We walked up to the front of the line. We nearly floated. I pictured myself for a second flying high above the crowd with the feathers of my dress, the sequins raining down all over everyone.
It cost us one hundred dollars each to get into the bar and Valka paid for both of us before I could say a thing. “You’re my date tonight,” she whispered. I did not even argue, even though I had $175,000 left sitting in a suitcase in my hotel room. I had seen so much money flying around the past few days I had become numb to it. Money came out one hole and went into another. We were all just trading it back and forth. Mostly forth. It was like they cut you when you got here, a little place in your skin to start bleeding cash. They sucked on you and it felt good. But what happened in the end?
As it turned out I did not really care what happened in the end, because there we were with the Beatles and Bon Jovi and Prince in a table in the back near the pool tables. Paul and John were both paying attention to Valka, who was pinching and looping the end of her wig around her fingers. I was drinking, drinking, drinking. Prince kept going up to the bar and bringing back rounds. Bon Jovi—whose real name was Hugh, and who was from Philadelphia and not New Jersey, but that was close enough for him to be authentic, he guaranteed it—was hitting on me, but only sort of. He had his eye out all over the bar. The girls must go crazy for him. He had the most gorgeous blond hair. Those highlights must have cost a fortune, and I told him so.
“Half highlights, half extensions,” he said. “I get it free from work. There’s a stylist with the show that used to do movies. He has all these great stories about actresses on crack setting their hair on fire and him having to come in and give them all new hair at five A.M. Guy’s a riot.” Bon Jovi took a swig of water from a gigantic bottle he had brought in with him. I stared numbly at him.
“You’ll never catch me setting my hair on fire,” said Bon Jovi. “I’m a professional.”
“Do not do it,” I said. “That hair is magical.”
“I don’t do any drugs at all,” said Bon Jovi. “Everyone in Vegas is on something though. I hate drugs. Do you do drugs?”
“No,” I said.
Bon Jovi put the water bottle to his mouth. It was half full. He drained it. I watched him. It took him a minute, but he did it. Little pearls of water dripped down the side of his face and down his neck.
“Drugs are for losers,” he said.
He started to get up, and then he sat down again. He ran his hands through his hair lightly and then scratched the scalp.
“Are you okay?” I said.
“I just need a vacation,” he said. He got up again. “I’m gonna hit the head.” He walked off into the crowd, pushing his chair over as he left. Everyone at the table looked at me, and I felt all hot.
Prince stood, righted the chair, and then sat down in it.
“Ignore him,” said Prince. Prince had a really high voice and cocoa-colored skin and a penciled-in beauty mark that was starting to smear. Still, he held himself like a proud man, sitting up straight, pushing his chest forward like he was tough or something.
“What’s his problem?” I said.
“Oh, no one told you?”
I shook my head.
“He’s an asshole.”
I laughed and Prince laughed. There we all were, having a good time. If you could see me now, Thomas. I can have fun, too. I missed everyone all of a sudden. I was in a room full of strangers on New Year’s Eve. As much as I liked Valka, I was missing all kinds of people. If I were at home I would be . . . what would I be doing?
“Have another shot,” said Prince, and he pushed one toward me. I took it and downed it. “By the way, I really it like your shoes,” he said.
I would be hanging out with my sister and my mother, I bet. First my mom till midnight, then Jenny would come straggling in late, stinking of the beer we would all pretend she had not been drinking all night. There would be an argument, and then my mom would make us all eggs. Later I would pass out on the couch, feeling together and apart at the same time.
“And another,” said Prince, and he slid me another drink. I did the shot. I was feeling it in my gut, forget about my head, that was gone.
“I hate my husband,” I said.
“What, honey?” said Prince. He put his hand around my neck. I looked at Prince. He was so handsome. But also something felt different to me. I stared at him, nodding a bit. Once I started looking I could not stop. He was more beautiful than handsome.
“I hate my husband,” I said. “And I took all his money.”
“Then I hate him, too,” said Prince. “And if you’ve got all his money, then you’re the kind of girl I want to know.”
Prince laughed high and squirrelly. I looked at Prince again, at the face and the cheekbones and the little bow on his top lip where the two parts came together. I was not so sure all of a sudden. What he was. If he was a she.
“What are you?” I said.