Jill Smolinski - The Next Thing on My List

‘ Then he’ s hardly the perfect man, is he?’

‘ No,’ she replied. ‘ I suppose not.’

‘ Now let me play ‘ what if.’ What if the perfect man never comes around?’

‘ Oh, sweetie,’ she said, clasping my hand across the table. ‘ He will.’

Chapter 19

A t the last minute, Marissa’ s mom and grandma begged out of the ride I’ d offered to Las Vegas. Instead, they said they’ d fly up and meet us at the hotel. I suspected they weren’ t eager to spend five hours on the road trying to make conversation-which might have offended me had I not been dreading the very same thing. I’ d need every minute of the drive to psych up for the weekend to come, which was why I was about to bitch-slap Brie if she didn’ t stop talking about what a long-ass drive this was, and why didn’ t we bring DVDs for the player?

It was eight o’ clock by the time Martucci pulled the Rideshare Mobile into the Flamingo parking lot. We checked in and headed up to our rooms. Marissa’ s mom and grandma had already arrived, but Troy hadn’ t. (And, ha! I’ d told him those carpool lanes would save us time. Plus, Martucci had driven straight through. Brie and I were able to use the bathroom in the motor home, and apparently Martucci had a bladder the size of an oil tanker.)

After calling Kitty Jones, Marissa’ s mom, to arrange for all of us to meet in the lobby in an hour, I collapsed on the bed.

‘ What is it about sitting that makes me so tired?’ I whined. ‘ It makes no sense.’

Our room was your standard two beds, dresser, and TV. From the window we could see across to the Bellagio. The fountains in its man-made lake were in the middle of doing their laser water show. It was both beautiful and grotesque, considering how much water was being wasted in the middle of the desert.

Brie disappeared into the bathroom, and I closed my eyes to relax. The next thing I knew, she was saying, ‘ C’ mon, wake up! We got partying to do.’ When I opened my eyes, Brie stood over me, squeezed into a white halter top and white leather pants. Her hair-these days a shoulder-length weave streaked with hot pink-was pulled high in a ponytail.

‘ Darn,’ I said. ‘ That’ s what I was going to wear.’

‘ It’ s almost nine. I sure hope you plan to spiff up.’

Begrudgingly, I dragged myself off the bed. This was nothing I was looking forward to-why had I let Martucci talk me into a party? I should have simply flown them up for the Wayne Newton concert and flown them home.

Too late for that now, I thought, dressing in a short skirt with no stockings, heels, and a fitted jacket over a tank top. I brushed my teeth, slapped on a bit of makeup, and fluffed my hair. A good long look in the mirror-followed by more makeup and fluffing-and I was ready to go.

‘ Okay, we’ ve got to work out a code,’ Brie said. ‘ If there’ s a sock on the door handle, it means don’ t come in.’

‘ Oh hell, no. I’ m getting a good night’ s sleep. Don’ t even think about bringing a man here.’

‘ It’ s not like I’ d let him spend the night.’

‘ No! No men! Are we clear?’

‘ Every party needs a pooper, that’ s why we invited Ju-’

‘ Excuse me?’

‘ Fine. No need to get your panties in a bunch. I got it.’

I’ d arranged to meet Kitty and Grandma next to the giant six-foot slot machine in the lobby, and it was a good thing I’ d been so specific. I’ d have never recognized them otherwise. The grandma eluded my memory entirely, and Kitty Jones had seemed small and faded when I met her at the funeral-as if she’ d been washed and run through the dryer at too high a heat. That was to say, nothing like the woman standing before me, who had a healthy at-the-beach glow. Mid-fifties, robust, and with a layered blond bob, she appeared so much the part of a California girl grown up that it seemed odd when I’ d heard the twang of a midwest accent when she spoke.

‘ June, it’ s so nice to see you. I’ m Kitty. You remember my mother, Mrs. Jameson?’

‘ Call me Gran. Everybody does,’ said the tiny woman next to her. She wore a velour tracksuit, and her curly hood of brunette hair was clearly a wig, which she adjusted without a hint of self-consciousness.

I introduced Brie and then asked, ‘ How was your flight?’

‘ Went without a hitch,’ Kitty replied.

‘ Although you got to pay for a bag of peanuts,’ Gran barked. ‘ Can you believe it? A dollar fifty for a lousy bag of peanuts that used to be free! And you can forget about getting a real meal.’

‘ Oh, are you hungry?’ I asked. ‘ Because we could get dinner.’

‘ Thank you, but we grabbed sandwiches at the hotel deli,’ Kitty said.

‘ Eight-dollar sandwiches,’ Gran added. ‘ You’ d figure at that price it’ d at least have had that fancy mustard, but nope. Plain old French’ s yellow.’

‘ Whatever you do, don’ t drink the bottle of water in the room,’ Brie said, her voice a warning. ‘ You assume it’ s free, but there’ s a small note on it that says it’ s three bucks. They’ re counting on you being too drunk to notice or too thirsty to care.’

‘ I’ d never be that thirsty,’ Gran said. I noted she didn’ t mention she’ d never be that drunk.

‘ Hey, where’ s Martucci?’ I asked, partly out of curiosity and partly because I was running out of small talk.

‘ He’ s our friend who drove,’ Brie explained before turning to me. ‘ While you were doing your Sleeping Beauty thing, he texted me to say he was playing five-card stud. Unless we needed him, he’ d see us in the morning.’

Kitty glanced at her watch. ‘ Troy should be down any minute, but I don’ t want to keep you waiting.’

‘ No rush,’ I said. ‘ The only thing I need to do is book a massage for tomorrow.’

‘ That sounds divine,’ Kitty gushed. ‘ Oh, would you mind terribly if we tagged along? A girls’ day at the spa might be fun. And then Wayne Newton in the evening. What a delightful trip this is going to be!’

I debated whether to mention that the massage was one of the items on the list but decided not to bring it up. It was so much easier to pretend that this was a typical Vegas getaway and not the strange odyssey that it was. The list at this point was the elephant in the living room-it was gigantic, and it smelled something awful, but damn it, we were all going to carry on a conversation around it as if it weren’ t there.

Kitty was ringing Troy to see where he was when he showed up-and talk about your cool drinks of water in the desert. Black slacks, a casual silky shirt, the beginnings of stubble along the jawline. Mmm.

‘ Look at you,’ Kitty said, giving him a hug hello. ‘ You must be beat. Have you been up since three?’

‘ Yeah,’ he said good-naturedly, and then hugged his grandma as well.

I was hoping I might get in on that hugging, but he gave a nod to Brie and me. ‘ Girls. How’ s it going?’

‘ Never better,’ I said as we all walked the few steps to the hotel’ s casino area.

Brie rubbed her palms together. ‘ I want to find me a drink and then a craps table-in that order. Should the craps table have a fine gentleman or two at it, all the better.’

‘ I’ m with you on the drink,’ Troy said. ‘ You’ re on your own on the men.’ He nodded toward a bar. ‘ What’ s everybody having?’

He took our orders and left to get our drinks. Kitty said, ‘ Anyone up for blackjack?’

‘ Too much sitting around for me,’ Brie replied. ‘ Craps you get to scream a lot and jump up and down.’

As if on cue, a cheer went up from one of the craps tables. It was a group of guys, most in cowboy hats, whooping it up. Even though the table was already mobbed, Brie said, ‘ That’ s my table. Bring me my piña colada when Troy gets back, will you?’