“Oh, you know. Keynotes and panels, networking, the usual. Most of it will be interminably dull. These things always are.”
“Right. So I’ve heard.” I nodded. “But the focus is on global macro, isn’t it? I’m just wondering if there’s anything you wanted me to—or what the angle…or I guess takeaway, you could call it—”
Michael clapped me on the knee again, refilling my glass. “Evan, don’t worry. You’re asking why I invited you, aren’t you? Just watch and listen, and you’ll see. You could learn a lot these next few days.”
We pulled up at the entrance of another hotel-casino monolith. Chuck led the way down the long, plushly carpeted hallway toward the club. The Scotch in the limo had been too much for me. The night began to blur and spin when we entered the club. The whole room seemed to rattle from the collective frenzy: drinking, dancing, snorting, vibrating. Women in thongs and pasties shimmied on platforms around the dance floor. High up in his booth, the DJ lifted his arms, and the crowd responded with a deafening roar. Smoke and confetti poured from the ceiling. Our waitress was wearing a tight scoop-neck minidress that displayed her cleavage, which bounced vigorously whenever she mixed a drink in the cocktail shaker. I had shot after shot handed to me. I was drunker than I’d been in months, drunker even than a few nights ago in Meatpacking. I had long slipped past the point of enjoyment. What time was it? Would this night ever end? Nothing seemed to exist except for this club, the gyrations of the people around me. A slow-motion orgy: Michael getting closer and closer to a blond woman on the banquette, Chuck kissing a woman—then two at once—sitting on his lap. Steve had turned in earlier, his wedding ring glinting in the strobe lights. Brad had his hand at the small of our waitress’s back, his eyes traveling toward her chest. Roger was off somewhere else.
Our limo driver was, miraculously, still outside when I got up to leave. I pulled the hotel-room key card out of my pocket, where the room number had been written on the card’s paper envelope: 3605. Back in the hotel, I stumbled toward the elevator bank and leaned my forehead against the cool marble wall while I waited. It felt so good. I could have fallen asleep there. I found myself wandering down a long hallway, red carpets and golden wallpaper. Such a long hallway. How had I gotten there? I studied the paper envelope again: 3605. I looked up, and there I was—our room at last.
I swiped my card, and the light turned green, but the door banged abruptly and wouldn’t open more than an inch. I pulled the door closed and tried again. The light turned green, and I pushed the door open, but again it banged up against something. I squinted, trying to right my vision, and saw that the security flip bar had been latched into place.
I propped the door open with my foot and shouted through the opening, “Roger. Roger! Come on, it’s me.”
Silence at first, and then came the sounds of female giggling. “Ocupado, amigo,” Roger said from within the room.
The door closed with a bang, and I slumped against the wall, my legs splayed out across the floor. Sexiled. I needed some kind of plan. Focus. I closed my eyes. My head jerked up—had I fallen asleep?—and I slapped my forehead several times. I hated being this drunk. I couldn’t stay out in the hallway. Everyone from Spire was staying on this floor. I couldn’t let them see me like this. No way.
Back at the elevator bank, I pushed the Down button. I’d explain myself at the front desk. Maybe they’d had a cancellation. Or I’d take a cab to one of the motels I’d seen between the airport and the Strip. They had to have something, a bed where I could sleep for a few hours before morning came.
A small ding sounded as the car arrived. I kept my eyes down and didn’t see the dark-suited figure striding out until we nearly collided.
“Evan? Whoa, what are you doing?”
It was Chuck, looking rumpled and sweaty but in better shape than I was, and thoroughly pleased with how the night had gone.
“Yeah. Hi—hey, Chuck. How are you?”
“How are you? What, you didn’t get enough? Going back out for more?”
“No.” I shook my head with effort. “I’m locked out. Roger is—he has…company.”
Chuck laughed. “Shit. Well, come on, you can crash in our room for now. Roger’s gonna be done soon. Trust me, he’s paying her by the hour.”
I followed Chuck to his suite at the other end of the hallway. Even through my blurring vision, I could see that it was enormous. Bigger than any New York apartment I’d ever seen. Steps led down to a sunken living room with floor-to-ceiling windows. The skyline sparkled against the desert night. I could make out a bar on one side of the living room and a huge soaking tub on the other. A spiral staircase, half hidden in the darkness, twisted up to a second floor.