Joel’s presence, until I barely know my own name and we stumble madly back to the hotel in time to see the sun rise through the plate glass window.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The muscle man is wearing a tutu and holding a feather duster as he gyrates in front of me, then tries to lick Richard’s face. We are at a show billed as “Raw Vegas with a twist” and to my horror it seems to require audience participation. Richard seems to find it funny.
This is the third and final night of our stay in Vegas. Tomorrow we will fly back to the UK and forward in time by eight hours. I travelled all this way across the Earth and I will not have seen Joel - a thought I try to cast out of my mind.
Richard and I got on really well today; he seems to have accepted and feel rather embarrassed about the confusion yesterday. This has made me feel guilty for yet another deception. But I don’t have time to dwell on that. I have so much fixing to do in this relationship.
I am blanking out my feelings as best I can and concentrating on getting through this honeymoon with my thoughts cemented in reality. Here and now. Me and Richard. Team Married.
The muscle man catches me off guard; reaches out to me, grabs my hand and hauls me up onto the stage. I protest, to no avail.
Oh horror.
A hundred or so faces stare back at me from the audience, as he brings out a guy dressed as a magician, holding one end of a truly massive snake. The rest of the snake is held by a cat-suited woman walking some twenty feet behind. The snake’s scaly skin glows red under the lights. This thing is seriously about ten inches thick in its body.
I am red with the shame of having all eyes on me but laughing nervously all the same. A full length mirror is placed behind me, and then I am manhandled round to face the mirror, my back to the audience. Then a soft purple sheet falls like chiffon on top of me. Suddenly the lights go out and, simultaneously, I am led out from the sheet, through the pitch darkness and down what feels like a small flight of stairs. The person leading me opens a door and navy coloured light floods in from the street outside. I turn back to see that she is a dark skinned lady in a leotard. She has purple lipstick, almost ultraviolet. She smiles, revealing perfect white teeth.
“Voila! You ‘ave disappeared my luff! Iss Magic!”
I squint at her, confused.
“But I was with my... my husband,” I stammer.
“Ah but you can re-enter ze show and tek your pless again, juss follow ze vay you came in,” she says.
With that the door closes and I am alone on the sidewalk. I try to halt the voice in my head that is telling me to run, to take this opportunity to run to Joel, disappear from my life for a few hours at least.
I don't even know where he would be. Or if he would want to see me.
Instead I wander round the side of the building, following the wall until I am back on the main street, by the casino entrance. Richard is there waiting for me.
“Where did you go, Missy?” He asked, his eyebrows raised in a comical, quizzical way. “Wouldn’t you like to know,” I say, linking my arm through his. We go back to the Paris hotel and spend a couple of hours in the casino, gambling and drinking margaritas.
That night I lay in the queen-sized bed, tossing and turning. I feel a bit sick. The clock says:
01:24.
01.25.
01.26.
Richard is asleep but I can’t relax. It’s like the edges of my brain are burning. There is a gnawing, almost itching sensation in my head that I just can’t shake off.
I crave cold water. I know there is an ice machine out in the hallway by the lift. I put on my dressing gown and slippers and sneak to the suite door. Well I try to sneak but I am so drunk it's not quite ninja... I wedge the door open with an empty suitcase because I don’t have the key to get back in.
I grab a glass from the bathroom and stagger down the hall to the ice machine.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The muscle man is wearing a tutu and holding a feather duster as he gyrates in front of me, then tries to lick Richard’s face. We are at a show billed as “Raw Vegas with a twist” and to my horror it seems to require audience participation. Richard seems to find it funny.
This is the third and final night of our stay in Vegas. Tomorrow we will fly back to the UK and forward in time by eight hours. I travelled all this way across the Earth and I will not have seen Joel - a thought I try to cast out of my mind.
Richard and I got on really well today; he seems to have accepted and feel rather embarrassed about the confusion yesterday. This has made me feel guilty for yet another deception. But I don’t have time to dwell on that. I have so much fixing to do in this relationship.
I am blanking out my feelings as best I can and concentrating on getting through this honeymoon with my thoughts cemented in reality. Here and now. Me and Richard. Team Married.
The muscle man catches me off guard; reaches out to me, grabs my hand and hauls me up onto the stage. I protest, to no avail.
Oh horror.
A hundred or so faces stare back at me from the audience, as he brings out a guy dressed as a magician, holding one end of a truly massive snake. The rest of the snake is held by a cat-suited woman walking some twenty feet behind. The snake’s scaly skin glows red under the lights. This thing is seriously about ten inches thick in its body.
I am red with the shame of having all eyes on me but laughing nervously all the same. A full length mirror is placed behind me, and then I am manhandled round to face the mirror, my back to the audience. Then a soft purple sheet falls like chiffon on top of me. Suddenly the lights go out and, simultaneously, I am led out from the sheet, through the pitch darkness and down what feels like a small flight of stairs. The person leading me opens a door and navy coloured light floods in from the street outside. I turn back to see that she is a dark skinned lady in a leotard. She has purple lipstick, almost ultraviolet. She smiles, revealing perfect white teeth.
“Voila! You ‘ave disappeared my luff! Iss Magic!”
I squint at her, confused.
“But I was with my... my husband,” I stammer.
“Ah but you can re-enter ze show and tek your pless again, juss follow ze vay you came in,” she says.
With that the door closes and I am alone on the sidewalk. I try to halt the voice in my head that is telling me to run, to take this opportunity to run to Joel, disappear from my life for a few hours at least.
I don't even know where he would be. Or if he would want to see me.
Instead I wander round the side of the building, following the wall until I am back on the main street, by the casino entrance. Richard is there waiting for me.
“Where did you go, Missy?” He asked, his eyebrows raised in a comical, quizzical way. “Wouldn’t you like to know,” I say, linking my arm through his. We go back to the Paris hotel and spend a couple of hours in the casino, gambling and drinking margaritas.
That night I lay in the queen-sized bed, tossing and turning. I feel a bit sick. The clock says:
01:24.
01.25.
01.26.
Richard is asleep but I can’t relax. It’s like the edges of my brain are burning. There is a gnawing, almost itching sensation in my head that I just can’t shake off.
I crave cold water. I know there is an ice machine out in the hallway by the lift. I put on my dressing gown and slippers and sneak to the suite door. Well I try to sneak but I am so drunk it's not quite ninja... I wedge the door open with an empty suitcase because I don’t have the key to get back in.
I grab a glass from the bathroom and stagger down the hall to the ice machine.
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