All the Waters of the Earth

Chapter 22: Everything That's Right

"Vegas is everything that's right with America. You can do whatever you want, 24 hours a day. They've effectively legalized everything there." — Drew Carey

"I mean, what do you do in Las Vegas? You gamble – and you go to strip clubs." - Scott Caan

"Man, I really like Vegas." — Elvis

As many times as I had been to Las Vegas, because I loved the clubs, the dancing, and the fun, it still struck me as odd that a city like this existed. It just shouldn't. You drove for hours, in the mostly barren desert, with basically nothing to look at, except for the periodic billboards advertising amenities in Vegas, and then you approached the city, and the buildings and the lights arose out of the ground, ringed by dusty mountains. It really was the ultimate oasis.

My personal favorite place to play was the Strip, with the huge casinos, the shopping, and the shiny, new things. I loved the hustle of people, the gondolas at the Venetian, the shopping in Paris. My idea of a trip here, with the girls, was to get dressed up, go out, have fancy drinks, ogle cute guys, and go dancing. I normally treated myself to a good room, which wasn't too expensive if you shared it with friends. But I only did this when Rob stayed with my parents; I had never taken Rob here.

Instead of staying at a nice hotel on the beautiful Strip, however, Carlos stayed downtown. It figured.

Downtown meant old Las Vegas. It embodied everything that was right with Las Vegas, but also everything that was wrong. Older, smaller, seedier, it had dingier casinos, and cheaper slots. Nevertheless, much of it had been redone, and during the summers, there were free concerts on Fremont Street. It was also a people-watching mecca. You could get your picture taken with any number of street performers, such as a slutty nun, or a hunky Chippendale dancer, or a Batman. Although not as polished as the Strip, it could be an entertaining, and budget-friendly place to go on vacation.

Still, it was no place for a child to be left alone.

We arrived around eight o'clock, so when Jake and I pulled into the parking lot of the Golden Nugget, the massive amount of lights on the hotel shocked my system. Focused on my son, I popped out of the car immediately, impatient to get to Roberto. The drive had been long, and while we sped to Sin City, I had booked us a room from my phone. But now all I wanted was my child.

I ran into the casino, Jake hot on my heels, and went up the elevators, to the room that Carlos had told me they were staying in.

Could the elevators take any longer?

Finally, we reached the floor, I navigated to the room, and pounded on the door.

Carlos opened the door, smelling like cologne, and wearing pressed pants and a button down shirt. He looked like he was waiting to go out.

I put my hand on my hip and glared at him, all attitude. "Is Roberto here?"

He backed away from the door with a grandiose, "come right in" gesture, and I barged in. Jake stayed in the doorway. Rob sat on the floor, playing video games.

"Hey, mijo," I said quietly. "How are you?"

"Fine, mom," he said. He looked subdued, but safe. I wondered what sort of things Carlos had promised him that he had not done.

"You are overreacting," muttered Carlos, crouching down and talking in my ear.

"Outside," I hurled at him, with as much contempt as I could pack into two syllables. As always, I did not want to argue in front of Rob.

Carlos grabbed a hotel key and followed me out into the hallway, Jake stepping to the side. "We'll be right back, Rob," I called. I grabbed the other key, just in case.

The second the door was closed, I hissed, "What were you thinking?"

Carlos got in my face. "He's my son. I get custody on every other weekend. And this weekend, I had plans. So we came here." Jake stepped forward, but I waved him back with my hand.

Oh, my baby daddy was an arrogant idiot. "Do you know what it means to really be a father? It means you don't make plans that are scheduled the weekend you have your son. It means you spend time with him. It does not mean that you take him to Vegas to sit in a hotel room."

Carlos made a disgusted, impatient noise. "He's fine. He's having a good time. He just likes to play on the tablet anyway."

It was all I could do to keep from shrieking. "First, you took him across state lines. That's kidnapping. You don't have the right to do it. It's in the court order."

Carlos rolled his eyes. "Whatever."

"Second, is this a place for a child?" A group of college kids stumbled by loudly, clearly celebrating someone's twenty-first birthday, with open bottles of alcohol, illustrating my point.

"I have the right to him—" Carlos started, but I interrupted.

"No you don't. You don't have the right to do this. You have the right to have him overnight, in Santa Barbara, to take care of him and to show him what it means to have a father who is interested in him. But you don't have the right to—" and then I stopped. "I figured it out, you know. You're gambling all the time, right? That's it, isn't it? That's why you're running out of money. That's why you want to change the child support. Well, you know what? You need to knock it off. You're never going to win any money gambling. You don't need to see Rob any more than you already do. You need to drop the case, Carlos."

"No," he said firmly.

"No?"

"I'm not dropping the case. I pay too much in child support. My lawyer thinks I can win. He's my son. I have rights as a father." God, he was petulant.

"Then you better act like one," I hurled back. Jake stepped closer, eyes blazing, and I waved him back, again. Then I got in Carlos's face. "What did you promise him? What did you tell Rob that he could do in Vegas? What promise have you broken?"

Ignoring Jake, Carlos kept talking. "God you talk too much. Just fucking shut up. You have no idea what is going on. There is a big game and it's important and I'm gonna win. I always do. I have a lot riding on it. And so I took my son to Vegas? Big deal. You're totally overreacting. Typical. Fucking bitch. Were you always this much of a bitch when we were together?" Carlos got closer to me, his fist curled at his side.

"Knock it off, Carlos," I muttered, taking a step back, "this is about Rob, not me."

"Yeah, you were this much of a bitch—" he started, but then he lunged at me, and then suddenly, Jake grabbed Carlos by the neck and slammed him against the wall.

"Don't. Fucking. Talk. To. Her. Like. That," he snarled.

Carlos jutted his chin out and spit in Jake's face. "I can talk to her however I like, pretty boy. What are you going to do about it?"

"Stop, stop, stop," I cried, but Jake reared his fist back, and landed a punch right in Carlos's face. And another one. And another.

Damn if Carlos didn't deserve it.

Carlos bent down, shoved Jake in the stomach with his shoulder, and tried to push him across the hall, but Jake was taller, and more muscular, and didn't move. Then Carlos took a step back.

Blood beginning to pool out of his nose, Carlos started laughing. "You just made a mistake. You take Rob now, and do whatever you want. I'm gonna call my lawyer after I take a few pictures of my face, and tell him that your pretty boyfriend is violent, and shouldn't be around kids."

My stomach dropped, and Jake looked horror-struck.

"You wouldn't dare," I said. "You asked for it. You were going to hurt me."

Carlos raised his eyebrows. "Don't know about that. Get your son, Lucy. I'll talk to you later." And then he sauntered down the hall away from us.