Julian

II. February, Ch. 24

     Calvin's exhausted brain made the savory transition from sleep to lucid. It was his favorite part of the day.

     Memories of what transpired during his waking life developed, reminding him where he was and how he got there.

     At a quarter to one, he and Genevieve arrived at the Las Vegas Strip. The night sky was clear, but there were remnants of snow on the sidewalks. The temperature was grotesquely low, leaving their noses and fingertips cold and hard like marble.

     Calvin didn't catch a wink of sleep during the drive, and neither did his chauffeur.

     Stardust was their first stop. Calvin was baptized to the sound of coins clattering against metal platforms and machines announcing winners with bells and chimes.

     Genevieve was like a fish in water, while Calvin decided to sit it out before risking his money.

     As he observed Genevieve, however, his mind found a way to keep himself entertained and Genevieve from losing all her funds. Somehow, Calvin developed a science around her hobby.

     He kept track of how much money she'd invest per machine, and whenever she won a large prize, he'd separate her from half of it, giving her the illusion that she won less.

     Without realizing it, she accumulated a large chunk of money with Calvin, money that would have otherwise been donated to the one-armed bandits.

     He also kept his eyes open for angry gamblers, labeling their machines as "hot". These machines, Calvin surmised, were closer to the jackpot, and he'd encourage Genevieve to fill their vacancies right away.

     Genevieve reminded him multiple times that he was under no obligation to babysit, but he enjoyed being the statistician, the risk-analyst, the guardian angel. He celebrated her jackpots vicariously.

     Several hours and cups of coffee later, Calvin was too jittery to think straight. That's when Genevieve pulled a flask of whiskey from her purse and let Calvin go to town.

     But it was a lack of sleep, not the liquor, that got to him.

     His brain played the last bit of memories, including Calvin stumbling out of the car into the ice-cold Nevada night, dragging his feet inside a motel room, and slamming his head against a pillow, leaving it there until sunrise.

     He was lying on his side, hugging the same pillow his head rested on.

     The room he was in smelled of chlorine bleach and empty ashtrays. Very little sunshine slipped through the cheap curtains, making the room extra cold. He was wrapped up in fabric-softener-free bed sheets.

     Where's Genevieve? He peeled his eyes in panic.

     His ears became satellites to the smallest of sounds. Wheels of a housekeeping cart outside the door. The leaky shower head in the bathroom. The rhythmic breathing behind him.

     No.

     He kept still, asking himself how far Genevieve would take their friendship. For a moment, he wondered if someone else shared his bed. He wasn't sure if that was a better alternative.

     Before he could look over his shoulder, a slender hand slid over his pectoral muscles.

     Calvin shivered at the warm contact. Foreign as it was, he liked it.

     Slowly, he turned his neck back. 

     His worst fears were confirmed. Genevieve was sleeping, clung to his shoulder like a koala. Her black hair, damp from a shower the night before, rested on a neighboring pillow. That amazing smell of raspberry marmalade lingered on her skin.