“Not yet.”
“Well not to worry, you should find out anyday now.” He reads though the brief.
“I hope so.”
“Nice job.” Jim closes the folder and looksup at me with warm brown eyes. “Is Ryan all ready for tonight?”
“Yes, I think so. I was just going to go so Ican catch him before he leaves.”
“Fine. Tell him good luck.”
“Thanks.”
I know that conversation should have beenweird, but I told you, I live in a theme park, and having a joblike Ryan’s sort of melds with the environment of Vegas. No onejudges, he’s just another stage act.
I jet from the building to my car parked onthe street. Okay, I’ll admit, I’m not a fan of this weather. It’shot, it’s dry and if I were in New York I would be wearingknee-high boots instead of strappy sandals. And I’ll openly admit,I really, really miss my boots.
I drive down Las Vegas Boulevard, AKA theStrip, then turn onto Flamingo Avenue and into the parking lot ofthe Palms Place Hotel. Yes, hotel, but it’s much more residentialthan commercial. I didn’t originally grasp the concept of whatheadliner meant, because where we live, the cars we drive, and themeals we eat are all taken care of by the owners of Culture. Wedon’t pay for a thing, and they definitely didn’t skimp on theaccommodations either.
I scurry to the entrance of the tower, theheat pinching my skin, and see Reagan expectantly holding the dooropen for me. “Miss. Remington.”
“Regan, how many times have I told you?Alana, please.” Now I sound like Slim Jim.
He nods, “Alana. Best of luck to Mr. Piercetonight.”
I roll my eyes playfully, “Ryan.” Then walkquickly through the lobby to the elevators. I hit the button forthe penthouse and I’m whooshed upwards. Told you they didn’t skimpon the accommodations.
I walk into the spacious suite decked outwith modern décor; it has two bedrooms, wall-to-wall windows, afull kitchen, living room, dining room and a balcony with a glassJacuzzi tub. Which, needless to say, is awesome.
And used frequently.
Ryan is sitting at the kitchen counter, hisleg shaking a mile a minute.
“Hey, what’s up?” I ask as I drop my bag nextto him.
He pushes an envelope towards me, gnawingnervously on the cuticle of his right index finger. I pause to lookat it, it reads: Nevada Bar Association.
“Well,” he urges.
“Well what? It’s addressed to me, why are youthe one jumping out of your skin? You’d think being a lawyer isyourdream.”
Ryan hops up, “Alana, your dreams are mydreams. I want this as bad as you do.”
“You know, you can be incredibly sweetsometimes.” I say as I flip the envelope over.
“Not really,” he jokes, “I’m just trying toget into your pants.”
“I don’t think you need pick up lines forthat anymore,” I laugh.
“Maybe not, but I want to keep thingsfresh.”
“You’re fresh alright,” I quip, as I rip itopen and read the contents.
“Well?” Ryan peaks over the paper.
“Well,” I smile, “you’re looking at Nevada’snewest lawyer.”
“Yes!” Ryan picks me up and swings me around,causing me to scream. After a revolution he drops me back onto myfeet and rests his forehead against mine. “I have a surprise foryou.”