Grabbing two chips from my grasp, Cam smiles at her. “Thank you for that, but my friend here has had enough.” Then he drops the two thousand dollars in chips on her tray. “And this is for your trouble.”
With that little ditty, she walks away.
Looking over Cam’s shoulder at all the pink and red decorations, I want to call her back, but know I won’t. Instead I meet Cam’s stare. “What the fuck? That was my drink, and she and I have a date later.”
His finger is in my face. “First of all you reek of alcohol. When was the last time you were sober?”
I shrug. “Does it matter?”
With a huff, he wags his finger at me. “And secondly, do you even know her name?”
Now that question I can answer. “Do I need to? She’s my Valentine’s date.” Not that I planned on taking her out. Truth is, I’ve been avoiding her, but fuck, Cam doesn’t need to know that.
He shakes his head. “You’re a piece of work.”
“Hey bro, I’m not feeling the love.”
Leaning in close as if to make sure I can hear him, Cam whispers, “I’ll show you the love. I’ll give you five minutes to go jerk off in the bathroom if you have to, but Emma sent us to bring you home, and I, for one, don’t plan to piss her off.”
The door is opened wide for us as we approach and the sweet sound of slot machines drowns out the ringing in my ears. “My mother?” I ask in shock just as I exit the high-stakes poker room. “How did she know where I was?”
Cam is about six two, only an inch shorter than me, but I swear his size has morphed or I’ve shrunk when he says, “Some big movie producer you played with yesterday called her.”
All of a sudden I’m twelve, not twenty-seven. “Played with? Like outside, as in Cowboys and Indians, basketball, or is this some chick trying to pull some crazy sex scandal that can’t possibly be true?”
That fucking Cam smirk lights up his face. “It was a guy, you dumb fuck. And cards.”
What.
The.
Fuck?
Someone from Bobby’s Room called my Mommy Dearest? Are you kidding me?
It’s not until we’ve fully cleared the poker room and entered the din of the casino that I can see anything but red.
Glancing around, I take a minute to try to remember who it was. You know, in case I see him; I’ll promptly remind him that what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. And also I think I’ll have to enlighten him about my mother. Emma Fairchild might be a hotshot director who rules Hollywood, but to me, she is nothing more than the vessel that birthed me.
End.
Of.
Story.
Brooklyn approaches with apprehension in his eyes, like I might just pound him into the ground for doing our mother’s bidding. For once, I have no intention of doing that. Instead, when he’s close enough, I pull him in for a hard embrace. Needing him more than I ever thought I could. “Little brother, good to see you.”
When he steps back, my brother’s face is so somber you’d think he was standing at someone’s grave, not smack dab in the middle of all the action at the Bellagio. “Why the fuck haven’t you called me back?”
There is absolutely no reason I should be laughing, and yet I am. “Someone drowned my phone a while ago. Just haven’t gotten around to getting a new one.”
Brooklyn narrows his eyes at me. “It’s not funny, Keen. I’ve been calling you for weeks. Called your apartment building; they told me you moved out. Called that chick Sarah you used to hang with every now and then; she told me she hasn’t seen you since your father died. Finally I called your office, and they told me you were fired six weeks ago.”
“Quit,” I mutter under my breath.
“What happened?” he asks in a tone that is somewhere between fury and concern.
Standing in the middle of the casino, everything seems to suddenly be slowing down.
Exactly how long have I been here?
Seven days?
Ten?
Wait. Two weeks?
No, three.
Four.
Fuck.
Without conscious thought, I clench my brother’s shoulders, which seem so much stronger than they did last month. “I honestly don’t know,” I answer.
And that’s the truth.
Somewhere between my old man dying almost two years ago and subsequently deciding I wanted to become the next Wolf of Wall Street, time flew by, and so did life.
All I did was work.
Night and day.
Fell out of touch with the people I knew.
All because I had defined success as that pie-in-the-sky dream.
And then in the blink of an eye, I’d lost it.
When I thought I had nothing left, I packed what I needed into my Porsche 911, put the rest of my shit in storage, and then drove west. I’d intended to head to Laguna, but decided I should pull myself together first, and in my delusional state, I figured why not in Vegas.