Lost in Las Vegas (15 page)

DJ didn’t respond. Instead she hurried toward the elevators and pulled her phone from her bag, turning it on to make sure it was charged. Then as she rode down to the lobby, she fished around in her bag until she found her e-ticket and searched for the number of the airline. Of course, she was placed on hold, so she got in line at Starbucks. While in line, DJ prayed — she begged God to do a miracle and get her out of Vegas before sunset. Wasn’t he supposed to be the God of the impossible? She felt lost here. Lost and alone.

By the time she was halfway done with her mocha, an operator finally asked to assist her, and DJ explained her desperate need to change her departure date. Then the woman on the other end explained that it would be nearly impossible because of the holidays. “Please try,” DJ urged her. “Anything sooner than what I have will be appreciated.” This was followed by another long wait.

“The best I can do is the twenty-eighth, and that’s an overnight flight, so you don’t arrive until the twenty-ninth.”

“That’s the best?”

As it turned out, that was the best. DJ agreed to the change fee and booked it. It was only a few days sooner than her other ticket, but it was better than nothing. Or maybe she could take a train . . . or a bus . . . or hitchhike. Okay, maybe not hitchhike. But desperate times called for desperate measures.

DJ slowly walked through the quiet casino. There were a few glassy-eyed diehards still sitting in front of the slots, punching buttons again and again. DJ shook her head sadly — and that was supposed to be fun? She was heading back to the elevators when she realized that Eliza was probably sitting in the suite with Taylor right now, making big plans for her two days in Vegas.

DJ stopped and looked around, wishing for a place to hide, a way to escape Eliza and Taylor. Feeling totally discouraged, DJ sat down on a padded stool. She found herself in front of a slot machine — some goofy underwater thing with mermaids and starfish. It looked as if they were trying to appeal to children. Or maybe that’s what Vegas was — a great big playground for grown-ups acting like children. Or children acting like grown-ups.

DJ noticed a security guard eyeing her. Was he trying to decide if she was old enough to gamble, or thinking of hitting on her? She wasn’t sure, but to distract him, and perhaps in payment for her seat, she pulled out a dollar and slipped it into the machine. Really, what was the worst he could do? Have her arrested? Call her grandmother? Bring it! She punched the big red button and waited.

Suddenly the machine was making all kinds of noise. Lights were flashing and bells were ringing, and DJ actually jumped out of her seat. “What the — ?”

Just then a white-haired woman in a purple jogging suit a couple seats down turned to DJ and said, “You won, dear.”

“I won?” DJ knew she looked shocked. And she was worried the security guard was about to come over and read her rights to her. But he was just talking to someone else, maybe an undercover guard.

“Not bad,” said the woman. “That’s $500.”

“$500?” DJ looked at her with wide eyes. “How do you know?”

So the woman got up and came over and pointed to the amount. “See?”

“Oh, yeah.” DJ stared at the total. “So . . . where’s the money?”

The woman laughed. “Is this the first time you’ve played slots?”

DJ nodded.

“Are you finished?”

DJ nodded again.

“Push that button.”

So DJ pushed it, and, after a few very long seconds, a little white slip of paper popped out. “That’s it?” asked DJ with disappointment.

“That’s not bad for your first time.” The woman shook her head and returned to her machine and pushed the button again.

“Thanks,” said DJ quickly. Then, glancing over at the security guy who was still talking to the suit, DJ slipped down another aisle of slot machines and then hurried directly to the elevators. Feeling like a bandit and slightly giddy, she rode up and practically ran to the suite.

“What’s wrong with you?” asked Taylor when DJ walked through the living room and straight to the kitchen area.

DJ didn’t say anything. She opened the fridge and pulled out a bottle of water, then took a long swig.

“What happened to you?” asked Eliza. “You’re all flushed. Did someone mug you or something?”

DJ went over to the sectional and flopped down. “More like the opposite,” she said.

“You
mugged
someone?” asked Eliza.

