Page 49 of Paging Dr. Hart
Blinking in the bright sunlight, I look up at the Gothic brick building with its ornate tower and gables. “It is eerie, but I’ve seen places way scarier than that.”
“Oh yeah, like where?” he challenges.
“When I was in high school, kids used to party at this big old abandoned hotel and casino on the Las Vegas Strip. It was called the Starlight.” It feels strange to say the name out loud.Starlight. I haven’t spoken that word in years. All those terrible memories from the abandoned hotel have held such sway over me, but maybe if I speak the name some of that power will leech away. Hopefully, the Starlight will stop being a boogie man in my mind and return to the dilapidated building it really is.
“Yeah?” Ethan cocks his head, intrigued.
I nod, suppressing a shudder. “It was spooky inside, with peeling wallpaper and spider webs. I always thought it would be the perfect location for a horror movie.”
“You partied there when you were in high school? I hadn’t pegged you as the wild drunk girl type.” He quirks his eyebrow at me.
“Don’t get too excited.” I roll my eyes. “It was one time, and I didn’t even finish my drink.” I remember the sweet-sour strawberry wine, can almost taste it on my tongue.
“Ah man, I was thinking I would get some good blackmail stories about high-school Tiffany,” he teases, bumping his shoulder gently into mine.
“Sorry to disappoint, but I was pretty boring in high school,” I lie as images of my angel costume, Rafe’s brooding green eyes, and faces wearing elegant masks flip through my mind, like photographs in an old picture book. I take those memories, shove them in a mental drawer, and slam it shut.
40
Past, Las Vegas, Nevada, Age 17
For all the times I go to the Strip, there are an equal number of times that I don’t. Times when my mom needs me or I have too much homework or a test to study for. I’m still trying to maintain good grades. It must be working because my guidance counselor at school feels confident that I’ll get lots of college acceptances, even to the Ivy League schools. My applications are in. Now I’m just waiting to hear back.
“School’s the most important thing, Kitten,” Mom reminds me, even when she’s in the hospital.
Shelly has given up any pretense of caring about school. I see the big red Fs on the tests that get returned to her in class. Those nights when I don’t make it to the Strip, she still goes. We’ve spent so much time there that we’ve made friends with the casino staff. The blackjack dealers, restaurant hostesses, spa masseuses, and club bouncers. A barter system exists between these workers. Concert tickets are traded for seats at the latest hot restaurant. Working an extra shift on the casino floor might get you a free facial at the spa, if you know the right people.
I miss a week with Shelly when my mom goes to the hospital for a bout of pneumonia. Once Mom is feeling better, the need for money forces me into my angel show-girl costume. I call Shelly to tell her I’m ready to go back to work.
That night, Shelly picks me up in a sleek, brand-new Mercedes. Much like Shelly’s hair color, her cars are always changing. Green hair and blue sedan today. I’m not an idiot. I understand these cars are probably stolen. The thing I don’t know is how deep Shelly’s involvement goes. Is she part of an international auto theft ring? Or is she hot-wiring cars on her own? Is Rafe involved?
These are questions I think about but never ask out loud. There’s a precarious balance between Shelly and me, one I don’t want to break. Financially, I can’t risk losing her as my business partner. Emotionally, I can’t risk losing her as my only friend.
I also can’t risk being involved. Not with my future at stake.
After I’ve settled into the springy passenger seat, I inhale a deep lungful of new car smell. Shelly shifts the car into gear, and I get a glimpse of a large black stamp in the shape of an RA on the back of her hand.
“What’s that all about?” I ask, pointing to the letters. They remind me of a logo, but I can’t remember which one.
A half-shrug from Shelly. “It’s a club at the Luxor. I went last night.”
“How’d you get in?” I grab her hand, forcing her to steer one-handed, and pull it close to my face, inspecting the blurred letters. “You don’t have an ID.”
The passing street lamps create a strobe pattern in the car’s interior, throwing it into alternating periods of illumination and shadow as we pass in and out of pools of light.
“I do now.” Her white teeth gleam as she breaks into a self-satisfied smile.
“What?” I drop her hand, and she places it back on the steering wheel. “How?”
The smile widens into a grin. “You remember the bouncer over at the Rio? Bruce?”
I nod, picturing the tattooed man in his slick black suit. “Yeah, I know him.”
“He hooked me up.” She glances toward the passenger seat. “He can get you a fake ID, too. I only paid $30.”
“No, thanks.” I shake my head. I’ve curled my hair tonight, so the movement sends my ruby-red spirals bouncing.
“Why not? I’ve been going to the clubs, and it’s fun. If you get an ID, we can go together.” Her voice becomes pleading. “Please?” she whines. “It’ll be even better with you there.”
