of cloying perfume. I get up purposefully, meaning to put the letter in the bin. Instead, I hold it to my cheek. I go to put it in the bin, then change my mind and stuff it carefully down the waistband of my knickers.
I intend to go straight back to the front of the Bellagio and try presenting the tickets to Richard. I'm relieved to have an excuse. But he isn’t there. He isn’t in our hotel room either.
I leave him a note saying I’ve gone out looking for him and signing off with just please let me explain. I search the Paris casino looking for Richard’s familiar face. Outside on the sidewalk, despairing of the midday sun, I walk up the Strip as far as Caesar’s Palace and then back, dipping in and out of air conditioned hotels and casinos along the way.
When I get back to the hotel I open the door to the room, terrified that Richard’s bags will be gone. I find him slumped on the bed, watching the TV again. He has a shiner on his cheekbone. He lets me sit next to him, doesn't register that I am even there when I stroke the good side of his face. I am scared to speak. I don’t know what he will say.
“You have a bruise - does it - shall I get you some ice?”
He says nothing. Registers nothing.
So I just start talking, not really knowing what I will say. I gently tell him that I am sorry about the dream, I don’t know what to say, everyone has horny or weird dreams from time to time. I say that the note was to remind me to pick up some tickets but that I didn’t want to tell Richard because it was supposed to be a surprise. His face tenses, then seems to relax a little. Then he frowns.
“So why did you leave me alone to fight in the street, hey?”
“You freaked me out, Richard! You were so angry, then you started fighting and I just don’t know, I didn’t mean to leave you there, I...”
I sigh.
“I love you Richard. Really I do.”
Silence.
“So you were getting tickets to what?”
“To the Rio, the... the...” I grab the tickets and thrust them into his hands, “the VooDoo Lounge”.
Finally he speaks.
“Cool.”
“Can you forgive me Rich?”
He is thinking again.
Then, amazingly, he pulls me into his arms and we hold each other. We stay like that until it’s so dark that he gets up and switches the lamp on. He walks to the bathroom, putting the tickets in the bin as he passes. I get up and make him a cup of tea.
I look down at the tickets, wondering if Joel would have used them. Wondering if he expects me to be there. If he will be there, watching, waiting.
Later, after we have talked and talked, we seem OK. I am almost dozing but Richard is fidgety, restless. He seems to feel a bit better than before but he's obviously preoccupied.
Midway through stroking my hair, he stops and jumps up. Stretches, yawns. "I need a change of scenery!" He exclaims.
He fishes the tickets out of the bin. “Get dressed Beth,” he orders. “It’s our honeymoon. We’re going out.”
I get through the night on adrenaline. We ride a glass elevator to the top of the Rio hotel. We enter the rooftop bar. It is really bright and colourful, with crazy people and sparkling coloured lights strung up around a dancefloor in the centre that’s been decorated to look like the surface of the moon. There are floor to ceiling windows looking out onto a roof terrace. The windows frame the most jaw-dropping views of the city.
Richard buys the drinks. I imagine for a split second that this is a date with Joel then, feeling guilty, I down the first shot of tequila quickly and follow it up with another. Then another. The music is loud and the beat infectious. Pretty soon Richard and I are dancing, laughing, swaying, doing our own thing on the dancefloor and I suddenly don't care about Joel any more. I have had enough. There will be no fight from Joel for me; he is married. I am married.
I drink until I don't feel
I intend to go straight back to the front of the Bellagio and try presenting the tickets to Richard. I'm relieved to have an excuse. But he isn’t there. He isn’t in our hotel room either.
I leave him a note saying I’ve gone out looking for him and signing off with just please let me explain. I search the Paris casino looking for Richard’s familiar face. Outside on the sidewalk, despairing of the midday sun, I walk up the Strip as far as Caesar’s Palace and then back, dipping in and out of air conditioned hotels and casinos along the way.
When I get back to the hotel I open the door to the room, terrified that Richard’s bags will be gone. I find him slumped on the bed, watching the TV again. He has a shiner on his cheekbone. He lets me sit next to him, doesn't register that I am even there when I stroke the good side of his face. I am scared to speak. I don’t know what he will say.
“You have a bruise - does it - shall I get you some ice?”
He says nothing. Registers nothing.
So I just start talking, not really knowing what I will say. I gently tell him that I am sorry about the dream, I don’t know what to say, everyone has horny or weird dreams from time to time. I say that the note was to remind me to pick up some tickets but that I didn’t want to tell Richard because it was supposed to be a surprise. His face tenses, then seems to relax a little. Then he frowns.
“So why did you leave me alone to fight in the street, hey?”
“You freaked me out, Richard! You were so angry, then you started fighting and I just don’t know, I didn’t mean to leave you there, I...”
I sigh.
“I love you Richard. Really I do.”
Silence.
“So you were getting tickets to what?”
“To the Rio, the... the...” I grab the tickets and thrust them into his hands, “the VooDoo Lounge”.
Finally he speaks.
“Cool.”
“Can you forgive me Rich?”
He is thinking again.
Then, amazingly, he pulls me into his arms and we hold each other. We stay like that until it’s so dark that he gets up and switches the lamp on. He walks to the bathroom, putting the tickets in the bin as he passes. I get up and make him a cup of tea.
I look down at the tickets, wondering if Joel would have used them. Wondering if he expects me to be there. If he will be there, watching, waiting.
Later, after we have talked and talked, we seem OK. I am almost dozing but Richard is fidgety, restless. He seems to feel a bit better than before but he's obviously preoccupied.
Midway through stroking my hair, he stops and jumps up. Stretches, yawns. "I need a change of scenery!" He exclaims.
He fishes the tickets out of the bin. “Get dressed Beth,” he orders. “It’s our honeymoon. We’re going out.”
I get through the night on adrenaline. We ride a glass elevator to the top of the Rio hotel. We enter the rooftop bar. It is really bright and colourful, with crazy people and sparkling coloured lights strung up around a dancefloor in the centre that’s been decorated to look like the surface of the moon. There are floor to ceiling windows looking out onto a roof terrace. The windows frame the most jaw-dropping views of the city.
Richard buys the drinks. I imagine for a split second that this is a date with Joel then, feeling guilty, I down the first shot of tequila quickly and follow it up with another. Then another. The music is loud and the beat infectious. Pretty soon Richard and I are dancing, laughing, swaying, doing our own thing on the dancefloor and I suddenly don't care about Joel any more. I have had enough. There will be no fight from Joel for me; he is married. I am married.
I drink until I don't feel
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