three grand. I was going to head over to another casino, maybe pick up a bite to eat, when I saw this blonde smiling at me.
I knew right away she was a pro, sizing me up as a john. Her lips were painted with bright pink fluorescent lipstick and she was fluttering her long eyelashes. She had a big curvy shape in a silver sequined dress. Maybe this was exactly what I needed—some nice, uncomplicated sex. I went over to her and asked her what she charged. She said two hundred an hour. I told her I’d meet her in the lobby outside the casino in ten minutes.
I cashed in my chips and rented a room. The hooker was waiting where she said she’d be and she was looking better and better.
In the elevator she asked me if I’d been to Vegas before and I said, “No, it’s my first time,” and she said, “So how do you like it so far?” I said, “Not too bad.” We didn’t say anything else to each other until we got to the room. Then, as soon as the door closed, she said, “So where do you want me?”
We did it once, fast, then I took my time. When we were through, I gave her that two hundred bucks, plus a fifty-dollar tip.
“Thanks,” she said. “That’s so sweet of you.”
She invited me to watch her “perform” later at some strip bar at the other end of town, but I told her I doubted I’d be able to make it.
A few minutes after she left the room, I went back down to the casino.
I wolfed down a couple of burgers at one of the hotel’s restaurants using a comp card, then I was ready for more action. I was planning to leave for New York early tomorrow morning and go to work tomorrow night. I probably could’ve used some rest, but there was no way I was going to miss out on any gambling time in Vegas— especially since I had about $2,600 burning a hole in my pocket.
I wanted to check out as many casinos as I could so I went across the street to The Flamingo. I bought two thousand bucks in chips and went right to a craps table, blowing a grand in fifteen minutes. Before things got really out of control, I got up and started playing blackjack again. I didn’t like the dealer at the table I was sitting at—he was smiling and joking around too much—so I walked around and found a table with an empty seat in the anchor slot. My chip pile was shrinking, but I guess my jet lag was starting to catch up with me because I was too tired to walk around anymore. So I stayed at the table and eventually I started to win again. After about two hours, I won back the grand I’d lost at craps, plus another seven hundred. I cashed in my chips and took my comp card and headed toward the restaurant, ready to pig out on a steak-and-potatoes dinner.
“Looking for a date, honey?”
I’d just left the casino when I looked over and saw the best-looking hooker I’d ever seen. She had long brown hair and she was wearing a tight black dress.
“How much?” I asked.
“Five for an hour you won’t forget.”
I guess I could’ve brought her to my room at Bally’s, but I was so tired I didn’t want to waste the energy crossing the street. Besides, I was rolling in dough so I just rented a two-hundred-dollar room at the Flamingo and took the hooker upstairs with me. I knew I wouldn’t be able to get in two goes this time, but I got my money’s worth anyway.
Later on, I could barely get out of bed and I had to pace around my room for about fifteen minutes before I could make it downstairs. Two rare steaks and a side order of shrimp pumped me up enough to make it into a cab and head crosstown to Caesar’s Palace for some poker action. Forty-five minutes later I was broke.
I still don’t know how I managed to lose all my money so fast. It probably had something to do with being the worst poker player in the world and sitting down at a high-stakes table with blue balls on zero sleep. All I remember clearly is sitting across from two guys in cowboy hats, and next thing I knew I was sitting on a chair in the lobby with my head in my hands.
I only had about forty dollars left on me—enough to get a cab to the airport and to pay to pick up my car from the airport parking lot in New York. I thought about going back to one of my hotel rooms, but I knew there was no way I’d fall asleep so I decided to just head out to the terminal and wait for my flight tomorrow morning. I sat down near my gate, so tired I was dizzy. I noticed that people kept sitting down next to me then getting up and moving away. Then I remembered how the cab driver had opened all the windows and how people at the poker table had been giving me funny looks. I hadn’t showered since Monday morning —over two days ago—and I probably smelled as bad as Pete Logan.
I probably looked like shit too. I needed a shave and I was wearing the same outfit—jeans and a black sweatshirt with my black leather coat—that I’d left New York in. I had about five hours until my flight left but I couldn’t grab any shut-eye.
Finally, at around six in the morning my flight boarded. I was hoping to catch some Zs on the plane, but I couldn’t sleep. I was staring out the window, at some clouds, when I saw my father on the wing and my mother was next to him. They were both laughing, then my father pushed me and I was tumbling down a flight of stairs, screaming, trying to stop, but I was falling faster and faster.
“Excuse me, sir...sir?”
I looked up at the stewardess leaning over me.
“Sorry to wake you, but the pilot has put on the fasten seat belt sign.”
“Thanks,” I said, looking out the window, scratching the scar on the back of my head.
It was snowing in New York. It wasn’t coming down hard, but there were a few inches on the ground. I was so exhausted I thought I was going to pass out, but I somehow made it out to the parking lot. I brushed the snow off the windshield and the back windows with my hands, then I got into the car. Naturally, the piece of shit wouldn’t start. I asked the parking attendant for a boost and then I had to stand outside waiting for an hour, freezing my ass off. I was almost ready to just leave my car there, take the license off and ditch it. But then they got the car started and, going about thirty miles per hour the whole way, I made it into the city about an hour and a half later.
It was around three in the afternoon—an impossible time to find a parking space in Manhattan. After driving around for about twenty minutes, I gave up and left the car in front of a hydrant on my block. Let the cops tow the dung heap away—do me a favor.
Walking up the stairs in my building, I felt like I was climbing the Statue of Liberty. In my apartment, I went right to my couch, not even bothering to open the bed. Then I heard a funny squeaking sound. I thought it was the pipes or something so I tried to ignore it. But it was too damn annoying so I got up to find out where the noise was coming from. It sounded like it was coming from the kitchen sink, maybe inside the pipes, then I looked down and saw the little mouse caught in a glue trap. I picked up the trap with the mouse stuck on it, opened the window, and flung it across the street like a frisbee.
Back on the couch, I started to dream. I was in the winner’s circle at Hollywood Park. My horse had just won a big race and Jack Nicholson and Robert Redford and Al Pacino were there, shaking my hand. Then an alarm went off and people started running and yelling, “Fire! Fire!” and I looked over and my horse was dead. I tried to run away, but I was stuck to a giant glue trap. I woke up, sweating, wondering why the noise wouldn’t stop. Then I realized what was going on. My fucking phone was ringing.
“Tommy? I didn’t wake you, did I?”
The voice sounded like somebody I knew, but I was so spaced it took a second or two before I matched it with a name—Debbie O’Reilley.
“No,” I said, wondering why the hell I didn’t just let my answering machine pick up. “What’s going on?”
“I should be asking you that question. I’ve been trying to hunt you down for two days now. Either you’ve been screening your calls or you went away without telling me. Either way I’m very upset with you.”
As usual, she sounded drunk.
“I was in Vegas,” I said.
“Vegas?
“You calling me for any reason, because I was about to go to sleep.”
“Sleep? Don’t you have to work tonight?”
Shit, I forgot all about work. There was no way in hell I was going in feeling like this.
