storyshell

Angela won 11 thousand dollars at the poker tables and so saw fit to shake me awake at 5 AM.

We come to Vegas every year, she and I. It is ritutal. She invites me, we fly out for a few days, she plays, I walk the streets, drink, sleep, and generally scavenge. We are just friends, Angela and I. We got married in kindergarden, in a ceremony right after snack time. I gave her a rhinestone-studded dog collar from the many my dog Cottonball had, and she gave me a construction paper ring she had made. That was 39 years ago. It was cute, and she says she tells all her boyfriends about it. She reveals that she is married, and then she tells the story, which she said relieves some men, but some seem a little disappointed, as if they wished they could have an actually-married woman. She still celebrates our anniversary and half-anniversary by inviting me to work. She calls Vegas “work”. That’s how she makes her living. Playing poker. Texas Hold ‘Em. She’s good. She makes almost 100 grand a year.

“Darrell, wake up.” I heard her say, in the dark.

“What?”

“My biggest win in two years. Eleven grand. We have to celebrate.”

I rolled the pillow around my head. “We have to sleep. What time is it?”

“There’s no time in Vegas,” she said. “Come on. Let’s get an early breakfast.”

“Or a really late dinner.

She shook me. “Come on, Darrell.”

“Really, Angela. Really.”

“Darrell. Don’t ruin this for me.”

“Ruin it? You won eleven grand. How can I possibly ruin that?”

“Darrell.”

I rolled over. I could see her outline, the strip lights floating into the window behind her. She must have opened the curtains. I remembered closing them. She must have opened them when she came in.

“How long have you been here?” I said. I looked at the clock. 5:17 AM.

“I don’t know. Ten minutes. Let’s go,” she said. She turned on the light on the desk.

“Hey!” I said.

“Let’s go.”

I raised myself and looked at her. Her face had grown thin over the years, her lips seemingly getting smaller. I wondered if it was from having to keep a poker face for a living.

She tossed a pile of hundreds onto the bed. They were neatly bound in bundles of a thousand.

“Look at that,” she said.

I looked. I’d not seen so many hundreds, especially not at my feet.

“You want any?” she said.

I shook my head. “Just about half,” I said.

She always gave me two hundred dollars a day to spend, to keep me occupied. Two hundred dollars a day in Vegas is just enough to make you think you don’t have enough. If you had only two dollars, you know you shouldn’t even be out. And, if you had 400, then you can gamble, eat, drink, and maybe see a cheap show. But, 200, you feel like you are wandering.

“Let’s go,” she said.

She looked out of the window, at the 5 AM Vegas, which exploded in garish colors just as intensely now as it did at sundown. It never stops here. It never even slows down.

“Where?” I said.

“Get a cab. Go to get some breakfast burritos, and then head out to the desert.”

“What?”

She was silent then, looking past the lights below us. We were staying at Caesars. They always give her a nice suite.

“Angela.”

“Yeah. The desert,” she said, emerging from her silence as you would from a pool. “You know, I’ve not once gone into the desert, and I’ve been coming here for almost twenty years. Always too hot.”

“Angela, I really don’t want…”

“I’ll pay you half of my loot.”

“I don’t need to be paid. I was kidding. You know when I’m kidding.”

“I want to go into the desert.”

“Now?”

Sometimes, on these trips, we make love. Just because there’s nothing else to do. We do it like we’d have a tennis match. Some exercise to past the time, and make the day feel good. I wanted to propose that we just do that, but she didn’t seem like she’d be receptive. And, it also seemed sort of rude.

“Okay,” I said, swinging from the bed, making sure I didn’t disturb her winnings.

“Thanks,” she said. She kept looking out of the window.

“What do you want to do in the desert?” I said.

She just sighed. “To see if I laugh,” she said.

I looked at her winnings. “Eleven grand looks awfully funny to me,” I said.

She shrugged. “It’s my job. Hanging out in the desert at 5 AM is not. You know what I mean?”

I shrugged.

“Maybe we’ll get married again,” she said. “Renew our vows. How does a tumbleweed wedding ring sound?”

I grinned. “And, for you, a cactus bridal crown.”

She just nodded.

She put the money in her purse. We got the burritos from a place in the casino and ate them in the cab ride. She told the driver to go until there was nothing but desert. That took half an hour.

The sun was starting to singe the backside of the mountains then. The air was warming, and the chalky feel of it was stirring.

We got out in a place that looked like the surface of an alien planet, cast with gray shadows over the rolling, brown surface.

We got out and danced. Angela led. At first, she did some sort of generic undulations, then, she did a pirouette. She grabbed be then and we did a waltz, then she broke away and did a can-can, pretending her skirt was a long, frilly dress. Then, she did a tap dance, kicking up the sand beneath her. She did this all with, from what I could see in the plastic air, a growing glee.

I made her burst with laughter when I dropped down and did the worm in the dirt, flopping like I was being shaken. She grabbed her knees and laughed herself into heaving silence.

We were quiet on the way back, interspersed with her giggles and wiping her eyes. Her face was dirty.

“See,” she said, as we passed the “Welcome to Las Vegas” sign, “that’s what I’m supposed to do.”

“What do you mean?” I said.

“When I win. I’m supposed to be that happy. I’m not, though.”

I nodded. “Okay.”

At the hotel, she dumped the money onto the front seat. She got out, straighted her skirt, handed me 500 dollars this time, and headed for the bathroom. “I gotta clean up. I’ll see you upstairs later,” she said.

I watched her walk away, the dancing lights, battling with dawn, welcoming her in.