DJ actually laughed now. “Not exactly, but you’re getting warmer.”

“What is going on with you?” demanded Taylor. “I thought maybe you’d gone to the airport to fly back home. You were so ticked at me last night.”

“I was trying to change my flight.”

“Any luck?” asked Eliza with too much interest.

DJ rolled her eyes. “Yeah, right.”

“So what are you all excited about?” Taylor sat next to DJ and stared at her. “What happened?”

DJ opened her bag and pulled out her little white slip of paper and handed it to Taylor. Then Eliza leaned over the back of the couch and looked at it too.

“$500?” Taylor frowned. “How’d you get this?”

“Did you steal it?” Eliza’s voice sounded accusing.

“Of course not.”

Taylor laughed. “You played the slots?”

“Not on purpose.”

“By accident?”

“I was just sitting there, so I put in a dollar, and suddenly the machine went nuts.”

“And you won?” Eliza’s eyes got wide.

DJ nodded and, despite herself, she started giggling. “I thought the security guard was going to card me, so I gave him the slip.” Although she’d been scared then, for some reason this seemed incredibly funny now. Soon they were all laughing.

“Way to go, DJ!” Taylor slapped her on the back. “I didn’t know you had it in you, girlfriend.”

“Yeah,” agreed Eliza. “I heard they’re pretty careful about minors gambling. You really could’ve gotten into trouble.”

“So what do I do with it now?” asked DJ, suddenly worried again. “Maybe I should give it back — ”

“Give it back?” said Taylor. “Are you nuts?”

“Well, it’s wrong. I am underage.”

“But the casino takes millions away from people every day. Why would you give it back?” Taylor shoved the ticket back at DJ.

DJ looked down at the ticket. To be honest, she wasn’t even sure what the right thing to do was.

“If you’re that worried about it,” said Eliza, “just spend it at the hotel while you’re here — then they get it back anyway.”

“That’s right,” agreed Taylor. “There’s a great shoe store.”

Eliza laughed. “Yes! Buy shoes.”

“But how do I get the money from the ticket?” asked DJ. “Won’t they figure out that I’m not twenty-one?”

“They have a machine.”

“But what if they see — ”

“Never mind,” said Taylor. “I’ll get it for you.” She pulled DJ to her feet. “Let’s go.”

DJ went back to the casino with them but stood on the sidelines and pretended not to watch as Taylor and Eliza walked over to the payoff machine. Then, cool as a cucumber, Taylor came back and slipped DJ the stack of twenties as they walked over the café to get some breakfast.

“Should I count them?” asked DJ.

Taylor laughed, and DJ stuck the money in her bag. Still, she felt like a thief. Okay, a slightly giddy thief.

As they ate breakfast, DJ sensed that something about the dynamics between the three of them had changed. There no longer seemed to be a sense of competition between them, and it was almost like they were having fun. So when Eliza announced she was ready for the pool, DJ didn’t even argue. Besides, after her cheese and bacon omelet, she knew it would feel good to swim some laps.

Of course, it slowly turned into the same old, same old when Eliza and Taylor began playing hostesses to the hottest cabana party at the pool. And Arden and Tony both seemed to enjoy being the “favored” guests, which wasn’t saying much since the pool was relatively quiet. Probably because tomorrow was Christmas Eve and most people had better places to be. But by midafternoon, DJ was bored. Still, she decided not to be bratty about it. She simply told Taylor that she wanted to find something more interesting to do. “I just want to have fun,” she said. “Plain old fun.”

“Doing what?” asked Eliza, who had been listening.

DJ shrugged. “Anything.” She glanced over to where Tony was indulging in what must’ve been his sixth beer. “This just isn’t fun.”

“I know,” agreed Eliza. “I’m ready to ditch these dudes.”

“Me too,” said Taylor. Then without batting an eyelash, Taylor announced. “We have to go now.” She patted her hair. “Salon appointments.” Then they grabbed up their pool stuff and made a quick exit with the guys calling after them, asking when could they meet up again.

