Lindsey Kelk - I Heart Vegas

Jenny sailed back into the room carrying a small blue chequebook-shaped box wrapped in silver ribbon. Since a chequebook would be a fairly odd gift, I assumed it was something small and wonderful. Possibly shiny. I immediately forgot my rules and snatched it out of her hands. Christmas could do terrible things to a girl’s manners.

‘So, I know you’ve been super-stressed lately,’ Jenny started explaining as I tussled with the tightly tied ribbon. ‘And I was like, what would totally chill Angie out?’

Massage vouchers? A weekend away in the mountains? Lots and lots of drugs? No, that would be from my mum.

‘And I thought about the things that help me when I’m freaking out. The places that make me feel like Jenny again.’

Uh-oh. Pole-dancing lessons? Tickets to Vegas? Lots and lots of drugs?

‘And I came up with this. It’s going to be the shit, doll.’

I wasn’t sure about ‘the shit’, but the fevered look in Jenny’s eyes scared me. Everyone was silent while they watched me give up and rip the ribbon from the box with my teeth, because I’m so classy, and tear into the box.

Meep.

Inside the box was a copy of Gambling for Dummies and three plane tickets.

‘Vegas, baby!’ Jenny bounced up and down on the bed. ‘Me, you and Erin. Girls’ weekend away, just a total, awesome blow-out. We’re going to go crazy. No over-thinking, no panicking, no worrying. Just fun. It’s exactly what you need.’

‘It is?’

It was?

‘Totally,’ she said, landing on her arse right next to Vanessa’s face. ‘We’ll get drunk, we’ll dance, hang out by the pool, go to the spa. It’ll be awesome. No one needs to get on the pole like you do, honey.’

‘Yeah, Ange,’ Alex contributed. ‘You do need to get on the pole.’

I could have punched him, but I was all Rocky’d out for one week. Instead, I took a spectator’s stance and watched as Vanessa pushed Jenny off the bed and onto the floor, right on her backside. She did have it coming.

‘And when Jenny’s finished trying to kill us all, I have a client opening a store in the Crystals, so there is going to be some intense window shopping going on,’ Erin said. ‘And don’t worry, I won’t let her make you pole dance.’

After a moment of fear had passed, I started to smile. I was more concerned that it wouldn’t be a case of ‘making me’ so much as ‘stopping me’. I’d always wanted to go to Vegas, always. It just sounded so fabulous: all girls in feathered headdresses serving elaborate cocktails to shady blackjack players while Frank Sinatra belted out ‘Strangers in the Night’ on stage. Somewhere, I was semi-aware that these days, Vegas was more Kim Kardashian knocking back jello shots while P. Diddy set his iPod to shuffle in the DJ booth, but still. Surely there was still a good old glamorous time to be had somewhere on the Strip?

‘So.’ I held up the tickets. ‘When do we leave?’

When Monday rolled around, I was all business. Being the lovely, loyal girlfriend that I was, I waited until midday for Alex to wake up before I callously abandoned him and headed out to Bedford Avenue for a bagel. I wasn’t entirely heartless; I did leave a note.

After I’d woken up, cleaned up and successfully dressed myself, I’d decided today would be the day when I put everything right. So what if my parents were car-key-party-throwing junkies? So what if my visa was about to expire? So what if I hadn’t got a proper job? As long as my dad stayed off the meow meow and out of hospital, I could cope with their extracurriculars. And as for the visa-slash-job drama, I was on top of it. So on top of it that I’d cracked open a brand new notebook, bought a new pen and set up shop in the living room. I was going to work out what made me an extraordinary alien if it killed me. Just as soon as I’d finished writing my Christmas list. And my Christmas shopping list. I looked around my workspace – it was missing something. In fact, it was missing everything. I needed to go out and buy vast quantities of food and some magazines to motivate me. And pad out my wish lists. Nothing incentivized me like the allure of the latest It bag or a massive packet of Haribo.

Joy of joys, the terrible weather had broken and it was a clear, cold, beautiful day in Brooklyn. The hipsters of Williamsburg were still as colourful and ridiculously dressed as ever, swathed in neon scarves, Moon boots and giant furry hats. Their heavy black-framed glasses were a constant. It was reassuring. I dug my hands deep into my pockets, trying not to look into shop windows; each one was more tempting than the last. But I was strong. And, more to the point, hungry. I powered down the uneven sidewalks, past the Music Hall where I’d seen Alex play one time, past The Cove where Alex had seen me sing drunken karaoke lots and lots and lots of times. Oh, memories.

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