long-shot likelihoods. Odds could be improved by a savvy player's bluffing. Longfellow knew himself, and regardless of what he was dealt, he was playing with a weak hand.
"Put on your best poker face, my lamb, because I don't want you to just play cards. I want you to win."
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