Valka rented the only BMW on the lot. It did not make much sense in the snow, but Valka said, “You have to go home in style. You show them before they show you.”
And then we were on the road heading west, just like that. One day before we were sitting in our gigantic bathrobes in Las Vegas, Valka telling me that I had to return home, that my life there was not done and over and that things needed to get fixed, and that I was the only one who could fix them. Then she was on the phone with her travel agent getting us tickets to Omaha, and we were ditching my truck in long-term parking at the airport, Valka promising we would come back for it, me knowing I probably would never see it again. We rushed through security, Valka explaining away my suitcase full of cash to the airport guard—“She was a big winner, isn’t it fantastic?” We hustled and laughed and landed ourselves on an airplane headed straight for the heart of America. I held her hand then. I held her hand more than a few times. She said I could hold it until I did not need to anymore.
On the road she fiddled with the radio, landing on a top-forty station. The DJ was counting down the hits. Something with a fast beat came on, and there was a woman’s voice singing through some sort of filter. She sounded like an alien, ready to invade.
“Did you see there were seat warmers?” she said. She pressed some buttons on the dashboard and suddenly my behind was warm.
“That is unnatural,” I said.
Valka shrugged. She did not worry too much about things being natural or not, I had figured that much out by now. She pulled her seat back and stretched her feet out on the dash. Then she looked out the window and started to twirl her fingers in her wig. She was a brunette today, the same mod wig from New Year’s Eve.
“So this is Nebraska,” she said. There was snow everywhere but the roads were clear. “Doesn’t look like there’s a hell of a lot going on around here.”
“It’s not much but it’s home,” I said. I do not know why I said that. I did not need to make excuses for my home state. I loved it there. But things had shifted since I had left. I had seen so much already, been through three states, and I had been wrapped up in the thick air of the casinos for days. Just a half hour out of Omaha and already the land had flattened and the buildings were sparse. There were no levels to that part of Nebraska, it was just land and sky and space. And corn, even if you could not see it at that moment. But underneath it all was the aquifer, and it brewed energy and life. Nebraska was more than just nothing. You just had to know where to look.
“Ah, it’s winter,” she said. “And we didn’t come to sightsee anyway.”
The song ended and the announcer came on and said it was time for the entertainment news. Now this was my game. I turned up the volume.
“The Los Angeles Police Department just announced that early this morning television and film actress Rio DeCarlo was in a car accident. She struck a car carrying three teenagers and one adult. We have no information about the passengers’ identities, but we do know all were hospitalized, and DeCarlo has been charged with driving under the influence. Several bottles of pills were found in the car along with an open bottle of vodka.”
“Holy Jesus,” I said. “Rio DeCarlo!”
Valka just shook her head. “I knew something like that would happen to her someday.”
“But she never drives,” I said. “She has a driver. I read it in a magazine. His name is Miguel, and he used to be a professional wrestler in Mexico. He’s saving up to move his mother and two sisters across the border.”
“Oh, she drives all right,” said Valka.
“How do you know?” I said.
“I know things,” she said.
“What do you know?” I said. I could not believe she knew a real live celebrity and she had not told me. I was rethinking our entire friendship.
“Listen, honey, everybody knows everything in Los Angeles. It’s no different than your hometown where everyone knows you took all of that money out of the bank.”
“But why didn’t you tell me before when I mentioned her?” I said.
“I didn’t want to interrupt you,” she said.
“Ha-ha,” I said.
“And also I didn’t think it was my place to tell her stories. I mean, they aren’t my stories.” She turned down the radio. “And obviously I’m in no position to judge.”
I swatted her on her arm and the car swerved. “Valka, you had better tell me right now or I swear to God I will not drive a minute further.”
“Hey, that hurt,” she said. She rubbed her shoulder.
“I mean it,” I said.
“Okay, okay,” she said. “We go to the same guy,” she said. She motioned to her face. “The same doctor. He does my Botox and he did my boobs, too. He’s one of the best in L.A. I mean, look at me, not a line on this face.” She dropped the visor down and examined herself in the mirror. “Would you know I am thirty-eight years old? I don’t think so.”