“Later,” called Taylor. DJ just giggled. And Eliza gave them a finger wave. On the way up in the elevator, Eliza asked what they should do next.

“It has to be something fun,” said DJ.

“Okay,” agreed Taylor. “Fun it is.”

DJ felt hopeful. “Let’s all agree to make this a total fun day — just girls having fun. Good, clean fun, okay?”

“Okay,” agreed Eliza. “I’m in. A totally fun day.”

“With no guys . . .” Taylor seemed to be mulling this over.

“I know!” said Eliza. “Let’s be French for a day.”

“Huh?” DJ frowned.

“I used to do this with a friend, and it’s hilarious. We’ll dress up — haute couture — and stroll around the casino, speaking only French and acting very French, which means we look down on everyone.”

DJ considered this.
Everyone
included guys, and she was sick of the way guys had been hitting on them. “Works for me,” said DJ. “But my French is pretty bad. I only had one year before I switched to Spanish.”

“Well, mine is excellent,” said Eliza, already putting on a believable French accent.

“And mine will pass,” said Taylor. Then she said something in French that DJ only partially understood, and Eliza laughed. “And we will go to Paris,” announced Taylor as they emerged from the elevator.

“Huh?” DJ was confused now.

But, after they were dressed —
tres chic
— they did go to Paris. Paris, the casino. They were transported there in a stretch Hummer, and when they stepped out of it, they were already in character. Each emerged slowly and elegantly from the vehicle, taking her time and holding her head high, with that bored expression that both Taylor and Eliza had tutored DJ about — although DJ was now Desiree. She could feel eyes on the three of them as they stood in front of the hotel, conversing casually amongst themselves in French.

“Who are they?” asked a middle-aged woman in capri pants.

“I don’t know,” said her friend. “But they seem familiar.”

“A French music group?” suggested the man with them.

DJ had to control herself from laughing as they walked past the onlookers with heads held high.

“Fashion models,” whispered a woman. “I can tell by the way they walk. Look at the dark-haired one in the middle. I’m sure I’ve seen her on one of those model shows on TV.”

And that’s pretty much the way it went. Everywhere the striking French threesome went, they were sure to get looks and — once people decided they only spoke French — comments. And some of the comments were hilarious. DJ really was having fun. Okay, it was a warped sort of fun, but, hey, it was Vegas.

They did some shopping, not too much, but enough that they each had an impressive (but not too heavy) bag to tote along. Finally, Eliza announced in French that she was hungry and that she was treating them to dinner at the Eiffel Tower.

“Non reservations
?” questioned DJ.

“Desiree, Desiree . . .” Eliza just smiled and told her not to worry.

But when they got there, the maitre d’ asked if they had reservations. That’s when Eliza took over in a heavy French accent. “Do you not know who I am?”

He looked at her, then shook his head.

She frowned prettily. “Ooh, I am so devastated. Surely, you know who I am, do you not?”

“Paris Hilton?” he ventured, and DJ almost choked, but managed to keep her face blank as she patted the back of her hair, still smooth in the sleek French twist that Taylor had fixed for her.

“No!” Eliza turned to DJ and Taylor now, speaking in rapid French. And DJ followed Taylor’s lead by frowning and shaking her head. “We will go!” Eliza said loudly, “to where we are known and appreciated.” She pointed out the window. “Bellagio!”

“Wait, wait,” said another man who had joined the flustered maitre d’. “We have your table ready, ladies.” He held up three menus. Then, speaking in French, he invited them to follow him as he led them to what must’ve been the best table in the restaurant. Then he apologized, still in French, to Eliza. After that they were treated like celebrities and even given a complementary bottle of Pinot Noir.

“You have to at least taste it,” whispered Taylor as she poured a small amount into DJ’s glass. “Or pretend.”

“Or else they might wonder,” Eliza said quietly, “and check ID.”